MOOSE’S &EF&&L SfEW-YOft&EH. 
.*CA» & 
qsartomtt. 
MATTERS MATRIMONIAL. 
When- do I mean to marry ?—Well, 
’Tit* Idle to dispute with late; 
But If yon choose to hear me toll, 
Pruy listen while I fix the date. 
When daughter* haute, with eager feet, 
A mother’* daily toll to share; 
Can make the pudding which they eat, 
And mend the stocking* ihnt they wear. 
When maidens look upon a mac 
A* li himself they would marry, 
And not n* army s»ldler* ecan 
A sutler or n rommleeary. 
When gentle ladies who have got 
The offer of a lover’s hand, 
Consnir to Eliare his * earthly lot,” 
And do not mean hie lot of land; 
When young mechanics are allowed 
To And and wed the farmer’s girls 
Who don't expect to be endowed 
With rtlbiee, diamonds and pearls. 
When wives, In ehort, shall freely give 
Their hearts and hands to aid their spouses, 
And live as they were wont to live 
Within their sires’ onc-etory houges: 
Then, madam—if I’m not too old— 
Rejoiced lo quit this lonely life, 
I'll brush my beaver, ccaee to scold, 
And look about me for a wife! 
Written for Moore’s Kura) New-Yorker. 
FKOST PICTURES, 
BT CLIO STANLEY. 
It is drawn in fair lines of silvery frost that 
brighten and grow more Qistlnct as I gaze at 
them, and I think the picture will treasure itself 
in my memory long after these cheerless winter 
days of gloom and unrest arc forgotten in the 
glow and the rapture of next year’s May-time. 
The vision which this cunningly wrought pic¬ 
ture calls to my mind is a great, stern battle, 
where two contending armies meet; where 
drums beat and bugles blow; where the colors 
of our owu glorious Hag grow deeper and sweet¬ 
er to the eyes tired with dust and battle smoke; 
where loud-mouthed cannon send forth signal of 
desperate assault; aftd where brothers stand 
face to face dealing death blows with scarce a 
throb of remorsu at the hearts left desolate 
somewhere, and the hearthstone vacant. 
Oh, Spirit of the Frost! Could you not have 
woven some other picture from your glittering 
threads, than this V Arc there not enough real¬ 
ities in the old year that is gone, and bitter 
memories hoarded for the new year just come to 
earth, without the need of your busy Ungers? 
Many suns must rise nnd set, many seasons roll 
their untiring round, before these battle-pictures 
shall grow dim In our remembrance, though 
even now the strange sad history begins to grow 
familiar to our ears; we hear ft with a steadier 
pulse and the blood grows cooler in our cheeks 
than it did a year ago at the same story. Yes! 
even though the sorrow and the desolation have 
been more than some could boar, the bloom of 
Paradise yet lingers on the earth, and our eyes 
beholding it, forget to look at the trodden fields 
where all the freshness has been so trampled 
and despoiled 
ii. 
•‘The heavens are full of splendor above, 
And the fields in sweet silence lie." 
Somewhere 1 have read a delightful little 
serenade from which I cull these two liue6, as 
expressive of the scene called to my mind by 
this second picture in my window. We look 
out from such different eyes that you, it may be, 
would not 6ee what I do, on the glass,—a bunch 
of slender, graceful ferns, leaning closely to¬ 
gether, yet each one distinct from the other in 
leaf and beauty; like a cluster of fair women, 
lookiug backward through some of the years, 
and with the instinctive joy of womanhood, re¬ 
cognizing the common ties that have taught 
them sweet lessons of love and sympathy and 
holy charity, yet each oue standing apart from 
the rest iu some regal grace of manner, some 
(plaint expression of humility, or some tender 
gleam of loving kindness. 1 half remember 
just such a group of green and golden ferns, 
such as these on iny window, only with all the 
The6tream Is the swift river of Time, never 
frozen save by the icy breath of Death; the 
bridge is the bridge of memory linking the Past 
with its remembered Joys and griefs, Its doubts 
and its blessed hours of belief, with the Present. 
We stand upon this nearer shore and look back 
sadly enough over the paths our feet have trod. 
