MOORE’S RURAL 1EW-YORRER. 
ffV’ 
<X 3j 
Unto’ ;=DeparimPiii. 
For Moore’s IJaral New-Yorker. 
“SOMETIME. 
Is the door-way he stood, pressing softly my hand ; 
The setting snu made the earth seem divine, 
And I whispered (finite softly) "Come and tee me 
again," 
And the answer he made was, "Sometime" 
The cool evening breeze rustled gently along, 
And lightly it touched his brown hair— 
One more look in my eyes, and then he was gone, 
Hut "Sometime" seemed still in the air. 
My heart felt so strangely—my cheeks seem'd a-dame 
As I thought of the look in liis eyes ; 
Did he love me ’—Who knows T— but wild was my 
brain 
Wheu “ Sometime " before me would rise. 
For “ Sometime "—When is it ? to-morow, nest year, 
In the future, ah! far. far away,— 
Or will it be never? 'Tia this that I fear, 
And it seems but more true every day: 
For weary I're watched 'till hope almost has fled, 
And to drearily drag on the hours, 
But I will not despair 'till each bright dream it dead, 
For “ Sometime ” may come with the flowers. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
WOODLAND CEMETERY. 
To-day I for the first time passed through the 
gate, and slowly wended my way along the grav¬ 
eled path, beautifully bordered with green, 
which leads to this “ Silent City of the Dead.” 
Not a sound was heard, save the grating of my 
own footfall upon the beaten path, the mourn¬ 
ful sighing of the wind thro’ the branches of the 
trees, and occasionally the low chirping of some 
beautiful lit tlesongsters, that seemed to be chant¬ 
ing a requiem above the still forms slumbering 
so quietly beneath the sod. 
On one side of the path, with an evergreen 
tree waving its branches above it, is a plain mar¬ 
ble slab. Simple and significant as it may ap¬ 
pear to the casual observer who looks beyond to 
gaze upon the towering monument, Is tbe sight 
of this simple headstone, reared by the hand of 
affection. The portrait of a man, with an in¬ 
scription underneath which says, “ Here sleepy 
my Hear Husband ,” caused the tears of true 
sympathy to flow freely from my eyes. It was 
with a reluctuut step that 1 turned away from 
this grave of a stranger, musing upon the mys¬ 
terious workings of Divine 1’rovidence which 
arc said to be “Just and right.” 
A vault next attracted my notice. I ascend 
the stone steps, seat myself on a low seat, and 
with my head resting against the heavy stone 
door, contemplate at my leisure the scenes with 
which I am surrounded. Many mounds are be¬ 
fore me; ihc evergreen and weeping willow 
waving above them; the Arbor Vita, Myrtle, 
and beautiful flowers ol various hues, nestle 
closely to tbe damp earth, as a fond child is 
oftcon seen clinging to the bosom of a loving 
mother. I hall unconsciously murmur, “What 
a beautiful place in which the weary body can 
find a resting place, after the soul, the immor¬ 
tal spirit, has flown on Angel wings to join the 
throng which surround the Throne of our 
Father and our Goo. 
Again—I was speculating as to whether the 
spirits of those whose bodies are entombed, can, 
from their higher home, gaze upon the mounds 
underneath, where lie their earthly, decaying 
bodies, and weeping friends weave the " chaplet 
of flowers ” and strew the varied beauties of 
nature, lovely tributes of regret, above their 
graves. Methinks, if it were possible,’ they 
would stoop down from their heavenly home 
and whisper sweet words of hope and consola¬ 
tion—would bid the weeping mourners look up 
and be comforted — would bring before their 
miuds bright and beautiful visions of the Celes¬ 
tial City, into which, thro’ death, they had been 
transplanted. O ! would that it were so ! Happy 
would 1 be if the spirits of my departed friends 
would softly whisper in my ear, as I sit muBing 
by this tomb of a stranger, and tell me all is mil 
—that they will safely guide and guard me thro’ 
all trials, however severe, and that when I, too, 
shall put on the garb of Immortality, together 
we will roam through that bright garden of 
our God. 
The fast gathering twilight admonishes mo 
that I must depart. Reluctantly I retrace my 
steps along the same path 1 before trod, and out 
thro’ the same gate. Sadly 1 turn, my eyes 
moistened with a falling tear, roams for the last 
time, perhaps, over this “City ol the Dead;” 
but may tbe silent communion 1 have held 
with my own thoughts be of lasting benefit. 
