Fi™ 
IMm’ 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE NINETEENTH OF AUGUST. 
BV CLIO 8 T A N L B T. 
Sweet Summer night! dear Summer night! 
Your breath is on my brow, 
Your quiet and jour rare content 
liring buck the whispered vow 
To love through life, 
Thro’ toil and strife; 
What earnest exultation 
Springs fortli to greet the gladsome thought, 
The joy that one low vow lias brought 
To crown my life's ovation. 
Sweet Summer pigtit! dear Summer night! 
The cool, grey shadows rest 
Upon my busy, throbbing brain, 
And lie upon my breast: 
Tiiosc shadows.deep, 
That banish sleep, 
For with them, scent of roses 
Drops down from other happy days, 
Where memory, with her pencil strays, 
And tenderly reposes. 
Sweet Summer night! dear Hummer night I 
With earnest eves I look 
Upon thy stars and leaves and flowers,. 
Like some familiar book; 
Oh I silent hours 
Iu memory's bowers! 
Your goldeu censors, swinging, 
Bring back the wild blooms on the hill, 
The souud of tinkling mountain rill, 
And bluebird’s joyful singing. 
Sweet Summer night I dear Summer night! 
A thousand love-songs break 
From out thy heart, with laughter sweet, 
And slumb'rlng echoes wake; 
A nd dark eyes gleam 
Within my dream, 
With tcndercet emotion. 
While my full heart in calm content 
Beats pn, it* doubt* and fears all spent, 
With new love and devotion. 
Philadelphia, I*a., 1863. 
■ ■ ■ ■» ■■ — 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
ABOUT HEROES AND HEROINES. 
Not alone are they entitled to the term, whom 
the world call heroes! In thousands of homes 
heroic spirits dwell w ho never saw the battle¬ 
fields of Shiloh or Antletam,—who never gained 
a victory over a greater enemy than self, that 
most subtle far of all. 
Not to be egotistic, hut to illustrate, 1 will give 
you a little of tny own history. My cast of mind 
was intellectual, and perhaps a friend told better 
what I had always fell, when he said there was a 
kind of inspiration iu me which he could think- 
better than he could express. I had no natural 
taste for intellectual pursuits, although my duties 
In this department, which were always many, 
were never neglected, but performed in a man¬ 
ner rather superior than otherwise, for byt.be 
power of will I schooled myself to make a virtue 
of necessity. From my earliest intelligence, the 
author was the shrine of my mental devotions, 
and to be an authoress was at once the dream of 
my childhood, uud the mark of the prize of my 
high calling. At school 1 was always the best 
scholar and the best writer, and not to do myself 
injustice, 1 certainly had capabilities of a high 
order. 
At the age of fifteen I left the district school, 
intending to enter a female seminary in the fall, 
to pursue a graduating course. Expectation 
was bright before me, and hope spread her beau¬ 
tiful pinions to hover over the future, when dis¬ 
ease stretched out its blighting hand and laid 
our mother upon a bed,of sickness from which 
she rose the coming spring a confirmed invalid. 
I was tho eldest of the family, and the cares of 
the household devolved upon me. Fly, happy 
dreams, for the uncongenial realities of house¬ 
keeper and nurse. I had begun to take up 
the burden of life in earnest, under a Sterner dis¬ 
cipline, than mathematics, metaphysics, or the 
sciences. I shall never forget that winter. 
Those only who have been much with Invalids 
Buttering fiom a nervous debility can understand 
the trials of my situation. In her weakness, I 
was her ouly dependence, and with the childish¬ 
ness of an infant she clung to me with a tena¬ 
city which prevented my mingling in society, 
and an unwilling martyr, I devoted all my ener¬ 
gies to meet the emergencies of the present. 
In four years I grow old iu self-reliance and 
maturity of judgment, aud when I entered school 
again at nineteen, I took hold of knowledge with 
a master’s hand, and moulded instruction to a 
finer cast. Philosophers, were those years lost, 
think you ? 
Last year, at the State Teacher's Institute iu 
Rochester, 1 listened with rapt attention to a very 
profound lecture on “ Waste la Education,” by 
Prof. Lewis, of Troy University. I came away 
with a kind of sublime resiguation to my lot. and 
although the grandeur of the theme has left its 
impress indeliibly on luy memory, I cannot dis¬ 
miss the idea that tho gain of those years can 
never equal their loss. It was the harvest-time 
of the field of knowledge, and when at last the 
reaper thrust in his sickle, the ripe seed had 
fallen to the ground from whence it sprung. 
