’S EUKAL 
n. 
. 1 
;a flits’ jBvymtWttt 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
CUPID “OUT.” 
UT A. 8. HOOKER. 
Ccpid had been 1 out” one evening, and as darkness 
’roud him fell, 
Sought for shelter from the dew drops in a flower's oer- 
hanging bell; 
While the dew set all around him, thousand little siiining 
gems, 
Jeweling the blue bell’s clusters to the down upon its 
stems; 
And bis rainbow «ings grew moistened, till they droupod 
upon his side, 
Aa he tried his golden arrows from the falling mist to 
hide. 
Wet at last, and cold, and weary, low he bowed his droop¬ 
ing head, 
Went to sleep within the blue-bell, with u bee to share 
his bed, 
Which kept humming to the elfin, such a funny sort of 
tune, 
That lie went to dreamland thinking all the year was just 
like June. 
So he slept, till crept a sunbeam with a crown upon his 
brow, 
Laughing through the flowers and bushes, waking bees 
and birds up now; 
Then our Cupid tried his pinions, sook the dew-drops 
from his hair, 
Rubbed Ills blue eyes till they glistened, ’round him then 
began to stare, 
When a footstep sounded near him, for a maiden bright 
and gay, 
brushed the dew-drops from the flowers, in her walk at 
early day; 
And tier laugh, ns clear as silver, made the laughing birds 
grow still, 
Just as if her tones grew sweeter, as they floated oe’r the 
hill. 
When she spied the blue bell’s clusters, forward came to 
pluck them there, 
So that she might twine their flowers, Line and drooping, 
in her hair. 
As she bent to brush the jewels from the edges of each 
cup, 
Ere her rosy fingors lifted all the azure goblets up; 
Came the bee, who thus caught napping, vexed to think 
that ho could stand, 
Wasting all the precious morning, stung the blue-eyed 
maiden’s hand; 
While ho flew away and left her weeping o'er the aching 
smart, 
Cent) sent a shining arrow, quick as lightning, to her 
heart; 
While her clicks grew red as crimson, and a name dropped 
from her tongue, 
Which the little elfin hearing, on his gauzy wings up- 
sprung, 
Wandering forth through all the region, seeking him 
whose name ho knew, 
Hoping, in his mischief making, may be lie could shoot 
him too. 
Lima, N. Y., 1&63. 
Written for JJooro’s Kural New-Yorker. 
NIGHT BEINGS OUT THE STABS. 
Tun sunshine is independent. It needs no 
help, especially such as the modest stars would 
bring. Daylight is too bold and strong for their 
tiny rays; so, when the broad glare of the noon¬ 
day sun floods the world with its glory, the little 
stars hide their faces in meekness, and quietly 
wait the hour when their mission shall begin. 
Wo do not feel the need of their gentle rays as 
long os we have sunshine or moonlight, and we 
scarcely miss them. But there are times when 
we are grateful for even stor-lighL The sun 
grows hot and weary with his long march, and 
silently bivouacks for the night beyond the glory- 
clad bills; the moon even hides her motherly 
face for a time, and we are left in gloom. Then 
our little stars come peeping forth from their 
blue home, and send down to us sweet, beautiful 
beams of light. We love their rays then, and 
gladly accept their help, weak and feeble though 
it may be. They serve to illumine many a dark 
way, and we learn to appreciate I heir importance 
till the dawn approaches, which puts to flight our 
star-beams, and makes u- forget them in a fuller 
glare. So it is only when the darkness and 
gloom of night close over the earth that we are 
blessed with the pure, beautif ul stars, for night 
only can bring them out of their retirement. 
S a, also, in the long and toilsome Inarch of life, 
into which, howsoever weary and worn they may 
be, our feet must fall, we find that, night brings 
out the stars,—I mean tho night of woe. 
When tho sunshine of beautiful hopes and gay 
anticipations gilds our present and future; when 
friends, fond and true, throng around us to assist 
and encourage our efforts in the attainment of 
fame, wealth or position; when love and joy 
fold their bright wings above our heads in bless¬ 
ing, we feel little need of other, higher aid; we 
forget the sustaining and guiding hand that bo- 
stows all these gifts in mercy, and so go about 
our labors, seldom pausing to say, “ Our Father, 
give us this day our daily bread,” fur why should , 
we; have we not enough and to spare? “ Lead 
us not into temptation,” is rather dim and misty, . 
so strong are we in our own strength, and in the , 
friends around us. But when all these fail; , 
when our hopes of fame and glory fade Into real- , 
ides neither bright nor beautiful; when wealth 
takes wings and flies away, bearing with it our 
“dear five hundred friends,” wejbegin to feel like 
one of old when he cried, “ miserable comforters 
are ye all.” 
