Writtea for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
RIES-“ STATELY ” AND “HOMELY” 
A QUAKES WEDDING. 
A correspondent of tbe Richmond Dis¬ 
patch, writing from Loudon county, ^ a., gives 
the following interesting account. *>f a Quaker 
wedding in that section: — Much of our popula¬ 
tion consist* of that class known as “ Quakers.” 
In their mode of worship, manner of dress, and 
many other customs, they differ from other de¬ 
nominations, but more particularly in the matter 
of marriages. I attended one of these, by invi¬ 
tation, last Thursday, and will endeavor, a6 
nearly as I can, to give you an accurate account 
of the proceedings. 
The parties proposing matrimony are required 
to hand In their “intentions” to a business 
meeting at least one month beTu^e the time ap - 
pointed for the wedding. This meehqgappoints 
a committee to inquire into the propriety of the 
match and report at the next meeting If the 
report is favorable,—i. e., if nothing which they 
consider an obstacle Is presented,— the parents 
or guardinu of the young lady give their consent 
to the union. One peculiarity of marriage among 
the members of the society is, that hy its rules 
the ceremony shall take place during the day— 
none are ever married after nightfall. 
In the case of the one of which we are 
writing, all the preliminaries having been set¬ 
tled, the parties repaired to the residence of the 
bride’s father, where the ceremony was to take 
place, and found the house well tilled—for tbelr 
circle of acquaintances was very large. The 
bridegroom is one of our most energetic and 
enterprising citizens.—frank, free and joyous, he 
is always the life of every party of which ho 
The bride is the youngcBt daugh 
The department of Queries and Answers has 
always given great freshness and vivacity to 
the Rural New-Yorker, and is a happy means 
of keeping editor and reader in pleasant intelli¬ 
gence with each other. The idea underlying it, 
iB that it gives vent to the instinct coarsely but 
characteristically expressed by the sailor, in 
justifying his preference for responsive religious 
worship, that “it gave a fellow a chance to jaw 
back.” Only the “ answering again” Is, In both 
cases, not that of angry dispute, but of pleasant 
colloquy, and so much fresher than by labored 
essay.” 
May I, now and then, avail myself of this cor¬ 
ner, to propose a query or two ? — and at this 
writing, the following? (I may not make my 
want clearly understood the first time, probably 
I shall not. If so, I will try again.) 
Will some kind reader of the Rural, who ha3 
enjoyed the warm, out-gushing, natural and real 
pleasures of home-life, among aihdred and 
friends who were “ all the world” to each other, 
and who has at tbe same time had both oppor¬ 
tunity, and an eye, to observe life and society 
under the variety of its phases which large in¬ 
tercourse opens to view, — will such a reader, 
gentle or simple, favor me and my backers, with 
a definition of the words Ntately and Homely — 
Stateliness and Homeliness — with illustrations 
from life, in each case, by way of examples of 
each ? 
I will premise, farther, that, to my mind, to 
be qualified, the writer must be able to say that 
she (Ido hope some true woman will answer,) 
has sung or listened to the words and the 
melody of 
“ Home, Sweet Home I ’’ 
and heartily enjoyed both, at least as often when 
the singers were a home-set, where 
“ Each wa* of the other sure,” 
as amid the glare and artifice and stateliness of 
the gay concert room. 
I should like illustrations, if I may prescribe, 
from eueb occasion* of social life as the follow¬ 
ing, for example: 1. Morning calls, by intimate 
friends. 2. Staying to a meal, unexpectedly. 
A dinner, the guests being (supposed) old 
friends. 1. A visit to spend the evening socia¬ 
bly, (old friends, supposed, again.) 5. A colla¬ 
tion of refreshments for guests at a morning or 
noon-day wedding. 0. The tout ensetnble of the 
getting op of a wedding—where the parties and 
their friends are neither princes, nobles, or mil¬ 
lionaires, and have the struggle of life before 
them, Ac., &c., Ac. 
What in these and like cases would be “ state¬ 
liness,” and which “ homeliness?” —and which 
is to be preferred, and why? And is there any 
use of heart in any of these, and why? I don’t 
mean to presume, Mr. Editor, and hope I don't 
intrude. Bat you see I am inquisitive; for in 
fact I am bewildered and in a puzzle. Home. 