I remember one such hour in which I walked 
/back, band iu hand, with the sweet Angel of 
Recollection. I was standing on the threshold 
of the old year when I caught the sound of her 
sad yet eager voice, and felt the clasp of her 
gentle hand drawing me backward Into the paths 
I had trodden long ago, when summer sunshine 
rested in all its golden beauty on my forehead 
and the streams danced before rue in very glad¬ 
ness. I had thought never again to trust myself 
in those remembered ways, bnt 1 yielded to that 
persuasive touch and alas! I was but a child 
again in purpose; my woman's strength and de¬ 
termination had vanished with the first familiar 
glance, and the fire iu my heart turned to gray 
ashes, as I passed back, year after year, through 
dusty leaves and rough highways to the 6weet 
meadows where I was wont to etruy. Oh! the 
Bweet meadow-land, royal with golden butter¬ 
cups and great purple violets, fragrant with the 
rich odor of mint that stole np through the 
crimson clover-tops and reached to the edge of 
the shadowy forest. And now again the ever 
busy angel is with me as I watch the seven- 
arched bridge. Who that has read Jban Ingb 
low’s exquisite “Songs of Seven,” does not 
know at sight these seven arches ? 
IV. 
I turn to the little golden-haired boy standing 
by my side asking him what be sees on this last 
pane, and he looks at it earnestly a moment out 
of his deep, blue eyes, and then says, “ Fairies, 
Mama;” and then while he watches it with all 
the eager belief of childhood, I sing to him — 
The fairies nro coming I The wood and glade 
Welcome their feet to the leafy shade 1 
Tripping over the mosses green, 
Hiding away from the round moon's beam, 
Where the beech trees rustle their golden leaves 
To ibe sound or the song or the coming breeze — 
Where the violet bonds to the lily-bell, 
And they listen both to the gentle swell 
That floats In numbers upon the air 
As the rivulet leaps into freedom there. 
Gay little groups are peering about, 
But mortals hear not their merry shout 
Binging low like the wild bee’s hum 
That teileth the season of flowers is come. 
I have told you all the pictilree on my win¬ 
dow; the red sunlight gilds them with farewell 
splendor as J drop the curtain; in the shadowy 
hush of this winter-night all sights and sounds 
are for the time forgotten; the world with its 
sorrows shut out, memory only half awake — 
and I turn back to the fairest of all pictures by 
my fireside hero, where two little ones stand iu 
their white robes waiting for my good-night! 
Gob bless my darlings! May the dearest Fairy 
of all the magic train, Contentment, guard their 
lives from every dream of unrest or sad forebod¬ 
ing ®f coming 111. 
fhflitf fpSWllSttg. 
THE WORLD WOULD BE BETTER FOR IT. 
IN THE MIND. 
BY K. H. COBB. 
Ip men cared less for wealth and fame, 
And less for battle-fields and glory; 
If writ in human hearts, a name 
Seemed better than iu song and story; 
If men instead of untying pride 
Would learn to hate it. and abhor it ; 
If more relied on Love to guide, 
The world would be the better for it. 
If men dealt lee* in stocks and lands, 
And more iu bonds and deeds fraternal; 
If Love's work had more willing hands, 
To link title world to the supernal; 
If men stored up Love’s oil and wine, 
And On bruised human hearts would pour it; 
If “yours’’ and ‘ mine” would once combine, 
The world would be the better for it. 
If more would net the play of life, 
And fewer spoil It in rehearsal; 
If Bigotry would sheathe Its knife 
Till Good became more universal; 
If Custom, gray with ages grown, 
Had fewer blind men to adore it; 
If talcDt shone for Truth alone, 
The world would be the betterfor it. 
If men were wise in little things— 
Aflecting le?- <n all their dealings— 
If hear!* had fewer rusted strings 
To isolate their kindly feelings; 
If men. when Wrong beats down the Right, 
Would strike together and restore it; 
If Right made Might in every fight. 
The toot Id would be the belter for it. 
—-♦ • •*-—■ . ■ , , . 
Written for Moore’s Kura! New-Yorker. 
SCHOOL-MATES, 
DIVORCE MADE VULGAR. 
perfection of color that summev’g fair fingers 
could evoke from the earth and the sunlight- 
the day and the hour when I saw it are vivid 
with the light arid glory of a June morning. The 
woods were vocal with songs of birds, the hum 
of a thousand merry insects breathing out faint, 
breaths of exultation, that reached our ears as 
wc stood in the faint shadow where the woods 
and the sweet fields met. Ah, those fields, dewy 
■with morning’s own rare freshuess, and fragrant 
with the smell of purple and white clover! The 
ferns grew there just under the bending trees; 
and a rare bouquet of delicate beauty they 
made. These pure traceries ou ray wiudow look 
like them in form; one with broad leaves, 
closely cut at the edges—another with feathery 
bits of green, drooping lightly in the air; I only 
need the color to make it perfect. How each 
little vein shows itself on the heavy frost-work, 
and each leaf gleams into bright outline; I wish 
it would stay thus bright, but ’tis too like our 
own unreal dreams of what is fairest and best; 
we dream of such near approach to perfection 
in our thoughtful hours, bat the contact with 
the outer air dispels the dream, and we only sigh 
for the last hope of what we are sure would have 
been a glorious reality. 
in. 
