1 
r 
lacks' Dcjiactmeaf. 
A HUSBAND WANTED. 
I want u dear, 
My life to chocr, 
Who does not think himself a “beauty:’ 
But in whose mind 
I’ll ever And 
A mirror for my cv’ry duty. 
I want a dear 
Who’* over near— 
A noble, geuVotia-hoarted creatnre; 
“ One who can pass ” 
A pretty lass, 
“Nor stop to glance at every feature.” 
I want a dear 
Whose brow is clear; 
Who never yet was known to mntter; 
" Who will not roam, 
But stay at home" 
To cut the wood and chum the butter. 
I want a dear 
Who will not sneer 
When bogged to lay aside the '‘wood;” 
Jlnt some “greenbacks," 
To buy knlckkuacka, 
Will always furnish for my need. 
I want a dear 
I will not fear 
To trust beyond the limits of my eight; 
One who can be 
Still true to me, 
Tho’ bright uyes cast on him their light. 
“ If such a ono 
Dwells neath the mm," 
And does not mind u tit for tat, 
Why come along, 
With and song, 
And ask my pa—and oil that. 
[Baltimore Sun. 
Written for Moore’s Kural New-Yorker. 
AUNT PEEOIOUS. 
How often wo hour it said that the worst of 
folks have their virtues, and tho best their fail¬ 
ings; but are there noisome wIiohc good and bad 
qualities arc both so prominent that we know 
not where to place them? My aunt PRECIOUS 
was a distinguished specimen of that class whose 
virtues were so endearing, and whose weaknesses 
so conspicuous, that your opinion of her was no 
two days alike. Hhe was one of those weak 
women, (of which the present generation proba¬ 
bly furnishes few specimens,) who turn their 
backs to their husbands whenever they venture 
humbly to suggest “that they would like to go 
to the store,” and when tho household sovereign 
tells them it is entirely useless to think of such a 
thing, responds, “ We’ll, call itso, Thomas,” and 
goes about her work with the air of a martyr. 
That was the way aunt Pkkoious took such 
things; but before night she always knew how 
many dozen eggs she could spare, and hud them 
eccuroly packed in oats ready to slip into the 
first neighbor’s wagon that came along, when 
her respected husband was out of eight,— and 
perhaps tho next day, while uncle Thomas had 
gone off to mill, she pot on her bust bonnet und 
went to town os brisk as a boo and bought a 
quantity of things necessary t.o keep her ward¬ 
robe up in a passable condition, with tho butter, 
eggs and lard which her self-satisfied lord sup 
posed safely stowed in the cellar, and when In 
camo home at night she got his supper and 
poured his ten 08 demurely as if sho was willing 
ho should know hor lute financial operations. 
One thing was a source of satisfaction to her, and 
that was that Thomas didn’t know one piece o. 
calico from another, and once in the house, her 
purchases were safe from his researches. 1 never 
could exactly make up my mind whether her 
proceedings arose from a laudable desire to avoid 
a fracas with her husband, or a natural love ol 
deceiving. Her moral philosophy was badly 
mixed up, but she probably had a way of making 
it right to hcralf. 
• Auut 1 ’kkgious was the best and the worst 
mother at the same time that 1 eger knew. 11 
her children were flick nothing could exceed her 
devotion to them, only she couldn’t bear to make 
them fool bud by insisting ou their taking medi 
cine against their wishes; neither could they do 
anything in her eyes which required punishment. 
It olio of them took a dish from the table to 
throw at tho cat, she showed a great deal ol 
oombativenees if she. said, “ O, don’t, my sou,”— 
and in couscquenco those of her children who 
lived to grow up were unruly aud disagreeable, 
much to her grief, 1 never decided, though 1 
have often tried it, whether her conduct was 
actuated by an uncommonly strong affection, or 
a weakness of character which made her as little 
able to keep op her dignity with her children as 
she was to contend with her husband about her 
shopping excursions. (N. B. I should like to 
have seen the ballot-box opened to women iu 
uncle Thomas’ time. Ho would have been as 
modest as a late contributor to tire Ladies’ De¬ 
portment of tli© Rubai., writing on that subject 
—and willing not only to represent himself 
voting, but his wife, too, generous man! — thus 
saving the labor of counting votes.) But amia 
biiity will always cover glaring faults, and this is 
the case with aunt Peroious, whose memory is 
more tenderly cherished than many who lived 
far more consistently than she did. b. c. d. 
