HOW TO WIN LOVE. 
Written for Moore 1 # Rural New-Yorker. 
“POLLY PRELL.” 
BY CLIO STANLEY. 
A merry girl is my Pou.v Piiell, 
Her eye# brimful of laughter, 
She say# rh<* will love me a year and a day, 
And perhaps forever after; 
The silken fringe of her dear blue eye 
Keet* on her cheek like the shadow 
That fall? from the sweet, wee violet 
A-bloe»omlnft In the meadow. 
The wlerd, wild winter birth-night 
Of the year is sadly going; 
And the wierd and wilder winter-wind 
Adown the glen Is blowing; 
Yet mid the snow and mid the storm 
I hear the robins singing, 
And 1 are tbc blooming apple bough 
In the summer sunshine swinging; 
Last year I walked in the meadow there 
Through crimson, scented Clover, 
Wishing tbc day with its love and ite light 
Might never, ah, never be over; 
For Polly J’rei.l, little Pollt Prell 
Close by my side was walking; 
I know not what the maiden thought, 
For there was little talking; 
Little talk, yet a memory sweet 
About my heart is clinging. 
Again I see the clover-blooms 
In the sunny daylight springing; 
I listen Once more to the whispered words 
Syllabled with (sweet laughter, 
As she said “ I'll love you a year and a day 
And perhaps—forever after." 
“ Forever after I" Ah, Pollt Prkll, 
Do you know the golden meaning 
Hid in the breath o those, little words 
You epoke, on my strong arm leaning ? 
Know you they reach past the meadow-land 
Where the flowers of life are blooming, 
Past the sunshine and past the storm, 
On to the twilight gloaming J 
On to tin night where moon nor star 
Lighteth the solemn river, 
Where you and I, dear Polly Prell, 
Must cross ere It he forever; 
There, where the air blows softer far 
Than sweeteet eouth-wiml flying. 
We'll love forever, nor think it long, 
Where there comes no dream of dying. 
Philadelphia, Pa. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WIVES AND MOTHERS. 
HY M. D. LINCOLN. 
It is no new subject I've selected; nor have I 
any thing especially new to say to the w ives and ! 
mothers who may chance to read the Rural, 
yet the theme is certainly a worthy one. 
Not long since I chanced to call on a friend, 
and let rne give you a description of what I saw 
there. It was Monday and three o’clock In the 
afternoon. There stood the pounding barrel 
and wash tub nearly filled with unwashed gar¬ 
ments, the dinner table untouched since the 
family dined, and as I sat down in came a group 
of cold, tired children. The mother, who before 
looked sad, now looked mortified and discour¬ 
aged. She attempted an apology, saying her 
three children, the oldest five and youngest two, 
four hired men and husband, took all her time, 
and bo this day, of all others the busiest, she 
was very late with her work. Poor woman, my 
heart ached for her! Three children, four hired 
men, herself and husband, and no one to save 
her,one step! No wonder she looked sad and 
weary and moved so languidly about. 
This is but one case out of a thousand similar. 
How many wives and mothers work like this all 
their lives, (and they are generally brief ones,) 
toiling without one week of rest, without any 
freedom from care, any respite from work;—no 
chance to rend, no time to think of anything 
save her work, and as the motlier looks about 
Bhe exclaims—“ What shall I do ? there’s Fanny 
without one whole apron; Charlie without 
socks, and Ned nearly costless, and |I can’t get 
a moment to sew.” So many mouths to cook 
for, three meals a day. dishes to wash, —wash¬ 
ing, ironing, churning, baking, mending, making 
—and O, so many thing# that housekeepers have 
to do to get along. It’s wrong, all wrong, this 
wearing out the body while the soul mu6t go 
uncared for, unnurtured by reading and study, 
undisciplined by meditation, with hardly a mo¬ 
ment to instruct the little ones whose minds are 
aspiring and grasping for food, and then per¬ 
chance, just as they most need a mother's tender 
love, and counsel, she lies down too weary to 
rise again, and they have no mother. 