Written lor Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
LAST WORDS. 
CHURCH BELLES 
Whispering softly. 
Heeding no sermon— 
What they are tbeie for, 
Hard to determine. 
On all around them 
Gazing benignly; 
Wholly unconscious,, 
Singing divinely. 
Prosy disconrslngs 
Don’t suit their whims 
Plain they assemble, 
All for the * him■?." 
Comino in couple®, 
Smiling so sweetly, 
Up the long aisle 
Tripping so neatly. 
Flutter of feathers. 
Rustle of dresses, 
Fixing of ribbons, 
Shaking of tresses. 
Envying bonnets, 
Envying lacee. 
Nodding to ueighbore. 
Peering in faces. 
BY ALFRED TENNYSON, 
Deal gently with me, O my friends, when this frail 
life hath fled, 
When ye shall gather 1 in my home, and whisper “she 
is dead.” 
Let not a word of idle praise be breathed o’er ray 
repose, 
And a9 for blame, however just. Oh 1 leave it to my 
foes. 
Bend o’er my conch with cheerfal smile, and say “ she 
Is at rest: 
We loved her well, we miss her much, bnt God knows 
what is. best.” 
And when ye robe me for the grave, let no cold shroud 
be there. 
To eend a shudder to the heart, as from Death’s icy 
Teaks, idle tears, I know not what they mean; 
Tears from the depth of some divine despair 
Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes, 
In looking on the happy autumn ticjds. 
And thinking of the dayB that arc no more. 
Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail 
That brings onr friends up from the outer world. 
Sad as the last which reddens over one 
That sinks with all we love below the verge, 
So sad, so lresh the days that are no more. 
Ah, sad and strange a* in dark summer dawns 
The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds 
To dying '■are, when nnto dying eyes 
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square, 
So sad, so strange the days that are no more. 
Dear as remembered kisses after death. 
And sweet at those by hopeless fancy feigned 
On lips that are for others; deep as love, 
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret, 
r> TV-nth iii Life, the days that are no more. 
Written ior Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
“THE TEAIN'S IK!” 
Did you ever stand in the depot when the 
train had just arrived? What blendings and 
contrasts we see amid the busy throng! Joy 
and sorrow walk side by side. There are meet¬ 
ings of friends long parted, — partings of dear 
ones, perhaps forever, in this bustling world. 
Health and sickness go arm in arm ; and life and 
death, the beginning and the end of every earth¬ 
ly existence, are here strangely commingled. 
Bee the hope pictured in that poor woman’s 
face, as with her child in her arms she stands 
looking eagerly among the crowd for some one, 
and we cod guess who; but her search is fruit¬ 
less — the welcome face is not there, — she has 
been here before, and now, grown weary with 
watching in vain, despair takes the place of 
hope, and she goes away sobbing out .a heart- 
br«kon prayer to the God of the widow and the 
fatherless. 
There stands a splendid coach, waiting for 
“ proud of his 
pride,” thinks it quite degrading to ride in the 
same car, or perhaps to occupy the same seat, 
(ugh! how contaminating,) with a workingman, 
the nobler of the two, because he uses the pow¬ 
ers which God has given him, to tbe best of his 
ability. Notice that soldier in his faded suit of 
as he drags his 
those feet 
But wrap me in some simple garb, that speaks of 
warmth and rest, 
And lay fair blossoms o’er my brow, and on my silent 
breast; 
Put nothing in my folded hands,—but let them empty 
To show that Life and all its cares is henceforth 
naught to me. 
And toll no bell, and chant no dirge o’er my unburied 
dust, 
But utter words of earnest prayer, and sing sweet 
hymns of trust. 
Then lay me gently down to rest, where sleep my 
loved and lost; 
An d think of me as one whose barqne no more is 
tempest-tost. 
And when ye go back to the world, Oh I do notjquitc 
forget 
That one whose heart was warm and true would fain 
be cherished yet. 
Bat do not mourn that I have gone, nor cast a veil of 
gloom 
Above my lonely, vacant place In each familiar room: 
Bat bring the flowers I loved the best, and let their 
fragrance be 
A pleasant incense in the house to waken thoughts 
of me. 
An d sometimes place upon my grave the blossoms 
fair and sweet 
That shall be pledges of our love until the hour we 
meet. 
