E 
Written for Moore's Kural New-Yorker. 
TO MY WIFE, 
ON THE TENTH ANNIVERSARY Or OUR MARRIAGE. 
Ten Years of Llfo with her I love 
Have gone as softly by, 
As moonbeams riding on the waves 
Beneath a summer sky. 
Ten years we've sail'd a rugged sea 
But not a stonn have met— 
The sun tint rose each smiling morn 
Was cloudless till It set. 
No cruel blow hath fate yet struck 
Our home's sweet joy* to blight; 
Kind Angels guarded all onr way, 
And kept us day and night. 
No blasted hopes have we to mourn— 
No, not a singe one; 
Our wedded life as joyful yet 
As when it first begun: 
And even more; for by ns now, 
Around onr hearth-stone bright, 
Five Other smiling faces add 
Their pure and holy light. 
Our honey-moon has never closed. 
And, dear, it never will; 
For faithful to the pledge we made, 
We'll love each other still. 
And through the fleeting years to come, 
Whatever clouds may low’r, 
The sun of love shall quick dispel 
By its end)unting pow’r; 
And down the stream of time our lives 
As blissfully will run 
As when, ten years ago, onr hearts 
Were melted into one. 
Crawfordsvillo, Ind. *. *. *. 
Written for Moore's Kural New-Yorker. 
A RAINY DAY IN WINTER. 
Yon wake in the Aiorning to hear the steady 
beat of the rain along the roof. With to-mor¬ 
row’s sleigh-ride in your thoughts, you wish it 
was snowing Instead, and pushing back the white 
curtain of your window, look out. The clouds 
hang low and heavy and dull, and with the first 
glance you remember you used to wonder in 
childhood if Heaven itself dropped lower when 
the clouds came near to earth. The rain falls 
steadily; it is slanting from the east, and in 
consequence the bare, desolate-looking trees, 
still have a strip of dry bark on their western 
sides, while heavy drops hang from the leafless 
twigs. Down the beaten paths of the yard be¬ 
low, over which your window looks, miniature 
rivers are racing to the foot of the hill. In the 
carriage-house door stands your old pet dog, as 
if undecided whether to go back to hie kennel or 
venture to the house in the rain after his break¬ 
fast. And that reminds you that If you stand by 
tbo window dreaming longer, your breakfast 
will be cold. 
At the table Bob scowls over the muddy coffee, 
and wonders “if Kate had a beau last night.’’ 
Mother say6 “ perhaps Katie wanted it to corre¬ 
spond with the morning,” and you wonder 
quietly to yourself if Bob could make very good 
coffee this morning—that is, if having a bean, or 
being one, would affect that beverage, for you arc 
very sure you heard his steps on the stairs some¬ 
time in the “ wee small hours.” 
How dismal sleigh-bells sound in the rain ! — 
not as if they rung willingly; not as if there was 
any merriment in them; like a dull, lifeless 
laugh forced from an aching heart. How dis¬ 
mal, too, the people and horses look; not. that 
yon really can see anything of tho former, but 
you can sec. the robes and umbrellas that cover 
them ; and the latter trot soberly along splash¬ 
ing the water from under their feet, not at all as 
they would slop if the snow was firm and the air 
clear and bracing. They arc out of sight, but as 
the wind brings back the last sound of the bells 
mingled with the rush of t he river, some chord 
of association is struck, and your heart heats 
quicker with a sudden memory. It was just 
such a day aa this four years ago—only four, 
though it seems longer—that you, with a half 
dozen other merry students, were covered away 
from the rain for a ride home. The French 
Reader of one and Latin Grammar of another 
were laid just where the ruin poured down, and 
French and Latin were sadly blurred; hut it 
mattered not much, for the language those two 
studied then was the one that Cupid teaches. 
One of that company has gone further »n 
“toward flic setting sun; ” and the owner of a 
fair face tha? looked out from under the huge 
umbrella that day has gone to auother school. 
The dainty letters that came at first have ceased, 
and you know uo more of her. The rain dashes 
with sudden force against the window by which 
you sit, and the wind sobs louder among the 
trees without, as if sorrowing that in school-life 
it is ever thus; that friends who have been in 
hourly companionship, between whom has been 
no hidden thought, when separated and the tie 
of common interest broken, become as strangers. 
