Written for Moore'* Kura! New-Yorker. 
OUK D ARLING. 
BY FRARK VOLTCB 
A VOIOB came through the darkness 
Of a wild December night. 
Through the moaning and the sighing 
Of the wind In sorrow dying, 
Through the clouds, in Silence flying 
With read panic and affright. 
With road panto, and commotion, 
Like the troubled Wives of ocean, 
Torn and ragged with their motion 
Fled they ’cross the face of Night. 
A voice came through the blackness,— 
Not a human vuioe of might, 
And the meek Night dragged her trailing 
Wings in duet, in terror falling 
To rehearse her vain bewailing, 
A« the voice fell with its blight, 
Aa it fell, remorseless, crushing 
Hearts from which warm love was gushing, 
And our tones of gladness hushing, 
On this wild and wrathful night; 
For it came to woo ourdarllng 
From the earth to dwell above. 
Naught of anguish, naught of praying 
Could avail such mandate staying, 
But, impatient of delaying, 
Came the summons from above, 
And onr darling, lored names gasping, 
And a hope of future grasping, 
Fled our vain and eager clasping 
To a happy realm of love. 
New Berlin, N. Y., 1863. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
WIVES AND HUSBANDS-GOOD AND BAD. 
There is nothing men like so much to read 
or write about, now-a-days, as good wives. And 
there is nothing, In our mind, in which mankind 
is or should be more interested. “A good 
wife,” says one, “is to a man, wisdom, and cour¬ 
age, and hope, and endurance ” “ The power of 
a wife,” says another, “ for good or evil is almost 
those who violated His command,—“ Swear not 
at all.” 
We:wondered if the small boy, the young man, 
: and the gray-headed father once thought how far 
the echo of their terrible oaths extended. Would 
that little boy whose mother had taught him not 
to swear like the echo to fall on her ear? Would 
that young man who valued his reputation so 
highly among his acquaintances, like them to 
know he was so profane? And that gray-headed 
father, whose lips should bless rather than 
curse Gon,— did he know how the echoes vi¬ 
brated through the still evening air, how they 
entered the heart of that faithful wife who had 
so long prayed for him. Ah! and God’s great, 
pure, holy heart? 
How many times have we gone forth beneath the 
jeweled sky of evening to hold communion with 
onr hearts and God; but were forced to retreat 
beyond the reach of discordant sounds. 0, how 
many echoes there are,—voices within us, echo, 
ing our thoughts, words, and actions through 
every circle of our existence, vibrating further 
and further until they reach beyond the bounds 
of our probation. Reverberations of envy, sel¬ 
fishness, pride, hatred and revenge, come wafted 
on the breath of pretended friendship, and fall 
on ears for which they were never intended. 
Actions whoso import was never designed to 
reach us, bring at length faint echoes.—we catch 
the reflection, we comprehend the meaning, we 
understand the author who still smiles compla¬ 
cently, thinking not the silent influence of those 
actions has reached us. So, one after another of 
our thoughts, words, and actions, are being borne 
over the waves of time,—reflections of ourselves, 
which are vibrating, widening, extending, reach¬ 
ing at length the shore of the vast unknown, 
there to be recorded by Gon, who will judge us 
for secret and hidden things. Shall the echo of 
our lives fall discordantly on God’s ear? 
Mbs. Mattie D. Lincoln. 
Canandaigua, N. Y., 1863. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. i 
HEROINES, AGAIN. 
“ " ~ I 
It bo< ms to me gentlemen Eds., that your cor- i 
€li0i« fSpstdliMB. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
HARP TUNINGS. 
BY AS.VIB M. BRAWL 
Mr harp hath idle hung bo lODg, 
I scarce can wake the happy song 
I u»d to sing. 
Nor can I count the reason why 
This silence on my soul should lie; 
No broken string 
I find, to make discordant note 
In mournful murmuring* to float 
O'er Kwecter sounds 
I dare not bid the spell be broke, 
Lest the sweet calm beneath the stroke 
Should change to storms. 
O, rather let the music sleep, 
Than that the numbers, sweet and deep, 
’Neath sorrow’s wand, 
Should tell, as some, of griefs that lie 
Hidden from gaze of careless eye, 
Silent and fond; 
Yearning for sympathy unglven 
Until the rich chords, wrung and riven, 
Their death-notes cast 
So sweet above the shattered strings, 
In wild and mournful raurmurings, 
Earth hears at last, 
And brings the laurel wreath to wave 
In mockery cold above the grave, 
When all is passed. 
