MOORS’S RURAL MW-YORKRR. 
AY i 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
EDDIE GONE HOME. 
BT GRACE VEENET. 
One more mother's heart made desolate, 
One more treasure taken from its shrine, 
No blue eyes and sunny tresses now 
Softly nestling closely onto mine. 
One more drawer where little fpirxnents lie, 
Dfi rea, sat juts and apron* folded neat, 
Some broken toys, a pair of Uny shoes, 
Still with the impress of the clmbby feet. 
One more father’s heart, is aching now 
Where, treasured Jay his greatest joy, 
But the spot is UUed with memories 
Sacred to his lorcd. hie angel boy. 
No small arms go dinglag rooDd his neck, 
No sweet Innghtar greets him at the door, 
And he haw* no more the little feet 
Swiftly pattering round about the floor. 
Ooe more homo U fall of quietness, 
Where sweet baby music now we mies: 
Tw<> sad hoarte uro mutely longing for 
having baby ban da, and baby kiss. 
One more mansion in the courts of Heaven, 
One more harp attaued to perfect song— 
One less angel on this weary earth, 
One more added to the angel throng. 
South t'edbtan, Mass. 
— --.. .. 
GEOWING OLD. 
BT MRS. W. H. BURLEIGH. 
Are we really older than we were twenty 
years ago ? No doubt the world thinks bo ; and 
our looking-glasses, it may be, would tell the 
same story. Hut the world knows almost noth¬ 
ing about us, and what a mere surface affair Is 
the verdict Of a looking-gl&sa. I maintain that 
I am younger than I was then. I find my life 
more enjoyable, the world more beautiful, men 
more noble, women more loveable, and little 
children incomparably more attractive. I am 
not conscious of having undergone that fossill- 
zation of the heart which is the essence of old 
old age. I have not learned to be suspicious, or 
mfberly, or ashamed of enthusiasm. 
In this world of care and friction and material 
needs, there is groat danger of becoming indu¬ 
rated to the very bone, or of being converted 
into some sort of a machine—a business machine, 
or a housekeeping machine, or a shopping and 
visiting machine. It Is only to let go of one’s 
self, yield to the pressure, and the thing is done. 
We have got into a rut, and may trundle on day 
after day, growing more and more mechanical, 
and less and less human, while time writes the 
obituary of our youth on the parchment of our 
laces, aud our own consciousness echoes the 
verdict of our looklug-glasses—“ growing old." 
But here Is the remedy: Meet the pressure 
from without with a stronger force from within. 
The fountain of youth dwells in every human 
heart, and it is our own fault If we allow it to 
be choked or dried up. To be young is to be 
plastic, Impressionable, alive to all beauty, ’ re¬ 
sponsive to all demaud for sympathy, capable of 
growth in all directions, and of faith that is 
ready to undertake and achieve the apparently 
Impossible. 
And this plasticity, this outflow of Joyous 
life, this faith that believes, and attempts, and 
performs all these, must come from a child like 
trust in God, and a settled conviction that any 
circumstances are of His providing, and the 
best that His inlinitc love can devise. lie iB 
immortal youth; and, as our life U perpetually 
derived from Him, why Bhould we not share 
that youth and be glad in it ? Let us accept 
what is given, doing our best now, and here 
leaving all burdens of the past, and all anxieties 
of the fnture to His disposal. 
“ Give us, dear Lord, the true tins;, child-like spirit, 
That makes ua thankful to be led by thee; 
Thy joy, in giving, let our souls Inherit, 
Our Unite mirror thine infinity." 
DEESS IN PABIS A — CURIOUS EE ACTION. 