I ask no more—for thus to live in hearts I call mine 
own 
Were better than the sounding praise of monumen¬ 
tal stone. 
I crave no guerdon of the wojld—I ask no boon of 
Fame, 
If ye but cherish, year by year, my well-remembered 
name I 
Written tor Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MY PICTURES. 
forms a part. 
ter of one of the oldest and most honored of our 
citizens. Always bright and beautiful she was 
doubly so ou this occasion. Dressed iu the 
purest white, emblematic of her spotless char¬ 
acter, with no ornaments 6ave those supplied by | some petted son of wealth, who, 
nature, she walked in with the bridal party, and 
took the seats prepared for them. 
After a ehort season of silence, tbe bride and 
groom, with their waiters, rise to their feet, and 
the gentleman, iu a clear and distinct voice, 
repeats the vow which is preecribed by the dis- 
In the presence of the Lord and be- 
the less a pleasure. They carry me to distant 
lands — different scenes — ditfemt dime* — as 
much as do the moat costly paintings. I can 
tell you of a few, and but a few, for space in our 
Rural would not be allowed me for a full tell¬ 
ing of all the minor jiointa of my “gallery.” 
On my right hand, as I sit before my diversi¬ 
fied view, I can see the penciled figure of 
“ Morning,” arising, as It were, from a sea of 
clouds and mists, with one foot poised on a 
rocky point, and her scepter pointed towards 
the “Day Star.” Below it a picture of quiet 
beauty—two lovers, reading together a ballad 
called “The Lovers’ Parting,”—a sheaf of wheat 
lying in her lap, and flowers twined in her hair, 
rustic and happy—with a shade of the “ part¬ 
ing” resting on each brow. Napoleon, with 
his Btern look, brings me a retrospective glimpse 
of Ms career. As the opposite of Nafoleon, 
are the calm, noble, God-llke features of Wash¬ 
ington, whose whole aim was the happiness of 
his people—not the crushing and subjecting 
them to the power of tni will and ambition. 
“ The Death-bed of Young Custis,” with the 
Father of his Country bending over him, al¬ 
though we know it to be historicaly inaccurate, 
as Washington was not with him at the last 
hour, I love to imagine a correct delineation. 
“ The marriage of Ferdinand and Isabella ” 
brings sweet thoughts of love and happiness— 
and the “Flight of Helen and Paris,” bit¬ 
terness and grief that there Is so much sin in 
the world, “Remarkable Trees In Foreign 
Lands” take me under their shade, and I wan¬ 
der up and down their silent arches, blessing 
God’s infinite goodness in giving us this beau¬ 
tiful world. “A Winter’s Night," “Going to 
School,” “The Brother’s Pet,” “Caractaeus," 
“View of Charlestown,” and “ Gathering Flow¬ 
ers,” all suggest thoughts peculiar to them¬ 
selves, and although nothing but “wood cuts,” 
impart lesson* of beauty 
The pictures of “John Anderson and his 
Jean,” are among my favorites, and I love to 
repeat the old ballad as 1 gaze, and imagine 
them in youth, middle age, and old age, totter¬ 
ing hand in hand, still loving each other as in 
the “hey-day” of youth and pleasure, down to 
their qnlet home, the grave. “ The Rivals of the 
Battle-field of Bull Run ” Is a picture that tells 
its own story of love, jealousy, hatred and recon¬ 
ciliation, and the darker but glorious story of 
the civil strife that so long agitated our land, 
and the conquering host of “ Boys In Blue ” that 
made tbe right triumph;—ail honor to those 
same “boys,” aDd may the “rlvaJfihip” all be 
at an end, and all those who wore the “blue" 
be blessed with a distinct, separate “One.” 
Away up here In one corner of my “ gallery ” 
is a picture of a dear old Seminary, called the 
Genesee and Wyoming Seminary, situated In 
the picturesque vlluge of Alexander. ’Tis not 
the lead amoug my pictures, — ’tis looked at 
long and often, for there a bright period of my 
life was passed, and the golden memories clus¬ 
ter around it o’eu yet. A bright, gay band was 
ours;—now we’re scattered; yet beyond “the 
6hore ” we shall meet again. 