Elkkom, Wia., Jan,, 18(57. 
Weddings.— Ono year from marriage makes a 
paper wedding; five ycara makes a wooden wed 
ding; ten years a tin wedding; twenty-five yeais 
a silver wedding; filly years a gold wedding; 
and seventy-live yeure a diamond wedding. 
--r- 
Miss Anna E. Dickinson has recovered snf 
flciently to return home. Her lecture engage 
meats have been cancelled. 
A Good Maxim. —No matter how longyouhave 
been married, never neglect to court your wife. 
"Written for Moore’s Kara] New-Yorker 
MANE HOME PLEASANT FOE YOUTH. 
Parents, make your homo pleasant for your¬ 
selves and your children. Do not think because 
you were bronght up iu a log bouse, with only 
one room, wore home-spun drosses to church, 
and never went to any but a district school, that 
your children ought to do the same, limes have 
changed since you wore young; then your ad¬ 
vantages were as good as anybody’s, and so you 
were contented. But now boys and girls arc 
more aspiring; they want as good an education, 
and to make as good an appearance in the world 
as their associates. If you are able, give them 
these advantages, and direct their minds so they 
have an object ahead for which to labor. 
Many people iu the country, who have large 
houses and well furnished rooms, do not use 
them for the comfort of the fiunlly; bat are kept 
“in order” for company. The kitchen has to 
serve for cooking, dining and sitting-room, and 
if the daughter ventures te assert her rights, aud 
thinks they might afford to keep two fires, why, 
she gets a long sermon on “economy,” the ex¬ 
travagance of the age, and the ingratitude of 
children uow-a-days, until it is no wonder that 
she gets melancholy and dyspeptic, and wishes 
she was married and hud all the wood she wanted. 
Economy g*. a very good thing, but to be more 
prudent than wise fs not a good tiling. 
If you would have your children keep out ol 
bad company, remain at home, be sminy-tein 
pered and a comfort to you iu your old age, make 
your home attractive for them; and indulge 
them in tho use of tho family sitting-room and 
parlor. Pleasant surroundings have a great in¬ 
fluence upon the mind, refining the tost© and 
inducing a spirit of content. M A uv Vinton. 
Maplo Grove, Dec., 1886. 
Written for Moore's Kural Now-Yorkcr. 
AN ADIEU TO THE OLD YEAE. 
Good-Bye, Old Year! I can but linger as I 
bid thee thus, as 1 linger when I bid dear friends 
adieu. As I look back upon your beautifully 
pictured walls, and meditate upon the many 
pleasures and sorrows connected with those 
6cene«, I can but ask, Is it so ?—are you so soon 
to leave us never to return? Ah, yes 1 ’tis but 
too true. And as we bid adieu to you, Old Year, 
we behold your successor approaching, and ex¬ 
claim, “Welcome! New Year!” Did wo not 
greet thee thus, and with many hopes and bright 
anticipations lor th a> future, now the past ? 
All , yes, and os Memory recalls “ The lh.it," 
we sigh, and for what? Because some dear one 
that was with us, and joined n& as we greeted 
I,he©, Ih not here to bid you a lbnd lure well. 
With us Death, that dread messenger, called, 
and wo with sorrow aud deep humiliation bade 
her adieu ! Blie is dead, but not forgotten. As 
we greet your successor, bo we hope to greet 
Iter, but not until we have left this sinful world 
and entered tho presence of Him to whom one 
day is as a thousand years, and a thousand yearn 
as one day. Elida. 
Southwest Oswego, Dec., 1866. 
FRIENDSHIP OF WOMAN. 
