Written for Moore's Eura) New-Yorker. 
CLYDE. 
BT LEWIS DAYTON BURDICK. 
Overwhelmed in grief was Maggie Brown, 
Sweet Maggie Brown— a bride— 
A widow-just one year between— 
And darling baby Cltde. 
Submitting meekly to her fate 
She hid away the tears; 
God gave her strength to struggle through 
Stern Winter's hopes and fears. 
Set free by genial breath of Spring 
The streamlets sped along; 
The merry robins came again 
And Oiled the air with song. 
Again Bprang up the violets, 
Earth bloomed again anew, 
Am i every day the little Clyde 
To Maggie dearer grew— 
Too lovely grew to leave amidst 
Earth's bitterness and strife, 
God took him from his mother's arms 
Into a better life. 
Greene, N. Y. 
-1—- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE UNTIMELY DEATH. 
One lovely day near the close of the eight¬ 
eenth century, two young ladles — one the 
daughter of a wealthy English widow, the other 
a fair Sicilian — wandered forth from the city of 
Palermo to enjoy from the distant hill-top the 
beauties of an Italian sunset. The sky was clear 
and cloudless, the air soft and balmy, and Na¬ 
ture, radlaut in her sweetest smiles,"presented a 
picture not to be equaled in these western 
climes. Both the maidenB were betrothed, and 
were expecting the consummation of their happi¬ 
ness, ere long, in the marriage tie. The gay 
scenes that surrounded them, and the bright 
picture of future happiness dispelled all burden¬ 
some thoughts from their minds; and as they 
leisurely walked along, conversing upon things 
to come as though there was not a possibility of 
those bright fancies fading, they uureservedly 
told each other some of the many joys that 
were in store for them, when a few more weeks 
should pass away. 
On, on they wandered, until they found them¬ 
selves at the foot of a tower, which stood upon 
a rocky eminence about two miles from the city, 
and rose to the height of one hundred and 
twenty feet. The top of the tower commanded 
a magnificent view of the city and surrounding 
country, and looked far out upon the blue 
waters of the Mediterranean. The tower had 
been built long ages before as a monument of 
the greatncsB of one of the Italian Kings, and 
at the time mentioned it was in quite a dilapi¬ 
dated condition. The wild ivy had crept high 
upward and dung to its moss-clad sides, form¬ 
ing a vast column of green; the spiral stair¬ 
case leading to the top was old and rickety; and 
the parapet that formerly crowned its summit 
had fallen down. Lovely indeed it looked to 
the maidens, with the green ivy encircling it, 
and almost closing np the entrance. The sea, 
bathed in sunlight, spread out to the horizon be¬ 
fore them,—and yet., Ideality, as ever, searching 
after something more grand and beautiful than 
that already realized, is not satisfied with the 
narrow vision, and a proposition is made to go 
up into the tower. With much persuasion on 
the part of the English maiden, they commence 
thn ascent, laughing and chatteriug as they go, 
unmindful of the trembling of the stairs beneath 
their weight. Never were larks merrier than 
they; and they would stop for a moment to 
look from tbe window upon the eea, and the 
ships, with their white sails spread to the breeze, 
they would sing a few lines of some sweet Etraiu 
suggestive of coming happiness. Up higher 
and higher they went—the fair daughter of 
Sicily still half timid, and her English sister, 
with a heart bonndlng with anticipation—they 
continued the ascent. 
There! the last step is reached and they stand 
upon the platform. Bnt why do they start? 
Oh! horrors! Becoming loosened below, the 
whole staircase gave way, and fell with a crash 
to the bottom. No wonder their cheeks paled 
and their tongues were speechless; completely 
isolated from the earth, what hope was there of 
escape from the dangers that surrounded them? 
They looked wildly at one another, then cast 
themselves into each other’s arms and wept. 