From another part of the house come to you the 
words of an old ballad,sung by lips that were young 
— younger thau youra are now, perhaps —two 
score of years ago. So this rainy winter day has 
stirred a menioiy in anothur heart than yours; 
only that her thoughts go back through scores of 
years, and yours, if they reached hack through 
your whole life-time, could not traverse a score. 
You smile to see the enow-caps of the fence 
posts rapidly melting; you smile because you 
always fancied the posts so many old ladies trying 
to be young again in fancy head-dresses, and you 
like to 6ee their white caps taken away and their 
old bare heads exposed. The little curves and 
arches of the snow-drift opposite are growing 
“ smaller by degrees,” bnt far from “ beautifully 
lees,” for the melting of the pure upper snow 
reyeala beneath that which has lain longer and 
grown soiled. The masses of snow on the dark 
evergreen branches become loosened in their 
hold and slide downward, and the boughs spring 
up as if in joy to be relieved. You have known 
human hearts to bound up in joy, just so, as it 
were, when some heavy weight of sorrow was 
suddenly removed. 
At night the rain ceases gradually; the large 
drops change to smaller ones, and then cease all- 
together. The wind changes, and cold and 
strong comes the “ West-wind Father of the 
winds of Heaven.” lied beams flash through 
the window across the carpet, and you look out 
to find the heavy clouds parted where the sun is 
going down. Your neighbors’ windows are all 
aglcam with rosy light as of a fire within, and 
the broken clouds are edged with gold and crim¬ 
son. Your gaze is intensifled where the “ golden 
gates of sunset” seem opening to let the day pasB 
through:—the day that lias been yours, passing 
away forever from your grasp with its everlasting 
record of lost or treasured hours. 
You know’ the comparison is old and often 
used, but you keep thinking that many lives are 
like this day. You have known such, the morn¬ 
ing and the mid day filled with tears and sorrow 
and wild unrest, of which the glorious end was 
typified in the sunset yon have just witnessed. 
Others yon have known promising bnt bright¬ 
ness and ending in despair; and an unuttered 
prayer rises in your heart for strength so to bear 
life’s burdens that your end be one of peace. 
Rome, N. Y., Jan., 1866. A Farmer's Sister. 
“I WISH I WERE A GIRL.” 
Some years ago, the ladies of the Female Edu¬ 
cation Society opened a small girls’ school at 
Cairo, to which a few little Mohammedan girls 
carne; and they soon learned to love the school 
very much. 
Some of the boys attended a Mohammedan 
school in the same street; but this was a dark, 
dismal place, aud the master was armed with a 
great stick. 
The little girls told their brother? what a nice 
happy place their school-room was, with pretty 
colored pictures on the walls. 
This had no small effect upon the boys; and 
one day a mob of little fellows beset the school¬ 
room door, exclaiming in chorus: 
" We want to come to school! ” 
Boor little boys ! The teacher was very sorry 
to refuse them admission. One of the boldest 
slipped up stairs just to have a peep; aud, while 
lessons were going on, a broyrn face, with a pair 
of bright and curious-looking black eyes, and a 
cotton cap (which had once been white) on his 
head, popped in at the school room door, and 
was shortly followed by a ragged blue shirt and 
two bare feet. He stared at the pictures, the 
counting frame, and other objects, till the 
teacher, smiling, but feeling rather sad, gently 
took him by the hand, and turned him out of the 
room. 
The poor little hoy was heard to exclaim in a 
plaintive voice, “ I wish I were a girl! ” 
FEMININE TOPICS. 
The question whether women shall vote is 
getting practically decided in Europe. The in¬ 
habitants of Ain, in France, chose the other day 
nine of their townswomen to be. of the municipal 
council there; and lawyers in England are ready 
to contend that if the ratepayers of a parish 
should take it into their heads to depute half a 
dozen benevolent ladies of their number to the 
board of guardians by a clear majority of votes, 
no legal obstacle wonld prevent their admission. 
John Stuart Mill proposes to discard, in all future 
reform bills, any distinction of sex; while, 6ays 
an English w riter, to show how it would work, 
we have. just, been favored with a specimen elec¬ 
tion-speech by Lady Jenkinson, who, so to speak, 
unsuccessfully contested Dorsetshire in her hus¬ 
band’s name. 
A vot/xci lady in Chicago was betrothed at the 
beginning of the war to a lieutenant, in the army. 
