peaks, or caverns, with their innumerable stal¬ 
actite chambers, furnished with wonderful rep¬ 
resentations of actual life, truly classic and beau¬ 
tiful, exciting feelings rather of awe and wonder 
than warm enthusiasm. On the contrary, the 
pencil of the Artist gives form and expression to 
stolid canvas, and produces life, as it were, from 
crude ideas. Music is the embodiment of feeling 
and soul, and of all the accomplishments the 
most cultivated and best understood. Love and 
Music seem to be the only foretaste of a world of 
perfect happiness allowed mortals since the great 
fall. The latter elevates and inspires the mind 
with feelings of piety and peace. The Bible may 
be said to be the principle of Religion, and Mu&lc 
its emotional feeling; but like all emotions not 
the criterion of life. Different from this is Music 
which causes the blood to tingle through the 
veins with joyous exultation, and if not as 
heavenly and pure in its effects, yet fills the 
heart for the time being with the innocent feel¬ 
ings of childhood; or, under the influence of still 
another kind, sadly recalling the reminiscences 
of by-gone days. Thus. Proteus-like, it is con¬ 
stantly changing its forms, and never wearies. 
A celebrated and splendid writer utters the fol¬ 
lowing rhapsody: 
“Breathes there the man with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 
‘This is my own, my native land 5 ’ ” 
With equal propriety, metbinks, this sentiment 
may apply to those whose sensibility is so ex¬ 
tinct that to them music is an unmeaning sound, 
and as the deaf and dumb, so are they to be in¬ 
tensely pitied. The well-worn expression that 
“ music hath charms to soothe the savage ear,’' 
admits of great latitude: that he is delighted 
with bis own style of music is evident from the 
quantity they are guilty of, although the quality 
is execrable to enlightened ears. To those prim¬ 
itive people the piano is an object of wonder and 
amusement for a few moments, when they weary 
of it and return with pleasure to sounds as 
monotonous and barbarous as their untaught 
natures. If those people who dislike the sound 
of a single gong were to reside in China for a 
short time, where that instrumentis the principal 
medium of praise or petition to the goda on ship, 
in temples, in processions on the land, aod in 
their bauds of music the grand feature, they 
would return so hardened as not to heed that 
horrid slam-bang, or be no more affected by it 
than by a street organ. So true is it, the nearer 
we are to Gon the nearer we are to perfection in 
all things. The greatest clearness and cultiva¬ 
tion of voice is attained by the angels in their 
hosannas to the only true and living Gon. 
As we have given the Ideal more than her share 
of attention perhaps, we can only glance at the 
ingenious and most useful of all things—begging 
pardon of “ the deep ones,’' as Madam* Flint- 
winch would say. for even daring to glance at 
what we know so little about. Beauty can exist 
in the practical —for, dull reality as the result 
may seem to be. when we consider tho deep 
thought, the mighty intellect embodied In the 
mechanism of many creations, we must admire 
the inner workings of a mind capable of forming 
from nothing, or from crude materials, or what 
is more generally tho case, discover a hidden 
meaning to work out a principle which shall 
conduce to man's comfort, therefore, to a great 
degree his happiness. Esmeralda. 
friends, you were heedless of our tears, our bitter 
grief. And we laid you away in the cold earth 
where the spring breeze whispers many a sad re¬ 
quiem through the oak trees bending above your 
grave. There will you rest in peace until “ The 
trump shall sound and the dead shall rise.” 
There are olhers whom memory disposes before 
my mental vision. One who away toward the 
sunset, beyond rolling rivers and boundless prai¬ 
ries, is seeking a fortune and a home in the 
“ Land of gold.” Another in an Eastern State 
is laying up "‘Treasures which waxeth not old.” 
To her, if these lines should meet her eye, will a 
thrill of remembrance waken for a moment the 
memory of her early friend. 
But I must close. Memory is leading me along 
strange pathways. Sad sceneB only I now wit¬ 
ness while the bright ones are hidden by a mys¬ 
tic veil. 
“ Dark clouds of threatening somber hues 
Their shadows o'er me cast, 
And only now pervade* mv soul 
Sad memories of the past.” 
Greenville, Mich., 1863. Gertie Gordon. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
SADNESS AMID MIRTH. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
IN THE CLOVER. 