But hopo soon revived. Perhaps they might 
attract attention, and be saved. They raised ! 
signals and called aloud for aid; but all was in 
vain. The tower was some distance from the 
highway, and days might intervene before It 
would be visited by others. A lingering death : 
by starvation seemed to be their fate. Beautiful 
indeed was the 6cene before them,—the sun just 
sinking to rest beneath the sea, tinging the 
waters with a thousand shades,—the domes and ' 
spires of Palermo glittering in the distance,— 
the distant lowing of the cows and bleating of ‘ 
the sheep as they return with their shepherd 1 
from the hills. But they saw it not; they beheld ‘ 
naught but the grim, dark shadow, Death; they 1 
could almost feel his icy fingers; they knew, £ 
they felt, that they must die. Soon the sun 1 
fearful night was passed. Morning came and 
smiled as brightly as ever, but to them it brought 
no hope; — and, ere the sun went down again, 
Death laid his cold hand on the Italian maiden 
and her spirit departed. Oh! how fearful must 
it have been for her whose heart but two days 
before beat high with expectation ? There was 
her companion before her, but the day moved 
not, breathed not; and ere long she must share 
tbe same fate. Friends whom she most dearly 
loved she would never behold again. And he, 
to whom she had given the warmest affections 
of her young heart, would come to make her 
Ids, bnt 6hc would be gone. She took from her 
pocket pencil and paper, and wrote a brief 
description of their terrible adventure and threw 
it down from the tower, hoping it might be 
picked np and her friends thuB learn her fate. 
The day wore away and night again enshrouded 
the earth, but ere the sun again burst the cur¬ 
tain of darkness her spirit had fled to join that 
of her Italian sister. 
The friends of the young ladies searched in 
vain for them, until the billet written by one of 
them was picked up, which revealed the sad 
truth. Means were devised to enable them to 
ascend the tower, where the maidens were found 
resting in each other's embrace. Beatrice. 
■ +»^ ■ — 
THE QUEEN AND PRINCES ON SMOKING. 
Queen Victoria, at last accounts, had gone 
to her favorite residence In Scotland. The 
Princess Helena and Prince Christian have just 
returned from their wedding tour on the conti¬ 
nent, and will shortly join her Majesty. Rumor 
says that, the Queen’s strong maternal attach¬ 
ment to Prince Christian has ovecome her aver¬ 
sion to smokers, and that it is chiefly on his ac¬ 
count that a handsome smoking room has, for 
the first time, been fitted up in Balmoral Castle. 
Every one has heard the story of the little ru.se 
by which the Prince of Wales secured to himself 
f and it is said to the Princess) a smoking bou¬ 
doir In Marlborough House without her Maj¬ 
esty’s knowledge. The Princess of Wales Is 
a daughter-in law thoroughly after the royal 
Queen’s heart; 6he is as energetic and punctual 
and affable in the discharge of her public duties 
as the Queen herself used to be before her spirit 
was crushed by the pressure of a poignant sor¬ 
row. The Princess is a model of propriety; she 
adopts English customs and wears her mother- 
in-law’s favorite colors, yet one of the “little 
birds M flying about the court has chirped the 
news that tbe Princess has a weakness, and that 
weakness is—for a cigarette, and she and the 
Prince snatch some quiet half-hours in a certain 
little bow-shaped room, adorned with light blue 
satin couches, which the Queen, by a strata¬ 
gem, was prevented entering when she inspected 
the palace before the youthful couple took pos¬ 
session. 
HOW TO MAKE A BONNET. 