A curious reaction has commenced in Paris 
: life. While the ladies of the higher walks of 
society have been copying the costume and man¬ 
ners of the liomus of the demi-monde , the latter 
have come to a sudden determination to adopt 
the severe proprieties of dress and demeanor 
which were formerly the characteristic of the 
sphere from which they are excluded; and thus, 
while a good deal of free-and-easy “fatness'’ in 
dress and conversation scandalized people of 
“the old school” at the last magnificent balls 
of the defunct carnival, the concluding enter¬ 
tainments given by the queens of the other 
world were marked by sobriety of dress aud de¬ 
portment worthy of the most strait laced circles 
of “ the aristocratic Faubourg.” • Will the fine 
ladies of fashionable life follow their unrecog¬ 
nized 6istcre in this new phase of their rivalry ? 
The present extravagance of dress is so ruinous, 
60 fatiguing, and so wantlDg in that essential of 
good taste, propriety, that a return to simpler 
fashions is much to be desired. The great man¬ 
ufactures ot feminine vanities are partly to 
blame for tbe system of cumbersome display 
now in vogue; for they pay heavy Bums to the 
dressmakers in order to secure their influence 
In keeping it up. But these gentry hare just 
received a check in a quarter from which they 
little expected such a rebuff; for a deputation 
of the principal silk weavers of Lyons, having 
obtained, a few days ago, an andience of the 
Empress, in order to solicit her patronage for 
some brocaded silks, imitations of those worn 
at court in the reJsrns of Louis XIV. and XV.,— 
wonderfully rich and horribly costly,—her Ma¬ 
jesty replied, with one of her pleasant smiles, 
“I am sorry that 1 cannot accede to your re¬ 
quest ; but many of the ladies who visit ub would 
find it impossible to provide themselves with 
1 dresses so costly. There are many husbands 
who really could not afford to pay such a price 
for their wives’ dresses, my own umong the 
number.” On hearing which expression of opin¬ 
ion, the deputation opened its eyes rather widely 
and withdrew, equally charmed with the Em¬ 
press’ manner, and disappointed at her decision, i 
ftoltettg. 
MAKE HOME BEIGHT AND PLEASANT. 
More than building show? mansion, 
More than drees and fine array, 
More than domes or lohj-cteeplee, 
More than station, power and sway, 
Make your home both neat and taetefal, 
Bright and pleasant, always fair, 
Where each heart shall rest content ed, 
Great for each beauty there. 
More than lofty swelling tides, 
More than fashion's luring glare, 
More than Mammon's gilded honors, 
More than thoughts can well compare — 
Bee that home is made attraotive 
By surroundings pure and bright: 
Trees arranged with taste and order, 
Flowers with all their eweet delight. 
Seek to make your homes most lovely. 
Let it be a smiling spot, 
Where, in sweet contentment, resting. 
Care and sorrow are forgot; 
Where the flowers and trees are waving, 
Birds will sing their sweetest songs, 
Where the purest thoughts will linger, 
Confidence and tore belongs. 
There each heart will rest contented, 
Seldom wishing far to roam; 
Or, if roaming, etill we cherish 
Memories of that pleasant home. 
Such a home make* man iha better — 
Pare and lasting it# control; 
Home, with pure and bright surroundings, 
Leaves its Impress on the bouI, 
Written for Moore’s Kara] New-Yorker. 
SUMMER RESOETS-CATSKILL MOUNTAINS. 
EFFEMINATE MASCULINES. 
Will none of the strong-minded females who 
wield the flail of woman’s rights, oblige u$ by 
letting the heavy ends of their weapons fall on 
the heads of our friends Messieurs Primrose 
Simper and Augustus De Mowbray Chcakc—two 
type-men of a class who are in the habit of poach¬ 
ing on woman’s vested rights ? Our two un¬ 
fortunate friends have conceived a passion for 
imitating, and, of course, burlesquing the gen¬ 
tler sex—their voices being modulated down to 
the feminine whinno, their pantaloons being 
padded out to rival feminine hoops, their hands 
displaying the jeweled whiteness and weakness 
of feminine fingers, and their pomaded ringlets 
being parted in the center of the forehead, just 
as the curls of our own Sylvia are divided over 
her marmoreal brow in the pcarl-BCt miniature 
which is the secret beneath our vest. That 
Cheako and Simper should seek to put away 
from themselves any embarrassing traces of 
manhood, during the period of the draft for 
ablebodied men during tbe war, was their un¬ 
doubted right, providod they duly paid the 
tailor, barber, posture-master, cosmetician and 
the other artists employed in the trivial meta¬ 
morphosis ; but that they should invade woman’s 
direct prerogative of parting her ringlets in the 
middle, is something we arc not prepared to 
stand. There are laws punishing severely the 
public appearance of men in female, costume, 
except on the stage, or as guests at a fancy hall. 