Then, and not till then, does the star of heaven¬ 
ly love and faith shine forth in all its beauty and 
brightness, filling our hearts with a Hood of glory 
that tho world can neither give nor take away. 
The Christian virtues develop under sorrow and 
trial more perfectly than when our ways are 
smooth and cloudless. Wo scarcely know our 1 
own wauls and weaknesses till tried by fierce 
temptation, and then our only hope is to flee to 
One who is ever near in hours of trial. Then 
Come to that fountain of light, whose beams grow 
brighter and brighter as earthly glories fade away. 
Wilson, N. Y., 1803. Alice Brown Nichols. 1 
WOMAN. 
While the newspapers of the day have been 
: filled to overflowing with pa ana sung over the 
brave deeds of men on the battle-field and else¬ 
where, little has been said or sung of woman, 
her self-sacrifices, her devotion to the Union, and 
the losses she has been compelled to undergo. 
Man upon the battle-field dies like the flash of 
i the gun, and i;- immortalized. Woman remains 
at home to watch, and wait, and weep. It is a 
sharp, short pang, and all is over with man. He 
goes to claim his reward. It Is a life-time of 
mournful remembrance with woman, a ceaseless 
, lament over the fate against which she was help¬ 
less. 
No one ever blamed Venus for loving Mars, 
and we take it, it comes as natural for a woman 
to love a soldier as to breathe. Consequently, 
we hear of women as vivandieres, of women 
accompanying their husbands, of maids arruy- 
ing themselves in the rough, masculine garb of 
war. that they may follow their lovers, of women 
hovering like ministering angels about the cots 
of dying soldiers, of Bisters of Charity and 
Florence Nightingales. 
Woman hats now been tested. The raid against 
her must, forever cease. Cynics no longer ques¬ 
tion woman’s usefulness, regard her as a painted 
butterfly or pretty toy, mourning the Iofs of a 
lap-dog, an ill-fitting dress, or the disappoint¬ 
ment of a milliner. It has remained for this 
goodly year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and 
sixty-three, inaugurating bravo words and deeds, 
to witness the on-rushing of the legions of lib¬ 
erty, and to ignite in woman’s breast, the fire and 
enthusiasm, the brave emotions and generous 
enthusiasm which have lain dormant since the 
days of Molly Stark. 
Fine ladyism, with its ennui, rendering life 
tediouH as a twice-told tale, has developed into 
an active, patriotic vitality—and woman has now 
found that “sphere ” about which so much sense¬ 
less twaddle has been expended in this nine¬ 
teenth century. Woman, soothing the grief she 
cannot dispel; woman, the good Samaritan, 
pouring oil into the wounds she cannot heal; 
woman, enduring the horrors of the battle-field, 
to Bavc and succor; woman, administering sweet 
sympathy to men in sickness and sorrow; wo¬ 
man, speaking brave words of hope to the faint¬ 
ing; woman, closing tho eyes of the dying to 
their lust sleep; woman, with willing fingers and 
weary feet, at. the sewing machine, preparing the 
equipments of “grim visaged ” war; woman, at 
home, bidding Godspeed to husband, and 
brother, and son, in the righteous Cause of lib¬ 
erty; thus we find her. Woman gives up the 
only tlo which links her to the world. Can she 
give up more? Thus it is that the days of Cor¬ 
nelia and the Spartan mother are restored. 
CHEERFUL HOUSES. 
What sort of a house do you live In ? We do 
not ask whether it Is costly or cheap, wide or 
narrow, of three stories or one. Whether it is in 
tho city or country we care not. It may com¬ 
mand a fair prospect, it may be shut In by sand¬ 
banks, or by higher buildings. These things are 
incidental. But we ask, is your house cheerful ? 
Outsides have very little to do with the question; 
It is mattter of inside care and taste. Otbori 
people seo the exteriors of our houses; m live 
inside. They pass along, and look but a mo¬ 
ment, we stay in our rooms long hours, days and 
months. 