_ * - 
A Paris correspondent of the Pall Mall 
Gazette gives the following recipe —a la Blot— 
for making a bonuet;—“ Take a piece of plaited 
straw of a round or oval form, and bend it into 
any shape yon please so long as you balance the 
article on the top of your head. Smother it with 
artificial flowers, or cover It if you like with 
puffed tulle, and add lappets at the side if you 
think them becoming; bnt this, I should ob¬ 
serve, is quite unnecessary. Plant a full-blown 
rose in the center, or encircle the whole with 
a wreath of roses, passion-flowers, pansies, hya¬ 
cinths, daisies, ivy, or lilies of the valley, or 
bunches of grapes, or some cherries, or goose¬ 
berries. Then attach some glass beads round 
the rim, and strings of ribbon of the same color 
as the predominating tint of the flowers or fruit 
forming the wreath, the ends of which strings 
tie together across the breast. Next add, if you 
please, a second pair of strings of muslin or 
tulle, and you have a bonnet of the prevailing 
mode, which you call chapeau Lamballe, Fan- 
chon, Trianon, prlntanier, d’ete, Marly, or Man¬ 
darin blanc, according to your fancy.” 
continued the ascent. A Pleasant Parlor Pastime. —A favorite 
There! the last step is reached and they stand play witk Dr " Whately ’ ™ Polling a little 
upon the platform. Bnt why do they start? tale 011 paper aud lhen makiu « hls r ^ ht ‘ haDd 
Oh! horrors! Becoming loosened below, the neighbor repeat it in a whisper to the next man, 
whole staircase gave way, and fell with a crash atld 80 on ^ cver J' K,d y around the table had 
to the bottom. No wonder their cheeks paled doue tJjC 88me " But the last mim was always 
and their tongues were epeechlesB; completely re( l ulrfed t0 write what he had heard, and the 
isolated from the earth, what hope was thereof mflttcr wflS thtin compared with the original 
escape from the dangers that surrounded them* rctsdned by ^ race ' many instances the 
They looked wildly at one another, then cast “alter was hardly recognizable, and Dr. Whately 
themselves into each other’s arms and wept would draw ftD obvieus moral *» but the cream of 
But hope soon revived. Perhaps they might the fuu lay 111 hl8 eflortfi to certain when the 
attraet attention, and be saved. They raised derations took place, His analytical powers of 
signals and called aloud for aid; but all was in Section proved, as usual, accurate, and the 
vain. The tower was some distance from the interpolations made by the parties were play- 
highway, and days might intervene before It * uPy P iPor i edi The P^Y i 3 called “Russian 
would be visited by others. A lingering death Scandal.” 
by starvation seemed to be their fate. Beautiful 
indeed was the 6ceue before them,—the sun just What to Think.—A calm, blue-eyed, self- 
sinking to rest, beneath the sea, tinging the possessed young lady received a long call the 
waters with a thousand shades,—the domes and other da Y from a P^ing old spinBter, who, after 
spires of Palermo glittering in the distance,— prolonging her stay beyond even her own con- 
the distant lowing of the cows and bleating of ception of the young lady’s endurance, came to 
the sheep as they return with their shepherd tUe main ( J ne6tl011 which brought her thither, 
from the hills. But they saw it not; they beheld “ been asked a 6 ood man Y time8 if Y 0Q were 
naught but the grim, dark shadow, Death; they not en S a £ ed to Dr --• Now, if folks inquire 
could almost feel his icy fingers; they knew, a S ain whether you be or not, what shall I tell 
they felt, that they must die. Soon the sun them 1 thinkr> “ TeU them,” answered the 
went down in the west—the shades of night Y 0UB g lad Yi fixiD £ ker caljn > Wno e Y es in un- 
gathered slowly over the earth. The sisters blushing steadiness npon the inquisitive features 
sang together a sweet but mournful Italian air, of her interrogator, “ you think you don’t know, 
commended themselves to Him who is never out and are 6ure ^ £S DOne °t your business.” 
of hearing, and throwing themselves into each -- 
other's arms they wept long and bitterly, till Youth is full of warm friendship and tender 
sleep for a time made them forget their distress, emotion, and the solemnities of a funeral, the 
The day dawned and their efforts to attract grief of friends, and the spectacle of all the high 
attention were renewed, but no one heard them, hopes and unbounded joy of a young heart laid 
Oh! what to them were all the lavish beauties low in death, tends to chasten our thoughts and 
that bloomed arouud ? Their hearts were chilled raise them to the contemplation of things less 
and desolate. The day went by, and another perishable than those of earth. 
