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MGGI&3S’*! llURilL 
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-YORKER. 
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As the autumn-time comes first with the frost, 
Then winter follows with snow, 
Bo in life’s autumn-years, sorrow and care, 
Whiten some threads in the glossy, dark hair, 
And then all silvery grow. 
We look on a forehead with deep age-marks 
And shaded by hoary hair, 
And our thoughts flyback through the scores of years, 
When a mother’s kiss, and her joyful tears, 
And whispers of holy prayer, 
Were the heaviest weights that touched the brow 
Bo sinless and smooth and fair; 
Bat the mother passed through the shadow, death, 
She blessed her child with her latest breath, 
Her hand on the silken hair. 
Changing years bore childhood and youth away, 
And into the dreamless sleep 
Passed loving friend*; while life’s growing cares, 
And labor and change frost-touched a few hairs, 
And marked the brow-farrows d»ep. 
We know not of heart-griefs borne through the years, 
Nor of hopes, that blossomed fair, 
Whose fruits were but ashes on waiting lips— 
Of friendships that ended In dark eclipse— 
We see but the hoary hair. ■ 
Then ever bo gentle to aged ones! 
E'er cheer with kind words their way; 
When our heads the coflln-pillowe ehall press, 
Our brows may be farrowed by time not less 
Shaded by hair that la gray. 
In the city above whose gates are pearl, 
Whoso streets are or shining gold, 
We shall know no changes by fleeting years— 
No Joys overshadowed by anxious fears— 
And none shall ever grow old. 
When our Saviour, giveth bright crowns of Life 
For the cross home faithfully, 
For the trials of life here nobly borne, 
Shall hair grown white in his service be worn 
And an added glory be ? 
Home, N. Y. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A LETTER FROM A HAPPY WIFE, 
BY MAX MAPLE. 
Flof.al Cottage, Mich., 1866. 
Dear Lop.—It’s a long time since I have 
taken pen in hand to write you. But to-day 
is the fifth anniversary of our marriage, and ac¬ 
cording to a promise which 1 made you, five 
years ago, while I’m waiting for my husband to 
return from liis office, I will tell you that I am 
really and truly a happy wife. I have never re¬ 
gretted for a moment having taken the most 
solemn obligations upon myself, on that partic¬ 
ular occasion which made me the wife of Frank 
Welt on. I have a good husband — one who is 
kind to his little family, and who Is always a 
friend to the friendless. Three loving little ones 
fill our hearts with joy and gladness,and our home 
with music, sweeter and far more melodious than 
organ or harp to our ears. We are not troubled 
with riches as far as land and gold are concerned; 
yet we have enough for our comfort and can 
share with the needy when occasion requires it. 
We keep no servant, except when sickness 
comes to our abode. My husband says I per¬ 
form all the offices of servant, friend and com¬ 
panion, with admirable tact. Now, Fm very 
sure that is the very best compliment he could 
give me. We have many books by our best au¬ 
thors ; and it is very pleasant, after the tea ser¬ 
vice is all put away and the little ones nicely 
tucked in bed, to sit down in our cozy little 
family parlor by the side of him I love 
better than ail xhe world beside, and next 
to the Great Divinity, with my sewing—for a 
mother may always find something to do—while 
he reads some entertaining work, often stopping 
to explain some passage which may not be quite 
clear to my obscure vision, or to discuss the mer¬ 
its of the author. 
Wc have a pretty cottage, and at this time it 
is almost entirely covered with flowering vines; 
flowers line the pathway to the gate and all the 
garden walks. A fresh bouquet can be seen in 
almost every room in the house; and It would 
delight you to listen to the little ones’ extacies 
while I arrange them each morning: “ Dis one is 
so pitty," and “that one so tweet;” and each 
flower must be smelled of and kissed. It's a 
real pleasure to cultivate their love lor the beau¬ 
tiful in nature. 
Now, do not think, because Fm so happy, that 
I never have any trials, for that is not the case. 
I’ve passed through some that seemed like 
“ lending soul from body.” When my loved 
husband went to the dread “ battle-field,” think 
you it was no trial for me to he left alone to care 
for and protect, two little ones; and each morn¬ 
ing to think that before the sun had finished 
that day's journey my husband might be lying 
with his white face upturned to the blue vault 
above ?—or when at last ho returned to me, leav¬ 
ing the strong right arm I had eo loved to lean 
upon, away whsre so many bled and died, and 
carrying a crutch under his left arm—for his left 
foot had been crippled—think you these were 
not trials ? 