Ah, mothers, think of this as you toil, and re¬ 
member that to your children you arc an inesti¬ 
mable blessing and they need you. The wide 
world cannot supply a mother’s place; it can 
give no love so lasting, so true, as that of a faith¬ 
ful mother. If you r husband says he cannot get 
along without three or four men, tell him you 
must at least have one servant to assist you. If 
he says It's too expensive, tell him so is it expen¬ 
sive to hire men, and with just one-fourth of 
what it costs to hire one man a month, yon can 
get a good girl to assist you that time. But Just 
such men there arc, who think their wives never 
work hard. Oh, no, nothing to do but cook a 
little and wash a few dishes! Such men should 
take their wives places ouc week and be obliged 
to do every thing that has to be done, and I think 
It would quite cure them —at least I think they 
might learn to fetch the wood and water, and 
clean tbo mud from their boots on coming in, 
I am glad all men are not like this; I hope 
only a small number are; but when I look about 
and sec so many wires and mothers who are but 
slaves to their husbands and children I question 
the cause, I cannot believe Gon designed either 
man or woman to labor so incessantly as many 
do. surely at the last will He not require the 
talent He commited to us, with usury ? And if 
in haste to accumulate worldly goods we have 
neglected to feed and nourisli the soul, what 
(•hall it profit US? 
Wives and mothers, should you not rather 
give your minds more exercise, and your hearts 
more culture, that you might better influence 
and guide your children ? 
Canandaigua, N. Y., IMS. 
THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS. 
Female education, to be appropriate, must be 
adapted not only to the distinctive nature of the 
box, but to the particular organization of the 
individual. Tbi# bears upon an evil which of 
necessity is inherent in every large seminary, 
and w hich at best can only be partially obviated. 
Carlyle, in his life of Schiller, referring to his 
six years in a Stuttgart school, says:— u The 
system of education seems to have been formed 
on the principles not of cherishing and correct¬ 
ing nature, but of rooting it out and supplying 
its place with something better. The process 
of teaching and living was conducted with the 
stiff formality’ of military drilling. Everything 
went as by Htatutc and ordinance; there was no 
scope for the exercise of free will, no allowance 
for the varieties of original structure. A scholar 
might possess what instinct or capacity he pleas¬ 
ed, the “regulation# of the school’’ took no 
account of this. He mnst fit himself into the 
common mould, which like the old giant’s bed, 
stood there, appointed by superior authority to 
be filled alike by the great and the little. * * 
The pupils were kept apart from the conversa¬ 
tion or sight of any person but tholr teachers. 
None ever got beyond the precincts of despot¬ 
ism to snatch even a fearful Joy. Their very 
amusements proceeded by word of command.” 
What is so forcibly said here of the Stuttgart 
school must appertain more or less to every 
large Bchool, because in every large establish¬ 
ment of whatsoever kind, strict method and 
rigid system are necessary to order. If you 
subject two plastic natures to exactly the same 
process, one at least must suffer, because no 
two natures are exactly alike. If yon do this 
upon two hundred, so much wider the mischief. 
This treatment must especially injure the femi¬ 
nine organization, because it is the most deli¬ 
cate and sensitive. God, with his Infinite re¬ 
source?, always creates with variety, He ha# 
made no two grains of sand alike, far less two 
human bcingB. He has varied the clem cuts of 
humauity in almost Infinite combinations. It 1.-. 
the sacred office of education to develop ft sym¬ 
metrical healthful fullness of being after the par¬ 
ticular type God has indicated for each individ¬ 
ual. A true training should no more destroy 
variety among women, than a true cultivation 
destroys variety among flowers. There Is as 
much diversity among the flowers as among the 
weeds; and so there ought to be as much diver¬ 
sity among the good as among the bad. It is 
true that there arc certain qualities which lire 
indispensable to every good character, as petals 
are to flowers. But it Is not the mere presence 
or the mere number of the petals that gives the 
charm to the flower. It is the native coloring 
and the native fragrance. As these differ not 
only in degree but in kind, so character differs 
In all Us finer essences and Issues, Education 
must heed this. It must work with nature. If 
it will deal gently by her, and not thrust her 
aside, or crush her dowu, she wUl lend all her 
best influences to its work, and manifest herself 
most distinctly and graciously in the result. If 
It be truly wise and benign and patient, 6be will 
indeed let it turn and train even the evil roots 
she has fixed in t he very core of the being, so 
that they shall grow up not into briers, but into 
roses. Collective, or to use a more expressive 
epithet, wholesale education, the only kind board¬ 
ing schools can furnish, excludes almost entirely 
this individual training ; and to that one cause 
is greatly ow ing the painful lack of spontanicty 
and the artificial uniformity that mark all the 
higher circles of American society. This effect 
must continue until the large boarding-school 
system gives way to small private schools, or to 
the employment of thoroughly qualified family 
governesses, or, far better yet, the teaching and 
training of daughters, Cornelia fashion by Cor¬ 
nelia mothers. There was a W’orld of practical 
wisdom in that injunction 1 of Napoleon to Mad¬ 
ame Cainpan:—"Be it your care to train up 
mothers who shall know how to educate their 
children.” Had it been generally followed, 
France would have been 6aved.— Hours at Home. 
