TO CONTRIBUTORS. 
Written for Woore'n Kural Ne w-Yorker. 
“AS UNTO THEE.” 
A witching, roguish maiden 
In cloud* of gunny carle. 
Was pictured in the window 
Framed with lacelct-penrb. 
And **ofi as childish dreaming 
She gang the quaintest rhyme. 
While the silvery echoes murmured 
“Touch u» gently. Time.” 
O mischief-loving maiden. 
Whose eyes’ nnfathomed blue 
Beamed love on dimmest pathways,— 
I held theft fast and true. 
As beneath the languid willow 
In that summer’s droning prime, 
My full heart breathed thy anthem— 
“ Touch us gently, Time.” 
So long ago—that summer, 
So long ago—that prayer: 
Yet ne’er has ermlned winter 
Brought a furrowed drift ol' care. 
Ah, till life’s oars are silent. 
Till we reach the better clime, 
Till the hands are folded quiet— 
“Touch us gently. Time." 
o. VON E. 
Written for Moore's Kural New-Yorker. 
WOMAN’S DRIFTING-No. II. 
The sunset was glorious that autumn night as 
wc went out to Grand J auction, Just ns gorgeous 
as thousands wc lose the glory of only because wc 
will not look up. “ The pale silver moon ” was 
rising modestly at our left, more like a “gude 
wife” than a queen. The wives of great men 
are 6cldom noticeable, you know, only as they 
dress up now and then and come out to orna¬ 
ment the sleeves of their lords. If they are 
women of worth, they lill the home-sphere 
all the more perfectly that they have not the 
husband’s aid to depend upon. When Lieut. 
Reynolds’ wife became “Mrs. Major Reynolds 
of Illinois,” rumor said he wanted a divorce. It 
will not do for a man and wife to ho any more 
than equal in their respective spheres, if the 
more is on her side. So the moon did her duty 
when the sun went out of sight; the stars and 
the light-house and the Haines leaping from the 
chimneys of the “ Wyandotte smelting works,” 
did all they could to help her, and one or more 
of the shining lights met with splendid success. 
The train left us at Hillsdale, the midnight 
lamp of Heaven showing us the plain brick col¬ 
lege walls in their sleeping beauty, one lone 
window of the broad front glowing golden from 
within, perhaps the light of the study table, per¬ 
haps a Bick one’s couch. There is a world inside, 
of such walls — the lives loved of a thousand 
hearts, the hopes of many a home whose echoes 
are fainter for their absence; and under all the 
Tempter lurks, and over all the Father watches. 
Wc look into life in its different phases for 
various objects; and, among others, if you would 
know your own self, mingle with humanity. To 
find your “ calling,” go where every emotion of 
the human heart is touched by different hands, 
and learn the responses that thrill your inmost 
being. That is, if you arc not called to duties 
just where and as you are; for nine hundred 
and ninety-nine of a thousand seek for some 
other sphere than the one they are just adapted 
to, and lose all their “ peace of conscience” try¬ 
ing to do what they were never made for, neg¬ 
lecting the work their hands might find to do, 
and sighing away life’s precious moments be¬ 
cause they fail. Yet among the many you must 
be original, must show your true nature; there 
is no avoiding it. The strongest elements of 
your organism will unfold themselves, and the 
weaker will take the back-ground; so that while 
you study what others arc, others will learn yon. 
The rust and mold and dust of solitary life will 
rub off, and self-esteem will distinguish itself 
from self-conceit, seeretiveness from deception, 
courage from bravado, and principle from form, 
in whatever your aims and actions are; and to 
know what you are, look when alone into that 
perfect mirror, the memory of thoughts, words 
and acts when you were not alone, and name the 
motives that impelled them. 
Do not measure yourself by others in goodness 
or power; “whoever docs that measures down¬ 
ward and will progress downward; hut take that 
standard of pe rfection. Cubist’s life and teach¬ 
ings, and you measure upward toward an exalta¬ 
tion to which you will tend the more, the more 
you measure yourself by it.” 
These student-lives stand out before you in 
the exercises of the term as public; and yet 
every life Is a private one, and you may learn but 
not teach its individuality. There are ideas 
wholly original to be gathered up and put away 
in your treasury, as the specimens of the world’s 
productions have been gathered in thu college 
cabinet, and you may see but not appropriate 
them— romances that lie out in plots of inner 
and outer life, that thicken or divide, and all 
work together in one fabric —the one where we 
all cast a thread bright or dim, coarse or line 
weak or strong; and the texture of the whole 
is either better or worse l'or our share in it. 