BT H, BO.VAR 
Lv halls of Mirth we seek to hide 
Our hearts from grief and care, 
While from the lips soft accents glide, 
But born of anguish there. 
The heart may veil its hitter grief, 
And seem to know no ill; 
But scenes of mirth bring no relief, 
Nor can its throbbing* still. 
Boft music's then a mournful wail, 
A soul’s deep agony; 
It scents but clearer to unveil 
The torn heart’s misery. 
And merry feet swift dying round 
To music’s flowing rhyme. 
Seem but to tread and crush the wound. 
The heart throb* keeping time. 
Could one but truly read each heart 
In such assembled mirth, 
He'd pale to find how small a part 
Unsullied joy gave birth 
How grief and care sit rioting, 
In glowing cheek and eye; 
How many hearts arc battl’lng 
With pain that will not die. 
Each soul must bear it* grief alone, 
And hide, a» best it may, 
The torturing care, the sighing moan, 
That wears its life away. 
Then, weary mortal, Sufi ’ring soul, 
Enduring grief and wrong, 
Learn to look forward to the goal,— 
“To suffer and be strong.” 
Mountain Springs, Placer Co., Cal., 1883. 
BY FRANK VOLTCS 
I walk as one who knows that he is treading 
A stranger soil; 
As one round whom the world is spreading 
Its subtle coil. 
I walk as one but yesterday delivered 
From a sharp chain; 
Who trembles lest the bonds so newly severed 
Be bound again. 
I walk as one who feels that he is breathing 
Ungeuial air; 
For whom as wiles the tempter still is wreathing 
The bright and fair. 
My steps, I know, are on the plains of danger, 
For *in is near, . • 
But looking up, I pass along, a stranger, 
In haste and fear. 
This earth has tost it3 power to drag me downward; 
Its spell is gone; 
My course is now right upward and right onward, 
To yonder throne. 
Hour after hour of time’s dark night is stealing + 
In gloom away ; + 
Speed Thy fair dawn of light, and joy, and healing, 
Thou Star of Day ! 
For Thee, its God, its King, the long rejected, 
Earth groans and cries; 
For Thee, the long-beloved, the long-expected, 
Thy bride still sighs! 
The South wind U heavy with sweets to-night, 
As it steal* over moorland and lea, 
And it bring* on it* pinions, from valley and height, 
From dewy fields bathed in the moon’s tender light, 
The fragrance of clover to me. 
Sweeter than perfume from Araby s shore 
Comes its odorou* breath, and 1 dream 
Of those halcyon day* which will come nevermore,— 
Those days when I childishly studied tho lore 
Of meadow, and forest, and stream, 
When our darling wee Minnie and I gathered flowers 
In the fields where the gv.vssy leaves play; 
And crowned ourselyes queens, in those bright summer 
hours, ( 
With daisies and clover-blooms, plucked from the bowers 
Where tinnier monarch* held sway. 
When with laughter we followed the butterflies gay 
In their wavering flight o'er the lawn; 
Or pursued the cloud phantoms that rushed on their way, 
’Neath cloudlets, that, bathed in the glorious day, 
Seemed sent from an infinite dawn. 
Oh, memories of childhood, how swiftly ye throng 
With your hallowed scene* round me to night, 
Making me weak who should strive to be strong, 
That the journey of life seem not weary or long,— 
That its dark hours bo merged into light. 
Like a child I look out on the meadowy bloom 
With eyes overflowing with teats. 
And see, faintly gleaming through distance and gloom, 
The tiny stones marking our lost Minnie’s tomb, 
Now gray with the tempests of years, 
In a happier region a chaplet she wears, 
Of flowers which Immortally bloom, 
A child angel, called ere life’s noontide of cares 
Had vexed or oppressed; and a mansion she shares 
Where sainted ones ever find room. 
Alone in tho clover, a garland I weave 
And crown tnc again as of old, 
But where i* the childhood which could not believe, 
That life, with its pleasures, had aught to deceive,— 
That its baubles were other than gold. 
Departed it* golden hours ne'er to return, 
Destroyed its fond trust,—but to live 
In striving the dim gems of truth to discern 
Will calm darkest doubts in the bosom that bum 
And peace to the weary heart give. 
Orange, N. Y , 1883. 