Prayerfully are my eyes turned upward, and 
from the fullness of my heart call down a Bene¬ 
diction. E- n- 
Crawford Co., Pa. 
MARRYING FOR SHOW. 
To the questions often asked of young men as 
to why they do not marry, we sometimes hear 
the reply, “I am not able to support a wife.” 
In one case in three, perhaps, this may be so; 
but, as a general thing, the true reply would be, 
“ I am not able to support the style in which I 
think my wife ought to live.” In this again we 
see a false view of marriage—a looking to an ap¬ 
pearance in the world, instead of a union with a 
loving woman for her own sake. There are very 
few men of Industrious habits who cannot main¬ 
tain a wife, if they were willing to live economi¬ 
cally, and without reference to the opinion of 
the world. The great evil is, they are not wil¬ 
ling to begin life humble, to retire together into 
an obscure position, and together work then-way 
in the world, he by industry in his calling, and 
she hy dispensing with prudence the money that 
he earns. But they must stand out and attract 1 
the attention of others by their fine houses and 
fine clothes. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
EE PATIENT WITH THE CHILDREN. 
ur ORACH VEBNET. 
Little Charley came in the other day in the 
greatest joy at the possession of a handful of 
sweet May blossoms, the U ret of the season. My 
heart bounded at tbe very sight of them, for did 
not I once gather just such ones, away back in 
the morning of my life l—and how quickly did 
thought traverse the space between now and 
then, to the sunny slope where they grew. 
Charley held up the flowers exultingly, gener¬ 
ously giving two of the prettiest to little two- 
year old Johnny, who never kuew anything 
about flowers before. Then, exclaiming, “ Mam¬ 
ma, where’s a dish to put them In?” he began 
eagerly to fly about. But “ mamma” was busy, 
and how effectually was his, I might say our , joy 
dampened at the answer, “If you don’t keep 
out of my way with your tormented old flowers, 
I’ll throw every one away.” 
Poor Charley began to cry, and threw him¬ 
self upon the floor in childish grief, which 60 on 
mergec^ iDto passion as he thought of his beau¬ 
tiful flowers and the harsh treatment they would 
get from hiB mother; and he lay there sobbing, 
muttering over and over, “ I’ll never bring my 
mamma any pretty things when I get big,” till 
little Johnny, seeming to understand the case, 
held out his little tin dipper, which put Char¬ 
ley in mind of his own dipper which was soon 
filled with water and the precious flowers in it. 
Then I showed him their tiny cups and the small 
Bt&meue, till the good-natured look came back, 
and we bud a good time over them after all. 
Little Johnny brought his two flowers to me 
with their poor heads in the water and stems 
sticking straight up, and what matter if he did 
spill a little water on the floor and on my dress, 
it did’nt do one half the injury that one cross 
word would have done the little Innocent. 
And now I would ask how much longer would 
it have taken “mamma” to notice the flowers 
and speak a few words in their praise, and to 
get a vase and place them where we could all 
see them, instead of their being hidden out of 
eight on top of the bureau behind a pile of 
books ? . 
Mothers, do you think your children never 
need any of your sympathy in their pleasures, 
small to you, no doubt, but great to them ? How 
much better to have spent a lew moments with 
Charley, pointing out the beauties in the tiny 
leaves, Impressing upon hi* mind a lesson of 
the goodness of the Creator in giving ins these 
beautiful objects, and deepening his love for 
beautiful things. Instead he learned to think 
evil and wicked things, to cherish resentment 
against his mother, and all because of one im¬ 
patient outburst of thoughtless words. If moth¬ 
ers would but interest themselves more in their 
children’s amusements, they might insure them¬ 
selves, and the children also, against many a trial 
of temper. I know it requires a coustant care 
and watchfulness to guide them always aright, 
but does fretting, scolding and storming about, 
lessen it any? Then It is to much better and 
pleasanter to have them good-natured than to 
be always in a broil. It i6 but for a few years 
that this care must be exercised for they will 
become so habituated to being pleasant tem¬ 
pered, that their youthful years will be control 
led by the habits taught them in infancy. Moth¬ 
ers can hardly begin too early to train their 
children to obedience. It is so much easier 
than to wait till they are older. Every mother 
possessed of even a small degree of intelligence 
can mould the disposition of her children, if 
she will only have the courage and patience, and 
not give way to weak and foolish indulgence, 
which will cause her cares and troubles for her 
child to extend through the years of its youth, 
if not to maturer years. 