My mother was still an invalid and with the 
greatest difliculty 1 was spared for three terms at 
a neighboring academy. Tho finauces of our 
country at that time were in a very precarious 
condition, and my fathers pecuniary embarrass¬ 
ments formed another insurmountable barrier to 
the pursuit of a thorough education. I improved 
well my opportunities, knowing they were 
golden, but they were as dust in the balance to 
the vast amount of knowledge untouched before 
me. 1 would have taught, I would have scorned 
any labor as menial to bave.gaiucd the one great 
end, but there was tho ever present martyrdom, 
home, to fill the path before me. I wrote, and 
attained to the eminence of contributor to a first- 
class weekly journal. I read essays at Teacher’s 
Institutes and Sabbath School Conventions, and 
they were always superior. I was confident in 
my power and feared no rival in that direction. 
My small poems were much admired for graceful 
sentiment that, every heart could appreciate, 
and the longer ones discovered a vigor of mind 
aud strength of intellect, and their often sublime 
conceptions would have done credit to a poet of 
no mean distinction. 
I still write. When I tire of the busy scenes of 
life, or the world seems cold end heartless, I turn 
to composition us an old tried friend whose com¬ 
munion is sweet to ray soul. When weighed 
down with affliction well nigh unto despair, (not 
the death of friends ; there are things worse than 
death,) i find in tny pen a sure consolation, a 
settled purpose to accomplish. Hut ah ! here too 
I am crippled, and 1 walk as one seeing in the 
distance a thing greatly to he desired, which 
might have been his had he not been maimed 
for life. There is such a satisfaction In having 
embodied in words the sweet idea of a lifetime, 
to have framed our imier world info one tangible 
aud send it out to revolve among other such 
worlds, that they may judge of us not by the cold, 
calm exterior always presented to their view. 
But the “ thus far shalt thou go and no farther ” 
of a limited education, excludes me from the 
free latitude necessary to an author. Mind lacks 
discipline and thought needs matter. 
Society never was my forte, but I might have 
shone there as a star in the cultivated circles, 
rather than a meteor in the world of fashion. 
Vainly 1 contemplate my being uud see what I 
might have been and am not Now the rich ma¬ 
turity of womanhood is leaving its seal upon my 
brow, aud I feel that the summer time is better 
than the spring, but the ripeniug fruit, alas! 
where Is It on life's fair tree? So all over the 
world we see men otherwise than what they 
might have been. The farmer, the mechanic, the 
day laborer, are often endowed by nature with 
gifts that would have enabled them to fill far 
higher stations in life, but tor the unjust decrees 
ol'fate. Why is it, philosophers ? Tell us why 
men are not put in the places in life for which 
they were intended. 
An education. “ How much better is it to get 
wisdom than gold, and to get understanding, is 
rather to be chosen than silver.” Ida. 
Prospect Cottage, N. Y., Sept. 1863. 
wm 
THE DANCE OF THE AUTUMN LEAVES. 
Boh.nk by the restless winds along 
Where the sorrowful woodland grieves, 
Hither and thither, a fitful throng, 
Merrilj dance the Autumn leaves. 
Upward they mount to the murky sky, 
Downward they plunge to the earth below, 
Now in-a giddy whirl they fly, 
Now in a madcap chase they go. 
Tinkling gaily their feet advance 
Over the graves in thoughtless glee; 
And the music to which they dance,— 
Hark! 'tis a dirge’s melody ! 
Onward, merrily still they go 
Tlirough the wood and over the wave, 
’Till they find in the wintry snow, 
Chilly and dark their lonely grave. 
Borne by the tempter's power along, 
While kind Heaven iu pity grieves; 
Giddily pass the human throng, 
Thoughtlessly as the autumn leaves. 
Upward they mount, in fancies high, 
Downward they plunge iu pleasures low, 
Now in the passion's whirl they fly, 
Now In ambition’s chase they go. 
Merrily still their feet advance 
Over the graves in thoughtless glee, 
Aud the music to which they dance— 
Hark J ’ti* the dirge’s melody. 
Onward, giddily on they go, 
Over the earth and over the wave, 
’Till they find in the depth below, 
Chilly and dark their lonely grave. 