Will not some of our chivalrous law-makers at 
Albany propose an amendment to these penal 
statutes, making it au offence punishable with 
the egg-feature of the anciont pillory, for any 
creature, not entitled by sex, to be seen abroad 
in public places with hair parted in the middle 
after the female fashion ?— 2F, Y. Vitisen. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MEMORY. 
There is a shady vale to which all may turn 
when the mind is weary with the present and 
the future looks durk and gloomy. It is the 
garden ol’ Memory; in it dwell hopes and forms 
and scenes of long ago. How silent communion 
in this blessed retreat strengthens and refreshes 
us! The pearly stream of happiness ripples 
along between shady banks, lined with trees that 
are laden with the fruits of duty and content¬ 
ment. The refreshing, breeze of remembrance 
cools our burning brow. At our bidding there 
come thronging before us loved forms, and 
bright thoughts arise that leave us happier and 
better for the influence they bring. 
Clearest and most welcome among all the 
voices of loved ones there comes a mother’s 
gentle tones. Oh, how we ldre to recall each 
accent. How the remembrance of the simplest 
Speaking Cross. —You gain nothing by a 
harsh word. What if that boy broke the pitcher, 
or put his elbow through the glass; do you 
mend either by applying harsh epithets to him ? 
Does it make him more careful in future ? Does 
he love yon better? Hark, be is murmuring. 
What says the boy? “I am glad of it; I don’t 
care how much I break.” He talks thus to be 
even with his master. It is very wrong in him, 
we know, but it is human nature, and the exam¬ 
ple has been set belore him by yon. Say to the 
careless hoy, “I am sorry; you must be more 
careful in future,” and what will be his reply? 
“It was au accident, and I will be more careful,” 
He will never break another pitcher or glass if 
he can help it, and he will respect and love you 
a thousand times more than when you flew into 
a rage and swore vengeance on his head. Re¬ 
member this, ye who get angry aud rave at a 
trifle. 
A Lady’s Club.— There being a great fancy 
just now for clubs in Paris, the wags are declar- 
Among tbe popular places of resort, during 
the warm season, are tbe Cutsklll Mountains. 
The views from the Mountain House, and its 
vicinity, are reputed to be very fine; the air 
bracing and salubrious, and the accommoda¬ 
tions for a sojourner all that, can be reasonably 
desired. A correspondent sends us a sketch of 
a Journey be made to the place last autumn, the 
substance of which we give. 
Starting from the village of Catskill, the party 
proceeded westerly over creeks, up hills, along 
level stretches of road, down hill again and so 
on, for a dozen tulles, when the base of a wooded 
hill was reached, and the Journey seemed brought 
to am abrupt close. But, from a house near by, 
a woman emerged, opened a large gate, received 
the toll, saying the road to the “Mountain 
House” was up the hill referred to. Our cor¬ 
respondent (E. M. C.) thus proceeds : 
“ Passing through, we commenced ascending 
a very long, straight nud comparatively steep 
road, excavated from the side of the hill, aud 
sfineiy graded. On reaching what at first ap¬ 
peared to be tbe top, we passed on a lew rods 
and came to another hill still longer than the 
first. We now discovered that we were ascend¬ 
ing the mountain itself. Up, up, up we con¬ 
tinued, for three more long hours, through the 
woods which covered the’mountain side, the 
road being excavated from the >ide of the moun¬ 
tain nearly the whole distance. Along the whole 
ascent, little ridges ol' dirt had been made diag¬ 
onally across the road at Intervals of six to eight 
rods, to serve tbe two-fold purpose of prevent¬ 
ing the rain from washing away the road and as 
resting places for horses. At each of these 
ridges we were obliged to stop and let our 
horses ‘ take breath.’ 