He was killed in battle, and his body taken borne 
and burled by his nearest friend and comrades, 
who was with liim when he fell. To this young 
man the lady’s affections were transferred in 
time, and she engaged to marry him. Oa the 
day when they were to be united, and while the 
clergyman was about to join their hands, the 
lady suddenly fainted. On recovering, she said 
she had seen tile spirit of her lover, who had for¬ 
bidden the marriage. Out of deference to the 
deceased gentleman, the nuptials were indefi¬ 
nitely postponed, and the heroine has just entered 
a convent. 
At the Queen’s Court, held last month, her 
Majesty wore a black silk dress, with train trim¬ 
med with crape und jet; a Mary Queen of Scots 
cap. with long veil, the cap ornamented w T Ith 
d lamonds. She also wore a necklace of diamonds, 
and a brooch composed of a large sapphire set in 
diamonds, t he Riband and the Stflr of the Order 
of the garter, the Victoria and Albert Order, and 
the Order of Louise of Prussia. 
In a little labteau performance at Winstead, 
Connecticut, lately, where a young man was to 
hold himself and lips in marble repose, within 
kissing distance of u maiden’s plump and dimpled 
hand, the 6camp so far fargot himself and the 
audience that he fell to kissing it in unafected 
earnestness. The audience aplauded; hut there 
was a different expression behind the scenes 
shortly after. 
Advektising for a Husband.— Among the 
many odd customs which distinguish the Chinese 
of Java is one that, would Btartle the young 
ladies of America. Beneath the windows of their 
houses is often to he seen an empty flower pot, 
“lying horizontally on the portico roof.” Its 
position cannot be accidental, because it is seen 
in bo many eases. Nor can it be looked upon as 
a religious symbol, for then there would probably 
he one on each house. It is nothing more nor 
less thau a matrimonial advertisement, the plain 
English of which is: “ A youDg lady Is in the 
1 house. Husband wanted I” 
Written for Moore'? Rural New-Yorker. 
BUGS. 
BY MRS. OliEN a. NEWTS. 
Bogs! Bugs! Bags! 
Hum -bugs everywhere: 
Creeping on the ground — 
Flying In the air. 
Insects in the garden. 
Insects in the house. 
“ What's eating up my rose leaves?— 
A horrible plant lonse.” 
Sit down to write at evening— 
Beetles buzz about your care. 
Draw curtains close as may be— 
Hark! Musqnitoes hamming near! 
Potato bugs are rampant— 
Grasshoppers loudly sing: 
Caterpillars flonish— 
Chinch bugs are on the wing. 
While ladle* talk of Fashions, 
And write on varied things— 
Wiseacre* prate of “ Borers " 
And long green worms with stings. 
Entomology’s a hum Bug- 
Zoology is as bad: 
Ornithology croaks of ravens. 
Geol ogy drives me ma4. 
Dane Co.. Wis., 1866. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
TH0UGHT8 FOR THINKERS-NO. I. 
BT L. SEN EX. 
A Love of Cheerfulness. 
Ik there is any one tbiDg we love to see more 
than another, it is the man, woman, or child who 
has a c.heerful disposition — a happy heart and 
a smiling face. In the society of a cheerful per¬ 
son, wc should always be happy. The blues 
take wing, Borrow departs, and grief is known 
only by name. Who Is there that has not seen 
the effect cheerfulness produces in a family? 
Around the bed of sickness, In the chamber of 
distress, In the hovel of poverty, in the gilded 
palace, in the hour of danger and peril—it Is 
truly more potent than medicine, wealth or 
power — it restores, blesses and saves! Like the 
noon day sun, it enlivens the moral world and 
pours gladness in almost every heart.. Who is 
there that will not strive to possess a cheerful 
disposition?—who, but the wretched miser, the 
miserable time-server, the vinegar-visaged and 
the selfish? “Echo answers, who?” 
The Secret of Bad Luck. 
The secret of bad luck, in onr opinion, lies in 
bad habits or bad management, much more than 
in accidental circumstances. Generally those 
who complain most of Dame Fortune’s frowns, 
arc those who have done the least, to merit her 
smiles. A writer of much experience in the 
world 6ays:—“ I never knew an early-rising, 
hard-working, prudent man, careful of his earn' 
ings, and strictly honest, who complained of 
bad luck. A good character, good habits, and 
iron industry, are impregnable to the assaults of 
all the ill inck that, fools ever dreamt of. But 
when 1 see a tatterdemalion creeping out of a 
tavern late in tho forenoon, with his hands stuck 
in his pockets, the rim of his hat turned np, aud 
the crown knocked in, T know he has had bad 
luck — for the worst of all luck is to be a slug¬ 
gard, a knave, or a tippler.” 