Cambria, N. Y., 1863. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
A FAMILY PICTURE. 
Br AN OLD CONTRIBUTOR. 
. 1 suppose that most men who have passed 
through some afflictive dispensation imagine 
theirs ia a case of peculiar hardship; that Provi¬ 
dence has poured out upon their heads a vial of 
fiercer wrath than those dispensed to the gen¬ 
erality of mankind, and repiningly ask them- 
sufferings are no greater probably than yours; 
but they are given to admonish you amid your 
own misfortunes, that not you alone must bear 
: the ills, and sorrows, and vicissitudes of life; 
that you, and I, and all of us must be tried in the 
furnace of affliction before we shall bo fitted for 
a better and a higher state of existence; and Oh! 
let not the somber shadow of a great calamity 
sweep round in its annual circuit on the dial of 
our lives, without finding us better prepared to 
go when the day of our own departure shall have 
come. 
Rochester, Nov. 16, 1863 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
NOTES. 
“To have a cherished friend in Heaven”— 
there may be sweetness in that thought, though 
while our friends are with us we cannot bear the 
thought of parting. 
— The purest joys and affections of earth will 
live on forever in Heaven. There is something 
in the soul of the righteous always whispering 
the consoling assurance. Much of the light of 
Heaven is the most precious light of earth beam¬ 
ing brighter there. 
— Parting hours, though there is- nothing of 
joy in them, can at least render absence endura¬ 
ble. To be apart from those most dear to us. 
even for a time in this life, would seem almost 
too much for our hearts, if we were always sev¬ 
ered suddenly, without the privilege of love’s 
“good-bye.” 
— I walked last evening where the brooklet 
flows, to a place held sacred in prayer. The 
leaves overhead, and the waters sweetly mur¬ 
muring, seemed the voice of Nature in prayer. 
To the worshipful one, there is something turn¬ 
ing the soul in strong faith to the living God 
from every work of His hand. 
UlISlBgS 
NIGHT SONG 
FROM THR GERMAN. 
X saw the smiling golden sun, 
Sink to his rest when day was gone; 
And this me thought his parting strain; 
“Loved friends, 1 greet you once again.” 
Then starry Evening floated down, 
And spread her veil o’er field and town; 
And when mild moonlight tipped the hill, 
Noise fled away and all was still. 
When moon and stars shed silvery light, 
Bums not devotion's flame more bright ? 
Now solemn midnight reigns around; 
Each living thing in sleep is bound; 
My neighbor's pale and feeble light 
Hath ceased to cheer the lonely night; 
Kind Heaven has heart his evening prayer, 
Now, worn with toil, he slumbers there. 
The watchman still, with straining sight, 
Stands gazing out upon the night. 
’Tis vain, O watchman: borne to sleep I 
Does not onr God a night watch keep ? 
Here, by the dim lamp's flickering beam, 
All silent round roe as a dream, 
The noise and glare of daylight o’er, 
Sweet peace revisits me once more 
In God I trust, w ho o’er his sheep 
A faithful watch will ever keep. 
“ Though mother's son forgotten be,” 
He says, “ I’ll still remember thee ” 
And now in sleep my eyes 1 close; 
Fearless, on God my thoughts repoBe: 
Beneath a watchful Father’s sight, 
I yield me to the arms of night. 
THE FAMILY ALTAR-ITS POWERS. 