Our desire to climb a mountain wa3 fully 
gratified. The sun was just setting and we were 
about to give up all hope of reaching the moun¬ 
tain top before dark, when we espied, through 
the trees some distance above us, a large white 
building, which we lelt assured must be our 
place of destination. Our hopes revived, and, 
urging our jaded horse up & steep, zigzag road, 
we soon emerged into a large, level opening of 
some acres, ut the farther end of which stood 
the famous ‘Mountain House, 1 —an immense 
building standing on a ledge of rocks overhang¬ 
ing the brow of tbe mountain. It 56 built of 
wood and jialnted white, and is distinctly visible 
to travelers passing up and down tbe Hudson. 
Although capable of accommodating five hun¬ 
dred guests, it is said to be filled to its utmost 
capacity during the summer eeasou. At the 
time of our visit all had left. 
The next morning after our arrival we were 
up in time to see, from a mountain top, the euu 
rise, a sight that well repaid for all our trouble 
In climbing the mountain; and then the mag¬ 
nificent prospect before ns ! Have you never 
viewed it, my friend ? Then by all means do 
so, if possible. Others may tell yon of It, but 
no description can take tbe place of the pano¬ 
rama ithelf and swell the emotions of your heart 
till you exclaim involuntarily, again and again, 
“Isn’t this magnificent!” Viewed from the 
piazza of the Mountain House, the valley ot the 
Hudson lay spread out far beneath us for miles 
and miles in either direction. The farms and 
woodland appeared like so many garden?, with 
here aud there a dump of trees. The hills we 
whom spead their summer vacation there, en¬ 
joying the wild scenery and breathing the fresh 
mountain air. 
Our stay was short. We left the next morn¬ 
ing, descending the mountain easily in half an 
hour by the same road by which we bad the pre¬ 
vious day ascended with some difficulty in three 
hours. The summer vacation, which we intend 
spending there, is yet in reserve.” 
Written tor Moom’s Rural New-Yorker. 
BACHELORS- NEWSPAPERS. 
As I have been greatly amused and interested 
by “Leaves from the Country,” and the replies 
thereto—sharp, cutting and sarcastic—I couldn’t 
refrain from saying a few words—not about that 
particular “good fellow, the bachelor," but the 
class to which he bclongE. In the first place I 
would say (o them, If you don’t want to catch 
“Hail Colombia” in particular good earnest, 
never commence an attack of that kind on the 
ladies. I knew G. H. P. would catch it, right 
and left—laid on with all the ardor that the in¬ 
jured feminines could command, or such a chal¬ 
lenge call forth, (for it read very much like a 
challenge.) 
Well, the terrible result is now plain to be 
seen. “Leaves from the Country,” that a few 
short days ago were so green,and flourishing, are 
withered. The author was enjoying himself in 
all his consciousness of being such a good fel¬ 
low, so good looking, and congratulating him¬ 
self upon haviog no squalling brats to bother 
him. Alas and alas’.—One of the Jane Anns 
has takn up the gauntlet, and as a consequence, 
“ Leaves from the Country ” is completely van¬ 
quished, and must be terribly demoralized. His 
green leaves are all dried up aud blown away by 
the breath of feminine wrath, and without a 
doubt never will sprout again, much less leaf 
out enough to commence another attack on the 
Jane Anns. No doubt but what the gentle¬ 
manly good fellow wishes he had a dozen “ squall- 
ing brats,” rather than to have written that 
ill-fated letter to the Rural. 