Peroival. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
INTEGRITY OF CHARACTER. 
HOW TO WIN LOVE. 
If you wish lo be woman’s love, her hero, her 
ideal, her delight, her utter rest aud ultimatum, 
you miiHt attune your soul to fine issues—you 
must bring out the angel In you, and keep the 
brute under. 11 is not that you shall stop making 
shoes, uq^l begin to write. No, sir. You may 
make shoes, you may ruu engines, you may 
carry coals; you may blow the huntsman’s horn, 
hurl the base ball, follow the plow, smite the 
anvil; your lace might be brown, your veins 
knotted, your hands grimed; and yet you may 
be a hero. Aud. ou tho other hand, you may 
write verses and be a clown. It is not necessary 
to feed ou ambrosia in order to become divine; 
nor shall one lie accursed though he drink ol 
the nine-fold Styx. The Israelites ate angel’s 
food in the wilderness, and remained stiff-necked 
and uncircumcised in hearts and ears. The. 
white water lily feeds on slime, and unfolds a 
heavenly glory. Collie as Die June, morning 
comes. It has not picked its way daintily, pass¬ 
ing only among the roses. It has blown t hrough 
the field and the barn yards and all the common 
places of the land. It has shrunk from nothing. 
Its purity has breasted and overborne all things, 
and so harmonized all, that it sweeps around 
your forehead and sinks inter*your heart as soft 
aud sweet as the liagrancy of Paradise. So 
come yon, rough from the world’s rough work, 
with all out-door airs blowing around you, but 
with a fine inward grace, so strong, so sweet, so 
salubrious that it meets and masters all things, 
blending every faintest or foulest odor of earth- 
liness into the graceful incense of a pure and 
lolty life .—Muss Dodge, 
THE QUESTION ANSWERED. 
Somebody— a women, of course—inquires 
why, when Eve was manufactured from the 
spurc-rib, a servant wasn’t made at the same time 
to wail on, her? Some body else—a woman, wo 
imagine—replies in the following strain:—Be¬ 
cause Adam never came whining to Eve with a 
ragged stocking to be darned, collar string to be 
sewed on, or a glove to mend*’ right away, quick 
now!” Because he never read the newspaper 
until the sun got down behind the palm trees, and 
then, stretching himself out, yawned out ‘*Ain,t 
supper most ready, my dear?” Not he. He 
made the fire and hung tho kcitle over it himself, 
we'll venture; and pulled the radishes, peeled the 
potatoes, and did everything else he ought to do. 
He milked the cows, fed the chickens and looked 
after the pigs himself. He never brought home 
half a dozen friends to dinner when Eve hadn’t 
any fresh pomegranates, and the mango season 
was over. He never stayed out till 11 o’clock to 
3 ward meeting, hurrahing for an out-and-out 
candidate, and then scolded because poor Eve 
was sitting up and crying inside the gates. He 
never played billiards, rolled ten-pins and drove 
fast horses: nor choked Eve with cigar smoke. 
He never loafed around corner groceries while 
Eve was rocking little Cain’s cradle at home. 
In short, he didn’t think she was especially cre- 
atedfor the purpose of waiting on him, and wasn’t 
under tho impression thal it disgraced a man to 
lighten a wile’s cares a little. That’s the reason 
that Eve did not need a hired girl; and with it 
was the reason that her fair descendants did. 
Ennui. — Some people like, occasionally, to 
take refuge in a gentle shade of misanthropy, 
and feel ill used when there is nothing to amuse 
them. 
Notwitstanding the value and beauty of in¬ 
tegrity have often been portrayed to the youthful 
mind, thousands are daily drifting along upon 
the tide of fashion, seemingly unconscious of the 
dangers that environ them, and seldom become 
fully aroused to a sense of their condition until 
they find themselves irretrievably engulfed in 
some vortex of crime and degradation. Those 
who desire a safe und more prosperous voyage 
over the sea of life, should early give attention 
to tho formation of character, and imbibe those 
principles of action which will enable them to 
exemplify the beauty of integrity in all their 
dealings and intercourse with the world. 