It is only a stream frozen over, with a seven- 
arched bridge reaching from one bank to the 
other. The picture isn’t much, but the thoughts 
it wakes within me,—the association of "the 
present vision with the experience of a lifetime! 
The prevailing fashionable divorce-epidemic 
cannot last long at its present height. It is no 
longer a luxury confined to the higher circles of 
society, a case having Just attracted our atten¬ 
tion in which a mere ordinary woman, described 
as the “wife of a laborer on the Central Park,” 
has imitated the example of her betters and 
sued out a writ of divorce against her husband. 
It is exceedingly painful to notice how the dis 
covcries made by the rich and intelligent are 
thus constantly seized upon and soiled by the 
vulgar and illiterate. The refined amusement 
taken by a wealthy husband in attempting to 
blacken his wile’s character, or the still more 
delightful excitement felt by a rich wife in her 
efforts to prove her husband a scoundrel, should 
certAlDly have been confined to the very choicest 
circles of mir country, by some special patent 
at the time of their invention. These are enjoy¬ 
ments which should naturally belong to those 
blessed with affluence, involving as they do the 
employment of very ninny lawyers on each. 6ide, 
and the hiring of professional witnesses ready 
and able to prove whatever is required of them. 
It is not right, therefore, that the lower classes 
should seek to dull the zest of such a pleasure 
by vulgarizing its use. Democrats as we are iu 
principle, it is confessed that we are in favor of 
allowing the Upper Ten Thousand a monopoly 
of this new and piquant diversion.— N, Y. Citizen, 
“Husuand.”—T he English terra “ husband” 
is derived from the Anglo-Saxon words hus and 
band, which signify “the bond of the house,” 
and it was anciently spelt home-bond, and con¬ 
tinued to be so spelt in some editlous of the 
Bible, after tbc introduction of the art ol print¬ 
ing. A husband, then, is a Louse-bond— the 
bond of a houso-thal which engirdles a family 
into the union of strength and the oneness of 
love. Wife and children, “ strangers within the 
gates,” all their interests and all tlielr happiness 
are encircled in the home-bond's embrace, the 
objects of liis protection and of liis special care. 
What a fine picture is this of a husband’s duty 
and a family’s privilege! 
Women and Lightning.—A studious gentle¬ 
man in Paris, named Boudin, has lately occu¬ 
pied himself with statistics of persons killed by 
lightning; and he declares that ladies should no 
longer be afraid of the electric fluid, as, in com¬ 
parison with men, they only suffer from it in the 
rate of twenty-eight to one hundred. M. Bou¬ 
din assures ns that lightning exhibits a marked 
predilection for the mail sex, and where a man 
and woman are walking together, the man is in¬ 
variably the sufferer. It is to be hoped that Prof. 
Boudiu will some day give an explanation of 
this remarkable phenomenon, and, if his gallant¬ 
ry will permit, make known how the partiality 
may be corrected. 
How soon are those just now school-mates 
scattered from one end of our great land to the 
other i Many such wc may again encounter on 
the broad held of life. The warm grasp of the 
true-souled man, or the bright smile of the fair 
maiden may send a thrill of joy to the soul. 
The intercourse of friend with friend may be to 
the weary heart like nectar to the gods feasting 
at Jove's own table. 
These friends of our youth may again revisit 
the dear old school room and the haunts hal¬ 
lowed by the recollections of childhood. As 
they slowly wander along through the woodland 
paths, and “crosslots” over the meadow, or 
pause on the little rustic bridge to watch, in the 
sparkling stream below, the tiny piufisb, whoso 
often defled the line and crooked pin of the luck¬ 
less little fisherman, who can blame them if they 
drop a tear of regret on the spot where so many 
youthful hopes He buried ? 