Nothing could be more severe than this pic¬ 
ture of friendship, written by Lady Clara Oav- 
cndiBh: 
Men — that is, men who arc worth anything— 
are capable of a good deal of solid friendship for 
aeii other, at all events they are governed by a 
certain principle, of honor, andyou will hardly ev¬ 
er hear one of the sterner box entering aparlor full 
of guests with the foibles and failings of his most 
intimate friend, or with sarcastic remarks on his 
personal appearance. We wish we could say the 
sumo of our own sex, but, alas, we cannot. 
Sometimes wo doubt the existence of friendship 
m feminine bosoms altogether, and wonder at 
the revelations which women make of their own 
meanness to each other. 
When Augusta and Amelia seek cacti other’s 
society constantly, twine their arma around each 
Ollier’s waistes, kiss at parting, ami cxe.haugc tho 
moat affectionate little billets, the supposition is 
that they are friends; but ten to one, if you 
meet Augusta by herself, to your surprise, you 
learn that her opinion of Amelia is by no means 
a high oue. She wonders what you can see in 
her to admire, assures yon she is very vain, and 
entertains you with-an account of certain myste¬ 
ries in her toilet, which “you mustn’t meution 
to any one, hut, really, tho idea of those curls 
being licr own, aud that color.” There is Boino- 
thing horrible in treachery. Why need women 
be false to each other? They are very constant., 
os a general thing, to those of tho other box. 
AN INCIDENT ON THE CAES. 
As a train of cars was approaching the suspen¬ 
sion bridge, near Niagara, the conductor found a 
young man who conld not, unfortunately, pay 
his fare. The poor fellow was evidently in the 
last stages of consumption, and emaciated to 
skeletonic proportions, lie eat by himself and 
his eyes were red as though he had been weeping; 
but. the laws of the company could not be trans¬ 
gressed, and he must leave the train. Not a 
person moved or epolte os the conductor led him 
from his seat, shivering with the cold; but just 
as he reached the door a beautiful girl arose, from 
her seat, and with bright sparkling eyes de¬ 
manded the sum charged for tho poor invalid. 
The conductor said eight dollars, and the noble 
yonng girl took the money from her pocket- 
book, und led the sick youth back to his seat. 
The action put to shame several men who had 
witnessed it, and they offered to “pay hall,” but 
the whole-souled woman refused their assistance. 
When the train arrived at Albany tho young 
protectress gave Lho Invalid money enough 
to keep him over night, in that city and send him 
to his friends the next morning. Two-thirds of 
the women of tho world would suffer by com¬ 
parison with her. The man who gets that noble 
girl for a wife will be a subject of admissable envy. 
€§otct Utiscettaag. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
DEEAM OF THE YOUNG WINTEE NIGHT, 
BT OOTTSIN MAUDE. 
List to the low moaning lake close by 1 
Lying beneath the drear darkened sky: 
Moaning and groaning and tossing in pain; 
For the I co-King is coming to regally reign. 
Over the bosom once sparkling and bright, 
no gproadetb a strongly made mantle of white; 
He boldeth it Ann Id a warm clasp of love, 
But ho shnttoth It ont from the arched sky above. 
So, repining, It moanotb In sorrow and pain. 
Till tho springtime shall give it its freedom again. 
The winter wind whistles my wide window by; 
Gray clouds aro now draping the once shining sky; 
Aud little I he«J hov. the dreary days go. 
Or Use dead north now lying deep under the snow. 
Wo’ll heap tho bright lire still higher and higher. 
And let tho wild winds swoop along in their ire; 
With the warmth Dint’d within by the red fire’s glow. 
We hood not the dead earth lying under the snow. 
We’l) lot tho sky frowr. on the Ice-Kings cold pomp, 
While wo sit by the light of our own cheerful lamp. 
Tho llowet h sweetly sleep in a drear, darksome grave, 
And the hoarse winds above thorn now mutter and 
ravp; 
All tho last summer's color, Its warmth and its glow, 
Are sleeping beneath the pure beautiful snow. 