South Dedham, Mass., May, 1866. 
Hints to Mothers.— If you wish to cultivate 
a gossiping, meddling, censorious spirit in 
your children, be sure when they come home 
from church, a visit, or any other place where 
you do not accompany them, to ply them with 
questions concerning what everybody wore, 
how everybody looked, and what everybody said 
and did — and if you find anything in all this to 
censure, always do it in their hearing. You may 
rest assured that if you pursue a course of this 
kind, they will not return to you unladed with 
intelligence; and, rather than it should be un¬ 
interesting, they ■will by degrees learn to, em¬ 
bellish in such a manner as shall not fall to call 
forth remarks and expressions of wouder from 
you. You will, by this course, render the spirit 
of curiosity—which is so early visible in children, 
and which, if rightly directed, may be made the 
instrument of enriching and enlarging their 
minds—a vehicle of mischief, which shall serve 
only to narrow them. 
An Error of the Times.— Dr. John E. Tyler 
of the McLean Asylum for the Insane, in a recent 
report, alludes to tbe increasing number of per¬ 
sons who arc carried to the Asylnrn owing to 
over worked brains. Dr. Tyler urges upon all 
the necessity of taking proper recreation, of 
being regular at meals, and he asserts “ over- 
workers deceive themselves by the belief that 
they can bear more than others, or that they 
can bear what they are doing because they have 
so long borne it without breaking down.” The 
over-worked class which have come under the 
Doctor’s particular notice are merchants, pro¬ 
fessional men, aud overtasked female scholars 
and teachers in our public schools. A few 
dollars less, a few cases passed over to young 
lawyers, and little less knowledge, would to-day 
have kept several who are now inmates of 
asylums, happy members of society. 
A young lady, whose father is improving the 
family mansion, insists upon having a beau win¬ 
dow put in for her benefit. 
fpsaUang. 
WISHING. 
BY JOHN O. SAXE. 
Or all the amusements of the mind, 
From logic down 10 fishing. 
There is not one that you can find 
So very Cheap as “ wishing 
A very choice diversion, too, 
If we lmt rightly use it, 
And not, as we are apt to do, 
Pervert it and abuse it. 
I wish—a common wish, indeed— 
My purse was something fatter; 
That I might cheer the child of need, 
And not my pride to flatter; 
That 1 might make oppression reel 
As gold can only make it. 
And break the tyrant's rod of eteel 
As gold can only break It. 
I wish-that sympathy and love, 
And every human passion 
That has its origin above, 
Would dome and keep in fashion; 
That scorn, and jealousy, and hate. 
And every base emotion, 
Were buried fifty fathoms deep 
Beneath the waves of ocean I 
I wish—that friends were always true, 
And motive* always pure; 
I wish the good were not so few, 
I wish the bad were fewer; 
I wish that parsons ne'er forgot 
To heed their pious teaching; 
I wish that, practising was not 
So different from, preaching. 
I wlsh-that modest worth might be 
Appraised with truth and candor, 
I wish that innocence were free 
From treachery and slander; 
I wish that men their vow* would mind. 
That women ne'er were rovers; 
I wish that wives were always kind, 
And husbands always lovers. 
I wish—In flue—that Joy and mirth, 
Ami every good Ideal, 
May come, erewbile throughout the earth. 
To be the glorious real; 
Till God shall every creat ure bless 
With hie supremest bl«saing, 
And hope be lost in happiness. 
And wishing be possession. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
“ GOING - GOING - GONE!” 
“Going —eight ’n’ a balf—’n’ a half—going.” 
It was only an old article of furniture,— a 
bureau that had seen better days, and in whose 
recesses in those better days, perhaps, had lain 
the unneodod garments of some darling gone to 
Heaven,— only this that was “going.” Per¬ 
haps it had been almost sacred to that lost dar¬ 
ling’s mother, because of a tiny pair of shoes 
and a little dress that it shut out from sight, but 
not from remembrance. Or may be those old 
drawers had hid from careless eyes sweet mis¬ 
sives of affection, a lover’s tokens, a treasured 
semblance of a face that was handsomer to one 
than was any other. There may have been sen¬ 
timent enough to make a poem of, connected 
with that old piece of furniture about which was 
gathered a heedless crowd of people, and of 
which the auctioneer was crying “going — 
going." 