The Hypocrite l’hotoirvaphed. 
We read, years ago, the following pen and ink 
portraiture of the character of a hypocrite, pho¬ 
tographed, from the pen of the venerable Bishop 
Hale, which contains “ more truth than poetry,” 
and will do for careless thinkers to ponder over: 
“ He shows well, and says well, and himself is 
the worst thing he hath. In brief, he- is the 
stranger’s saint, the neighbor’s disease, the blot 
of goodness, a rotten stick in a dark night, the 
poppy in a corn field, an ill-tempered candle with 
a great snuff, that, in going put smells ill; an 
angel abroad, a devil at home; and worse when 
an angel then when a devil.” 
Take a Newspaper. 
Read the following, which is a waif, floating 
upon the sea of literature: then if you want to 
bo a little more ignorant abont this world you 
inhabit, and the doings of your earthly associ¬ 
ates in every part of it, refuse to take a paper: 
“ The obligations we owe to newspapers are in¬ 
calculable; but. they must be understood’ to be 
properly appreciated. The newspaper is tbe 
wonderful collection of facts. Out of these 
facte —collected with Infinite pains, unsparing 
labor, and great discrimination-history is grad¬ 
ually shaped by more patient hands, as the 
statue is slowly wrought by the sculptor from 
the rough block.” 
Will it be Believed. 
Will it be believed a hundred years hence, 
that the Government of Great Britain pays about 
£10.000.000 sterling per annum to keep up men- 
of-war and their appurteuouees, and less than an 
hundredth part the sum towards educating the 
children of the people throughout the nation ? 
while we in the Northern, Middle, Western and 
Eastern States of the Union hare free schools to 
accommodate all classes, who may alike procure 
(the poor as well as the rich,) an education. 
Will it be believed that in England, a laud of 
Bibles, and the most civilized and religious coun¬ 
try in the world, more than half of the laboring 
people conld neither read those nor write their 
own names? 
Will it be bc ieved that the fourteen thousand 
armed, police employed in Ireland received an¬ 
nual salaries of about thirty pounds a year, and 
that the five thousand eight hundred and fifty- 
nine teachers of youth under the Irish National 
Board of Education received an average ealary 
of only fourteen pounds a year ? 
Will it be believed that, all the large towns of 
Great Britain paid more for the conviction and 
confinement of juvenile criminals than they con¬ 
tribute for the education of childern so as to 
prevent their becoming criminals ? 
Will it be believed that this Government has 
bepn robbed of more than enough, by contrac¬ 
tors and shoddyites, for the past four years, than 
to pay a quarter of the National debt — or fur¬ 
nish teachers for the uneducated of England ? 
— No, the reader will say, it cannot be possi¬ 
ble that these things are true. Still, statistical 
facts in the former and common sense in the lat¬ 
ter case, will satisfy the most skeptical of the 
truth or fallacy of the above assertions. Let 
thinkers think, aDd judge for themselves. 
THE SHELL ON THE SHORE. 
We take from an English magazine this beau¬ 
tifully told and instructive Jneldeut; 
“ I bad turned over the pebbles and the damp 
weeds and Bought with naked feet amongst the 
waves for some bright shell or colored stone to 
carry borne, but I could find none. Tired out, I 
sat down on a pile of stones to rest, and to 
watch the waves unroll themselves on the wait¬ 
ing sands. I heeded not the tide, but let it go 
and come without notice. 
" After a longer interval than I dare tell, con¬ 
sidering I was without boots or stockings, and 
my coat damp with the spray of the last tide, I 
woke up from my dreaming and renewed my 
search for a prize, and sure enough there was a 
shell glistening and gleaming, colored like sunlit 
crystal, just dropped from the white Augers of 
some daring wave. I did not hurry to possess 
myself of it, but sat still admiring. It was mine; 
I was sure I could reach it at any moment with 
my stick, and who was near on this lonely beach 
to pick it up ere I could get it ? Splash—splash, 
and up rolled a huge wave, hissing aud hurrying, 
rattling the stones, wetting iny feet—and the 
shell; where Is It? r looked around, I followed 
the receding water; dripping >e:t-grass :lud 
creamy clots of froth only remained to meet me; 
the Bhcll—the beautiful shell w us gone. Old Nep¬ 
tune had altered his mind and got back his pearl. 