Beautiful Extract.— When the summer of 
our youth is slowly wasting into the nightfall of 
age, and the shadows of the past grow deeper, 
a# if life were on its close, it is pleasant to look 
back through the vista of Time upon the sorrows 
and felicities of years. If we have a home to 
shelter us, and friends have been gathered by our 
firesides, then the rough places of warfaring will 
be worn and smoothed away in the twilight of 
life, while the sunny spots we have passed thro’ 
will grow brighter and more beautiful. Happy, 
indeed, are those whose intercourse with the 
world has not changed the tone of their holier 
feelings._ _ 
The Men to Maury.—T he man who don’t 
take tea, ill-treats the cat, takes snuff, asd stands 
with his back to the fire, is a brute whom I 
would not advise you to marry on any consider¬ 
ation, either for love or money, but decidedly 
not for love. But the man who, when tea is 
over, is discovered to have had none, will be 
very sure to make the best husband. Patience 
like this deserves to be rewarded with the best 
of motbcre-in-law. My dears, when you meet 
with such a man, do your best to marry him. In 
the severest winter he w r ould not mind going to 
bed first.— Punch. 
A good housewife’s affairs are like a motion 
to adjourn — always in order. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
EVENING THOUGHTS. 
Full sweetly to ray spirit's listening ear 
Comes the sad melody of other hours; 
Light struggling through the gloom of vanished years 
Gleams faintly now and finds my soul in tears, 
She 1 o'er dead hope# reposing on their biers,— 
And in the air the scent of withered flowers. 
The voices of the loved and long departed 
Sound softly a» they did in days of yore— 
The voices of the loved 1 the gentle hearted ! 
How oft I’ve heard them, and alone, have started. 
Ere through ray mind the painful thonght has darted, 
They have forever passed from out the door. 
Oh I who shall say that In the soul's deep pining 
For sweet communion with the passed awny, 
It leaps not through the bonds of earthly twiniDg, 
And soars where, through the mist cloud's silvery 
lining, 
Dear forms,.with garments white 'neath the sun's 
shining, 
Bend quick to meet it from their home of day. 
Yes, It is so! for oft at hush of even 
I hear “soft, whispering sounds” in the still air. 
And then I know that visitants from heaven 
Have come to me, and to my soul have given, 
That for which here it long hath vainly striven; 
Rest from this weary world's unresting care. 
Madison, Ohio, E. B. A. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THOUGHTS AND SIMILES. 
As I sat by the window one day watching the 
snow as It fell softly, silently down to earth, I 
thought how emblematic it was of the human 
race. When we enter this world of trials and 
temptations, we are like the falling snow-flake, 
free from all taint—pure and unspotted with sins 
of the world. That we should remain in this 
state of innoceucy, is not to be expected from 
poor, frail mortality, — but that it may In a 
measure be preserved, depends upon the influ¬ 
ences by which we are surrounded. How like 
are the snow-flake# which fall on the mire, for a 
moment preserving their brightness, then ming¬ 
ling with the neighboring filth, to those whom 
fortune cause to be born in the haunts of vice, 
where each pure, good principle, which the in¬ 
fant mind might possess is crushed, and those 
who might be ornaments to society are bat its 
offscourings. 
And those flakes which fall on the rolling 
stream, reetiug for a moment on its dark sur¬ 
face, then disappearing forever, arc they not like 
those who enter the world, but seeming to find 
it too hollow and selfish for their warm, bright 
spirits, Boon fade, Joining "dust to dust?” 