WORKING GIRLS 
Happy girls —who cannot love them? What 
cheeks like the rose, bright eyes and elastic step, 
how carefuly they go to work. Our word for it, 
such girls will make excellent wives. Blessed in¬ 
deed will men be who secure such prizes. Con¬ 
trast those who do nothing but sigh all day, and 
live to follow the fashions; who never earn the 
bread they eat, or the shoes they wear; who are 
languid and lazy from one week's end to another. 
Who but a simpleton and a popinjuy would pre¬ 
fer one of the latter, if he were looking for acom- 
panion? Give us the working girls. They are 
worth their weight in gold. You never see them 
mincing along, or jumping a dozen feet to steer 
clear of a spider or affy. They have no affectation, 
no silly airs about them. When they meet you, 
they speak without puttingon ahftlf dozen airs, or 
trying to show off to better advantage, and you 
feel as If you were talking to a human being, and 
not to a painted or fallen angel. 
If girls knew how sadly they miss it. while they 
endeavor to show off their delicate hands and un¬ 
soiled skin, and put on a thousand airs, they would 
give worlds for the situation of the working ladies, 
who ate above them in intelligence, in honor, 
in everything, as the heavens are above the 
earth. 
Be wise. then. You have made fools of your¬ 
selves through life. Turn over a new leaf, and 
begin to live and act as human beings: as com¬ 
panions to Immortal man. In no other way can 
you be happy, and subserve the delights of your 
existence. 
Written for Moore’a Rural New-Yorker 
SUNDAY CHRISTIANS. 
Written for Moore’* Rursl New-Yorker. 
GENIUS AS DISPLAYED IN POETRY, 
ORATORY, FINE ARTS, MTJSIC AND INVENTION. 
I have but little or no sympathy for “ Sunday 
Christians;” those, I mean, who in some way 
seem to be possessed of the unfortunate idea 
that if they are somewhat religious upon the 
Sabbath, attending church faithfully, reading 
their bibles, and abstaining as far as possible 
from worldly thoughts and employment.-', that it 
is not required of them to be very religious 
through the six days following. Now. if Revela¬ 
tion did not teach the utter fallibility of such a 
religion, as connected with the great truths of 
Christianity, it almost seems if common sense 
ought to teach it to every heart. In treading 
thus far the path in life which destiny has allot¬ 
ted me. I have met and studied many Christians, 
among whom have been no small number of 
those who seem to have in the granary of their 
souls an abundant store of pieiy upon the Sab¬ 
bath day, from which flow heaping measures of 
zeal, and “good works,” but becoming, from 
some unaccountable process, so changed by 
Moflday morning as to produce daily from the 
same store-house equal measures of envy, jeal¬ 
ousies. hatred, and world lines?; manifesting, in 
all the transactions of the week, anything but a 
true Christian spirit. Eager for gain, striving, 
apparently with their whole heart, for worldly 
emoluments, they appear, to mere “ lookers on.” 
as of the “ world.” instead of humble disciples 
aud followers of the Lord Jesus Christ. We 
have no account in Revelation of any such man¬ 
ner of proceeding by our Savior, or any of his 
dUciples. The Sabbath was with them as with 
all true Christians in. any age. a day of holy 
rest: but through each day of the week did they 
go about doing good; the Son of Man doing the 
will of his Father, and the disciples the will of 
their Master. Theirs was no “ Sunday religion.’’ 
but a religion that was made manifest in all of 
their-goings out and comings in,” be it upon 
whatsoever day it might. Thongh we are not to 
judge our fellow creatures, yet we may be sate 
in deciding that those who do not each day and 
hour in their life manifest a spirit of devotion, 
and a heart willing to do the service of God. 
are not, at least, following the instruction of Him 
who said. “By their fruits shall ye know them." 
I find no place in my Bible, where Christ says. 
By the fruits of their Sabbaths shall ye know 
them: but many commandments to watch and 
pray akcay." “ Be diligent in business, serving 
the Lord,” dec., ifcc-. How beautiful is the life of 
a consistent Christian; one who, though doing 
with his might all that his hands find to do, yet 
doing all to the glory of Gon; and oh! how per¬ 
nicious tho influence of those who, professing 
Christ, give him so snlall a portion of their 
heart as to serve him upon the Sabbath, and the 
devil all the other days of their life. “Verily, 
ye cannot serve Gon and Mammon.” 