Yet float down, oh snow! from tho pare realms of 
lovo, 
To tho dead earth beneath from the dim sky above; 
With all thy cold blustering, dearly thou art 
tlnshrlnod with the image of cheer in each heart; 
With tbo merry aleigh-rido, with the skater’s loud 
Bong, 
As on steel houndwi fool they glide gaily along. 
Bo wo will not repine; by sure tokens we know 
That Dio flowers are but Bleeping, far down ‘noath 
the snow. 
The splondors of springtime are coming again, 
And the violet and crocus will rise from the plain, 
And the strong fetters forged by the dread lcc-KJng's 
hand, 
In ids rough, rocky fort.s in the chilly northland. 
Will lie quickly dissolved by the spring’s genial breath, 
And tho grim, uncrowned King sleep tho still sloop 
of death. 
Ouzeuovia, N. Y., Doc., 1806. 
Written for Moore's Kural New-Yorker. 
IDEALS. 
Thought is life; life is destiny; destiny is 
eternity. The throe Fates, to whom submitted 
even Jupiter with his thunderbolt*., still hold 
the distaff, spin mid eul the thread of life. 
Daily wo follow the hearse and listen to tbo 
dull fall of tli© first clod. Silently wo listen to 
the click of tho years, and, all tremulous, see, 
at hand, the pale outposts of Eternity. Life the- 
germ — Eternity its unfolding / 
To live, then, is grand / to live in 6nch an ago 
as this is sublime; but to live In this ago, and 
live well, in UodlU'S. There is n spark of Divinity 
in every soul; and to dwarf, to warp, to entomb 
beneath the rubbish of sensuality aud demonian 
lust, and to enlarge, to purify, to develop, to 
ennoble it, is the province of each. But where 
this power? you usk. 1 answer will is power, 
aud the efficient clement of all power. Circum¬ 
stances may mod\fy, but they should never 
mould. Wo form our own world and people it 
with our owu idealu; among those wc live, wc 
think, wo act They are to us all the real in this 
wide universe. They guide the will and Bhapc 
our destinies. Every heart, not. covered deep 
witli tho dark damps of corruption, or stained 
by tho foul hlota of sin, has In it aspirations for 
the hotter—contains the leaven of heaven, Tt lbl 
lows no misshapen shadows, no “ barbarism or 
dogmatism,” but the noble, the lofty, the beau¬ 
tiful, tinged with the rainbow and bathed in 
■■unset, it matters not that the world cry “ de¬ 
ception” so long as to me there is nothing so 
real as that glittering ideal. 
Did ever man cater the maelstrom of dlswipiv 
tiou who saw the whirling abyss at its center ? 
Young America flees manhood and maturity iu 
a piece of meerschaum, a glass of ale, a pock of 
cards, and follows his ideal till “■spades” arc 
winners aud “hearts” “turned down.” 
But tho canvas has a brighter side. The in¬ 
dustry, the politics, tho intelligence, the morals, 
tho religion of an ago aro found iu its ideals. 
Tho history of a nation is found iu it* ideals; 
and as not all these are worshipped by histori¬ 
ans, history is partial, and biographies eulogies 
of ideal virtues. The silent cities of Tiieboe and 
Babylon are not less the imprints of ideals than 
they aro tombs of nat ions and thrones lor owls. 
Bunker Hill is the index to the ideal of American 
liberty as well as the “Sepulchres of our fath¬ 
ers.” The wild and mythological tales of the 
ancients are but histories of this principle iu 
minds, which, groping blindly for the higher, 
the bettor, the good and the Godlike, attempted 
to satisfy this immortal longing with a Jupiter 
and Juno, a Venuh and Yitlcan, a Maks and 
Mercury. 