Power is not always indicated by noise and 
again, “ No condition is hopeless when the wife to take up my pen in her defense, 
possesses firmness, decision, energy, and econ- D.'s “mantle of charity” rather 
omy.” “A bad wife,” remarks one of the authors cover the spirit of selfishness atti 
already quoted, “is confusion, weakness, discom- Remember, my friend, it is no i 
fiture, and despair”—bad enough, is it not, good ihc “gifted daughter to quietly pi 
woman? Then of home, the same person would ambitions for pre-eminence among her peers in 
undoubtedly suv:—“If at home a man finds no intellect, und stifle her longings for companion- 
rest, and is (here met with bad temper, sullen- ship in spirit with natures of refined taste, rich 
ness, or gloom, or is assailed by discontent, in genius and knowledge, and cheerfully devote 
complaint and reproaches—the heart breaks, the herself with loving patience to the cares of 
spirit is crushed, hope vanishes, and the man homo and an invalid mother for years.” She 
sinks into total despair.” No truer sentence, kind who does it is a heroine far more than those who 
reader, was ever written or advanced. follow friends to the battle-field, or face danger 
Thus, wives, you see what powerful motives and death never so calmly. Such are occasions 
are before you to be, or endeavor to prove your- of high moment, and the exigency of the case is 
selves, good wives. Many may afflrm that they sullieient to nerve the spirit on to the discharge 
cannot live without you,—if you were ever so of duly; but the issue of this is for a life-time, 
bad, say you,— but if you uru perfect, faultless, For those the world looks on and applauds, 
angelio, why then men can enjoy a little of this while these act the heroine in the great play of 
world. They are wholly ut your mercy, say life without spectators. Every day the same 
you! That is partially true: ready to tie made routine of cares demand the same sacrifices, the 
happy or miserable, as you are good or bad. same spirit of martyrdom, until the “golden 
Why should not this fact, assumed by yon, be an opportunity ” is passed, and nothing appears in 
incentive for you to become good wives and incite its train but disappointment, blank, hopeless dis- 
an endeavor on your part to always make your appointment. Although each duty may be 
homes happy? cheerfully performed, and filial affection may 
There is, however, another side to this picture, prompt the denial of self, it is no lees a sacrifice, 
Influence is not till qu one sida Men have some and the occasion demanding it, no less a trial, 
influence. Women may lie happy or miserable I think Ida can hardly be charged with per¬ 
ns they have good or bad husbands; in fact, they forming her duties with grudging bitterness, for 
may become good or bad as they arc influenced I think she said they were always faithfully per- 
by those to whom they are indissolubly bound, formed, uud what eldest daughter cannot appre- 
And we certainly believe that hnsbiiDds have date her many trials, Utile though each one may 
Is not F. A. 
dence poured out upon their heads a via] of ^ here is no sadness to mo in tho autumn violence, or by the production of sudden results, 
fiercer wrath than those dispensed to the gen- leaves, for they are not unmatched by the one The course of the planets, the growth of a forest 
erahty of mankind, and repiningly ask them- most dear. We do undervalue the present, with the flowing of the Gulf Stream, are exhibitions 
selves why it is that they have been singled out its joys and opportunities of doing and getting of power, silently, imperceptibly, and contin- 
especially to bear so great a burden of distress good; and in looking back to the past, we see uously exerted. Among all the agencies by 
...... . . .. ...... _ und suffering; and yet, when they come to look that its hours held more of joy than we taught which the world is to be converted to Christ, I 
irresistible.” “No spirit,” it is said again, “can respondents are rather severe with Miss Ida at it analogically, in the calm light of after our hearts to believe when they were in our know of none which embraces so many elements 
long resist bad domestic ^influences.” And yet especially the first w reply, and I am tempted experience, a thousand cases of parallelism will power. We are always looking to the future, of power as the daily worship of God in the 
present themselves in other men’s experience, if, whereas the present may have all of the possi- family. Its influence is constant, like the flow- 
places to smoothe over—a good many dark days day-dawn over the lake and the purple hills in 
In the annual calendar—a hard struggle from *he distanoe. How beautiful are the clouds ! 