Here in my “gallery” are not all my pic¬ 
tures. As I turn my eye in any direction from 
home, hills, wood and valley greet my sight, 
and are reposing in perfect quietness, unless 
disturbed by the warbling of birds, the lowing 
of cattle, or the whistle of the plow-boy “ as he 
homeward wends his way,”—a picture of quiet, 
beauty, home comfort, and content. God’s 
pictures are all around and about us. God’s 
music also comes, a- the wind sways tbe lofty 
trees. The beauty of God’s goodness and love 
is shown forth everywhere; and thU belongs to 
my “gallery”—is the part that makes ruy soul 
“Uncle Sam’s glorious blue, 
worn and weary feet slowly along 
that have borne him through many a long march 
and faithfully trod the path of duty. No flue 
carriage or liveried servants are ready to bear 
him to his home and waiting friend*. He will 
look for a chance to ride with some of the farm¬ 
er* who are down from the hills, in their lumber 
wagons, to trade,—for he must surprise mother 
to-night. Sad surprise! We woqdcr if Bhc will 
know him '.—the boy who went out fail of health 
and activity, now wasted by disease; the light 
of bis childhood's da 3 >: gone out from those 
once laughing eyes, and a mightier than we poor 
earth-children has set his stamp upon that pale 
brow. He is “coming home to die," for It 
seems that home is the best port from which to 
launch his bark to drift away, over the dark 
river, and glide into heaven as the last words of 
mother’s prayer dies upon his ear, “ Thy will he 
done.” 
Here is the merry face of a bride, “married 
unto manhood." Surely she is happy, although 
a clouded future hangs over her, filled with trials, 
care6 and dark days that will try her soul, and 
if it be true will strengthen her love. She is 
repeating an experiment, tested by many, with 
various results, and by many more still untried. 
It is “taking a leap In the dark.” But look 
ahead t.o the baggage car! What is that rough 
box which they handle so carelessly, little reck¬ 
ing that though It la but dust, it is precious to 
some one, and worthy to be “lifted up tenderly." 
There is a hearse just around the corner, to re¬ 
ceive these earthy remains and bear them to 
some lone heart that is sadly waiting to behold 
the dear form of one who fell asleep in a stran¬ 
ger’s land, with no friend near to soothe his 
achlDg bead, or to wipe the death damp irom 
his throbbing brow. Could those relics speak 
would they not tell of a wasted life, hidden and 
unused talents, a harvest of leaves faded and 
withered? —or would it be of deeds well done, 
some pebble laid iu the wall of truth, a harvest 
rich with golden grain, and when tired with 
earth’s labors waiting at the beautiful gate, at 
last receiving the plaudit, “Well done ?” Soon 
they will be consigned to tbe breast of their 
mother earth and there will be one more grave 
monud, npon which shall be written in the green 
turf and the bright flowers Homebody's loss. 
We have spent so much time musing upon 
one of life’s sad pictures, the cars are starting. 
People are rushing past to get on. Farewells 
are said and the. iron steed moves ofl, dragging 
this vast load of human Height—bound where? 
All have some point of destination, little think¬ 
ing that perhaps in one short hour they may be 
hurled into eternity. May we not ask as we go 
away, where will our train of life stop ? 
“Lakeside.” 0-. 
cipliue 
fore this assembly I take L. J. to be my wife, 
promising, with Divine assistance, to be unto 
her a loving and faithful husband, until death 
shall separate us.” And Immediately following 
him, the lady, in a soft and tremulous voice, but 
still loud enough to be audible to all witliiu the 
room, repeated her portion of the vow : —“Iu 
the prsencc of the Lord, aud before this assem¬ 
bly, I take W. B. to be my husband, promising, 
with Divine assistance, to be unto him a loving 
and a falthfhl wife until death shall separate us." 
Tills was followed by signing the marriage 
certificate by the newly married conple and a 
large number of those present, nearly one hun¬ 
dred, as witnesses. The marriage ceremony was 
now completed, this twain have been made one, 
and the company dispersed over the different 
rooms to enjoy as host *uit6 their fancy. But. as 
I before said, a committee of older friends is 
alwayB ou hand to see that everything Is con 
ducted properly aud lu good order. Their pres¬ 
ence, however, caused but little restraint upon 
the younger members of the party, for these — 
old, stale aud solemn as they may appear—are 
many of them full of fun and pleasure, aud 
enjoy a pastime of this sort as much as those 
who are younger, aud more given to parties, 
froliCB, etc. 