Monroe County, N. Y„ 1883. “ Yrxo.” 
It is undoubtedly a fact that, whilst traits of 
character and other talents may be, and are. 
often cultivated and made subservient to the 
will, Genius and Beauty are Heaven’s direct 
gifts, bestowed upon the few only, and to be 
abused or ennobled as the fortunate possessor 
may determine. Blessed with a talent which 
renders him superior to those of mediocrity, the 
man of genius possesses an extended social in¬ 
fluence for good or evil, especially the Poet, or 
Author, who also controls the minds of millions 
who have never heard his voice or felt his magic 
presence, but in spirir have felt as he feels; and 
when ho has inspired kindred minds with the 
echo of his own bright thoughts, he assumes to 
them the character of an old. tried friend, who 
has seemed to take a personal interest in their 
feelings and emotions without the desire to ridi¬ 
cule or judge harshly their foibles. Thus, when 
death deprives his country, nay, the world, of 
his seer-searching intellect, those sister spirits 
who were unable to woep at the interment of his 
earthly and coarser nature, have felt deep regret 
at the loss of the brilliant mind or sympathetic 
soul, whose life they feel will never be replaced. 
Therefore, the Poet, more highly favored than 
other mortals, if we except the noble Philan¬ 
thropist. is unlike the merely rich man. whose 
admiring friends, during I 1 ,!.* brief life, ate so 
numerous that the possessor often • fondly 
imagines disinterestedness is the one virtue left 
after the great fall. In many instances he wakes 
from liis brief dream to find that not only riches 
hut friends take wings, or if so fortunate as to go 
to the grave in blissful ignorance, few are the 
sincere tears shed, or regrets felt, lor one who 
can no longer minister to their pleasure. 
Another talent, more brilliant in its character 
and more fascinating, but less enduring and less 
extensive in its influence, is Oratory, in its truest 
sense not a mere form of words, delivered in 
set gestures, with studied effect, but the impul¬ 
sive thoughts leaping forth with energy and 
power; best displayed in the flashing eye and 
varied expression of an highly intellectual face. 
Perhaps there is no other talent that so Controls 
the hearts, nay, the very senses of men. This is 
seen in courts of justice, where brilliant, pathetic 
addresses produce the effect of blinding tho 
honest but more simple judgments of the jury. 
In serious cases, where correct decisions are 
vitally necessary, it would seem rather that such 
might be gained by a jury composed of profes¬ 
sional or intellectual men, who would discern 
between the truth and its shadow. But if pro¬ 
ductive of wrong, it has also, by charming the 
ear, inculcated sentiments of strength and beauty 
in the hearts of many to whom abstruse reading 
is a sealed mystery. But if Oratory is appre¬ 
ciated by the multitude, comparatively few have 
true taste for Painting and Sculpture. How- 
many, as in their libraries, ornament their man¬ 
sions with these classic elegancies merely because 
their wealth will allow of the fashionable neces¬ 
sity of the age. This low ebb of true taste is 
evident from the fact that years, nay, centuries 
ago, the few who proved the elevation of their 
minds and spirits above the grosser elements of 
our being were considered rile visionaries by the 
masses, who prided themselves on their common- 
sense and practical views, not considering the 
necessity of the union of the real and ideal to 
produce perfection. This union is seen in the 
creations of the Deity. Contrasted with the 
useful fields of grain and magnificent forests are 
the lofty mountains and sublime cataracts—even 
the tiny flower, intended only to please the taste 
and eye of man. will bear competition with its 
neighbor the spear of grass. Can there be more 
Written for Moore’* Rural New-Yorker. 
MEMORY AND I. 
“ Wk love to dwell on days of youth 
Derp buried in the past, 
As men do love the autumn leaves 
Bemuse they are the last; 
And ns we cut a backward glance, 
Toward the scenes of yore, 
We feel, alas! their blissful joys 
Can come to us no more.” 
Memory has taken me by the hand this morn¬ 
ing and led me along the path of Time, grown 
thick with thorns of grief and flowers of joy, 
into the shadowy country of the “ Long Ago.” 
Even as my mind wanders back so far, do I 
pause aud linger ut many a well remembered 
scene—landmarks along the weary march of life. 