Now we assert that the pleasantness of a house 
depends almost wholly on the way in which it is 
“kept.” The grandest mansion can to made 
gloomy and repulsive, contributing to a “splen¬ 
did misery,” Some of the roughest, cheapest 
houses are cheerful to live iu. There Is an air of 
comfort about all the rooms, a home-likeness 
which gladdens the heart. What makes the dif¬ 
ference ? We ask chiefly by way of suggestion, 
but we may be allowed to oiler two or three hints 
lu those who can use them. 
Let there be plenty of sunlight in your house. 
Don’t be afraid of it. Clou floods the world with 
light, and it costs you an effort to keep it out. 
You want it as much as plants, which grow sick¬ 
ly without it. It is necessary to the health, spir¬ 
its, good nature and happy influence. Let the 
sunlight stream freely iu. Sidney Smith used 
to say In his cheery tones, “glorify the room,” 
and the shutters were opened wide to the god of 
day. Flowers and vines are good in their place, 
but never allow them to keep out the sun. 
Tuck Hospitality.— I pray you, 0 excellent 
wile, cumber not yousolfor me to got a curiously 
rich dinner for this man or woman who has 
alighted at our gates; nor a bedchamber made at 
too great a cost: those things, if they are curious 
iu them, they can get for a few shillings in any vil¬ 
lage; but rather let the strangbr see, if you will, 
in your looks, accents and behavior,your heart and 
earnestness, your thought and will, which he 
cannot buy at any price iu any city and which he 
tuny well travel twenty miles, and dine sparely 
and sleep hardly to behold. Let not the emphasis 
of hospitality lie in bed and board, but let truth, 
and love, and honor, and courtesy flow in all thy 
deeds. 
- ■ ■■ 4-» ♦ 
The Vocation op Mothers.—W e applaud, 
says Webster, the artist whose skill and genius 
present the mimic man upon the canvas; we ad¬ 
mire and celebrate the sculptor who works out 
that same image in enduring marble; but how 
insignificant are these achievements, though the 
highest and fairest in all the departments of art 
in comparison with the great vocation of mothers! 
They work not upon the canvas that shall fail, 
or the marble that shall crumble into dust, but 
upon mind, upon spirit, which is to last forever 
and which is to bear throughout its duration the 
impress of a mother's plastic hand! 
Little squalls don’t upset the lover's boat; 
they drive it all the faster to port 
GOOD NIGHT. 
f 
[ Destroyer ! what do you here—here by my little nest ? 
What have I done that your shadow lies on my brightest 
p and best ? 
If ’twas my sin that smirthed the cross on the door, O 
Death, 
1 Blood of mine should efface it, and not this Innocent's 
passing breath. 
r 
O cruel to drench the fleece of my little lamb with thy 
dew ! 
O sightless to qneneh the light in eyes so guileless and 
true I 
i O heartless and brainless to still the life in his hand that 
glows, 
And the iovc and the thougnt that breed in these wide, 
gray-fading brows! 
The sweet, unfaltering voice I—“ Papa, do you think I 
shall die f” 
“ Die; my dear ? All's in God’s hands, but I think—so 
think not I, 
You will live to be a big man; ami when I am old and 
ffrey, 
You shall take me by the arm and lead me along the way. 
“But if it should be death, do you know what it is, little 
one t — 
It is a falling sleep, and you wake and the darkness is 
gone. 
And mamma arid papa will sleep too; and when that day 
I is come, 
We shall meet together in Heaven—in Heaven instead of 
at home. 
“ Don’t you know that, asleep in your bed, an hour like 
a moment seems f 
Be not afraid of that I—it is past in a night without 
dreams. 
We are only apart, dear child, ’twixt the evening and 
morning light!" 
“Good uight, then, papa, and God bless you!” “My 
darling, my darling, good night I” 
- — -- « ■ -» —» . 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
OLD MEMORIES, 
• _________ 
The present of our lives is always surrounded 
by difficulties and disappointments. The future 
is only made bright by the dim, uncertain light 
of the lamp of hope, casting its cheering rays 
through the gloomy night of the yet-to-be. 