A good character is admired by all classes and 
conditions of persons. The debased may effect to 
despise those who are endeavoring to lead an 
upright life, hut if their thoughts were probed so 
as to elicit their honest convictions, they would 
ho constrained to acknowledge the beauty and 
utility of an unblemished reputation. The 
morning of life may he considered the most dan- 
gerours period, but there is no period or season 
of life that is entirely free of peril: hence we 
should ever be on the alert, to guard against the 
first approaches of evil. We should also be de¬ 
cided. Situated as we are iu a world where 
much conflict of opinion exists, it. may not be an 
easy tusk at all times to decide on the proper 
course to be pursued, if we were in doubt with 
respect to a certain course oi action, and should 
apply to those who rank highest in the scale ol 
moral grandeur lor assistance, we woidd doubt¬ 
less receive conflicting counsel according to the 
peculiar views of each. How, then, are we to 
arrive at correct conclusions? The light of in¬ 
tegrity and the voice of conscience are indispen¬ 
sable aids in every emergency, and having 
procured the best testimony attainable we must 
divide for ourselves, But decisions, however 
pure and enlightened, will be of little avail with¬ 
out suffleient‘moral courage to sustain them. 
The practices aud opinions of others which it is 
our privilege, and often may he our duty, to con¬ 
sult, should over have their due weight and 
influence on our minds, hut. while listening to 
the voice of counsel we should never sacrifice 
principle unless conscience tells us that we err. 
Though our practices and opinions may not al- 
W’ays coincide with those of our associates, we 
shall, nevertheless, command their respect and 
esteem if we are able to convince them that we 
are actuated aud guided by pure and sincere 
motives. Ilonest differences of opinion are com¬ 
paratively harmless. It is the hypocrite's tongue 
thul infuses poison into every society and scat¬ 
ters mischief and ruin broadcast over the land. 
If integrity were more generally diffused urnoug 
the people, aud made the rule of life, a wonder¬ 
ful change would soon be withessed. The voice 
of civil war would be hushed within our borders, 
confidence be restored, and our government be 
established on a firm and more enduring basis. 
Moxrok Co., N. Y. Farmer. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
THE STORY OF KING COTTON, 
AS GIVEN BY HIMSELF. 
When I first saw the light, I was basking be¬ 
neath a Southern sun, fanned by gentle breezes, 
perfumed by orange flowers. For my food I 
drank in the morning aud evening dews, laden 
with honied sweets. Life had no sorrows for me. 
I had nothing to do but to be happy and gay. 
Enjoying remarkable health, and growing rapid¬ 
ly, it is not to be wondered at that I felt my 
importance to a great degree. But “ pride must 
have a fall.” I soon found my equilibrium and 
sunk to the ground; darkness came upon me; all 
efforts were in vain. Painful experience taught 
me that I had no power of my own to rise. 
Ob, how small and weak I now became in my 
own esteem—I, who so lately thought myself al¬ 
most, if not altogether, a king on his throne. 
Loud lamentations escaped me, and in the bitter¬ 
ness of grief I exclaimed, ‘*Is this the end of all 
my greatness, and has happiness forever eluded 
my grasp ?” 
As I was thug moaning, the sun arose, and a 
voice said, “Here is some Cotton on the ground 
—pick it up and put it into the bag.” i was im¬ 
mediately compressed into such a close, dark 
place as to almost deprive me of my breath. I 
remained in this tight place for a long time; was 
carried bilbor and thither, sometimes jostled al¬ 
most intolerably, at others riding so gently that 
if I could have hud iny liberty I should have en¬ 
joyed it greatly. After awhile I was taken and 
carried a short distance and thrown down with 
such violence as to render me insensible. How 
long 1 remained in this state I cannot tell. My 
first impressions afterwards were that I was be¬ 
ing torn and cut into such little particles that 
nothing would be left of me. But ere I was 
aware, I was whirled and twisted around and 
passed through a variety of other processes, until 
I began to believe that I was being restored to 
my former greatness. 
At length I was ushered info a spacious room 
amidst broad - cloths, merinos, silks and cash¬ 
meres. Here tny feelings were often hurt One 
day while resting near some linens, I overheard 
a long controversy on its merits in contrast with 
my own. My pride was often humbled by hav- 
HOW 
LIVE. 
BT n. BOXAR. 
He liveth long who liveth well! 
All other life is short and vaia; 
He liveth longest who can tell 
Of living most for heavenly gain. 
He liveth long who liveth well! 
All else is being flung away; 
He liveth longest who can tell 
Of true thing* truly done each day. 
Waste not thy bring; back to Him 
Who freely gave It, freely give; 
Else is that being but a dream; 
’Tis but to be, and not to live. 