Thor© is ft subtle, spiritual principle pervading 
tbo world which charges tho dreamy boy us a 
battery, and tho Sleeper of yesterday is tho lion 
of to-day. lie boldly Interrogate* this soul of 
things if happily he may find some niche where¬ 
by be may ascend toward bis ideal. The world 
becomes suggestive, and ho breathes a new 
atmosphere. Root, stone and statue yield to 
this chemist a vital spark which enables him to 
follow the ennobling and uplifting of his ideal, 
which is tli© soul of hia soul, lfo pities the 
farmer whose aim is his wheat-field, the trades¬ 
man wIiobc soul is the size of his parse, the priest 
whose hope is ritual, for hU thoughts are above 
and beyond, and bo sees in man hia Creator’s 
masterpiece. The small green bud is turned to 
a laboratory in which rosea arc made by the 
delicate working of sunbeams and moonbeams 
and starbeams. He sees tho sunset, bat goes 
behind the screen and boldly watches the fairy 
fingers that pencil the clouds, while he sees tho 
face of his Maker as the “ loudthunder shakos 
the tangled snnbeams from tho clouds.” He 
learns that with an incorrect ideal of lifo he is 
wrecked, and that, too, in accordance with the 
great law of moral gravitation “ by which spirit 
is drawn to spirit, and each soul to the best.” 
Webster and Bacon are placed in his crucible, 
but they come ont part of himself no sees 
Kepler measure the heavens, and Ross, with 
telescopic eyo summon tho moon and stars to 
friendly discourse, and they obey him. To him 
nothing is lost; his ideal takes a loftier stand 
and allures him on. Ho catches inspiration from 
tho air, and what once was dead matter is now 
living thought. The concert gives him the tone 
of the world, and he attnnes his soul to tho 
symphonies of heavon; — hia soul a string In 
God’s great harp of the world. 
An Inventory of ideals is an inventory of the 
man. The idolater worships neither stick, stone, 
or statue, but his own ideal,— defied. Ascertain 
the Christian’e ideal of Christ, ami you have a 
key to his religion. If that be lofty, pure and 
holy, his heart will be filled with purity and 
piety. When the last bar is removed from the 
dark cage of depravity, and tho heart is firm fhst- 
enod to the throne of God by the gold chain of 
knowledge, then may our souls find rest, true, 
beautiful, and eternal, ub wo repose upon tho 
bosom of an “Infinite Perfection.” Ebbn, 
ENGLISH SNOBS. 
Rich or poor, educated or uneducated, your 
genuine snob betrays bis brutality, not only in 
hia look and manner, but in every word be ut¬ 
ters. You will meet him on the continent as a 
“howling swell,” cursing the “gamma,” of tbo 
hotel in execrable French, with a glass in one 
eye, turning up his notse at everything ho secs, 
and affecting the nil admirari in the midst of 
wondors and beauties he cannot appreciate. 
Everything is “beastly,” from tbo weather to 
the waiter. Let us relate a little anecdote of one 
of these haw-haw fellows, and bow tho conceit 
was taken out of him. In passing recently from 
Newhaven to Dieppe, the Cbaunel being calm, 
wc found ourselves seated at tho dinner-table, 
with some fifteen or twenty passengers. The 
dinner seemed to give satisfaction to all but ono 
burly-looking Englishman, who was evidently 
out for a tour on the continent. For him, noth¬ 
ing was good enough; even his favorite “ Bittali- 
Beah” seemed to have lost all its excellence 
Binco quitting Newhaven only an hour before. 
He found fault with everything and monopolized 
all complaints. When the cheese appeared ho 
began denouncing that also, and said ho “ always 
traveled with a few pounds of cheese in hta box 
(nice perfume,) for they laid no cheese in Franco 
fit to eat.” At this remark a gentleman opposite 
mildly mentioned u Roquefort” as being an ex¬ 
cellent cheese, as good even as “ Stilton. “Not 
lit to eat,” shouted Haw-haw. “ I profess to bo 
a Judge of the article.” “ Perhaps, sir,” was the 
ready reply, “ you arc a dealer in. it," The. gun 
bubble was effectively pricked. The thing wilted, 
vanished, and disappeared amidst tho universal 
roar of the table. Behold a lair specimen of an 
unmitigated English »nobl 
POOE PEOPLE AND POOR MONEY. 