Those which fall far and near, over fields and 
forests, each, although unnoticed, doing good, 
by covering deep and warm each plant, and 
flower—root, and tender shrub; softening their 
path back to life in the spring, may be likened 
to those who, all over the world, are busied 
either with hands or minds removing the ob¬ 
stacles which trouble themselves, and reuderlng 
the paths of future generations smoother and 
their lives more easy. And should we not be 
grateful to those who went before us, and left a 
lasting trace of their presence, in the many new 
inventions which now cause our land to be so 
happy and prosperous, and also to try to cause 
posterity to bless our names as we do theirs. . 
Elgin Co., Canada West, 1806. L, C, C. 
- .*>«■» . ... 
For Movie’s Rural New-Yorker. 
PRIZE A FAITHFUL FRIEND. 
Above all things we should prize a tried 
and faithful friend—one who will not for a right 
hand reveal the secrets you have reposed in him 
—who does not prize him ? There is nothing, 
to our mind, so base as to betray the confidence 
that has been reposed In you. If a word is 
spoken to you — a word you know is for your 
boBom alone—do not for the world whisper it 
aloud. If a letter, or a note, is placed in your 
hands for another, let It be delivered promptly, 
and not retained or shown to those whom it 
might rex or displease. No matter what the 
secret is, that love, or kindness, or good will has 
placed in your keeping, there let it remain, 
hallowed and secure. 
A faithful, true hearted friend is a prize in¬ 
deed. To possess such a friend you feel that 
there is one ark of safety for a secret thought- 
one source of consolation for the depressed and 
stricken spirit. You can unbosom your griefs, 
and have them in & measure alleviated. Stick 
to such a friend In any and every emergency. 
Let nothing tempt you to desert him. The voice 
of slander and the tongue of detraction should 
be raised in vain, while to you he proved a true¬ 
hearted, honest friend,—for such are " few aud 
far between”—one which we should cherish 
above all things. It is needless to say that such 
a friend should he treated with all due kindness, 
on your part, and do by him as you would wish 
to be done by. Senkx. 
Follow the Rigut.—No matter who you 
are, what yoar lot, or where you live, you can¬ 
not afford to do that which is wrong. The only 
way to happiness and pleasure for yourself is to 
do the right thing. You may not always hit the 
mark, but you should always aim for it, aud with 
every trial your skill increases. Wbother yon 
are to be praised or blamed for it by others; 
whether it will seemingly make you richer or 
poorer, or whether no other person than your¬ 
self know of your action, still always, and in all 
cases, do the right. 
- t * ~ ~ 
Indecision.— Prodigality itself is not a more 
certain road to poverty than the indulgence of a 
timid and irresolute disposition. Oh! indolence 
and indecision of mind, if not in yourselves 
vices, to how much exquisite misery do you not 
frequently prepare the way for the children of 
men? 
If you wish to be woman’s love, her hero, her 
delight, her utter rest and ultimatum, yon must 
attune your soul to fine issues—you must bring 
out the angel in yon. and keep the brute under. 
It is not that, you shall stop making shoes, and 
begin to write. No, str. You may make shoes, 
run engines, you may carry coals; you may blow 
the huntsman’s horn, hurl the base ball, follow the 
plow, smite the anvil; your face might be brown, 
your veins knotted, your hands grimed, and yet 
you may be a hero. And, on the other hand, 
you may write verses and be a clown. It is not 
necessary to feed on ambrosia in order to be¬ 
come divine; nor shall one be accursed though 
he drink of the nine-fold Styx. The Israelites 
ate angel’s food in the wilderness, and remained 
stiff-necked and uncircumcised in hearts and in 
ears. The white water lily feeds on slime and 
unfolds heavenly glory. Come as the June 
morning comes. It has not picked ite way dain¬ 
tily, passing only among roses. It has blown 
through the field, and the barn yard, and all the 
common places of the land. It has Bhrunk from 
nothing. Its purity has breasted aud over-borne 
all things, and so harmonized all that sweeps 
around your forehead, and sinks into your heart 
as soft and sweet as the frngrancy of Paradise. 
So c*me you, rough from the world’s rough 
work, with all out door airs blowing around you, 
but with a fine inward grace so strong, so sweet, 
so salubrious, that it meets and masters all 
thiDgs, blending every faintest or foulest odor of 
earthliness into the graceful incense of a pure 
and lofty life. 
THE EMOTIONAL vs. THE INTELLECTUAL 
SENSE OF BEAUTY. 