LET YOUR BUMMER FRIENDS GO BY. 
s Let your summer friends go by 
5 With the summer weather: 
1 Hearts there are that will Dot fly, 
B Though the storm should gather. 
p Summer love to fortune clings— 
, , From the wreck it. salleth, 
5 Like the bee that spreads Its wings 
r When the honey falletb. 
r Rich the soil where weeds appear; 
f Let the false bloom perish; 
Y Flowers there are more rare and dear, 
, That you still may cherish. 
. Flowers of feeling, pure and warm, 
l Hearts that cannot with er. 
These for thee shall bide the storm, 
. As the sunny weather. 
Written tor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
f CONTENTMENT. 
l • 
> Much has been written about Contentment. 
[ It is of the same class of subjects as Home, In¬ 
dustry and Honesty, upon which every school¬ 
boy and girl has written a composition, or rather 
has put together a collection of proverbs, liouae- 
‘ hold sayings and sentences, which almost daily 
, greet their eyes and ears. Yet, while moBt that 
’ has been written concerning home and honesty 
is true, that which has been written about Con¬ 
tentment is often in the wrong. It seems to 
, me that those who write on this subject do not 
always think about It, but that many, school-boy 
like, write off all they have been accustomed to 
hear about it. Contentment Is said to always 
bring happiness, and its possessor is always 
praised, and reputed to be one of the happiest of 
, God’s creatures. 
p The wise man has Baid “A contented mind is 
a continual feast,” but it is a fabled feast, at least 
one rarely enjoyed by us poor mortals. We have 
ever been accustomed to have it preached to us 
by word — how rarely by example! Many are 
continually harping upon the lack of it in our 
nation—fearing that discontent will rnln us. 
But they look only at the toils of discontent and 
not at the good also. “Man cannot be contented 
anywhere or with anything.” It is entirely at 
variance with his nature. 
Contentment is a myth of which we often hear 
and read, rather than a reality of a common 
possession. From the cradle to the grave man 
is longing and striving after something better- 
after an undefinablcsomething,—the unattained. 
Childhood is always looking forward to the time 
of manhood or womanhood with bright antici¬ 
pations — building fairy castles which fall to the 
ground as soon as the cob-houses which he con¬ 
structs In his play. When be is a man, what 
great thlugs he hopes to do ! A nd when man¬ 
hood is reached Is there then perfect content ? 
Far from it! Toe same insatiate longing after 
the unattalned, strengthened with his years, still 
prevents him from enjoying what he already pos¬ 
sesses, No! He is yet looking forward into t he 
misty future for that which will satisfy hls natu¬ 
ral longing — for that gem, contentment. Old 
age creeps upon him unawares, and he is still 
seeking the unattained, which, like a delusive 
phantom, still eludes his grasp. Few ever realize 
their expectations. Borne work on, hope od, 
till they find rest in the grave. Others begin to 
despair when old age comes; they look back 
upon their past lives and see what opportunities 
they have missed; the future looke dark to them 
and they long to be young agaiu. Discontent 
reigns universally from the cradle to the grave. 
Contentment i3 often preached in families 
where discontent, if followed by proper efforts, 
would be productive of much good. How fool¬ 
ish it would he for a family who were in want 
even of the necessaries of life, to be contented, 
when they might have abundance by striving for 
it. Who, after a moment’s reflection, will 6ay 
that all should be contented? We cannot fail 
to see that perfect content would cause all ad¬ 
vancement iu civilization aud knowledge to 
cease. For It is this universal discontent—this 
distaste of the old and desire for the new, that 
makes our’s the age of progress. Yet many, 
while they boast of our age of improvement, cry 
out against the lack of contentment. How ab¬ 
surd!—to glory in our advancement and yet 
disapprove the very cause of it. What if we 
were all perfectly contented? Would there be 
any more improvement ?— would our’s be a 
progressive age? We need only to glance over 
universal history to answer in the negative. If 
our forefathers had been contented with their 
lot and had not longed for and earnestly striven 
after better things, where would have been our 
boasted nineteenth century? Echo answers — 
nowhere. Pet i tor Virtutis. 