As they linger at the top of the long hill, 
where they loved to coast in winter, or cross the 
level green, the general play-ground and the 
special province of the base-ball clubs and crick¬ 
eters, as they wander thus, almost forgetful of 
the unstayiug, relentless years which sternly rise 
up between them and those scenes of their child¬ 
hood—who can wonder if they breathe a sigh 
that those bright ami huppy days have departed 
never to return, and that their hearts offer the 
unspoken pruyer— 
“ Make mt . c bild again, just for to-night! ’’ 
Those of whom we have 6poken may come 
back; but there are others ! We do not need 
to ask who they are, for in a silent temple, in the 
hidden recesses of the heart, within its holiest 
of holies, there ia a white stone erected, and 
upon that stone are inscribed their loved names. 
Although one may have been cast into the deep¬ 
est depths of the unfathomed ocean,—one may 
have gone to rest in a far-off foreign land, his 
name and tongue unknown to the strangers by 
whom he was surrounded,—another, wasting 
away in a loathsome lazar house, may have 
filled a prisoner’s nameless and unhonored grave 
—their names are every one inscribed upon this 
sacred tablet of memory. There shall they re¬ 
main, undlmmed and indelible, until effaced by 
the muster hand of Death. 
These are some of the sacred memories which 
cluster around our school days, and wo feel that 
the cherishing of them, mournful though they 
may be, makes us better, and purer, and holier. 
There are other and!happier thoughts which are 
called up with tbc recollections of those joyous 
days, and someilmofe we have forgotten all the 
sin and sorrow, to 'remember only Ibe joy and 
gladness which than filled our innocent little 
heart. We have j’ dreamed wo were a boy 
ii,” and for a itoraent all the old thoug! 
and feelings have- jpured, oeeau-like, over our 
soul, only to leave us, at their ebbing, still 
farther from those childhood scenes. These 
thoughts, these fond recollection®, recur to us 
but l'or a moment'and are gone, leaving us 
“ still achieving, still pursuing,” but we know 
that wc arc the better for their coming. 
Let us cherish, then, the memories of our 
childhood days, of opr school, and of our school¬ 
mates, for they arc ill that remain to ns of that 
never-to-be-forgotten, happy period—our child- 
life. L, l. 
An old man was shaving himself one day be¬ 
fore the fire, but suddenly exclaimed in a great 
rage to the maid servant: “ I can’t shave with¬ 
out a glass ! why is it not here.?” “ Oh !” 6aid 
she, “ I have not placed it there for many weeks, 
as you seemed to get along quite as well without 
it.” The crusty old bachelor (of course he was 
an old bachelor, or he would not have been so 
crotchety and crusty) Lad, l'or the first time, 
observed that there was no glass there, and bis 
inability to shave without one, was “in the 
mind” only, it was imaginary. 
A Dutch farmer, who measured a yard through, 
was one day working in the harvest-field with 
his little eon, and was bitten by a snake. He 
was horror-struck. When he recovered himself 
a little, he snatched up his outer clothing, ami 
made tracks for home, at the same time busying 
himself in putting on his vest.; bnt it would not 
go on. He looked at his arm, nnd it seemed to 
be double its natural size; but tagging at it with 
greater desperation, he finally got both arms in. 
But his blood fairly froze in his veins when he 
discovered it wouldn’t meet by about a foot. 
By this time he reached home, aud throwing 
himself on the bed, exclaimed in an agony of 
terror: “Omincfrow! I’m snake bite! I’m 
killed! 0 mine Cot!” But his little bit of a 
wife, standing a-kimbo in the middle of the 
floor, burst into a fit of laughter so uncontrolla¬ 
ble, that she was likely to suffocate, and thus 
heather husband in dying. The poor man, in 
his alarm, had endeavored to put on his little 
boy’s vest, and was not swollen at all, except 
“ in the mind.” 
Many a mother feels fretted and jaded and 
worn out with the cares of housekeeping, and 
is almost sick. But at the moment a welcome 
visitor comes in fall of life cordiality and cheer- 
incss, and in less than five minutes that mother 
is a different woman; the sky has cleared ; the 
face Is lighted np with smiles; and she feels as 
well as she ever did in her life. Her discour¬ 
agement, her almost sickness was not “in the 
mind,” it was a reality, but the excitement of 
conversation drove ont the wearying blood, 
which was oppressing the heart, and made it 
fairly tingly to the linger-points. Mem. Ladles 
when you go a visiting, carry smiles and glad¬ 
ness und a joyous nature aud a kind heart with 
you, and you will do more good than u dozen 
doctors. Most persons have a variety of un¬ 
comfortable feelings at times, but they disappear 
on some exciting occurrence, not because they 
are merely “ in the mind,” only imaginary, but 
because the excited heart, wakes up a new pro¬ 
pulsive power, and drives forward the stagna¬ 
ting blood from points where its sluggishuess 
was producing oppression, or actual pain. Mem. 