a lower to a higher intellectual plane, attended Tinted by the lightest pink, they mingle with the 
with a moderate—only a moderate —degree of flowing red of early day; then they darken, 
success; and yet, considering the starting point darken, until above they rest in a tnaHH of purplo 
and its culmination, something of an achieve- and gray. The sun comes gloriously. A mel- 
grant, where the howl of evening wolves and 
the mournful call of the whippowil are familiar 
sounds. It requires no costly preparation. No 
long course in the schools is necessary to fit one 
to minister at this altar. No convocation to lay 
and its culmination, something of an achieve- and gray. The sun comes gloriously. A mel- on hands and set apart by solemn ordination, 
ment after all. My first, breath was drawn in a low light falls around the mountains, and mingled No richly adorned temple or imposing cercmo- 
rurnl district, under a humble roof, and my boy- a golden glow, rests on the wave. I listen nial. It is simple piety, expressing in simple 
hood was spent with more than half a dozen to tbe bird songs, think of those I love , and, pray- language its wants, and asking for blessings in 
brothers and sisters,—some older and some ing- look above and am happy. the hearing of those whose presence does not 
younger. A story and a half brown house, with Who shall say that there is not in Nature balm embarrass or require studied and labored effort, 
a garden and orchard attached, and a few dls- tor tbe heart ? Like the sunshine and the air, though it costs 
jointed acres of farm land was the patrimony of — The murmur of a little cascade has come U is of priceless value, 
the family. Weetcrn New Yorkers, it is true, to me, and to-day J found it. Over the green ' Itfi P ower “ seen in the good order which it 
by birth, but of genuine New England stock, meadows, through the tangled underbrush and introduces into the family. The family altar 
brothers and sisters, — some older and some 
younger. A story and a hall brown house, with 
a garden and orchard attached, and a few dis¬ 
jointed acres of farm land was the patrimony of 
the family. Weetern New Yorkers, it is true, 
by birth, but of genuine New England stock, 
rough, and ready, and self-reliant! 
Oh! those days of childhood were halcyon 
days of peace and enjoyment! The little hamlet 
of twenty houses, with the prist and saw mills 
and the woolen factory, were to us youngsters 
the hub of the universe, around which all other 
low bushes, down some steep, rocky steps, and I becomes a point of crystallization, so to speak, 
stood where the rocks rose on each side high 
above me. They were covered with old ferns 
and mosses, kept green by the rising spray. 
around which the business, labors, and plans of 
the day arrange themselves. Its power is seen 
in its influence to educate the tender minds of 
Above rose the tall pines, shutting out more of children. A half-hour for the child, morning 
the light. An old tree had fallen down the evening, of quiet and serious attention, 
places revolved, just as Ursa Major and Cassi- stream, over which the waters dashed, falling, while the Scripture is read, the hymn sung, and 
_ .1 t . %■ ■■ . . axil A. rv. A -v ! .. .. A f a ilui ril’Q PBI* w ill iuJcimir o aC 
opeia and the other constellations revolve around 
the Polar Star. We thought—a band of brothers 
and sisters in one household—that years and 
years would pass over us and find us all together 
still. But how has a score of years of manhood 
all foam, into a basin at my feet 
There was something sublime, grand, in being 
shut out from everything upon which man has 
laid his hand, in the subdued light which always 
awes the soul to a reverential mood, and where 
the prayer offered, will bestow a knowledge of 
divine things, and habits of thought and be¬ 
havior more valuable than the honors of a hun¬ 
dred universities. 
The family altar fo a tower of strength in the 
not only a little, but a great deal to do with be. Dear Ida. it may be hard to always remem- fulfilled the promise of our youth? Father and only the voice of the water was heard,—a voice day of trouble. It is a bond of affection between 
making homes happy, as well as wives. If, when ber the higher soul-life by-aud-by, but the disci- mother sleeping side by side in the rural church speaking of the Creator, it is good to occasion- parents and children. Its reminiscences in after 
the wife has done her best to make home cheer- pline you speak of will make its mark upon y avd l one Mother resting from his labors in a ally he in such places, where there is nothing of life are blessed. It is likely to perpetuate itself. 
making homes happy, as well as wives. If, when 
the wife has done her best to make home cheer¬ 
ful and happy, her efforts are met by reproaches, 
bad temper, sullenness, gloom, discontent, and 
complaint by a husband who thinks the whole 
sphere of a wife’s duty lies in listening to his 
fault-finding, bearing bis ill-nature, aud return¬ 
ing caresses and smiles for his irritations and 
peevishness; in short, making it her chief aim and 
end to bear and soothe liis reasonable and unrea¬ 
sonable ailments and complaints, it is not strange 
if she sbonld become heart broken and sink in 
despair. 
Neither husbands or wives have any just claim 
on their other hal ves to supply all tho stock of 
goodness for the uses of the family. If a married 
roan desires a bettor wife, let him endeavor, by 
kindness on his part, to teach her those amiable 
and good qualities lie so much desires she should 
possess. Let him practice the arts of goodness 
himself ere he becomes the teacher to others, by 
so doing it will almost invariably bo happiness 
lent, to return eventually with a liberal interest. 