He who fells beauty, but cannot Intellectually 
recongnize it, is ever dependent for this most 
joyous of emotions upon the venial freshness of 
the senses; aud as these grow dull, as youth 
flit# past, the emotion of the beautiful gradually 
become# as a thing unknown. It Is only through 
feeling that aesthetic emotion can touch such a 
one; and how soon, alaB! does this medium be¬ 
tween man and nature, between the soul and 
external things, grow sluggish and torbid! But 
to him who has learned to know as well as to 
feel,— whose soul is one clear sky of intelli¬ 
gence,— the case is far otherwise. Intellect 
brightens as the senses grow dull; and though 
the sensuous imagination pass into the yellow 
leaf, as the autumn of life draws on, still will 
the beautiful, having secured for itself a retreat 
in the intellect, naturally pass into immortality 
with it. An old man, with closed eyes and flow 
ing hair, would again, a# In the day’s of ancient 
Greece, form the ideal of a poet; and the taste 
of the age of Pericles, enlightened by modern 
philosophy, and purified by Christianity, might 
again return.— Jiuskin. 
SAYINGS OF EMINENT MEN. 
The first principle and source of all good 
writing is to think justly.— Horace. 
Evert man complains of his memory, but no 
man complains of his judgment— JtochefoucauUi. 
If men were perfectly contented, there would 
be no longer any activity in the world.— Holbach. 
Those who have once tasted the pleasures of 
roaming at large through woods and mountains, 
can never again be happy uuder the restraint# of 
society. — Lardner. 
Great men taken up in any way, are profitable 
company.— Carlyle. 
Man is older than nations, and he is to sur¬ 
round nations.— Charming, 
Nations should wear mourning for none but 
their benefactors. The representatives of nations 
should recommend to public homage only those 
who have been the heroes of humanity.—Afira- 
bet rw, 
No man is nobler bora than another, unless 
he is born with better abilities, and a more amia¬ 
ble disposition.— Seneca. 
We do not know absolutely what is good or 
bad fortune.— EcMtau. 
Nature never says one thing, and wisdom an¬ 
other.— Hoeseau. 
It is most certain that passions always covet 
and desire that which experience forsakes.— 
Francis Bacon.. , 
Tub absent party is always faulty. — Poverbs. 
If you speak what you think, you shall hear 
what you dislike.— Mair. 
Sudden movements of the mind often break 
out either from great good or great evil. — Homer . 
Bear and blame not what you cannot change. 
—PjbliHs Syrus. 
ANOMALIES OF LITERARY HISTORY. 
One of the Anomalies of Literary History, 
is, that it has often been the lot of those men who 
have contributed largely to the mirth or recrea¬ 
tion of others to endure more than an ordi¬ 
nary share oi misery and want in their own 
lives. The most entertaining portions of litera¬ 
ture have been written by men whose hearts 
have been bowed down by sorrow, and at mo¬ 
ments when that sorrow ha# been heaviest. It 
was In the gloom of a mother’s death, deepened 
by his own poverty, that Johnson penued ibe 
charming tale of “ Rasselasit was the chill 
desolation of a bare and fireless garret that poor 
Goldsmith, the beloved vagabond of literature, 
sketched the highest picture of domestic hap¬ 
piness the world ever had; it was from a sick 
bed, in sore distress, and iu a necessitous exile, 
that Tom Hood shook all England With laugh¬ 
ter. The enchantment of Scott, the satire of 
Jerrold, half the gems of English wit and humor, 
have been thrown out by genius In its most sor¬ 
rowful moments .—Dublin C/Uversity Magazine, 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
PASSING ALONG. 
Old Time is steadily, constantly bearing 
Each living creature on earth along— 
The “Thread of Life” Is gradually wearing, 
Till breaking we drop from amid the throng. 
And like a leaf that falls in the forest. 
Which is slowly, mournfully wafted down, 
It causes a rustle 'mongst those that are nearest, 
Then silent, unnoticed remains on the ground. 
So as we pass away from Life's mighty current, 
We cause a slight ripple midst those that arc dear— 
To weep and bewail us they pause for a moment, 
But soon they forget that we ever were here. 
Even those whom we counted among this life’s treas¬ 
ures 
Only mourn onr departure a few months gone— 
Till they turn to their friends and resume their old 
pleasures, 
And ’orgetting our name, pass cheerfully on. 
l. c. c. 
Written for Moore*# Rural New-Yorker. 