Far, far away in the dim distance I behold my 
native city with its busy throng of mortals, —each 
one bearing ills own life-burden—bravely, or 
with weak and fainting hearts according to their 
different natures: its dens of indigence and vice, 
aud its palaces of wealth and splendor side by 
side; its institutes of learning and its noble 
churches with their tall spires pointing upward 
toward heaven’s blue dome: and the bright bay 
with its fleet of ships laden with rich burdens 
from beyond the sea. Then, leaving all the fond 
associations and dear friends of early childhood, 
and a father's grave in beautiful Greenwood. 
“The city of the dead.” new scenes and strange 
faces greet me. Away in the distant, West do I 
next linger among the grand old forests of the 
Wolverine State, whose dim aisles were our 
church, and the half decayed trunk of some 
fallen monarch of the woods our cushioned pew, 
Nature the minister, whose never changing text 
is “From Nature turn aloft to Nature’s Gon.”— 
the sermon our own thoughts, and the choir the 
wild birds whose sweet wurblings of praise ever 
rise from that vast cathedral to the great “ God 
of Love.” 
Fain would I pause and linger amid these 
sweet memories, and dwell long in thought on 
those silent communions with Nature, when with 
no remembrance of the turbulent world, its mis¬ 
ery and sin. my soul would swell with unuttera¬ 
ble joy, and gladness, and gratitude to the great 
“ Dispenser of all good;” but Time points onward 
and Memory follows at his bidding. 
Many u happy school-day is passed swiftly by 
in our onward flight, and we only pause when, 
the school-days ended, with rnanf a tear and 
fond regret we bid adieu to the dear school-mates 
who have trod with ns along the path of science. 
Doubly sad was the parting when many from 
that happy band threw aside their books—weap¬ 
ons of the mind—and girded on the sword and 
shouldered the musket for their country's sake. 
and went forth with pale, sad faces, but firm, 
brave hearts, to subdue their unnatural l'oe. 
Here wo turn aside and drop a tear in memorial 
of those who have fallen: those whom, though 
Time in his flight may bring us many changes, 
will never bring back again. And there was 
one, oan I write of him— 
g -“ with wavy locks of sunny gold, 
rjj' And eyes the reflection of heaven’s own blue, 
He crossed in the twilight gray and cold, 
S. And the pale mists hid him from mortal view.” 
¥ Ah ! H-, could you have known when you 
lay dying far away in the Southland, of the bitter 
Y tears which were being shed for you, it would 
.j have been as balm to your soul in your death- 
. struggle. But when the thundering engine bore 
your unconscious form back to your home and I 
Always Happy, Always Cheerful.— 
“Why this constant, happy flow of spirits?” 
“No secret, doctor,” replied the mechanic, “I 
have one of the best of wives; and when I go to 
work she always has a kind word of encourage¬ 
ment for me. and when I go home, she meets me 
with a smile and a kiss, and she is sure to be 
ready ; and she has been doing many things dur¬ 
ing the day to please me, and I can not find it in 
my heart to speak unkind to anybody.” Wha( 
an influence, then, hath woman over the heart 
of man, to soften it, and make it tho fountain of 
cheerful and pure emotion 1 Speak gently, then; 
a happy smile and a kind word ol greeting, after 
the toils of the day are over, costs nothing, and 
goes far towards making a home happy and 
peaceful. 
VICE-PRESIDENT STEPHENS’ WARNING 
Golden words did Alex. H. Stephens, now 
Vice-President of the Confederacy, utter in the 
Georgia Convention of January, 1801, pending the 
question of secession. He said: 
“This step, once taken, could never be recalled, 
and all the baleftil and withering consequences 
that must follow, as they would see, will rest on 
the convention for all coming time. When we and 
our posterity shall see our lovely South desolated 
by the demon of war which this act of yours will 
inevitably invite and call forth; when our green 
fields of waving harvests shall be trodden down 
by the murderous soldiery and fiery car of war 
sweeping over our land, our temples of justice laid 
in ashes, all the horrors and desolation of war upon 
us, who but this convention will be held respon¬ 
sible for it? and who but he who shall have given 
his vote for tbisunwiseandill-timed measure.asl 
honestly think and believe, shall bo held to strict 
account for this suicidal act by the present gener¬ 
ation, and probably be cursed and execrated by 
posterity for all coming time, for the wide and 
desolating ruin that will inevitably follow this act 
you now propose to perpetrate? 