Rochester, N. Y., 1863. Kate 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
IG CHOES. 
It was our fortune not long since to meet with 
an accident while riding which detained us some 
time; but having an interesting paper handy, we 
decided to remain in the carriage until the in¬ 
juries were repaired. As the shades of night 
stole on, we were constrained to listen to the 
echoes that were borne on the still evening air. 
ber the higher soul-life by-aud-by, but the disci¬ 
pline you speak of will make its mark upon 
your future life, and fit you, perhaps, more nobly 
to fill whatever station be your lot, than the 
book education you speak of could have possibly 
done. It may be, there is a sweeter life in store 
for you in the domestic circle, than could have 
been yours of the authoress. Trust in God and 
do well, and your life shall not be lost, but stand 
far above the noble ones of earth around the 
great white throne, for it is the purest spirits 
who axe admitted into the presence of'Gon. 
PWiii-d, N Y., 1863. Janic K. UiortY. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
CHANGE, 
One of the marked peculiarities of the human 
mind, or of a large class of minds, is a dread of 
change. We go away to school, and after min¬ 
gling with our mates a few months, by habit and 
association we get so much attached to them that 
it is a real grief to us when our school days end, 
and we must leave them. Brothers and sisters 
who have grown up together feel their heart¬ 
strings wrung when the time arrives for them to 
lehve their homes and go out into the world to 
make their own way. 
Many a wife who follows her husband to a new- 
country where cheap lands will enable them to 
own a house of their own, packs up her house¬ 
hold treasures and goes with an aching heart, 
and yet she leaves nothing attractive behind, 
but dislike of change causes her to cling to the 
only home she has ever known. Even good 
mother sleeping side by side in the rural church 
yard; one brother resting from his labors in a 
Western State, called home before the evil days 
of fraternal strife and bloodshed bad come upon 
us; another brother filling a soldier’s grave at 
Vicksburg, on whose tombstone, although a 
humble private in au Iowa regiment, might be 
fittingly inscribed the words of Collins: 
How sleep the brave who sink to rest, 
With all Iheir country's vvisbe* blest! 
When Spring with <l*»y finger* oold, 
Returns to deck their hallo wed mould, 
She there shall dre*« a sweeter sod, 
Thau Fancy's feet have ever trod 
Bj hands unknown 'heir knell ia rung. 
By forms unseen their dirge ii sung. 
Here Honor comes a pilgrim gray 
To bless the turf that wraps their clay, 
And Freedom shall a while repair 
To dwell a weeping hermit there I 
A brother-in-law, leaving his wife trod child in a 
Western home, and passing through a tempest of 
shot and fire at Vicksburg, now leads his regi¬ 
ment somewhere in Tennessee; one cousin fills 
an unknown grave, shot through the head at the 
second battle of Bull Run, a noble boy as ever 
lived, aud left a household desolate by an un¬ 
timely death; one nephew fought on the bloody 
field of Pittsburg Landing, and with another 
nephew each led u company of Western heroes 
on the field of Chicamnuga. Other brothers, and 
sistere, and relatives, are widely scattered at the 
West, and of all our number, not une of kith or 
kin, Bave him who writes, with his own immedi¬ 
ate family and a few remote collaterals, remains 
in our proud old Empire State. Even the bouee 
man in view, and no voice but the voice of Gon. 
Wadham’s Mills, N, Y , 1863. Datha. 
THE ART OF BEING POLITE, 
First and foremost, don’t try to be polite! It 
will spoil all! 
If you keep overwhelming your guests with 
ostentatious entreaties to make themselves at 
home, they will very soon begin to wish they 
were there. Let them find out that you are hap- 
Tho hearts of the children when absent will 
yearn for the family altar, and when they be¬ 
come heads of families, the daily worship will 
be essential to their peace and comfort. Thus, 
as the Indian banyan becomes a grove, while 
each branch furnishes another trunk, so will one 
altar become a multitude with successive gen¬ 
erations. It exerts its power at that point and 
in that direction where it will be most effective. 
The length of time during which it exerts its 
power, ordinarily for many years, gives it the 
py to see them by your actions rather than your advantage, as compared with other good influ- 
words. 