HAPPINESS-HOW ATTAINED. 
In this busy world of strife, thero stands far 
above all others a goal which man vainly strives 
to reach. Press forward with an eye to fame 
only, plunge madly into the vortex of dissipa¬ 
tion, or watch nightly beside heaps of gold that 
well might gladden the most miserly spirit, and 
all will be In vain. Still as far beyond his reach 
happiness will taunt him with visions of supreme 
blessedness, of which he may not partake. 
Though ever doomed to disappointments, man 
still vainly seeks for happiness, but where will 
he find it? 
Ask the miser who hoards bis gold as if in it 
were life. If it brings happiness. His restless 
eye and wretched countenance plainly tell you 
that here Is no Joy. And he whom the world 
calls wealthy, who revel# in lmll# of pleasure, 
and to whom every scene of luxury is but a repe¬ 
tition of every-day life—a#k him if in all this he 
finds the pearl of price, and with a bitter smile 
he wearily turns for a moment from the empty 
mirth, to tell you that this i# not happiness. 
And the gifted few, who stand highest in the 
niche of fame, pant for rest from all the anxious 
care# and wild loDgings that have characterized 
their live#. 
How strange it seems that we should thus 
blindly search for happiness, while tons is given 
so noble an example. The beasts of the field, 
and birds of the air, proclaim in every action 
that unalloyed joy is theirs. But man, though 
endowed with every noble faculty, still sighs for 
that balm In which the Bplrit can alone find 
relief. Reflection and our own experience tell 
us that, as the oak sinks deep into the earth for 
Bnpport, #o must the germ Truth reach far 
down into the heart, if we would have everlast¬ 
ing peace. 
We are told that if we are faithful followers 
of Christ, happiness and eternal life will surely 
be our reward; and he who would win the 
crown, must not weary in well doing. n. 
Otm Long Suffering Friend.— How shall 
our Divine Shepherd, who followed after His 
lost sheep for three and thirty years with loud 
and bitter cries through tkat painful and thorny 
way, wherein He spilt Hi# heart’s blood and laid 
down His life,—how shall lie refuse to turn His 
quickened glauoe upon the poor sheep which 
now follow Him with a desjre, though some¬ 
times faint and feeble, to obey Him? If He 
ceased not to search most diligently for the deaf 
sinner, (the lost piece of money of the gospel,) 
till He found him, can He abandon one, who, 
like a lost sheep, cries and calls piteously upon 
his Shepherd ? II the Lord knocks continually 
at the heart of man, dealring to enter in and sup 
there, to communicate to it His giftB, who can 
believe that when the heart opens and invites 
Him to enter, He will turn a deaf ear to the in¬ 
vitation, and refuse to come in ? 
The Way to the Crown. — We must taste 
the gall if we arc to taste the glory. If justified 
by frith, we most suffer tribulation. When 
God save# a soul he trie# it. Some believers are 
much surprised when they are called to suffer. 
They thought they would do some great thing 
for God; but all he permit# them to do is to 
suffer for his sake. Go round to every one in 
gloiy; each has a different story to tell, yet every 
one a tale of suffering#. But mark, all were 
brought out of them. It was a dark cloud but 
it passed away. The water was deep but they 
reached the other side. Not one there blames 
God for the way He led them thither, “ Salva¬ 
tion !” is their only cry. Child of God mur¬ 
mur not at your lot. You mnst have a palm as 
well as a white robe. Learn to glory in tribula¬ 
tions also. 
Charity.— Let my lips be sealed with Charity, 
that they may open only for the good of my 
neighbor. Let my eyes be veiled with Charity, 
that they may rest npon good, and that wicked¬ 
ness may be shut from my sight Let Charity 
close my ears to all unkind and malicious blander. 
Let Charity keep my hands busy with profitable 
work, aud my feet turned in the path toward 
those whom God hath given rne power to benefit. 
May Charity keep my heart from secret sin, from 
evil imaginings, from the tempt ing whispers of 
theevH one. So that shuttiug every door against 
uncharitableness, my &oul may be made strong 
in tlie love to the Father and to all men. 
Truth.—T heheaviest fetter that everweighed 
down the limbs of a captive, is as the web of the 
gossamer, compared with the pledge of a men 
of honor. The wail of stone aud the bar of iron 
may be broken, but the plighted word never. 
f I 
I 
! 