“Sentiment”—say you—“sentiment in an 
auction-room ?” 
Yes, they sell romance and sentiment there, 
every day. You and a great many other good 
people, who don’t believe in either, are the 
buyers. 
“Absurd!” 
Is it? You have wealth, and like to gather 
about your home that which will prove to your 
neighbors that you have also taste. You visit 
the auction-rooms, and 6ee a beautiful piece of 
vertu “going” at a low figure. It will look 
well upon your mantel, or center table, you 
think, and you make the bid that secures it. 
Do you buy auy sentiment there? Another 
than you once cherished the pretty trifle you 
have bought, cherished It for somebody’s sake— 
perhaps a brother's, a sister's, a mother’s, or a 
lover’s,— and parted with it only because want 
came, with its wolfish cry, and sentiment must 
be sold to get bread. And you bought it. 
They sell sentiment everywhere. It is one of 
the staples in trade. It isn’t probable that you 
will see in any corner of your dally paper an ad¬ 
vertisement stating that a certain number of 
heart-throbs will bo sold for a dollar; but you 
will seeany number of advertisements that sigub 
f> the same. Necessity places the old homestead 
beyond family control, and it mu6t be sold to 
satisfy creditors. It is advertised—“A Home 
for Sale.” Is it weak to suppose that seatiment 
can cling around that word—* 1 home ?” Do not 
hearts cling closely to that which the word sig¬ 
nifies ? It is sold, and for every dollar realized 
there are a great many heart-throbs given. 
When tlie auctioneer riugs the change.-, on “go¬ 
ing-going,” there is something more than 
buildings and broad acres going. That which 
is dearest on earth to two hearts grown old to¬ 
gether,— the place where in the years gone by 
they commenced life hand in hand, where the 
laughing prattle of tbe first-born was the sweet¬ 
est music they ever heard, and whence the dear 
little feet walked out Into that country where 
the young never grow old,— this is “going.” 
Strange, eyes will look carelessly upon the deli¬ 
cate marble slab at the head of that little grave 
down in the orchard, aud strange ieet will press 
thoughtlessly the violets peeping np over the 
mould of what once had nestled very near their 
hearts. 
“Going,”—a family circle into segments; a 
home-chain, link by link, one way and another, 
out upon the world; each segment to make for 
itself a whole, if it may,— each link to gather 
unto itself something from the great chain of a 
common humanity, but never more to complete 
that bright circle of love that was turaed around 
the old hiarth-stone, 
“Going—going — gone.” Only three little 
words, but there is more in them than often is 
contained in as many elaborated propositions 
and a “ lastly.” The red-faced man who lust ily 
Bhouts them by the hour, preaches a homily 
more practical by far than many of those pre¬ 
sented week after week from fashionable pul¬ 
pits. Unwittingly preaching, may be, but not 
the less really. It isn’t always necessary that a 
man be Just behind the church desk, in order to 
preach a good sermon. Neither need he take a 
text. There are sermons that come home to 
the heart, and make deep impressions, and do 
good, that arc not preached by men In black 
broadcloth or surplice. 
“Goiug”—blushes aud beauty,—bright hopes 
and happy realizations,— year by year, day by 
day, and hour hy hour. Sweet flowers going to 
decay; dearly loved ones going out from the 
hallowed Influence of goodness and purity; love 
and tenderness going out of hearts that are sore 
from wounds carelessly given; and the soul- 
ligbt going out of eyes that we look into with 
confidence aud trust. All that is good and pure, 
and beautiful,— all that makes this life other 
than the dullest existence — “going-going,”— 
steadily, ceaselessly. 
Childhood, with its simple faith, its care free 
laugh, its purity; youth, with its frankness, its 
warm Impulses, its ambition, its freedom from 
unholy desire, Its ready confidence; manhood, 
with its golden opportunities, its unused 
strength, its quick perceptions, its adaptation; 
and age, with its ripe experience, its gray hairs, 
its imperfect accomplishments, its distrust,—all 
are—“going, going.” 