I have told you he was good and kind—still he 
is not perfection; indeed he has many faults, 
one of which is heedlessness in small matters. 
This you know, to a person of my temperament, 
is not always pleasant. But I knew what it was 
to have my patience tried before I ever thought 
seriously of getting married, so I know that tri¬ 
als are not alone for married people. Before I 
married Frank Weltox I resolved to shun the 
“first quarrel” as I would a viper, and thus far 
I’ve kept my resolution. I am not perfect, and 
thio my husband knows —but we try to help 
each other overcome our faults as pleasantly as 
possible; and I am sure if you could visit us in 
our little bower you would almost think you 
Were in paradise. 
I've tried a few ways which I think would add 
much to the happiness of many families, 
never tell my neighbors all the petty trials I may 
have to endure, or speak of my husband in a 
fault-iinding manner. And I very seldom cor¬ 
rect my children In the presence of strangers. 
“ Be patient ” I find Is a very good motto ; and 
I try to abide by it. Ah! here comes darling 
Lilly, with her blue eyes scarcely opened from 
her after-dinner nap, and the cherry lips are put 
up for a kiss. When I told her I was writing to 
Aunt. Lou, she said, “ Yite Lilly’s dood;” and 
may good angels always keep her gOod and pure. 
Johnny, oar eldest, went with his papa this af¬ 
ternoon; he is a bright little fellow, and quite 
intelligent for his years. I often wonder how 
mothers can trust their little ones to servants, 
who are often harsh and even vulgar. They 
neglect one of the holiest offices allotted to 
moman. Baby Ls rubbing his eyes and trying to 
roll out of his crib, and the sun is getting low 
down behind the old cherry tree that shades my 
window, and these warn me that I must put by 
my writing and prepare the table for our tea. 
Now I will sign myself your friend, 
Marion Welton. 
JOHN QUINCY ADAMS’ MOTHER, 
“Twelve or fifteen years ago,” says Ex-Gov¬ 
ernor Briggs, “I left Washington three or four 
weeks during the spring. While at home, I pos¬ 
sessed myself of the letters of Mr. Adams’ 
mother and read them with exceeding interest. 
I remember an expression In one of the letters 
addressed to her son, while yet a boy twelve 
years of age in Europe. Says she: ‘I would 
rather see you laid in your grave than you should 
grow up a profane and graceless boy.’ 
“ After returning to Washington, I went over 
and said to Mr. Adams, ‘ I have found out who 
made you.’ 
What do you mean?’ said he. 
“I replied, ‘I have bean reading the letters 
of your mother!’ 
“If I had spoken that dear name to some lit¬ 
tle hoy who had been for weeks away from his 
dear mother, his eye could not have flashed more 
brightly, or his face glowed more quickly than 
did the eye and face of that venerable old man 
when I pronounced the name of his mother. 
He started up in his peculiar manner, and em¬ 
phatically said:— 
‘“Yes, Mr. Briggs, all that is good in me I 
owe to my mother.’ 
“Ok, what a testimony was that from this 
venerable old man to his mother, who had in his 
remembrance all the stages of his manhood! 
•All that is good in me I owe to my mother?’ 
Mothers! think of this when your bright-eyed 
little boy is about! Mothers make the first im¬ 
pressions upon their children, and those impres¬ 
sions will be the last to bo effaced.” 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
“SCOTIA.” 
BY B. 2IC GIBBON. 
EEAUIFUL ILLUSTRATION. 
If a child had been born, and spent all his life 
in the Mammoth Cave, how impossible would it 
be for him to comprehend the upper world! Pa¬ 
rents might tell him of its life, its light, its 
beauty, and its sounds of joy; they might heap 
up the sands into mounds, and try to show him 
by stalactites how grass, flowers, and trees grow 
out of the ground; till at length, with laborious 
thinking, the child would fancy he had gained a 
true Idea of the unknown land. 