Jane Ann’s descriptions of a bachelor is life¬ 
like— not only of bachelors, but many others, 
male and female. Many of both bachelors and 
married men arc just so mean and stingy as to 
deprive others of the privilege of-reading a paper 
which they subscribe and pay for. I'll tell you 
bow to “fix cm.” If they are able to take a 
newspaper, and do not take one, why, don’t let 
them have the reading of yours —for, as Jane 
Ann says, if any one comes round for them to 
send for a paper, “No, they guess they can’t 
aflo'rd it." Afford it! I tell yon that you can’t 
afford ter be without at least one good, reliable 
paper. You who keep your paltry twenty shil¬ 
lings in your pocket and lose perhaps hundreds 
of dollars in selling yonr grain, wool, pork, 
or other productions of the farm. Farmer 
friend of mine, (and I am proud to be one,) untie 
those puree strings of yours; be generous in 
your support of newspapers. Take a paper; 
take tbe Rural ; you can do no better thle side 
the Atlantic (or the other. You will feel better 
for it, and be better posted — more enlightened, 
liken help those who are endeavoring to make 
yonr profession an honorable and attractive ono 
— who are trying to supply the one thing need¬ 
ful to ns as a class, viz., a more intelligent and 
scientific mode of farming. • Southron. 
April, 1S66. 
AN EARL’S ADVENTURES. 
The Earl or Aberdeen, who has just come 
into his titles and estates, has started upon his 
travels in a novel fashion. Last week he ar¬ 
rived at St. Johns from Liverpool. He had a 
rough passage of it, but the young Earl had 
kept his place before the mast for the full two 
months, in accordance with articles of shipment 
which he bad thoughtlessly entered Into, in a 
spirit of pure adventure. When but a few days 
onttke vessel was compelled by stress of weather 
to put back to Queenstown, when the Earl 
humbly entreated the captain to be put ashore. 
But the captain held him to his articles, and his 
Lordship was lorced to serve out his time as a 
&ailor for sixty days. This is not the first time 
this scion of a noble house has given way to such 
queer freaks. Some years ago he came to this 
country, and for some time lived and worked, 
inco;)., among the lumbermen jn the wild back¬ 
woods. He has a passion for adventure which 
seems incurable. But he is in for a little rest 
now, and has taken up hia quarters with his uncle 
the Governor-General of New Brunswick. 
- -r - — 
WIT AND WISDOM. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE LIFE BOAT. 
word sinks deep into our hearts. The happy ing that a number of the lady-leaders of the gay had passed over were hut slight nndalations. In 
days of the post affosd a strange contrast to world, having determined to avenge themselves the distance we could trace tbe Hudson for many 
the present. And yet there is a corner in Mem- on the gentlemen for their exclusion from the miles, coursing its way like a serpentine creek 
ory’s spacious garden to which are consigned the favorite “ circles ” of the day, have held various through a meadow. To the east and south, and 
deepest griefs that childhood could ever know, meetings with a view to the formation of a stretching away to the north as far as the eye 
An unkind word or look of disapproval then had Female Club from which all males should he could reach, were long lines of hills, with here 
power to cause bitter tears to flow. If the re- rigidly excluded; but that, owing to the prelim- and there a peak quite mountain-like In appear • 
membrance ot a mother’s love brings exceeding iuary adoption of a resolution declaring that the knee. 
, *-» o t/ * 1 — — — -“ - — LiliU Ulb 
J°y? e gr e » os great when we dwell upon office of president should be held by the oldest 
luftt h'nnrj nf thia nr*# - , .. * 
the last hours of this loved one. This was our 
first great grief, and aWard came trouble, 
Ihiek and fast, because her gentle consolation 
had left ns forever. 
The fields of Memory abound with alternate 
joys and sorrows, over which we love to Unger, 
for in them we live again childhood’s hops.” 
_ , , _ _M. 
The persons who live on the faihngs of their 
neighbors will never die of starvation. 
member, and that of secretary by the youngest, 
the project has at last been abandoned, it having 
been found impossible to find a president, and 
every one of the members claiming the right to 
he secretary. 