S3. For all, when you arc grumpy, bounce up, 
go ahead, and do something.— Dr. Hall. 
alifcaih HfuiSitiijs. 
CHEERFULNESS. 
Sweet smiling roses gaily wave, 
And shed their rich perfume 
Above the grave of withered hopes, 
Where dwell decay and gloom; 
So let thy smiles a cheerfulness 
To all around impart, 
And show the world a radiant face, 
Though sorrow cloud thy heart. 
Check in thy breart the rising sigh, 
And dash away the tear, 
And raise thy thoughts above the wreck 
And ruin round thee hero; 
Let fortune, yea, e'en friendship, fade, 
And love's dear smile depart; 
Still show the world a radiant face, 
Though sorrow cloud thy heart. 
From all thy griefs and woc-s and cares 
Let other hearts be free, 
And let no human bosom heave 
A pitying Blgh for thee. 
Receive with gratitude the smile, 
With patience bear the dart, 
And show the world a peaceful face, 
Though turbulent the heart. 
There’s One whose invitation is, 
" Ye weary and oppressed 
And heavy laden come to me. 
And I will give you rest,” 
But from tbc world's tumultuous cares, 
From every hidden smart; 
Then show the world a tranquil face, 
And bear a thankful heart. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
JOY COMETH IN THE MORNING. 
ORDER AND REGULARITY AT MEALS. 
The DiFFERENCt. — Dean Swift was once 
traveling through One of the rural parishes, 
some leagues from London, aud introducing 
himself to the parson as a member of the same 
profession, was invited, to partake of his frater¬ 
nal hospitalities, The Dean consented, and ac¬ 
companied the parson to his church the next 
morning. And there, the Dean had the satis¬ 
faction of hearing one of his owu sermons 
preached by an ignoraut minister without a 
word of acknowledgment. When the service 
was over, the De&u asked the preacher how long 
it took him to write Eucii a sermon. “ Oh," 6aid 
the minister, “I wrote that seruiou in about 
two hours.” “ Did you indeed ?" said the Dean, 
in reply. “ Why, it took me over two mouths 
to write that very sermon," 
It is most important in the physical nurture 
of children that their meals should be at regular 
hoars, and with no long intervals. But there is 
no worse practice than that which Is too preva¬ 
lent, especially among the poor, of giving chil¬ 
dren small portions of food between meals, or 
whenever they choose to ask, or, after much 
asking, to get rid of their importunity. It has 
a had moral effect, encouraging them to give 
way to every impulse of appetite, and to think 
much and often of eating; and so renders them 
gluttonous. And it has a bad physical effect, 
inducing iu the 6tomach a habit of perpetual 
craving, or keeping it in a state of perpetual 
repletion. Again, not only regularity of meal¬ 
times, but comfort and good order at meals, will 
conduce in a great degree to the due and satis¬ 
factory enjoyment, and hence good digestion, of 
food. Hurry, confusion, general talking and 
clamor, chiding and quarreling, too often wit¬ 
nessed at the dinner-table of u disorderly family, 
must injuriously interfere with the processes of 
mastication and deglutition, and, consequently, 
with that of digestion. Indeed, such is the close 
connection of our mental and corporeal facul¬ 
ties, that these circumstances do, ol themselves, 
immediately tend to impede digestion. It is a 
well-known fact that fear, anger, vexation, 
anxiety, felt at the time of eating, prevent the 
proper decoction of food by the stomach; and 
so, to a certain extent, must all other perturba¬ 
tions of the mind. The observance of this rule 
is, of course, as necessary for adults as children; 
but since the passions of children are more 
easily excited, and less regarded, and their 
stomachs more delicate for the most part than 
those of their elders, they are the chief sufferers 
by its neglect. 
A NOVEL WAGER. 
An amusing story is now going the round of 
the Paris clubs. It appears that, a short time 
ago a foreign prince made a heavy bet that he 
would bo arrested by the police without com¬ 
mitting any ufl'encc whatever, or in any way pro¬ 
voking the authorities. The bet bavin 
6 been 
tttken by a member of the Imperial Club, the 
prince went to one of the most aristocratic 
cafes in Paris, dressed in a battered hat, aragged 
blouse, and boots all in holes, and, sitting down 
at oue end of the tables, ordered a cup of coffee. 