How often, then, does the mind wander from 
the turmoils of the present and the air castles of 
the future, back to scenes and associations “long 
past and gone," and there find pleasures and 
beauties once passed over regardless of their val¬ 
ue. It is now that the mind can fully realize 
that “ blessings brighten as they take their flight,” 
and many a weary wanderer, in moments of mel¬ 
ancholy, wishes that his life was to live over 
again. The thought is predominant that he 
could enjoy and improve it more than he has 
done. It is certainly a wise providence which 
does not always permit man to have fulfilled all 
his silly wishes. Could that very person be 
placed once more at the fountain of youth,—his 
bending form bathed in its limpid waters,—and 
kindly warned of reefs and sand-bars, of what 
should be desired and what should be avoided , 
before many years he would again be encom¬ 
passed by “clouds of thick darkness.” Troubles, 
which were before unseen, would stand before 
him in giant proportions and threaten his further 
progress by their “horrid front;’’ vexations 
which were then as “mole-hills,” would now as¬ 
sume the size of “mountaius;” and scenes of 
other times, which when viewed through the 
telescope of “distance” appeared filled with 
“enchantment,” now lose all the enchanter’s 
magic power. 
The life of man is lived but once, and ’tis well 
that it is so. ’Tis sweeter far to be united to the 
past by the golden links of memory's never-end¬ 
ing chain, aided by the imagination, than to see 
her again by the dim light of reality. 
Fancy gives to the past a thousand pictured 
beauties which the present never knows. How 
oft in the dim, poetic hour of twilight, or perhaps 
sometimes in the still watches of the night, does 
memory lead you in companionship with a dear 
associate long since “ passed away ?” ilow full 
of reality seems that meeting! You play togeth¬ 
er on the green,—roam through meadow nud 
wildwood, over the hill and along the valley in 
search of the flowers you so much love; or, per¬ 
haps, your pattering feet tread that same old 
winding path that leads to the school house on 
the hill. Not a single face is absent, not a single 
one is changed. Time has left no wrinkles 
there. 
Memory returning from a chase like this may 
cause a sigh to spring unbidden from the breast, 
or a tear to trickle down the cheek. So lifelike 
had been the picture memory painted that we 
could not but believe that it was true. Yet who 
would not, willingly bear the disappointment for 
the pleasure which preceded it. 
Old memories—they make man better, nobler, 
holier. They lead him away from things of 
earth and open to Ins entranced vision the gold¬ 
en gates of Heaven Arno. 
Ilopedale, Ohio, 1803 
OUT OF DEBT. 
“ Out of debt, out of danger." remarks one of 
our exchanges, is a good rule for individuals and 
churches. A modern writer says that the Apos¬ 
tle was careful to owe no itmu anything, and 
then asks:—“Had be been in debt to Felix, 
does any one suppose he could have made Felix 
tremble ?” 
There is great power iu that independence of 
man which one may feel who is out of debt. 
“The borrower is servant to the lender." And 
no church or individual can be free from the 
trammels of slavery, unless free from the bur¬ 
dens of such au evil and debt. This is the sea¬ 
son that many of our churches have improved to 
deliver themselves from those burdens, and the 
nioro rapidly and successfully they push on their 
work, the better it will be for them and their 
cause. 
GLACIERS. 
Rev. Henry Ward Beecher writes from 
Switzerland to the Independent concerning his 
Alpine experiences: 
There was a glacier. It was tho first I bad 
seen. For years I had read everything that I 
could lay my hands upon concerning glaciers: 
had followed Alpine travelers with an interest 
scarcely less than that excited by Polar regions; 
bad been an invisible and imaginary member of 
the Alpine Club, and explored with its most ad¬ 
venturous men the “ Peaks, Passes and Glaciers 
of the Alps,” and yet had never seen one! 
There was a kind of mystery bung about them. 
They were clothed in my mind with an inde¬ 
scribable interest. At length I beheld it. There 
it lay, of dazzliDg whiteness, so that I could 
scarcely look upon it. It seemed to be let down 
from the sky. The clouds darkened the valley 
where I stood. But they had opened, far up 
this valley to the left, and let through a blaze of 
light that kindled the snow to the most intense 
and dazzling radiance. I sat down in silence. I 
do not know why tears should have started. It 
was not simply the picture that lay before me. 11 
was the stirring within, by that picture, of those 
subtle yearnings which never tail to rise in the 
presence of objects that bring near the concep¬ 
tion of the Infinite and Eternal God! My in¬ 
ward vision was far beyond any outward seeing. 
I almost expected to bear au Apocalyptic voice, 
and to behold angels above it, as if this exceed¬ 
ing whiteness, lifted up against the far sky, could 
mean nothing less than the opening of the Gate 
of Heaven! 
♦ • A ■ - 
THE TOWER OF BABEL. 