All of this world we can see or hear and thus 
take into the “spirit-world” of our own hearts 
and keep there, is ours; and the better we peo¬ 
ple that world with the beautiful and true the 
more there is of us individually, the larger we 
are within ourselves and the more confidence wc 
have and are worthy of in our own resources. 
There was one picture I wanted; and so four 
of us oue day climbed two flights of stairs to the 
chapel, a longer one to the belfry, anc i then lad¬ 
ders to the cupola, the highest possible altitude 
but one of the building. “College Hill,” wo 
were told, is the highest point of laud in the 
State: and the view near and far was worthy to 
linger long under an artist’s eye. The city lay 
south and west—city and forest intermingled it 
seemed, so wide are the lots and so thickly 
shaded with the at that time many-hued maples. 
Buwbese lake lay farther cast; the narrow St. 
Joseph river threaded through vale and wood 
and village; the path of the locomotive was 
marked distinctly across the field; and at the 
north-west appeared the little cluster of brick 
and wood and paint and mortar, Jonesville — all 
flooded with the sad October sunlight. 
The spirited breeze that always frolics and 
capers on the school ground, seemed to take us 
wholly in charge, and tossed curls and ribbons 
and fringes “without regard to cost.” It is 
never a gentle, loving air, hut full of vitality, 
and will find your bruin arid bring out your ideas 
sharp and clear, making room in your soul for 
more and helpiug you to gather them. 
There are different things that cluster around 
the affections and attach them to such a place— 
the varied alms and interests that call us to it, 
and to those who have familiarly trodden the 
halls aud made homes of little rooms, t he many 
memories pictured on the mystic canvas we all 
reach without seeing, and paint indelibly with¬ 
out pencil. And among the loves and hopes 
and aspirations arc there any, I wonder, that 
reach quite to those of the pulpit and rostrum 
where 
“ Men of thought and men of action 
Clear the way” 
for those young feet that follow or turn aside as 
they choose, from the grand mountain path up 
higher forever? any others that quite as fully 
wake up the better part of our drowsy, dreamy 
souls, and strengthen them for the onward 
march so often as wc “remember?” 
There are three men at the school you will see 
more of than either other three, and one of these 
is Prof. Whipple. If public men do not wish to 
be criticised they must not be public, and there 
are few compulsions in saying just what one 
thinks of one who does the same by every one 
else, to them or of them, and who would seem 
at least to take with the same nonchalance as 
ho gives. 
There is an aged English gooseberry bush out 
in the garden that hasn’t been trimmed for years, 
and the thorns are sharp and stubborn and stand 
out every way from twigs that do the same. 
The leaves are green and velvety in spring, and 
in summer darker and thiekerand less beautiful; 
but go close and among them, you find large, 
clear berries, and you get nibbed and pricked, 
and may be a little bit angered getting at them; 
but when you do accomplish what you under¬ 
took you arc glad you tried it; for they arc 
delicious, and you make up your mind the “old 
torment” is worth saving just where it is, and 
in fact doesn’t need any trimming either. And 
that’s like Prof. Whipple. 
“ President Fairfield ” is written all over 
the. little man with the large hat; and if yon 
think “been to Europe” show's in rather too 
large characters next after, do not say anything 
until you hear him bilk of America; and if you 
are loyal you will forget everything else only 
that he is; and then if you shake hands with 
him you will presently feel as If yon had been to 
Europe too. It is of no use trying to tell any¬ 
thing he has said unless you can take him right 
along and have him say it; for the style of the 
man multiplies everything he speaks; he carries 
you with him and shows you all he has seen, and 
you hear as he did all lie has heard. When he 
speaks in double earnest, he rises—without doubt 
imperceptibly to himself— on tiptoe, and as the 
sentence is ended lie strikes his heels back upon 
the floor with an emphasis that would do credit 
to a man of “ three hundred pounds.” 
Prof. Dunn appears to the stranger all heart., 
and that heart all sympathy. Tf the darts of ene¬ 
mies arc ever hurled at it, it will not straggle or 
rebel, blit bleed and quiver in silent agony, and, 
losing none of its benevolence, ache for others’ 
sorrows with keener feeling thau for its own. 
There is nothing quiet or ev asive in the man; 
every phase of life Is to him real and deep, every 
motion is the semblance of a thought. You 
have seen a white rose, fully blown and ripe, 
covered with heavy dew, and knew that one 
stirring breeze would sever thu petals from the 
stem and scatter them far and wide to wither 
and decay. And when you look at this man 
you think of it, and the purest spot in your 
heart, tenderly prays that the breezes may never 
touch him; and the answer 6eems to come with 
an assurance that unerring angel hands will 
gather every fragment of the slender life and 
carry it 6afely to the Father; and then a fairer 
light 6cems around him; aud when you go away 
from the sound of his voice you step softly aud 
speak low, and the evil one is farther away from 
you than he ever went before. 