Aud we are powerless to stop the 6wift-moving 
tide. We may have attained the full measure of 
manhood, and have acquired all the strength 
that will ever be ours, hut we are powerless 
still; powerless as when in childhood we felt, so 
weak, aud louged for tbe ripened years when we 
should feel so stroug! Tbe yea: - rush by swifter 
than they ever did before,—harvest after harvest 
passes ere we have gathered a tithe of the sheaves 
we covet,—and with them are going what 6ums 
up the miserable fruition of hopes that once 
promised 60 rich a garner. 
“ Gone. ” Is there auother monosyllable that 
has as much within it os has this little word — 
“gone?” It has fallen upon your ear many 
and many a time without conveying to you a 
thought of its full meaning. Have you ever 
realized how much it mean*? Has it echoed 
deep in your heart as you have stood by the 
open grave of a dear one departed, and have 
seen the coffin settling down so heavily, while 
tbo weight seemed crushing all brightness out 
of yonr life? Have you whispered it sadly— 
sobbingly—at the midnight hour, as you have 
laid your band upon the pillow beside you where 
that, dear head so lately rested ? Have you 
breathed it sighingly, as a voice like another’s, 
only not bo sweet — another’s that will never 
again make music upon earth — has fallen upon 
your ear and recalled dear old songs and the 
memory of a dearer singer ? 
“ Gone, ” Have you said it to yourself as y*u 
have looked back over years wherein you buried 
opportunities misimproved? Has thought, light¬ 
ning - like, shot back over years that in tbe 
retrospect seem to you but as months, aud 
brought up old faces, old associations and old 
loves, only to taunt you with that echoing 
refrain ? 
It is a dirge over all that is past, as it most 
soon be over all that is present. The sea moaus 
it over fair ships that never reached their har¬ 
bor?, and over forms of grace and manliness that 
vanished suddenly and forever. Summer breezes 
sigh it as they waft to us the memories of de¬ 
parted Junes; the sweet forget-me-nots breathe 
it tenderly of those who are still fondly remem¬ 
bered ; and soon, very soon, will it record the 
finis of our own life-chapters, — “ Gone." 
Albany, N. Y.. May, 180G. Gulielmum. 
WIT AND WISDOM. 
He who can weather the storm need not storm 
at the weather. 
If a writer does not make his book concise, 
the reader can do it for himself. 
The birds are the most successful of agricul¬ 
turists, as their crops never fail. 
Why does the eye resemble a schoolmaster in 
the act of Hogging ? It is a pupil under the lash. 
Why is the assessor of taxes the best man in 
the world? Because he never underrates any¬ 
body. 
Let us always go beyond the duties that are 
marked out, aud keep within the pleasures per¬ 
mitted. 
Dr. Chapin says there is a class of men too 
shallow to have a conscience, and too cold to 
have a heart 
An editor afflicted with hand-organ6 thinks 
the rinderpest cannot be compared with the 
griuderpest. 
If a man keeps too many mastiffs, hounds, 
pointers, setters, terriers, his earnings will all 
go to the dogs. 
He who has not forgiven an enemy, has never 
yet tasted one of the most sublime enjoyments 
of life.— Larater. 
Surely tbe mOBt painful recollection on earth 
is that of having had it in our power to do good, 
and the neglect to do it. 
It is strange that so much is said about “ our 
common country” when everybody knows that 
it is a most uncommon one. 
No man eau ever become eminent in anything 
unless he work at it with an earnestness border¬ 
ing ou enthusiasm.— Robert Hall. 
We should give as we receive, cheerfully 
quickly aud without hesitation, for there is no 1 
grace in a benefit that sticks to the fingers. i 
fgusmtjS. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WATCHIN'G, 
Almost alone! There’s but one more 
Led this side the ellcnt *horc, 
Long I have waited and weary grawn, 
Watching on the strand of the great unknown. 
Waiting for bark* that went out on the tide, 
And now are moored on the other side— 
Barks that went silently one by one, 
Leaving me here almost aloue. 
They were freighted each with a precious soul, 
As they drifted away o'er the wave to the goal 
On the island of bliss, the pearl-strewn shore, 
Where the pure in heart shall rest evermore. 
Hearts that 1 loved, thu* borne away 
To dwell in the light of eternal day, 
Passed through the aunlit gates of the west, 
And nuw on the beautiful Isle are at rest. 