And yet, though he longed to behold it, when 
it came that he was to go forth, It would be with 
regret for the familiar crystals and rock-hewn 
rooms, and the quiet that reigned therein. But 
when he came up, some Muy morning, with ten 
thousand birds singing in the trees, and the 
heavens bright and blue and full of sunlight, 
and the wind blowing softly through the young 
leaves, all aglitter with dew, and the landscape 
stretching away green and beautiful to the hor¬ 
izon, with what rapture would he gaze about 
him, and see how poor were all the fancyings 
and interpretations which were made within the 
cave of the things which grew and lived with¬ 
out; and how he would wonder that he conld 
ever have regretted to leave the silence and 
dreary darkness of his old abode! 
So, when we emerge from this cave of earth 
into that land where spring growths are, and 
where is eternal summer, how shall we wonder 
that we could have clung so fondly to this dark 
and barren life? 
WOMAN IN THE BIBLE. 
The Bible is the book of women. It is the 
only book which has come down from the misty 
ages of antiquity, that presents us with woman 
as the equal and meet for man. Fr.om Eve, the 
mother of all living, to Mary, the mother of 
Jesus, woman always occupies a conspicuous 
place in the grand drama of the world’s history. 
Here she is seen as wife and mother, filliug her 
mission with shrinking modesty and gentle firm¬ 
ness. Miriam and Deborah, Rebecca and Ruth, 
Sarah and Esther, shine forth in characters at 
once original, unique, consistent and feminine. 
On a still brighter canvas, and in still brighter 
colors, are drawn the characters of the Martha’s, 
Mary’s and Lydia’s of the New Testament. 
Here they are, as they ought to be, and here 
they will remain forever. Not forward, not 
departing from her sphere, not immodest, not 
masculine. They shine, not like the sun, but 
with a radiance as mild and gentle as the light 
ol the evening star. 
Not a few seek to accommodate truth to their 
views and feelings; it is wiser to accommodate 
our views and feelings to truth. 
Economy is no disgrace; it is better to live on 
a little, than to out-live a great deal. 
Echo is the soft and beautiful moonlight of 
sound. 
‘‘Revered abroad and loved at home,” 
Thou land beyond the sea; 
Were I to search for sterling worth, 
I’d And my type In thee ; 
Were I to speak of warlike deeds, 
Let Brcce and Wallace tell, 
How In the glen and on the heath. 
The English cohorts fell: 
How 'gainst the rage of Claverhonse, 
The Covenanters stood— 
How Scotland's hills and vales, to day 
Are richer for their blood; 
How bold John Knox, the “orthodox,” 
Rang out the challenge clear— 
Till throne and Pope, and Satan, too, 
Were cowered down with fear. 
'Twould not be in the Teuton mind, 
Though fill’d with subtle lore, 
That I would look for thoughts that rule— 
That wield truth’s mighty pow’r; 
But from the Northland's rugged shores 
The scepter holds its sway; 
For truthful, and for practical, 
She’ll hold the world at bay. 
Nor would it be on Grecian mount 
I’d seek the “Sacred nine,” 
Nor by the Danube’s inky wave, 
Nor by the lordly Rhine; 
But where “Sweet Afton gently flows,” 
And by the flow’ry Dee, 
I’d woo and wed the muses fair. 
And weave my minstrelsy. 
Far on the banks of “ Bonny Doon,” 
The mind enraptur’d tnms, 
And drinks the inspiration in 
That moved the soul of Buhns 
F or ev’ry glen, and cv’ry stream, 
These mournful words prolong— 
“ He coined his life in melody, 
And died, at last, of song.” 
And wild romance has thrown its charm 
O’er wood and lake and lea. 
Till ev'ry wight's an armour’d knight, 
And maid a “fayre ladye;” 
And it will linger there for aye, 
And own ite matchless lord 
In him who sleeps beneath the shades 
Of quiet “ Abbottaford." 
Where then's the son of Caledon 
Who has no honest pride, 
And doats not on his native land 
As bridegroom on his bride i 
I know that dear and honor’d name 
Will ever be his boast, 
Though he should dwell beyond the sea— 
The very farthest coast. 
A budding flower, a bramble bush, 
A song-bird soaring high, 
A tell-tale word amid the crowd, 
Or blink from some bright eye, 
Will give the blood a swifter flow, 
The heait a warmer’tide. 