•• Pause. 1 entreat you, and consider for a mo¬ 
ment what reasons you can give thatwill evensat- 
isfy yourselves in calmer moments, what reasons 
you can give to your fellow sufferers in the calamity 
that it will bring upon us. What reasons can you 
give to the nations of the earth to justify it? And 
to what cause or one overt act can you name or 
point on which to rest the plea of justification? 
What right has the North assailed, what interest 
of the South has been invaded, what justice has 
been denied, and what claim, founded in justice 
and right, has been withheld? Can either of you 
to-day name one governmental act of wrong de¬ 
liberately and pm’posely done by the Govern¬ 
ment of Washington of which the South has the 
right to complain? I challenge the answer. 
“Now for you to attempt to overthrow such a 
Government as this, under which we have lived 
for more than three quarters of a century. In which 
we have gained our wealth, our standing as a na¬ 
tion, our domestic safety while the elements of 
peril are around us, with peace and tranquility, 
accompanied with unbounded prosperity and 
rights unnassailed, is the hight of madness, folly 
and wickedness, to which I can neither lend my 
sanetiou nor my vote.” 
Tin: Good and Hardy Wife.— The deep hap¬ 
piness in her heart shines out in her face. She is 
a ray of sunlight in the house. She gleams all 
over it. It is airy, and gay, and graceful, and 
warm, and welcoming with her presence. She 
is full of devices, aud plots, and sweet surprises 
for her husband and family. .She has never done 
with the romance and poetry of life. She Is her¬ 
self a lyric poem setting herself to all pure and 
gracious melodies. Humble household ways and 
duties have for her a golden significance. The 
prize makes thecalling high, and the end dignifies 
the means. Her home is a paradise, not sinless, 
not painless, bnt still a paradise; for “Love is 
Heaven, and Heaven is Love.” 
Oh, the love of woman—the love of woman! 
How high will it not rise! and to what lowly 
depths will it not stoop! IIow many injuries 
will it not forgive! What obstacles will it not 
overcome, and what sacrifices will it not make, 
rather than give up the being upon whom it has 
been once wholly and truthfullyfixed! Perennial 
of life, which grows up under every climate, 
liow small would be the sum of man’s happiness 
without it! No coldness, no neglect, no harsh¬ 
ness, can extinguish thee! Like the fabled lamp 
in the sepulchre, thou sheddest thy pure light in 
the human heart, when everything around thee 
there is dead forever.— Carleton. 
THE SAVIOR’S PREACHING 
Our Lord found many a topic of discourse in 
the scenes around him. Even the humblest ob¬ 
jects shone in his hands as I have seen a fragment 
of broken glass or earthen ware, as it caught 
a sunbeam, light up, flashing like a diamond. 
With the stone of Jacob’s well for a pulpit, and 
its water for a text, he preached salvation to the 
Samaritan wo*ian. A little child which he takes 
from its mother’s side, and holds up blushing in 
his arms before the astonished audience, is the 
text for a sermon on humility. A husbandman 
on a neighboring height, between him and the 
sky, who strides with long and measured steps 
over the fieffd he sows, supplies a text from which 
he discourses on the Gospel and its effects on 
different classes of hearers. In a woman baking; 
in two women who sit by some cottage door, 
grinding at the mill: iu an old, strong fortalice, 
perched on a rock, whence it looks across the 
brawling torrent to the ruined and roofless gable 
of a house swept away by mountain floods— 
Jesus found texts. From the birds teat sung 
above his head, and the lilies that blossomed at 
Lift me Higher—A girl, thirteen years old, 
was dying. Lifting her eyes toward the ceiling, 
she said, softly. 
“Lift me higher! lift me higher!” 
Her parents raised her.up with pillows, but she 
faintly said, 
“ No, not that! but there!” again looking earn¬ 
estly toward Heaven, where her happy soul flew 
a few moments later. On her gravestone these 
words are carved: 
“Jane B—, aged thirteen. Lifted Higher.” 
A beautiful idea of dying, was it not? Lifted 
higher! 
It is only by labor that thought can be made 
healthy, and only by thought that labor can be 
made happy. 
The degrees shorten as we proceed trom u 
lower to the higher latitude; the years short* 
in like manner as we pass onward through life. 
We cannot well dispense with the respect of 
others unless ve are possessed of our own. 