Ionia, Mtch., Jan., 18fi7. Grace Glenn. 
Brides. —An impudent writer treating on the 
“natural history of brides,” classifies them 
thus :—Sentimental brides, who marry for love; 
speculative brides, who marry for money; anx¬ 
ious brides, who marry for the sake of being 
married; accommodating brides, who marry be¬ 
cause their lovers ask them; unresisting brides, 
who marry because their friends desire them to 
marry; inquisitive brides, who marry for curi¬ 
osity, and invalid brides, who marry to restore 
their health. 
forbear. 
Forbear ! wrath only kindles wrath, 
And stirs up passion’s fire; 
While answering softly, mildly tends 
To check the bitterest ire. 
A Chinese maxim says:—“ We require four 
things of woman. That virtue dwell iu her 
heart; that modesty play on her brow; that 
sweetness flow from her lips; that industry 
occupy her hand.” 
- *■>* — 
The number of ladies’ waterfalls exported 
from France to England last year was 11,954, 
with hair sufficient for 7,000 more. The United 
States were the next best customers. 
The following contributions arc respectfully de¬ 
clined for the reasons annexed: — “Our Suffering 
Saviour,” A. P. The striking passages of Scripture 
are almost invariably weakened by paraphrasing.- 
“ In Memoriatn,” C, W. B. Your principal idea, in 
the last, stanza, is not new-.--“ Reims,” M. D. Too 
long.-“ Drifting,” J. J. M. Wc cannot understand 
the drift of your lines.-” The Thoughts ofYonth,” 
J. S. Some rhymes incorrect, some sentences won’t 
parse.-“Misery and Death,” N. S. Tell the story 
in half as many words and be u little more careful 
about the rhythm, and It will be acceptable.-“ Re¬ 
turning Compliments,” II. P. Four times too long. 
-“ Tin* Snow Storm,” F. W. J, You rhyme pret¬ 
tily and correctly, but you must think more vigor¬ 
ously.-“A Valentine,” L. S. Identical syllables 
do not make a rhyme.-“ Names,” L. I.. Not new, 
nor complete-“A Husband Found." A. 8. Four 
of the six stanza- rhymed incorrectly.-“To Nellie 
in Heaven,” K. W. Actual experience may make ati 
old subject as interesting as ever to an individual; 
but It should not be set before the public except 
with decidedly new thoughts or expressions.- 
“ The Happy Home,” 8. L. C. Your best lines may 
bo found in the hymn book. —A correspondent in¬ 
quires if any of our reader* can furnish the lines 
entitled “Peace, he Still.” commencing “Once upon 
a heaving ocean.” 
^Efolcc ifltis roll an n. 
Written tor Moore's Kural New-Yorker. 
SUSPIRIA. 
What balm Is there in loud lament, 
Or solace in the sail, of tears? 
Can age * croon give me content, 
Or childhood’s plaints soothe manhood's fears? 
No matter: like the panther's whine, 
As much a pang as a relief, 
I pour this nightly wail of mine— 
All me, my black and bitter grief! 
Hope's mirage long ago went down, 
And faded fancy’s tropic weeds— 
All sunken under doubt's dark frown 
The I rusts that, pillared up my creeds: 
What thrill* were of ambition born, 
Wbat comforts t wined round firm belief, 
How sweet seemed love, both flower and thorn— 
Ah me, my black and hitter grief! 
Truths I had deemed might never fail 
I've seen confuted one by one: 
Money and might o’er right prevail; 
A gifted soul die out unknown; 
A self proud fool win wide applause; 
Malice exile a noble chief; 
Hot hatred warp the deep-grooved laws— 
Alt me, my black and bittor grief! 
A bright illusion still did bloom 
That one rich heart, all pangs would pay 
And somewhere, from the crib to tomb. 
Near paradise would wind my way— 
Far doth such compensation seem, 
And 6ince the frost, has touched the leaf 
’Tis vain of swuo unit fruit to dream— 
Aii me, my black mid bitter grief! 
Creations of a sickly brain. 
Vague shapes of phantom woes are these. 
What then is labor's overstrain 
And debt aud failure and disease, 
And strife within a home once blithe ? 
Behold mine ills, a woful sheaf 
With sclf-contcmpt for binding wythe— 
Ah me, my black and bitter grief! 
Ko much to love the good and fair, 
A Sybarite in heart and mind, 
A cruel lot is mine to bear. 
Thistles and tares to reap and bind. 