But my eyes are not gladdened by sight of sail, 
Or boat coming in on the rieing gale: 
Ah, how.many are watching sadly in vain, 
For fairy barks to return o'er the main ;— 
Bringing back friends, the loved and the lost, 
To tbta world with tempests of sorrow tossed— 
Back to its trials, its care, and its strife, 
Back to this weary working-day life. 
“Lakeside," 1866. c-r. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
FORGET NOT GOD. 
“Beware that thou forget not the Lord thy God, 
in not keeping his commandments, and his judg¬ 
ments, ami his statutes. Lest wheu thou hast eaten 
uud art full, and hast built goodly houses and dwelt 
therein and when thy herds and thy flocks multiply, 
aud thy stiver and thy gold Is multiplied, and all that 
thou hast is multiplied, then thy heart he lifted up, 
and thou forget the Lord thy God.” 
These words were addressed to the children 
of Israel, and are a part of the instructions which 
God gave them when they were about to enter 
into the laud of Canaan. May they not with 
propriety be considered as applying to many in 
tbe present day? Like theirs, ours is a “good 
land, a land of brook* of water, of fountains and 
depths that spring out of valleys and hills,—a 
laud of wheat, aud barley, and vines,—a land 
wherein thou shalt eat bread without scarceness 
—a land whose stones are iron, aud out of whose 
hills thou mayest dig brass.” In this goodly 
laud very many find that their herds and their 
llocks, their silver aud their gold, is being 
multiplied. How sad if, *in our prosperity, we 
should forget the Great Giver aud source of all 
our blessings. For pride ourselves as we may 
ou our wisdom, our diligence aud prudence, our 
skillful plans and well-executed schemes for the 
accumulation of wealth, toe goodnetss of God is 
at the foundation of it all'. He gives the power 
of mind to plan. It is His gift that elevates us 
above the beasts, or makes us to differ from the 
poor imbecile whose thoughts wander power- 
lessly from object to object. No ground for 
pride here, but abundant reason for gratitude to 
God. He likewise gives us strength of body to 
carry our plans into practice. Life aud health 
are from Him. 
Aud lastly, it is God who gives success. “Ex¬ 
cept the Lord build the house, they labor iu 
vain that build it," God gives the rain and the 
sunshine; His wisdom and power have distrib¬ 
uted the subtle elements iu the air and earth, 
without which uot a single spire ol grass could 
grow. His hand has impressed the mysterious 
laws of Nature which govern the germination, 
the growth and the maturity of the grain. God 
is everywhere. Evidences of His power and 
wisdom, His goodness and love, surround U6 on 
every side. Shall man, the creature and recipi¬ 
ent, forget the great Creator, and the giver of 
every good gift? To remember God as taught 
in His word, ifl to obey Him—“to keep His 
commaudments, aud His judgments, and His 
statutes." It is not simply to remember that 
there is a God, but iu addition to this, it is to 
strive to know and do Hi* holy wilL God has 
created us; in Him we live aud move and have 
our being; Iu His providence we are located in 
a land like Canaau of old, fertile and fruitful, 
with civil and religious privileges scarcely 
equaled in the history of our race. Surrounded 
by blessings, we are 6wiltiy passing on through 
life, aud the hour approaches when we shall go 
to the presence of our Judge to render account 
for our stewardship. How important that we 
heed the divine command, “Beware that thou 
forget not the Lord thy God.” Local. 
RELIGIOUS MISCELLANY. 
There is one expression iu the Word of God 
that has always come home to me with very 
great power aud sweetness. It is that where 
God is spoken of as acting toward men for his 
own name's sake— or, for his own sake, 
Christ is never more wounded in the house 
of his friends than when they murmur; nothing 
6eemed so much to overcome his forbearance 
with the Israelites .—Lady I'ovmscourt. 
“Thou art my portion, 0 Lord” Behold 
here the test of rectitude, of happiness, of a 
Christian. Speak this truly, 0 my heart, and all 
that is within me, or I am undone forever. 
It is remarkable that the words in all Euroj 
pean luuguages which express forgiveness or 
pardon, all imply free <pjt. — Whaftly. 
If parents were really faithful to their chil¬ 
dren, there would be fewer unconverted adults. 
— Baxter. 
There is no sin we can be tempted to commit, 
but we shall find a greater satisfaction in resist¬ 
ing than in committing.— Mason. 
I never knew how it was, but I always seemed 
to have the most come in when I gave the most 
away.— Baxter. 