A learned young lady, the other evening, as¬ 
tonished the company by asking for the loan of 
a diminutive argenteous, truncated cone, convex 
on its summit, and semi-perforated wjth sym¬ 
metrical indentations. She wanted a thimble. 
the distance we could trace tbe Hudson for many 
miles, coursing its way like a serpentine creek 
through a meadow. To the east and south, and 
stretching away to the north as far as the eye 
could reach, were long lines of hills, with here 
and there a peak quite mountain-like in appear¬ 
ance. 
In the rear of the Mountain House, a short, 
distance, are two. email lakes. To the south of 
it, and elose by, is apeak, risiug some hundreds 
of feet above, from the top of which iaceessible 
by foot paths,) it is said the.prospect is etill 
more magnificent. To the north, at the distance 
of a half mile or mare, rises another peak, cov¬ 
ered, like the first, with trees. Three miles to 
the west, a branch of the Catskill Creek has a 
perpendicular fall of some two hundred feet or 
more. These are among the attractions to the 
many visitors of the Mountain House, many of 
Wnr is wit like a Chinese lady’s foot? Be- g U pp 06e that dut 
cause brevity is the sole of it. when his body is 
An Incidental inquiry: “ Would artiflcialteeth us that love to ou 
enable a person to sing false-6ett-o ? ” and soul. It emt 
No man can avoid his own company, so he time, bnt to &I 
had best make it as good as possible. should be with m 
It is not the varnish upon a carriage that gives 8cml8 ir0 “ P 6 ™ 5 * 
It motion or .tnmtflL Urn, to alleviate 1 
in our power. 
A silver chain around a dog’s neck will not __ 
prevent his barking or biting. Perfection.— 
Let no one overload you with favors; you gelo, who was fi 
will find it an insufferable burden. afterwards he call 
Idleness is hard work for those who are not work, His Ire 
used to it, and dull work for those who are. claimed, “ Have 
* last ^ ^ By do c 
The intelligence and education of a people " ' , 
.. , _ - “I have re-touch 
are the passports of a country to eminence and ^ 
prosperity, c j e: i bare given i 
Grief knits two hearts in closer bonds than well” sai 
happiness ever can; and common sufferings are trifles.” “ft may 
far stronger links than common joys. recollect that trtjie 
Led noses are lighthouses to warn voyagers fedion iv no Injk," 
on the sea of life off the coast of Malaga, Ja- - 
Perfection. —Afriend called on Michael An¬ 
gelo, who was finishing a statue. Some time 
afterwards he called again; the sculptor was still 
at work, Hia friend, looking at the figure, ex¬ 
claimed, “Have you been idle since I saw you 
last?” By no means,” replied the seulptor; 
“I have re-tonebed and polished that; I have 
softened this feature and brought out this mus¬ 
cle : I have given more expression to this limb.” 
“.Well, well,” said his friend, “all these are 
trifles.” “U may bh so,” replied Angelo, “ but 
recollect that trifie& make perfection, and that jper- 
BT J1ARTHA EWING. 
Our ou the billows of life’s troubled ocean, 
Tossed by tbe tempest, and powerless to save, 
Each feftrfol moment of wildest commotion 
Threa’ning to plunge thee beneath the dark wave. 
“Oh pity andsave me Great Father," the cry, 
Feeblest of atoms tossed on the wild sea, 
As hopeless, as helpless, unless there come nigh 
A gracious deliverer, commissioned by thee— 
A life boat, a life boat, O coaid I descry, 
I’d joy in the tempest and peril defy. 
♦ 
Be calm, troubled bosom, the life boat is nigh, 
Jb#ds the Captain, is Saviour and Friend; 
Hark, hark! He invites thee—O, haste to reply, 
Lest grieving hts Spirit he ne’er wifi attend 
To thy plaint in the peril; distrust not his power, 
Safely he’ll moor thee beyond the rough sea. 
Myriad# are sinking—delay not the hour— 
Dark, dashing blUoWe may overwhelm thee. 
Embark in the Life Boat—why wilt thou delay, 
Since Jesus, it# Captain, the tempests obey t 
Emhark in the Life Boat, since Jese# i# there. 