“ A little loss this, but utterlug a lofty lesson, 
never to loose an opportunity of taking every 
gift of mercy or usefulness the tide of time may 
bring us; if unused — neglected — the wave that 
brought will soon take it away. 
SKATING-SEASONABLE ADVICE. 
Now that the skating season has commenced, a 
few remarks to the devotees of this fascinating 
winter pleasure may not be out of place. Skat¬ 
ing in itself, when indulged in moderately, is not 
injurious, but, on the contrary, exhilarating and 
highly beneficial, bnt, unfortunately, its fascina¬ 
tions are so great many carry it. to too great an 
extent ; hence, the injurious results are seen 
arising from It. Skaters should know how to 
commence and when to stop. Commence to 
skate at first gently, Increase gradually, but. at 
no time violently. A* soon as beginning to feel 
tired, immediately stop, nature indicating that 
she is being overtasked. Care should also be ob¬ 
served in not sitting on the Ice to pul or take off 
the skates. Then is when cold is taken, or, as is 
frequently the case, by remaining standing in 
one place, after coming off the ice, watching 
others skate. The blood ba-s been heated and 
the pores opened; therefore it is necessary that 
the natural temperature should be gradually re¬ 
sumed. This should be done by keeping in mo¬ 
tion—but easy, not violent motion. As soon as 
through, walk gently away, and if home is not 
too far, walk the whole w ay borne. Under no 
circumstances erase moving, or enter a car or 
stage, until a moderate temperature of the blood 
has been regained. By doing this and not skat¬ 
ing to an excess, not only will the dangerous 
results accruing from skating be avoided, but the 
general health be much benefited, and the exer¬ 
cise, instead of being injurious, as it often is, 
will bejfraught with much good. — .V 7. Lancet. 
- - »» •*--— 
MR. FIELDS ON SOUTHEYS POETRY. 
The London Review says that oue day, at a 
dinner party in that city, a would-be-wit, think¬ 
ing to puzzle Mr. Fields, the American publisher, 
and make sport for the company, announced 
prior to Mr. Fields’ arrival that he had himself 
written some, poetry, aud intended to submit it 
t.o Mr. Fields as Southey’s. At the proper mo¬ 
ment, therefore, after the guests were seated, he 
began:—“ Friend Fields, I have been a good deal 
exercised of late, trying to find out in Southey’s 
poems his well known lines running thus (re¬ 
peating the Hues he had composed.) Can you 
tell us about what time he wrote them ? " “I do 
not remember to have met them before,” replied 
Mr. Fields, “and there were only two periods 
in Southey's life when such lines could possibly 
have been written by him.” “When were 
those?" gleefully asked the witty questioner. 
“Somewhere,” said Mr. Fields, “abont that 
early period of his existence when he was having 
the measles and cutting his first teeth; or near 
t he close of his life when his brain had softened 
and he hud fallen into idiocy. The versification 
belongs to the measles period, but the expres¬ 
sion clearly betrays the idiotic one.” The ques¬ 
tioner smiled faintly, but, the company roared. 
Robert Bern* was once taken to task by a 
young Edinburg blood, with whom he was walk¬ 
ing, for recognizing an honest farmer in the 
open street. “It was not,” said the poet, “the 
great coat, the scone bonnet, and the boot-ho6e 
that I spoke to, but the man that was In them; 
and the man, sir, for true worth, would weigh 
down you and me, and ten more such any day." 
--;- 
The Worth ok Time.— Time is the only gift 
in which God has stinted us ; for he never en¬ 
trusts us with a second moment till he has taken 
away the first, and never leaves us certain of a 
third. — Fenelon. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
SOON WE’LL REST. 
BT BELL Cl.INTON'. 
A little time—and we shall rest, 
From all the ill* i*f Life: 
A little time—and then will cease 
Its joys, its cares, Us strife. 
Each heart's wild throbbing will be still, 
Its restless longings cease: 
Who'll w ep that we are sleeping thu9, 
’Neath the green sod in peaee ? 
O, should there but one loving heart, 
Thus kindly beat for me— 
Refreshing with a silent tear 
The flowers of memory— 
I ll bend me from my home of light, 
If auch to me Is given, , 
And be that spirit's guiding star, 
To bring It up to Heaven. 
Chenango Co., N. Y. 
■Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE HOMELESS. 
Surely I pity them; and well may all pity 
those who arc denied oue of earth’s most valua¬ 
ble treasures — a home. I mean a home lu the 
highest sense of the word, a place rendered sacred 
by remembrauces which claim the brightest place 
in memory. What sadder word than “home¬ 
less” ever comes to our ears? Is It not sug¬ 
gestive of all temptation, of all crime, of all 
misery? Surely we ought to look with charily 
upon all such, even though their lives have been 
those of crime; perhaps if they had, in child¬ 
hood, been blessed with the presence of parents, 
brothers and sisters, and other loving friends, to 
watch over them, they would have been virtuous 
and respectable, filling high places of trust while 
here, and secure for themselves at test an eternal 
Home where “There shall be do night, and they 
need no candle, neither light of the sun; for tho 
Lord GoDgiveth themUght.” TUehomcleBs 1— 
let us reflect. Have wc faithfully discharged our 
duties in regard to them? If we have not, may 
God forgive us, and help us to evermore be 
kinder to the homeless. N. D. Howe. 
- - - ■ ■ — 
LITTLE THINGS. 
Great virtues are rape; the occasions for them 
are very rare; aud when t hey do occur, we arc pre¬ 
pared for them—we are excited by the grandeur 
of the sacrifice, we are supported either by the 
splendor of the deed in the eyes of the world, or 
by the self-complacency that wc experience from 
the performance of an uncommon action. Little 
things are unforeseen; they return every moment; 
they come in contact with our pride, our indo¬ 
lence, our haughtiness, our readiness to take 
offence; they contradict our inclinations perpet¬ 
ually. We would much rather make certain 
great sacrifices to God, however violent and 
poiofUl they might be, upon condition that we 
should be rewarded by liberty to follow our own 
desires and habits in the details of life. It is, 
however, only by fidelity in little thiDgs that a 
true and constant love to God, can be distin¬ 
guished from a passing fever of spirit.— Fenelon. 
■ » « +■ ■ ■ ■ - - 
Little by Little.— Men do not leap the hill 
of Virtue in a moment, nor do they descend into 
the valley of Death or the pit of Vice In au in¬ 
stant. You took up your newspaper this morn¬ 
ing, dear reader. The cruelty you shudder at— 
the wife beating, the desertion, the seduction, 
the murder—think you these have a sudden in¬ 
spiration ? No: they arc the out-come of habits 
of thought and action, of long and steady prep¬ 
aration. You see tho volcanic flame; you did 
not see the smoldering embers. You tec the 
brokeu bridge; you did not see the little madre¬ 
pores eating into the timber. Even in these 
great sins it has been “ here a little aud there a 
little." _ _ 
Teaching by Example.— Example is a living 
lesson. The life speaks. Every action has a 
tongue. Words are but. articulate breath. 
Deeds are but the fae-similes of the soul; they 
proclaim what is within. The child notices the 
life. It should be in harmony with goodness. 
Keen is the vision of youth; every mark is trans¬ 
parent^ If a word is thrown into one balance, a 
deed is thrown into the other. Nothiug is more 
important than that parents should bo consist¬ 
ent. A sincere word is never lost; hut advice, 
counter to example, is always suspected. Both 
cannot be true; one is false. 
Inculcating Peace.— The beauty of a reli¬ 
gious llfo is oue of its greatest recommendations. 
What does it profess? Peace to all mankind. 
It teaches us those arts which will render us 
beloved aud respected, aud which will contribute 
to our present comfort as well as to our future 
happiness. Its greatest ornament is charity; it 
inculcates nothiug bnt love and sympathy of 
affection; it breathes nothing but the purest 
spirit of delight; in short, it is a system perfectly 
calculated to benefit the heart, improve the mind, 
enlighten the understanding. 
Aggression. -Christianity Is essentially ag¬ 
gressive. The man who is a true Christian him¬ 
self, desires to 6ee all other men Christians. To 
this he looks, for this he labors and prays. 
“Thy kingdom come,” is tbe burden of his 
prayer. To speed its coming is his aim, the ob¬ 
ject of his labor and effort It is not in tho 
nature of the case that he should be indifferent 
to tliia object Neutrality in the case is not pos¬ 
sible. Our Saviour himself expressly sajs, “He 
that is not with me is against me." 
Tub truly illustrious are they who do not 
court the praise of the world, but perform the 
actions which deserve it 