Be what thou seemest! live thy creed f 
Hold up to earth thy torch divine; 
Be what thou prayest to be made; 
Let the great Master's steps be thine 
Fill up each hour with what will last; 
Buy up the moments as they go; 
The life above when this is past, 
Is the ripe fruit of life below. 
Sow truth, if thou the truth would st reap; 
Vho sows the false shall reap the vain; 
Erect and sound thy conscience keep; 
From hollow words and deeds retain. 
Sow love, and taste it* fruitage pure; 
Sow peace, and reap it* harvest bright; 
Sow sunbeams ou the rock and moor, 
And find a htriesbhome of light. 
SECRET PRAYER. 
Besides the open return, there is a secret re¬ 
ward of secret prayer. There is a peculiar and 
present joy in communion with God. The deep¬ 
est pleasures are the purest; and of all pleasures 
the purest is the peace of God. To feel that He 
is Jove—to draw so near Him as to forget the 
world—so near as to lose the love of sin—is of all 
pleasures the sweetest, of all blessedness the 
purest and most profound- And next to this 
high communion with God—next to this joy of 
passions lulled, and sins slain and self forgotten 
in adoring fellowship with tho Father of lights— 
ing it stated in my presence that all the rest in is their sedater comfort who can pour their griefs 
the room were of more importance than myself. 
Finally 1 was purchased aud began to be cheered 
with the thought of being useful. I have been 
sold and bought many times since, and have 
waded through deep waters, been lacerated, 
crushed, and trampled on; but I have lived 
through it all, and now appear befoie you in the 
form of a sheet of paper. Experience has taught 
me much, and advancing years have brought 
wisdom. I am more willing now to take a low 
seat among those that are my equals or superiors, 
and feel it is wiser and better to do good und be 
useful, than to be idle and listless, basking in the 
sunshine, seeking power and happiness only for 
myself. 
IVbat shall become of me after this it matters 
into their Heavenly Father's hand. To know 
that God is near—to know He is trusted, hon¬ 
ored, loved—to feel that you are acting toward 
Him as a reverential and affectionate child, and 
that He is feeling toward you as a gracious and 
compassionate father—there is in this itself an 
exquisite satisfaction, a present reward.— liev. 
James Hamilton - 
-—_ 
THE SUNSHINY MEMBER. 
Let us try to be like the sunshiny member of 
the family, who has the inestimable art to make 
all duty seem pleasant, all self-denial and exer¬ 
tion easy and desirabie—even disappointment 
not so blank and otusbing; who is like a bracing. 
not—whether I am still noticed by the public or cr ^Pyj frosty atmosphere throughout the home, 
THE GONDOLAS OF VENICE. 
The famed gondola, of which so many poets 
have sung, is probably the most delightful con¬ 
veyance that ever was invented. The quiet, 
progressive movement, the wonderful address 
with which the boatmen conduct their charge 
through the narrow canals, amidst crowds of 
barges, boats, etc., which are constantly obstruct¬ 
ing your route, the nicety with which they meas¬ 
ure distances in the most intricate situations, 
turning sharp corners, and paddling through 
apertures which you think impracticable, with¬ 
out even touching the objects that seem to 
oppose your passage, and gives you the most 
agreeable sensations of pleasure and security. 
The price of a gondola with two men is only five 
francs a day: theyare not indeed now dressed in 
the picturesque garb of former days, but their 
ordinary attire is well compensated by their 
utility, which, in the present humbled days of 
Venetian fortunes, is more important. These 
men also act as servants in your house. 
remain shut up from the world—whether my 
days are now numbered or I live on ages to come. 
During the recent struggle in our country, the 
controversies in regard to King Cotton and the 
value ascribed to him have sometimes inflated 
my pride, but memories of the past have soon 
checked my rising vanity and 1 await with calm 
resignation the final result. Edith. 
Wyoming, N. Y. 
INTERESTING STATISTICS. 
Colonel Dcff, Chief of Artillery of tho army 
of Major-General Grant, has furnished the fol¬ 
lowing statement of the whole number of cannon 
shots fired during the campaign, commencing 
with the affair near Fort Gibson, on the Missis¬ 
sippi, and ending with the capitulation of Vicks¬ 
burg. 