As thought goes back to Scotia's land, 
Across the ocean wide, 
Old Scotia! Thou art dear to me, 
Though I ne’er saw thy skies— 
Ne’er wander'd o’er thy rugged wiLds 
Nor heard thy melodies. 
Yet, I remember well those words— 
My mother’s lullaby— 
Those first impressions on my mind, 
And they were ail of thee. 
• 
What power those words to soothe me then, 
When fretful or in tears: 
O, could they calm the spirit so, 
In these maturer years! 
Should I e'er leave “ my own proud land ” 
For pleasure or for rest, 
Methlnks, Oid Scotia, I would come 
And make myself thy guest, 
Cannonsville, N. Y. 
Written lor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE PRESENT AGE. 
This common but not threadbare subject has 
been, and probably will be, treated by the great¬ 
est minds of this and other nations. Indeed, it 
is so vast that volumes might be filled without 
exhausting it. That it may be completely un¬ 
derstood, the history of man, from his creation 
to the present time, should be called to mind. 
But it is in no such exhaustive manner that I shall 
attempt to treat it, but only as it appears in our 
own land. 
As we look over the age and its character we 
are at once struck by the wonderful tendency 
toward expansion and univefsality everywhere 
exhibited. Science and Literature,—how glori¬ 
ously changed from what they once were! — 
Science once known to few, now open to all. 
That which once belonged only to her chosen 
votaries i^now the freehold property of every 
school boy with enterprise and energy sufficient 
to carry him through a short course of study in 
one of common schools. She has not only 
played Raret with that most ungovernable 
“ Cruiser,” steam, but she has so completely 
tamed that still wilder steed, lightning, that, 
like a lamb, it is led whither she directs. Even 
“Old Ocean” does not stop her swift career, for 
now we behold him bearing on his bosom the 
merchandize of every clime, and m his bosom 
the magic track on which the electric coursers 
hold undisputed sway. 
Nor is Literature behind in thi3 triumphant 
march. The Teacher aud the Press have so im¬ 
proved the masses that the; home of the laborer 
often contains those volumes formerly known 
only to the best educated aud most refined. 
True, they may not have the gorgeous binding 
or the tinted piaper so much admired by our aris¬ 
tocratic friends, but they contain, nevertheless, 
just as much information, and are read with full 
as much appreciation — perhaps more— by their 
possessors, as are the more stylish editions by 
theirs. That the tone of our literature has im¬ 
proved, and is improving, need not be said. 
The fact is too patent to demand proof. We 
admit that there is much written which might 
far better be unwritten, much printed that were 
better unprinted. But the demand for a higher 
kind of reading is constantly increasing, and 
will continue to increase so long as we remain 
the thinking people which we now are. 
And again, this tendency to universal mental 
action is exhibited by a sign at which wc are prone 
to smile, but which is still worthy of mention. 
It is the commonness of public speaking. It 
has been said that we are “a nation of orators” 
— that “ every meeting overflows with elo¬ 
quence.” There may be more noise than sense 
in a good share of our public speaking, but it 
cannot be denied that much which passes for 
“gas” still contains things which are solid and 
true. Before the war It was common for for¬ 
eigners to call us “swells,” “braggarts” and 
“spread eagles,”—to say that, however much 
we might Calk fight, we would never act it. A 
few battles served to dispel all such ideas from 
their minds, and to show them that, having 
earned the right to freedom, we could protect it. 
It would be impossible, I think, for a person to 
attend even one of our country “ Town Meet¬ 
ings” without being 6truek with the force and 
propriety of speech used by those whose appear¬ 
ance would indicate a condition of very imper¬ 
fect culture. So commonly has this been noticed 
that it has come to be considered almost a 
national characteristic. Well did Channino 
say, “Speech is not merely the dress, bat the 
very body of thought.” It is to the intellect 
what the muscles are to the principle of physi¬ 
cal life. The mind acts and strengthens itself 
through words. It is a chaos, till defined and 
organized by language.” 
It is one of the advantages of our system of 
government that It lays every question directly 
before the people, thus furnishing them with a 
powerful incentive to mental action. Every 
American is, or should be, a good debater. He 
should be able to think for himself, to decide 
in his own mind what is right, and, haviDg de¬ 
cided, to act independently and maufhlly. We, 
as a nation, are too apt to act rather from im¬ 
pulse than any definite sense of right. We 
should guard against this. We should “look 
before we leap,” but, having looked, and having 
become certain that we are in the true path, we 
should go on fearlessly. q. p. 