Cautious Men.—S ome men use words as rifle¬ 
men do bullets. They say but little. The few 
words used go right to the mark. They let you 
talk, aud guide with their eye and face, on and 
on, till what you say can be answered in a word 
or two, and then they lance out a sentence, 
pierce the matter to the quick, and are done. 
Yon never know where you stand with them. 
Your conversation falls into their mind as rivers 
into a deep chasm, and Is lost from eight by its 
depth and darkness. They will sometimes sur¬ 
prise you with a few words, that go to the mark 
like a gunshot, aud then they are silent again, 
as if they were re-loadlng. Such men are safe 
counselors, and true friends, in every case where 
they profess to be such. To them, truth is more 
valuable than gold, while pretension is too gauzy 
to deceive them. Words without point, to them 
ark like titles without merit, only betraying the 
weaknesses of the blinded dupes who are ever 
used as promoters of wiser men’s schemes. 
A distinguished teacher defines genius to be i 
the power of making efforts. 
Written lor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MEMORIES. 
“ Bright, blessed memories, how fair 
And cloudless are the hues ye wear ?— 
The joys of life we guard with care, 
Its griefs aside ye cast. 
Axd golden tints of light v.- bear, 
Sweet memories of the past.” 
What a blessed gift is memory! How we love 
to call the mind away from the busy cares of the 
present, to revel in the delights of other years 
and gaze upon her pleasiog pictures of the past! 
What treasures memory accumulates, and how 
freely she brings them to our view. What 
familiar scenes she exhibits to us. There, paint¬ 
ed upon her rich and glowing canvas is our 
childhood’s home,—the home we loved,—where 
was spent some of onr happiest hours; again 
with our mirthful companions we roam through 
the green fields, catching the pure breezes as 
they dance along, or in the lonely forest listen¬ 
ing to the song of birds, and gathering sweet 
flowers, not thinking of nor caring for the fu¬ 
ture, Those were happy hours, hours to be 
enjoyed in memory, but never to be recalled. 
Leaving the fairy scenes of childish sports, 
we next see the old school house in whose halls 
we so often assembled to rehearse our tasks; 
where we sipped the first draught from the fount 
of knowledge. Our school friends !—how they 
come thronging about us! Each dear, familiar 
face lit up with the 6amc sweet smile as of yore; 
we can almost feel the grasp of their hand, and 
their warm breath upon our cheek, as we roved 
through our favorite haunts of science, gleaning 
the maturer productions of diligence and toil. 
Can we help loving our school days when they 
are fraught with so much interest and pleasure ? 
Days, mouths and years have passed since then; 
the cares and duties of life have multiplied, but 
the remembrance of tbe sweet friends and com¬ 
panions of our happy school days smiles upon 
our pathway, like some fair and lovely flower 
whose blossoming diffuses fragrance which long 
remains though the flower be withered. Glancing 
along on the canvas we find memories that 
grieve us,—the fault, the error, and many things 
that wc think we would not do, had we our life 
to live over. "We would they were not here, but 
as they are, we are glad memory reminds us of 
them. She brings a sigh, and causes a tear, 
when we look upon many wasted hours and see 
so many things left uudone that ought to have 
been done;—but yet we feel so much that is 
dear to us, is associated with memory, that after 
all we say 
“Bright, blessed memories.” 
Sheldrake, Seneca Co., N. Y. h - . 
NEVER TOO OLD TO LEARN. 
We are told that Socrates, at an extreme old 
age, learned to play on musical instruments. 
Cato, at eighty-eight years of age, thought 
proper to learn the Greek language. 
Plutarch, when between seventy aud eighty, 
commenced the 6tudy of Latin. 