WHITTIER’S THEOLOIGICAL OPINIONS. 
John G. Whittier, the Quaker poet, finding 
himself quoted as authority for certain theolog¬ 
ical opinions, writes to the Friend, the organ ol 
his denomination: 
Painfully sensible of my own moral infirmities 
and liabilities to error, I Instinctively shrink 
from assuming the office of teacher and guide 
of others. I simply wish to say that my ground 
of hope for myself and humanity is in that Di¬ 
vine fulness of love which was manifested iu 
the life, teachings and self-sacrifice of Christ — 
the way, the truth, aud the life. In the infinite 
mercy of God so revealed, and not in any work 
or merit of our nature, I reverently, humbly, 
yet very hopefully trust. I regard Christianity 
as a life rather than a creed, and, In judging of 
my fellow men, I can use no other standard than 
that which our Lord and Master has given us: 
“ By their fruits ye shall know them.” The 
only orthodoxy that I am specially interested 
In is that of life and practice. On the awful and 
solemn theme of human destiny I dare not dog¬ 
matize; bat wait the uufolding of the great 
mystery in the firm faith that, whatever maybe 
our particular allotment, God will do the best 
that is possible for all. 
IMPULSE AGAINST JUDGMENT 
The man who is governed by impulse, that is, 
feeling, is under the constant necessity of re¬ 
penting. Impulses are the fruit of the moment 
—and as they exist In exaggeration, f. going 
beyond proper bounds, there has always got to 
be a backlog down. If not, if reparation Is hot 
made, then the man is hard-hearted, and conse¬ 
quently unhappy, and to be pitied. Such are 
the quarrelsome men of the world, the thorns 
in a neighborhood, getting men into scrapes, 
themselves the leaders. Look out for such 
men, and avoid them. But we are all apt to be 
too much affected that way. Feeling has two 
strong advantages:—Excitement which it is a 
pleasure to gratify; and the habit of indulging 
in it. It is so easy “to give way.” Though 
our resolution should be formed a hundred 
times, a hundred times we break through it. 
But there is only one way to overcome—and 
that 1* to persist iu the resolution till we have 
conquered ft habit How much “ smart money ” 
has been paid; how much ill-feeling engendered; 
how many restless nights and painful days en¬ 
dured, Ln consequence of giving way to our feel¬ 
ings. “The man who governs his passions is 
stronger than he that taketh a city.” 
THE SECRET OF YOUTH. 
There are women who cannot grow old, — 
women who, without any special effort., remain 
always young and attractive. The number is 
smaller thau It should be, but there is still a 
sufficient number to mark the wide difference 
between this class and the other. The great 
secret of this perpetual youth lies not in beauty, 
for some wowe* possess it who are tot. at all 
handsome; nor in dress, for they arc frequently 
careless iu that respect, so far as mere arbitrary 
dictates of fashion are concerned; nor in havi ng 
nothing to do, lor these ever-young women are 
always busy as bees, and It la very well kuown 
that Idleness will fret people Into old age and 
uglluc-ss faster than overwork. The charm, we 
imagine, lies in a sunny temper, neither mdre 
nor less—the blessed gift of always looking on 
the bright side of life, and stretching the mautle 
of charity over every body’s faults and failings. 
It is not much of a secret, but it Is all we have 
been able to discover; and wo have watched 
such with great interest, and a determination to 
report truthfully for the benefit of the rest of the 
sex. It is very provoking that it is something 
which cinnot be corked up and sold for fifty 
cents per bottle, lint as this is impossible, wby, 
the most of ns will have to keep ou growing old 
and ugly and disagreeable.— Ex. 
WHAT IS THE BIBLE LIKE 1 
It is like a large, beautiful tree that bean 
sweet fruit for those who are hungry, and affords 
shelter aud shade for pilgrims on their way to 
heaven. 
It is like a cabinet of jewels and precious 
stones, which are not only to be looked at and 
admired, but used and worn. 
It is like a telescope, which brings distant 
objects and far off worlds very near, so that 
we can see something of their beauty and im¬ 
portance. 
It is like a treasure house, a store house of all 
sorts of valuable aud useful things ; and which 
are to be had without money and without price. 