The waiters, however, paid no attention to eo 
suspicious-looking a customer, upon which the 
prince put his hand in his pocket, aud showed 
them a bundle of bank notes. The proprietor 
then ordered the coffee to be served, sending, 
meanwhile, to the nearest police station for a 
sergent-dc-ville. The prince was duly arrested 
and taken to the commissary of police, where 
he stated who he was, and was afterwards taken 
to the gentleman with whom he made the bet 
to prove his identity. A similar story was told 
at Vienna some time ago of a Hungarian Prince 
Seander, M. de Metternich’s sou-iu-law, who, in 
order to make his arrest quite sure, took the 
bank notes out of his boots. 
We love sometimes to forget the stern reali¬ 
ties of the unrelenting present and tho dreams 
of the future, with all its glittering treasures in 
prospect, and allow memory to assert its influ¬ 
ence by dwelling upon the scenes of the past. 
It is our delight to trace back the thread of love 
which has followed us all along the winding 
paths of life, until it terminates at the old home¬ 
stead hearth, around which we were wont to 
assemble in the joyous days of “Long-ago”— 
und ere we arc aware of the path lu which our 
momentary forgetfulness of past sorrows would 
lead us, wc arc singing, “I would that I were 
young again.” Perhaps it is well that wc should 
thus occasionally live in the past, for from its 
sacred memories may wc glean lessons of in¬ 
struction which will serve to aid us in guiding 
our bark through the storms and tempests of 
opposition which we encounter upon the wide 
ocean of life. Sacred to us, indeed, arc memo¬ 
ries of the past, though marked by scenes of 
sorrow. There are passages which give us plea¬ 
sure, which reach back to the time when we 
were much younger than now, ere the sunlight 
of joy had been darkened by clouds of sorrow 
or shadows had crossed our pathway. But when 
we linger long over the past—when all events of 
Ufe’& work have been reviewed—wc find much to 
givens sorrow. The schoolmates of ouryouth 
are no longer in our midst. The homes where 
they were wont to assemble are now desolate. 
Many a deserted hearth says to us “ not here.” 
For them we must turn to other climes, and 
even then the number Is not complete. Where 
violets bloom o'er mounds of green, marked by 
marble slabs inscribed “ Died,” may we learn 
where some may be found. 
A maiden who was a dear companion of ours 
in youth, was laid in her “last resting place;” 
and though our eyes were dim with tears, yet 
were ear hearts made glad by the pleasing as¬ 
surance that we shoutd meet her again in the 
morning of the resurrection. Another was laid 
in his narrow home by the bands of strangers, 
but the tears we shed were not those of grief for 
ills loss, for we knew that he had gone from this 
world of sorrow to a brighter abiding-place 
where we may all meet again in the morning. 
Though these thoughts are such as tend to 
make us sad, we should not so mourn for those 
who have departed this life, for amid all changes 
— in the midst of memories which sometimes 
harrow the soul with anguish and fill the mind 
with sorrow—we can still look forward with 
joy to a brighter future. "Wc can smile, even in 
the midst of our tears, and say, “ We shall have 
a joyful meeting in the morning.” And as 
amid the storms of mid-winter we hope for 
brighter days when the sun shall shine, the flow¬ 
ers bloom and the birds return to greet the sea¬ 
son,—so in the midst of life's storms and trials 
we may look forward to that land which lies be¬ 
yond the dark shades of mortality, where there 
is no night, and the bleak winds of winter do 
not come. Thus, as we pass through life, amid 
all its changes may wc be cheered by the thought 
that, though the night be dark and sorrowful, 
“Joy cometh in the morniug.” 
Clarence G. 
RELIGIOUS MISCELLANY. 
Multitudes express opinions ; inform them. 
Gems made of truth and love only are immor¬ 
tal. 
Surrender to the Cross, and win an eternal 
Crown. 
8uun evil company, and evil company will 
shun you! 
Where wickedness is bold, be assured that it 
fuels strong. 
The noblest hero is he who successfully battles 
with himself. 
That which is a tempest to some, is to others 
a pleasant and prosperous gale. 
Think little of yourself, and you will not be 
injured when others think little of you. 
He who cheerfully commits the universe to 
God has nothing in the universe to fear. 
The chains with which the devil binds and 
holds many of his subjects are made of gold. 
F 