In life's darkest trials ha can give thee relief— 
Thy grief# and thy harden* he freely will share, 
For he is a Saviour acquainted with grief. 
Accept of his mercy—no other can save— 
No noble endeavor, though angels record, 
Will purchase salvation beyond the dark wave ; 
’Twae purchased by Jesus, Redeemer and Lord: 
Adorable Captain, he bids thee to come— 
Embark in the Life Boat while yet there is room. 
Holland Patent, N. Y. 
- ♦, ♦ — - 
Written for Moore’6 Rural New-Yorker. 
DOING GOOD. 
Our Saviour, when on earth, went about 
doing good. His mission was one of mercy.— 
Love to a perishing world brought him down 
from Heaven. And while his mission as a whole, 
in its conception, in its objects, and in its exe¬ 
cution, was the grandest event that had ever 
transpired on our earth, and while he was the 
most august personage that had ever lived in the 
world, being no less than God manifest in the 
flesh, yet he seems to neglect no opportunity of 
doing good. No person, however humble, who 
came to him but could secure an audience.— 
None so poor or friendless but Jesus would look 
upon him with infinite compassion. None came 
to him in vain. Blind beggars stood by the way- 
side and cried to him as he passed, and the gra¬ 
cious inquiry fell from his lips, “What will ye 
that I shall do unto you ?” Lepers met him and 
were cleansed. Poor women.came to him, bowed 
down with infirmity, and were restored to health 
and soundness. The sick, the helpless, and the 
possessed were brought to him, and the record 
is “he healed them aJL” They came to him 
mourning—they went away rejoicing and prais¬ 
ing God. Through the valleys aud over the 
hills of J udea he went, and human hearts were 
made glad wherever he moved. Thus he set u# 
a glorious example. 
It is the duty of Christ’s followers to strive 
to be like him. Doing goodis the Christian’s ap¬ 
propriate work. “Do good unto all as ye have 
opportunity,” is the divine command. And our 
Saviour encourages us, by assuring us that these 
acts of kindness to our fellow men, done in his 
name, wil be received and rewarded as done unto 
himself. “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one 
of these my brethren, yc have done it unto me.” 
How gladiy would we minister unto Christ if 
we could. We may. In his infinite compassion 
he makes the poor and suffering ones of earth his 
representatives and says to his followers, “Peed, 
clothe and visit them; alleviate their distresses; 
ye are doing it unto me.” 
But not alone to the bodies of men did Christ 
minister. The primary object of his mission 
was to save their souls. He came “ that who¬ 
soever believeth in him should not perish but 
have eternal life.” And as he went about he 
preached, saying, “ Repent, for the kingdom of 
heaven is at hand.” Not alone when the multi¬ 
tudes thronged him, did words of vyisdom and 
warning full from hi& lips; hut he neglected no 
opportunity of applying eternal truth to individ¬ 
uals. While he rested at Jacob’s well, be 
directed the mind of Mie woman of Samaria to 
the water of life, and through her influence he 
reached many of the Samaritans. To Njcode- 
mus the ruler he said, “Ye must be born again.” 
When one asked him, “Are there few that be 
saved," he said, “Btrive to enter in at the strait 
gate, for many I say unto you, will seek to enter 
in, and shall not be able.” Here again did 
Christ set us au example. He was diligent in 
doing good to the souls of men. Some seem to 
suppose that duty to our neighbor is discharged 
when his body is cared for; but Christ taught 
us that love to our neighbor embraces both body 
and soul. It embraces not only man’s interests 
in time, bnt to all eternity. Tire primary object 
should be with ns, as it was with Christ, to save 
souls from perishing; and secondarily, as with 
him, to alleviate human suffering as much as lies 
in our power. Local. 
maica, Santa Cruz and Holland. 
The reason why people know not their duty 
on great occasions, is that they will not take the 
trouble of doing their duty on little occasions. 1 
Christianity can now point to what it does, 
as well as to what it is in itself, and say, Bcho-ld 
fhe fruits which I produce in the hearts and lives 
of mankind. 