Sir Henry Spelman neglected the sciences in 
his youth, but commenced the study of them 
when between fifty and sixty years of age. After 
this time he became a most learned antiquarian 
and lawyer. 
Ludovico, at the great age of one hundred and 
fifteen, wrote the memoirs of hls own time; a 
singular exertion noticed by Voltaire, who was 
himBelf one of the most remarkable instances of 
the progress of the age in new studies. 
Accareo, a great lawyer, being asked why he 
began the study of law so late, replied that 
indeed he began it late, but he should therefore 
master it the sooner. 
Dry den, in his sixtieth year, commenced the 
Illiad, and his most pleasing productions were 
written in his old age. 
THE IDLER. 
- e 
The idle man is an annoyance—a nuisance. 
He is of no benefit to anybody. He is an intru¬ 
der in the busy thoroughfare of every-day life. 
He stands in our path, and we push him con¬ 
temptuously aside l He is of no advantage to 
anybody. He annoys busy men. He makes 
them unhappy. He may have an income to 
support him in idleness, or he may “sponge” 
on his good natured friends. But in either case 
he is despised. Young man, do something in 
this bustling, wide-awake world! Move about 
for the benefit of mankind, if not for yourself. 
Do not be idle. God’s law is, that by the sweat 
of our brow we shall earn our bread. That law 
is a good one, and the bread we earn is sweet. 
Do not be idle. Minutes are too precious to 
be squandered thoughtlessly. Every man and 
every woman, however exalted or however hum¬ 
ble, can do good in this snort life, if so inclined; 
therefore do not be idle. 
Hope.— Hope is the sweetest friend that ever 
kept a distressed friend company; it beguiles 
the tediousness of the way, all the miseries of 
our pilgrimage. It tells the soul such sweet 
stories of the succeeding joys; what comforts 
there are in heaven; what peace, what joy, what 
triumphs, what marriage song6 and hallelujahs 
there are in that country whither ehe is travel¬ 
ing that she goes merrily away with her present 
burden. 
Afflictions serve to quicken our paqe in the 
way to our rest. ’Twere well if more love would 
prevail among us, and that we were rather drawn 
to heaven than driven. But seeing our hearts 
are so bad that mercy will not do it, it ta better 
to be put on with the sharpest scourge, than to 
loiter, like the foolish virgins, till the door is shut. 
If you should ever find it necessary in any 
way to assert your social rank, don't forget you 
are a gentleman, in trying to prove that you are 
A GEM FROM HERBERT. 
TO BE READ .TOST BEFORE CHURCH TIME. 
When once thy foot enters ihe chnrch, beware, 
God is more there than thou; for thon art there 
Only by Hls permission. Then beware, 
Aud make thyself all reverence and fear. 
Let vain aLd busy thoughts have there no part; 
Bring not thy plow, thy plots, thy pleasures thither; 
Christ purged his temple—so must thou thy heart; 
All worldly thoughts are bnt thieves met together 
To cozen thee. Look at. thy action well, 
For churches either are our heaven or hell. 
■ — -- » « 4 . . - — 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
“I WILL WAIT 'TILL AFTER HARVEST.” 
BT MRS. H. M. LINCOLN. 
I heard these words carelessly spoken, yet 
they rested with a sad weight on my heart, and 
echoed and re-echoed drearily for many days. 
One spoke who had advanced to manhood—that 
period of life when maturity is rapidly going 
forward, and the unmistakable signs of virtue or 
vice mark the chosen path. 
Such an one, urged hv a friend to go to church 
and regard tbe Word of God once more, made 
answer kindly, yet carelessly, “I will wait till 
after harvest.” And now the harvest is past, 
the summer ending, and the soul of such an one 
may not be saved. 'TIs sad to sec those who 
might be way-marks in society, honored by men 
and looked upon with approbation by God — 
yielding to vice against their better judgment,— 
giving to Satan’s service the talent, the time, 
the energy and ability of manhood,—laying up 
uo treasures in heaven, establishing no perma¬ 
nent hope for the future which might make life 
charming, death cheerful and heaven glorious. 