Always remember to let bashful people alone 
at first. It is the only way to set them at their 
ease. Trying to draw them out has sometimes 
the contrary effect of driving them out — of the 
house 1 
Leading the conversation is a dangerous ex¬ 
periment. Better follow in its wake, and if you 
want to endear yourself to talkers, learn to listen 
well. Never make a fuss about anything—never 
talk about yourself—and always preserve per¬ 
fect composure, no matter what solecisms or 
blunders others may commit. Remember that 
it is a very foolish proceeding to lament that you 
cannot offer to your guests a better house, or fur¬ 
niture, or viands. 
It is fair to presume that their visit is to you, 
not to these surroundings. Give people a pleas¬ 
ant impression of themselves, and they will be 
pretty sure to go away with a pleasant impres¬ 
sion of your qualities. On just such slender 
encea, of a long lever over a short one. 
Afflictions. — An old writer speaks thus 
sweetly his experience to sorrowing souls who 
bend under the burden of great griefs:—“In 
every affliction I seem to hear my father say 
‘Take this medicine, my child, juBt suited to 
thy case, prepared by my own hand, and com¬ 
pounded of the richest drugs that heaven can 
afford.’” 
rrom the distant hill tops the lowing of the men. those who have lived uprightly, love life in which he was born, the sawmill, the gristmill, wheels as these the whole fabric of society turns; 
L A...1 n ll.A AU, 1 * Al. _ .1. J . . . . * . _ . _ - ' _ i A in AUn. An 1 At_•_ /a . 
herds, the song of the sweet birds, or the glad¬ 
some voices of children came with a mellow 
cadence falling so pleasantly on our ear we were 
almost lost in a reverie, when suddenly there 
came an echo so loud, so harsh, we were instantly 
roused. Still we listened, and from a field laden 
with its rich harvest came oath after oath, the 
echo vibrating along, reaching far-away into the 
world and falling discordantly on many ears. 
We thought of the pure, holy being who wa 3 so 
wickedly addressed. We knew the echoes 
reached His ear. who always hears, and who at 
that moment was prolonging the existence of 
and dread death, even though their faiib is firm 
that they are going to a better land. Dread of a 
great change is more the cause of this than love of 
the world, as is often charged, i t is true there are 
some fickle ones who are ever on the alert for new 
sensations, and who love nothing better than to 
change their place of residence or their friends. 
Such people, however, do not represent the 
majority of mankind. The most of us are 
attached to our habits, friends, place of abode 
and life, and this attachment operates as a draw¬ 
back on the impulse to change. b. c. d. 
Elkhom, Win., 1863. 
and the factory have passed away! But the 
bitterest thing of all for him remains to be yet 
written. One year ago this very Sunday even¬ 
ing, the partner of his joys and sorrows—the one 
who cheered him in his adversity, and rejoiced in 
his prosperity, lay cold and pulseless in the very 
room in which he is now penning these para¬ 
graphs. 
Dear reader, this brief family record is not 
paraded before your eyes to excite your admira¬ 
tion for our heroism, or your pity for our misfor¬ 
tunes. You will not know who we are when 
you meet ua in the street, and our deeds and 
it is our business, then, to keep them in perfect 
revolving order! 
BARTH. 
As yonder wave-side willows grow, 
Substance above and shadow below, 
The golden slopes of that upper sphere 
Hang their imperfect landscapes here. 
[Atlantic Monthly. 
Conversation.—T he first ingredient in con¬ 
versation is truth; the next is good sense; the third, 
good humor; and the fourth, wit —Sir William 
Temple. 
Religious joy is a holy, delicate deposit It 
is a pledge of something greater, and must not 
be thought lightly of: for, let it be withdrawn 
only for a little, and notwithstanding the experi¬ 
ence we may have had of it, we shall find no liv¬ 
ing creature can restore it unto us, and we can 
only, with David, cry Restore unto me, 0 Lord, 
Ihejoy of Ihy Salvation. 
Life. —Every day in thy life is a leaf in thy 
history—a leaf which shall once be turned back 
to again, that it may be seen what was written 
there; and that whatever was written may be 
read out in the hearing of all— Trench. 
----—————— 
The grand scope of the Christian ministry is 
to bring men home to Christ .—Robert EalL 
I 8KE that spirituality of mind ia the main 
qualification for the work of the ministry.— 
Urquhart. 
One soul converted to God is better than 
thousands merely moralized, and still sleeping 
in their sins.— Bridges. 