Lima, N. Y., Sept., 1866. 
PLEASURES OF MIDDLE AGE, 
Between successful and unsuccessful there is 
the va6t difference of comfort and ease. It is 
therefore better to be successful, though enough 
of success is pretty nearly as good as a feast. 
And the same rule of compromise holds good 
in other matters. To take aud enjoy domestic 
affection without being too desirous of a life of 
passionate romance is one obvious lesson that 
middle age teaches. Another is to be ready to 
accept something short of complete victory in 
contests of opinion. At the outset of life we 
all hope to be able to convince and to convert 
the world, or the public, or our neighbors, or at 
all events our friends. We feel a difficulty in 
acting with men whose views about religion or 
morality or politics differ materially from our 
own. If we went through our career in such a 
temper, we should fare as badly as a man would 
fare in the thoroughfares of London who could 
not bear a crowd. Life is made up, as middle 
age discovers, of giving and of taking, and the 
first principle of the great art of association 
and mutual help is to learn what is all impor¬ 
tant, and what is sufficiently immaterial and 
secondary to admit of being sacrificed for the 
end we have in view. Whether it be in a club, 
or a partnership, or a political party, the truth 
holds good that to move powerfully and effect¬ 
ually we ought to be able to move with as little 
friction as possible, aud the only way to lessen 
Individual friction is for idividuals to smooth 
down their own rough edges.— Saturday Heview, 
LET EVERY MAN READ THIS. 
We have probably all of us met with instances 
in which a word heedlessly spoken against the 
reputation of a female, has been magnified by 
malicious minds until the cloud has become 
dark enough to overshadow her whole existence. 
To those who are accustomed, not necessarily 
from bad motives, but from thoughtlessness to 
speak light of females, we recommend these 
hints as worthy of consideration: — “Never use 
a lady’s name in an improper place, at an im¬ 
proper time, or in mixed company. Never make 
assertions about her that you think are untrue, 
or allusions that you feel she herself would 
blush to hear.” Many a good and wonky 
woman's character has been forever ruined and 
heart broken by a lie, manufactured by a villain, 
and repeated where it should not have been, and 
in the presence of those whose little judgment 
could not deter them from circulating the foul 
and fiendish report. Respect the name of a 
woman, for your mother and sisters are women; 
and as you would have their fair name untar¬ 
nished, and their lives unembittered by slander¬ 
ers’ biting tongues, heed the ill your own words 
may bring upon the mother, the sister, or the 
wife of some fellow creature. 
Children may teach us one blessed, one en¬ 
viable art — the art of being easily happy. Kind 
Nature has given to them that useful power of 
accommodation to circumstances which com¬ 
pensates for many external disadvantages, and _ 
it is only by injudicious management that it is ' ‘. 00( j purposes and intentions. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
“WHEN OUR WORK IS DONE!” 
BY ELIZA 0. CROSBY. 
ace; 
When onr work is done cometh rest and p 
From morning till set of sun, 
Though weary labor and care may not cease, 
Yet we know there cometh a glad release 
At last when our work Is done. 
The toiling reaper ’mid golden sheaves, 
In the heat of summer’s sun. 
In fancy a restful picture weaves— 
A happy group under shading leaves 
When the day of toil is done. 
So the weary toiler in fields or life, 
With heat and care oppressed, 
Though his sheaves with worthless tares may be rife, 
Looks ever beyond the wearying etrifc, 
And pictures the evening rest. 
When onr work Is done—and heavy dull eyes 
Look forward throHgh coming years, 
Through shadow that over the pathway lies, 
At the “ stony places ” and cloudy ekies, 
And gathering mist of tears. 
And catch a gleam of the far-away light— 
As we catch a ray of sun 
Through a rift in clouds of tempest and night 
That shall burst la glory fall on the sight 
When the goal of life is won. 
When oar work ia done—and the heart grows strong 
To bear its suffering still. 
With promise that pain shall be pa3t ere long, 
That joy shall come aud triumphant song, 
When plcaseth the Master's will. 