Waiting ’till after harvest ere they flee to Christ 
when wasted life and feeble body warn them 
Death is near,—waiting until vicious habits and 
associates demoralize the heart and soul and 
take the energy God will claim at the last when 
the harvest of the world shaLl come. Waiting 
. until after harvest,— the summer-time of life 
passed in folly, the summer sun shining,— not 
on the maturing fruit of manhood, bnt on the 
wasted wilds of life; and though the rich au¬ 
tumn-time comes with foil garners, yet the 
heart is found wanting of the rich fruit of love 
and perfection God gives those who seek Him 
early. 
How many are living blanks, as it were,— the 
world absorbing all their thoughts — Time, 
though the tomb-builder, to them ever an unfail¬ 
ing surety, wherein they shall sow and reap and 
have space for repentence. Waiting till after 
harvest! How many bright, beautiful and 
blessed dreams have faded as the harvest waned; 
how many bojics of better days and deeds have 
fled with life’s antumn-time; how many tears 
have been shed over wasted treasures, lost for¬ 
ever; how many visions of brightness have 
died as the harvest-time closed and the summer 
ended, leaving the 6oul desolate and alone, 
standing garbless in the face of Death. 
Why not then accept love and mercy now, so 
kindly offered, and begin at once a pure and 
peaceful life, hastening to redeem the wasted 
moments, losing sight of the world awhile, 
looking inward aud above — resolving to do no¬ 
ble deeds, live noble lives, and make “ the world 
the better for it.” 
Canandaigua, N. Y., 1S66. 
THE TREASURES OF THE WICKED. 
Every man is treasuring up stores for_ eter¬ 
nity ; the good are laying up “ treasures in 
heaven, where moth doth not corrupt;” the evil 
and impenitent are treasuringup “ wrath against 
the day of wrath.” What an idea is this 1 Treas¬ 
ures t»f wrath! Whatever the impenitent man 
is doing, he is treasuring up wrath. He may be 
getting wealth; but he is treasuring np wrath. 
He may be forming pleasant connections; but 
he is alsq treasuring up wrath. Every day adds 
something to the heap. Every oath the swearer 
utters, there is something gone to the heap of 
wrath. Every He the liar tells, there is some¬ 
thing gone to the heap of wrath. Every licen¬ 
tious act the lewd man commits, there is some¬ 
thing gone to the treasure of wrath. Every day 
he lives in sjn, the book of God’s remembrance 
records it against him. The impenitent man has 
a weightier treasure of wrath to-day than he had 
yesterday ; he will have a weightier to-morrow 
than he has to-day. When he lies down at night, 
he is richer in vengeance than when he rose in 
the morning. 
He is continually deepening and darkening his 
eternal portion. Every neglected Sabbath in¬ 
creases Ms store of wrath; every forgotten ‘ser¬ 
mon adds something to the weightjfof punish¬ 
ment. All the checks of conscience,tall the 
remonstrance of friends, all the advice and 
prayers of parents will be taken, into the ac¬ 
count, and will tend to increase the treasures of 
wrath laid np against the day of wrath. Rev. J. 
A , James. 
T ■- -- ' ' 
Gratitude. —It has been beautifully said that 
gratitude is the memory of the heartland, the 
heart that has been taken to Calvary and washed 
in the blood that ransomed a world, will’have a 
strong memory of the blessing given, and a 
ready tongue to utter its praise. Those who are 
not thankful for God’s unspeakable gift, cannot 
be expected to be really thankful for any other 
gift. If we will not praise the Giver for the 
greatest gift, we are not likely to praise Him for 
any of the smaller. 
The present hour is always wealthiest when 
it is poorer than the future ones, as that is the 
pleasantest site which affords the pleasantest 
prospect. 