From the time of crossing the Mississippi river, 
May 1, till the surrender, July 4. 18,88!) solid 
shot, 72,314 shell, 47,897 case, 2.723 cannister, 
were expended, making a total of 141,823. They 
were used in the several engagements as follows: 
3,‘>6(1 at Fort Gibson, 82 in the pursuit from Fort 
Gibson, G20 at Raymond, 486 at Jackson, 3,422 
at Champion Hills, 1,207 at Big Black River, 
'.1,5118 on the 19th of May, (really the first day of 
the siege,) 1(1,754 on the 22d of May, 111,611 
during the remainder of the siege—an average 
of 623 for each cannon used. These are cannon 
shots, the reader will remember. Add to these 
the musketry, and some faint idea may be formed 
of the immense amount of ammunition con¬ 
sumed. 
Wakeful Hours.— There is something beau¬ 
tiful and sublime in the hush of midnight. The 
myriad quiet sleepers, laying down each their 
life-burden, insensible alike to joy or sorrow; 
helpless alike—the sti’ODg man as the iufunL—and 
over all the sleepless Eye which, since the world 
began, has never lost sight of one pillowed head. 
Thoughts like these come to us in our wakeful 
night hours with an almost painful intensity. 
Then eternity only seems real, and every-day 
life a fable. But morning comeg end the stir and 
hum of life chase them away, as the warm sun 
dries up the dew- drops, which, like these 
thoughts, perform their reviving mission ere they 
depart. 
Panama Hats.— Guayaquil is the great depot 
for Panama hats, eight huudred thousand dollurs 
worth being sold annually. The grass of which 
they are made, is found chiefly iu theneighborirg 
province of San Criatoval. They can he braided 
oniy in the night or early morning, as the heat iu 
the daytime renders the grass brittle. It taxes a 
native about three months to braid one of the 
finest quality, und 1 saw- some hats which looked 
like fine linen, and are valued at fifty dollars 
apiece, even here .—Three Years in Chili. 
without a suspicion of the element that chills 
and pinches. You have known people within 
whose influence you felt cheerful, amiable, hope¬ 
ful, equal to anything ! Oh, for that blessed 
power, and for God's grace to exercise it rightly ! 
I do not know a more enviable gift than the 
energy to sway others to good—to diffuse around 
us an atmosphere of cheerfulness, piety, truth¬ 
fulness, generosity, magnanimity. It is not a 
matter of great talent—not entirely a matter of 
great energy; but rather of earnestness and hon¬ 
esty, aud of that quiet, constant energy which is 
like soft rain gently penetrating the soil. It is 
rather a grace than a gift; and we all know 
where all grace is to be had freely for the asking. 
Thank God for Your Reason.— If we could 
write down the mercies which come to us every 
year through our faculties, the record would be 
wonderful for number and variety. Take the 
faculty of reason alone. No man can estimate 
its blessings. Have you ever seen the form of a 
man from which the light of reason had gone 
out? Is there anything more piteous than such 
a sight? Is there any imprisonment more to he 
bewailed than that which is imposed by the ab¬ 
sence of reason? Go through the wards of an 
insane asylum, and watch the poor inmates, and 
then ask yourself, “Can any man estimate the 
mercies of a God that simply continues my rea- 
[ son?” But what numberless other provisions of 
life, no less wonderful and beneficient than this, 
are opened up to you in life by that Power which 
sustains us. 
■ ■ - 
Humility. —Those showers of grace that slide 
off from the lofty mountains, rest on the valleys 
and make them fruitful. He giveth grace to 
the lowly: H e loves to bestow it where;there is 
most room to receive it, and most return of in¬ 
genious and entire praises upon the receipt. 
Such is the humble heart, and truly, as much 
humility gains much grace, so it grows by it.— 
Leighton. 
Afflictions serve to quicken our pace in 
the way to our rest. ’Twere well if more love 
would prevail with 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 
is 1 letter to be put on with the sharpest scourge, 
than loiter, like the foolish virgins, till the door is 
shut.— Baxter 
Comfort in Death. —A good man, who 
dying, once said:—‘‘Formerly death appeared to 
me like a river, but now it has dwindled to a 
little rill; and my comforts, which were as a rill, 
have become as the broad and deep river.” 
Five Facts.—A living faith is the best divini¬ 
ty; a holy life is the best philosophy; a tender 
conscience the best law: honesty the best policy; 
and temperance the best physic. 