After a ride of about eight miles, we were at 
the foot of the Biers-Nimrood. Our horses’feet 
were trampling upon the remains of bricks, 
which showed here and there, through the accu¬ 
mulated dust and rubbish of ages. Before our 
eyes uprose a great mound of earth, barren and 
bare. This was tho Bier-Nimrood, the ruins of 
the Tower of Babe], by which the first builders 
Of tho earth had vainly hoped to scale high 
heaven. Here also it was that Nebuchadnezzar 
built— for bricks bearing his name have been 
found in the ruins. At the top of the mound a 
great mass of brick-work pierces the accumulated 
soil. 
With your fingers you touch tho very bricks, 
large, square-shaped and massive, that were 
“ thoroughly ” burned; the very mortar — the 
“slime.” now hard as grauite—handled more 
than four thousand years ago by earth’s impious 
people. From the summit of the mound, far 
away over the plain, we could sec glistening, 
brilliant as a star, the gilded dome of a mosque, 
that caught and reflected the bright rayB of the 
morning sun. This glittering speck was the 
tomb of the holy Aly. To pray before this at 
some period of bis life, to kiss tho sacred dust of 
the earth uround, there at some time or other to 
bend his body and count bis beads, is the daily 
desire of every devout Mahotnmedan.— A Letter 
in Blackwood. 
-«»♦ 
THE WEALTH OF MEXICO. 
In Mexico there are over one thousand silver 
mines, yielding between thirty-five and forty 
millions of dollars a year. The value of these 
mines is increased by the fact that there are 
twenty-five mines of quicksilver, which yield 
from two hundred and fifty to three hundred 
thousand pounds weight annually. Gold Is also 
found In considerable quantities, stated variously 
at from three millions of dollars upwards. The 
mines are generally located either on the top or 
western slope of the Cordilleras, and have been 
wrought for ages. Gold and silver vases o 
great value and beauty of workmanship were 
sent back to Spain by the first conquerors as 
spoils of the war. Iron and copper are also pro¬ 
duced in abundance. One great hindrance to 
the realizing of this mineral wealth is the diffi¬ 
culty of transporting it to the seaboard, there 
being neither railroads nor navigable livers in 
the country, and the only means of transporta¬ 
tion being the backs of mules. The commercial 
inertness and want of mechanical enterprise of 
the people, and the small extent to W’hich the 
combination and division of labor are carried, 
have also contributed, with the general insecu¬ 
rity of property, to prevent the various natural 
riches of the country from their full development. 
. —- 
WARNING. 
Wise the clock—it strilseth ten; 
Heed the alarum—fools and sagos! 
Choking out the lives of men— 
Man tling down the road of ages. 
Soon the “eleventh hour” will chime, 
Stilling all the wheels of men— 
Lay new hold of life and time— 
Wind tho clock—it slriketli ten 
♦ w »' ■■ - - — — 
Brevity is a commendable quality, especially 
in orations and contributions to daily newspa¬ 
pers; but it is not always safe to be Bhort. 
“What do you think of Mr. So-and-so?” was 
asked about an eminent man. The answer was 
tv striking example of simple justice. “ I haven’t 
got time to toll you. The character is too largo 
to be disposed of in a minute. An epigram is 
long enough for a sarcasm, but it is much too 
short for u candid opinion. It would take an 
hour to discuss the faults of tho man you men¬ 
tion, and another hour to do justice to his excel¬ 
lencies.” 
■ -- 1 ■ - 1 
Genius and Religion.— We do not speak 
lightly when we say that all works of intellect 
which have not iu some measure been quickened 
by religion are doomed to perish or to lose their 
power; and that genius is preparing for itself a 
sepulcher when it disjoins itself from the Univer¬ 
sal Mind. Religion, justly viewed, surpasses all 
other principles in giving a free and manifold 
action to the mind. 
,V. ’ r 
8r$6£ 
JACOB’S LADDER. 
BY REV. WH.ALEXAXDER. 
Ah ! many a time we took on & tar! it nights 
Up to the sky, as Jacob did of old, 
Look longing np to the eternal lights, 
To spelt their lines of gold. 
But never more, as to the Hebrew boy, 
Each on his way the angels walk abroad, 
And never more we bear, with awful joy, 
The audible voiec of God. 
Yet, to pure eyes the ladder still is set, 
And angel visitants still come and go, 
Many bright messengers are moving yet 
From the dark world below. 