In a sermon ou tho disadvantages of being 
poor, preached by Henry Ward Beochor recently, 
occurred the following: 
In all the trouble and mischiefs that arise 
from false weight* and spurious currency it is 
usually tho poor that suffer most. Here is a 
spurious quarter of a dollar. The merchant in 
whose hands it chances to bo, thoughtlessly of 
course, (for merchants are always honest I) passes 
it to the trader, and he, seeing that it does not 
look quite right, but not. thinking it worth while 
to scrutinize it too closely, passes it to tho gro¬ 
cer; and ho, glancing at, It and not liking the 
looks of it, but not wishing to be over particu¬ 
lar, and Baying, “ I took it and must get rid of 
it,” passes it to the market-man; and he, saying, 
“Tt might as well be kept traveling,” passes it, 
as he is journeying, to the conductor; and lie, 
knowing that it is not good, but disliking to say 
anything to the man, eays to himself, “ 1 will 
keep it and give it to somebody else,” passes It 
to the sewing-woman. She is poor, aud a person 
that is poor is always watched, and when she 
offers it, it te discovered to be spurious, and is 
refused; sad, sho looks at it, and says, “It is 
nearly my whole day’s wages, but it is counter¬ 
feit, and of course 1 must not pass it; ” and 6ho 
burns it up, and so is tho only honest one among 
them all! Bad bills, spurious currency, almost 
always sottlo on the poor at last. 
Gluttony and Drunkenness. — “Tho intel¬ 
lects which lie shrunk in sluggishness through 
over-feeding tho stomach,” says an eloquent 
writer, “arc incomparably more numerous than 
those which are slow aud stupid by nature. The 
authors themselves of their owu condition, the 
cross and imbecile through over-feodiug do not 
belong to Bociety proper; they aro not human, 
yet neither aro they brutes, for no brute is in¬ 
temperate ; no longer mon, gluttons and drunk¬ 
ards form an ontsido class by themselves, tho 
nobleness of their uature to bo estimated, as in 
all other cases, by tho quality and end ol' their 
delights. It is worthy of remark, that nothing 
is more speedily and certainly destructive also 
of the beauty of the couuteuauoo. Diet aud 
regimen aro tho bout of cosmetics; to preserve a 
lair and bright complexion, the digestive organs 
need primary attention.” 
810.NS OF PROSPERITY'. 
Where apadas grow bright, and idle swords grow dull; 
Where jails arc empty, and whore bams are dill; 
Where church paths arc with frequent feel outworn; 
Law courtyards woody, silent, and forlorn; 
Where doctors root it, and where formers rldo; 
Where ago abounds, and youth is muhipliod; 
Where thuao signs are, they clcurly indicate 
A happy people and well-governed state. 
aTiLafij Hea&tari 
*■ 
Written for Moore's Boral New-Yorker. 
WAITING. 
Whhh shall these weary hands be folded 
Above my breast, 
Finding release from 1 lfo'Belong labor 
In perfect rest t ’ 
When shall thwo weary eyes (now aching,) 
Weep nevermore, 
Closed in a eleep that knows no waking 
'Till time is o'er? 
Whan shall tins weary hearifof sorrow 
Its rest begin, 
Waiting that morn, which hath no morrow, 
And no more sin ? 
Thoso weary feet, which now are hasting 
Through storm and wave. 
Shall rest at last; for life is wasting, 
Rest In the grave. 
Welcome that happy hour—T wo’d not linger 
Along tho way; 
Faith points me—with unerring finger— 
To realms of day. 
I see the traces of Christ's footsteps ever, 
All will bo well— 
I eoe tho pearly gates beyond the river, 
Yain world. Farewell. 
Brook's Grove, Dec., 180(5. 
POWER OF A GOOD MAN’S LIFE. 