When our work is done—and through vapors chill, 
More gloomy than any past, 
Aged feet prees on o'er life’s rugged hill, 
For the pastures are green and waters still 
Where the pathway leads at last. 
When labor is past our reward shall be 
The measure that wc have won; 
With our dim earth-vision we may not see 
Rich treasures that wait the spirit when free, 
If its work be nobly done. 
Rome, N. Y., August, 1866. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
CHEERFULNESS. 
Cheerfulness is a state of mind that may and 
ought to be cultivated—a grace that all should 
possess. To the weary traveler through life’s 
pilgrimage there is nothing better than cheerful¬ 
ness of heart and disposition to add Joy and 
gladness all around. It is like a strengthening 
cordial or reviving potion to the downcast and 
afflicted. How often has the poor, shipwrecked 
mariner, tossed upon the rugged sea of life, been 
encouraged and his heart warmed by the bright 
sunlight of cheerfulness beaming from the coun¬ 
tenance of a friend! 
Cheerful society is always charming and at¬ 
tractive. What a consolation to know that, by 
our genial disposition and kind words, we have 
comforted and cheered on some weary, discon¬ 
solate one. The effects of cheerfulness, con¬ 
trasted with despondency, were very prominent 
among our soldiers in Southern Hospitals. Far 
from home and its hallowed Influences, some 
taken at first with a slight disease, but becom¬ 
ing discouraged and giving away to despondency, 
would soon pine away and die; while others, 
scorched with fevers, emaciated and near death’s 
door, yet cheerful and happy, would almost in¬ 
variably recover. Sometimes a few kind, hope¬ 
ful words, fitly spoken, are more potent to the 
sick than the physician’s draught. 
How sad indeed must be the lives of those 
who are grave, morose and over whose careworn 
countenances a smile scarcely ever steals its 
way. There are those who, cither from habit or 
choice, always look on the dark side of life. 
They see nothing high and noble in man. They 
murmur about the mysterious ways of Provi¬ 
dence. To such this world is a wilderness of 
woe and life a miserable existence. 
We may learn lessons of cheerfulness from 
Nature all about us. Behold the birds of the 
air, and of the woodland glen, as they warble 
forth songs of praise to Him who gave them 
life and being. The refreshing rains, and ani¬ 
mating breezes, the carpet of green and ceiling 
of blue, the sun’s rays of light and heat, the sea¬ 
sons of fruits and flowers,— all, all proclaim to 
man the greatness aud goodness of Him that 
ruleth and reigneth. The Author of all good 
has beautified and adorned our world with my- 
raids of flowers, and freely given every thing 
calculated to make His creatures cheerful and 
happv, and if they are not so the fault lies with¬ 
in. The heart may not be right. Perhaps sin is 
lurking there. The roots of bitterness may not 
have been exterminated by the love of the beau¬ 
tiful, the good aud the true. Life is what we 
make it. If we make our abode here a prison- 
house of despondency, suck it i fi - But if we 
make It a paradise, enlivened by the warbling 
notes of a thousand winged songsters, such it is. 
Cheerfulness is a Christian virtue that sheds 
light iu darkness and surrounds its possessor 
with a halo of joy. Let us then cultivate a 
cheerful, happy and contented spirit. 
Joliet, IU-. August, 1866. M. Fixity. 
Grace Free to All.— Grace does not depend 
on any power or merit in man; no, not in any 
degree, neither in whole nor in part. It does 
not in anywise depend either on the good works 
or righteousness of the receiver; not on any¬ 
thing he has done, or anything he is. It does 
not depend on his endeavors. It does not de¬ 
pend on his good tempera or good desires, or 
For all these 
p 
lost. Give him but a moderate portion ot food 
and kindness, and the peasant’s child is happier 
than the duke’s; free from artificial wants, un¬ 
satiated by indulgence, all Nature ministers to 
his pleasure: he eau carve out felicity from a 
bit of hazel twig, or fish for it successfully in 
a mud puddle. 
flow from the free grace of God; they are the 
streams only, not the fountain. They are the 
fruits of free grace, and not the root. They are 
not the cause, but the effects of it. Thus is His 
grace free to all, that is, no way depending on 
auv power or merit in man; but on God alone, 
who freely gaveus His own Sou, and “with Him, 
freely gave us all things .”—'John Wesley. 