It is like a deep, broad, calm flowing river; 
the banks of which are green and flowery, where 
birds sing and lambs play, and dear little chil¬ 
dren are loving and happy. 
My dear little children, I want you to love the 
Bible. If you attend to it, it will make you, 
through God’s blessing, wise, rich aud happy 
forever and ever. 
WIT AND WISDOM 
Perfect integrity and a properly-cooked beef¬ 
steak are rare. 
Gentleman —A manual of good manners, 
bound in cloth. 
Woman —An essay on grace, in one volume, 
elegantly bound. 
Wht is swearing like a ragged coat ? Because 
It Is a bad habit. 
Loving hearts are like beggars; they live on 
what is given them. 
The lady whose peace of mind was broken in¬ 
tends to have It repaired. 
The most dangerous of flatteries is the inferi¬ 
ority of what is around us. 
The attempt to read many books often ends 
in thoroughly reading none. 
Sublimity in Humility—The soul goes highest 
when the body kneels lowest. 
No matter how long jou have been married, 
never neglect to court your wife. 
Why is a lady of fashion like a successful 
sportsman ? Because she bags the hare. 
It is better to love the person you cannot mar¬ 
ry, than to marry the person yon cannot love. 
Neither false curls, false teeth, false calves, 
nor even false eyes, are as bad as false tongues. 
They have given up long-meter tunes in the 
San Francisco churches. The are considered 
entirely too slow for that fast city. 
Wear a Smile.— Which will you do, smile 
and make others happy, or be crabbed, and make 
every body around you miserable? You can 
live among beautiful flowers and singing birds, 
or in the mire surrounded by fogs aud frogs. 
The amount of happiness which you can pro¬ 
duce is incalculable, if you will show a smiling 
face, a kind heart, and speak pleasant words. 
On the other hand, by sour looks, cross words, 
and a fretful disposition, you can make hundreds 
unhappy almost beyond endurance. Which will 
you do ? Wear a pleasant countenance, let joy 
beam in your eye, and love glow on your fore¬ 
head. There is no joy so great as that which 
springs from a kiud act or a pleasant deed, and 
you may feel it at night when yon rest, and at 
morning when you rise, and through the day 
when about your dally business. 
“ I MAKE it a point of morality,” says an emi¬ 
nent writer, “never to find fault with another 
for his manners. They may be awkward or 
graceful, bluut or polite, polished or rustic, I 
care not what they are, If the man means well, 
and acts from honest intentions without eccen¬ 
tricity or affectation. All men have not the ad¬ 
vantages of ‘ good society,’ as it Is called, to 
school themselves in all its fantastic rales and 
ceremoules; and if there is any standard of man¬ 
ners, it is well founded on reason and good 
sense, aud not upon these artificial regulations. 
Manners, like conversation, should be extempo¬ 
raneous, and not studied. I always suspect a 
man that meets me with tbe same perpetual 
smile on his face, the bending of the body, and 
the same premeditated shake of the hand. Give 
me the hearty—it may be rough—grip of the 
hand, the careless uod of recognition, aud when 
occasion requires, the homely but welcome sal¬ 
utation— 1 How are you, my old friend?’" 
Conscious that we are swiftly hastening w 
the vale where earthly toil must cease, we 
should so perform the duties of the present life 
that we can lay these bodies down in peace, 
where the wicked cease from troubling and the 
weary are at rest,—feeling as wc go forward that 
for us to live is Christ, but to die is gala. 
To suppose God could require of His children 
aught different or less than purity aud holiness, 
is to express a Bad insensibility to His own di¬ 
vine perfections. To suppose obedience to His 
laws will not be finally secured, is to betray an 
irreverent distrust of the efficacy ot His govern¬ 
ment and grace. 
Happiness is less frequently found in °--‘ 
eplcuous than in humble station*. When D i • - - 
a aid, “ Oh, that I had wings like a dove, for then 
would I fly away ami be at rest,” he was king oi 
Israel and Judea-not a shepherd in Bethlehem. 
For the Afflicted.— Luther used to say 
“If it were not for tribulation I should not 
understand Scripture; aud every sorrowing saint 
responds to this, as having felt its truth.— Bonar. 
Silence never shows itself to so great an ad¬ 
vantage, as when it is made the reply to cal¬ 
umny and defamation. 