Tub beauty of a holy man’s life, says Chalmers, 
constitutes the most eloquent and effective per¬ 
suasion to religion, which one human boing can 
address to another. We have many ways of 
doing good to our fcllow-creatnres, hut none bo 
clfieuciouB as leading a virtuous, upright aud 
well-ordered life. There is an energy of moral 
suasion in a good man’s life passing the highest 
efforts of the orator's genius. The seen but 
Biicnt beauty of holiness speaks more eloquently 
of God and duty than the tongues of men and 
angels. Let parents remember this. The best 
Inheritance a parent can bequeath to a child is a 
virtuous example, a legacy of hallowed remem¬ 
brances and associations. Tim beauty of holi¬ 
ness beaming through the life ot a loved relativo 
or friend, is more effectual to strengthen such as 
do stand in virtuo’s ways, and raise up those that 
arc bowed down, than precept, command, en¬ 
treaty, or warning. Christianity Itself, I believe, 
owes by far tho greater part of its moral power, 
not to the precepts or parable* of Christ, but to 
his own character. The beauty of that holiness 
which Ih onshrined in the four brief biographies 
of the man of Nazareth, has done more, and will 
do more to regulate the world, and bring in an 
everlasting rightoouBDces, than all other agencies 
put together. It has done more to spread his 
religion in the world, than all that has ever been 
written on tho evidences of Christianity. 
“THAT’S ME.” 
A poor Hottentot in South Africa lived with a 
good Dutchman who kept up family prayer daily. 
Ono day he road, “Two men went np into the 
temple to pray.” Tho poor savage, whose heart 
was already awakened, looked earnestly at the 
reader, and whispered, “now I’ll learn how to 
pray.” 
The Dutchman read on, “God, I thank thoo I 
am not as other men.” 
“No, I am not, but I am worac,” whispered 
the Hottentot. 
Again the Dutchmau read on, “ I fast twico in 
the week ; 1 give tithes of all I possess.” 
“ I don’t do that. 1 don’t pray in that manner. 
What shall I do?” said tho distressed savage. 
The good man read on until he came to tho 
publican, who “would not lift bo much Bfl his 
eyes to Heaven.” 
“ That’s me,” cried bis hearer. 
“Stood afar off,” read tho other. 
“That’s where 1 am,” said the Hottentot. 
“Bnt smote upon his breast, saying, God be 
merciful to mo a slnnnor.” 
“That’s mo; that’s my prayer,” cried tho 
poor creature, and smiting on his dark breast ho 
prayed, “God bo moreiful to me a sinner,” until, 
like tho poor publican, ho went down to blfl 
house a saved and happy man. 
Encouraging Testimony.— Mo George EL 
Stuart, President of tho United States Christian 
Commission, writes:— The following is a Bible 
incidont, token from tbo report of ono of our 
delegates: — “Ono man, about fifty-seven yoara 
of age, who bad led a godless lifo up to within 
three or four months, said to me, 4 1 ham learned 
to love the Bible by reading it for myself; to boo 
whether those tilings are as Christian people 
affirm.’ He had gratiually struggled towards tho 
light, and is now resting on Christ. Tho Bible 
is his great delight, and he desires to tell his 
family and acquintancoa what God has done for 
his soul through its instrumentality.” 
French Priests.— In France there aro 78,584 
priests, and 108,119 iniuor ecclesiastics, 86 arch¬ 
bishops, 11,518 cures and 189 vicare-general be¬ 
longing to tho Roman Catholic Church. Of this 
clerical army, only 05,000 aro paid by Govern¬ 
ment, tbo remainder being supported by tho 
Church. Tho sum Urns supplied amounts annu¬ 
ally to 218,093,690 francs. The religions com¬ 
munities are divided into three classes — educa¬ 
tional, hospitable and contemplative. Ot tho 
latter there are 12,141 who remain in a perpetual 
state of prayer and meditation. There aro 1,085 
Jesuits, of whom 233 meditate and pray. 
Truth.—' There is nothing os pleasant as tho 
hoaring or speaking the truth. 1 or this reason, 
there is no conversation so agreeable as t. ft of 
the man of integrity, who hears without any 
Intention to betray, and speaks without any 
Intention to deceive. 