Thoughts, that are red crossed faith's outspreading wings, 
Prayers of the Church, ay e keeping time and tryst— 
Heart-wi»hes, making bee like murmuring?, 
Their flower the Eucharist— 
Spirits elect, through suffering render'd meet 
For those high mansions—from the nursery door 
Bright babes that climb up with their clay-cold feet, 
Unto the golden floor— 
These arc the messengers, forever wending 
From earth to heaven, that faith alone may scan, 
These arc the angels of our God, ascending 
Upon the .Son of Man. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
“NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP.” 
In the whole language of prayer there are no 
words more beautifully expressive than the four 
short lines of which the caption of this piece 
is the beginning. My soul finds hallowed music 
in each word of that immortalized prayer; and 
many times have I felt to render thanks to its 
originator, whoever it may have been. After 
the toil and cates of the day are over, and we 
find our wearied soul and body panting for rest 
—that peculiar rest that eometh to mortals only 
by the heaven-sent gift of sleep,—and we pre¬ 
pare to commit ourselves to the keeping of Him 
“who never slumbers.” what more appropriate 
and satisfying petition can we offer befor the 
majesty of His throne, than 
“ Now I lay me down to sleep, 
I pray the Lord my soul to keep; 
If I should die before I wake, 
I pray the Lord my toul to take.” 
in treading each day the intricate path of life, 
as we find it in this world, the Christian nesessa- 
rily becomes, by the closing in of' night, wearied 
In mind, body and soul. The mind, especially, 
seems to have become so taxed as to render it 
almost iueupablc of creating u prayer that suf¬ 
ficiently portrays the evening desire of tho soul 
tor spiritual rest, bodily protection, and a peace¬ 
ful meeting with its creator in the event of an un¬ 
expected call from God before the morning light 
shall appear. But in this beautiful little prayer 
does the soul find all its wants met together in 
the most beuutiful expression possible. It is 
clearly evident to my mind, that this prayer was 
composed through the divine influence of special 
inspiration. None can deny that it lias in reality 
become immortalized; and that which partakes 
most of immortality, if good in its nature, may 
come nearest to God. Among tho first recollec¬ 
tions of the youth of every Christian parent in 
the laud is the lisping of “Now I luy me down 
to sleep;’’ and here I would express an opinion 
that lies near my heart. Many seem to think this 
prayer solehg adapted to the wants of children; 
but the reasons 1 have given for considering the 
prayer a beautiful one, I do not fiud in the least 
diminished, when considering the wants of any 
Christian being. Let me live to whatever age I 
may, these blessed lines shall always be my 
evening prayer. When we arise in the morning 
as it were “ new creatures,” refreshed iu our 
whole being, then are we better prepared to lay 
before our God the many wants of the soul for 
the day. Yuno. 
Monroe Co., Sept., 1863. 
Beautiful Extract.-- When the summer of 
our youth is slowly wasting into the nightfall of 
age, and the shadows of the past grow deeper, as 
if life were on its close, it is pleasant to look back 
through the vista of time upon the sorrows and 
felicities of years. If we have a home to shelter 
us, and friends have been gathered by our fire¬ 
sides, then the rough places of wayfaring will 
have been worn and smoothed away in the twi¬ 
light of life, while the sunny spots wo have passed 
through will grow brighter and more beautiful. 
Happy, indeed, are those whose intercourse with 
the world has uot changed the tone of their holier 
feelings, or broken those musical chords of the 
heart, whose vibrations are so melodious, so 
touching to the evening of age. 
Believing.— To go and venture upon God up¬ 
on the freedom of His grace, upon the promises of 
God, upon the commands of God, and to stand at 
God’s arbitrament, and to refer a man’s will to His 
will, and to cast a man’s self into those everlast¬ 
ing arms, it, is as if a man should leave his own 
standing, und cast himself into the arms of a 
mighty giant that stands upon another pinnacle; 
one whom he has also often wronged and abused; 
and he himself hath no hands to lay upon him 
neither, but he must depend upou his catching 
him: and here is the greatest venture, the great¬ 
est self-denial that can be. Thus the heart 
throws itself out of all possibilities, and submits 
to the free grace of God iu Christ: and this is in 
believing.— Goodwin. 
A Solemn Thought.— Richard Baxter once 
said, “1 seldom hear the bell toil for one that is 
dead, but conscience asks me, ‘What hast thou 
done for the saving of that soul before it lett the 
body? There is one more gone into eternity' 
What didst thou do to prepare him for it? And 
what testimony must be given to the J udge con¬ 
cerning thee?’” 