Lethe for me were wine of bliss, 
A welcome guest the final Thief, 
Like love’s first pledge a fever's kiss— 
Ah me. my black and bitter grief! 
So made a tropic aea to sail 
And drink iu joy midsummer’s calm 
Where Cuban winds all eve exhale 
The honey's scc-nt, the flower’s balm— 
I northward drive with night around. 
My slcct-stiff Balls 1 cannot reef, 
The autumn gale aloft doth sound— 
Ah uie, my black and bitter grief! *** 
POLITENESS AND POLICY, 
Do not discard all ideas of policy because you 
sb often hear it contrasted with principle. Do 
not make the common mistake of supposing that 
morality requires you to forego all the advantages 
arising from that prudence which takes cogniz¬ 
ance of the irreconcilable differences of people 
in respect of temperament, education and ruling 
motives. You observe the universal rules of 
courtesy, don’t you? Bat they are all founded 
on general principles of policy; and if you re¬ 
fuse to give those same principles a further 
application to suit the peculiarities of your 
every-day intercourse with various persons, you 
simply put yousel f at needless disadvantage in 
all your dealings and fail to secure justice for 
yourself. The object of politeness is merely to 
lubricate the machinery of society, aud your 
strictest observance of it can be no more than 
your fair contribution toward the general ease 
and good feeling. The ends of policy arc more 
selflsh, but it is none the less just aud proper — 
nay, even necessary'. You certainly should not 
try to appear better than you are; but neither, 
on the other hand, have you any right to allow 
yourself to pass for less than you know yourself 
to be worth. 11' you discard policy, you are 
like a coin unstamped; and only those who 
possess a nicely balanced judgment of character 
will be able, how ever well disposed, to deter¬ 
mine your true value. Have a policy of your 
own, not only in your business or professional, 
but iu your social relations also. Be systematic 
as far as possible. Though you can not and 
ought not to suppress all action that is prompted 
by im uluutary moods or emotions, yet, other 
things being cqnul, you will find your success 
increasing very nearly in proportion as you do 
nothing for which you can not render a reason. 
Make a sharp distinction between feelings and 
figures, and never let the former invade the 
province of the latter. If a crisis occurs and a 
little silent calculation convinces you that there 
is no alternative for the risk or the sacrifice pre¬ 
sented, submit to it at once as if it were all a 
matter of course to you or something about 
which yon were entirely indifferent. You will 
thus at least get the credit of being superior to 
circumstances. By observing a few such princi¬ 
ples, you will soon build up for daily use a sys¬ 
tematic policy that will often enable you to 
secure justice for yourself to balance the large 
drafts which politeness often makes upon you 
for the benefit of others. 
Written for Moore’s Kural New-Yorker. 
HARSHNESS. 
How many little throbbing hearts arc forever 
soured by the use of some some small, harsh or 
angry word, spoken thoughtlessly,—word that 
the speaker would gladly recall, w'ere it not for 
overbearing pride that, masters the better feel¬ 
ings of human nature. Did you ever notice the 
look of pain that rested upon the young lace 
when yon spoke those angry words of command 
or threat? Did you ever look beyond the mere 
present effect, and see the probable future result 
of your own wrong-doing ? If not, pause where 
you are, and see the lowering brow, that almost 
infant brow, as it leaves your presence. See 
that dark cloud of resentment! 1’ ou think you 
can subdue it if it breaks out,—(lo you ? Ah ! 
my friend, you have planted a thorn in that 
youthful mind that will rankle there until its 
life dissolves Into the great unknown eternity. 
Perhaps there was some cause to impel you to 
the utterance of passionate words; still,you arc 
none the less the greater wrong-doer oi the 
two; because you did not Btop to inquire 
whether the child was willfully the trespasser. 
No! no! from the stand-point of your mature 
mind you looked upon the little one as possess¬ 
ing a mind qualified to discover instantly the 
right. You have made an ouomy that will 
trouble you through life. Those words will be 
treasured up in that little mind, and no future 
act of yours can atone for that one outbreak of 
passiou. Remember this, and use no more 
harsh words. R. p. a. 
POPULAR LEES. 
The following stories are constantly reported 
iu the newspapers, and as often as once a year 
they all find lodgment in one setting or another 
throughout the country. It is time they were 
set at rest- 
Number Oik .— That Charles Dickens is habitu¬ 
ally in pecuniary difficulty; that lie lives beyond 
his means, and is obliged to go into chancery 
once or twice a year. That iie has made up with 
Mrs. Dickens and they now live together again. 
Charles Dickens is not only in the yearly re¬ 
ceipt of very large sums, both from Ills books 
and his readings, hut he is one of the best busi¬ 
ness men iu England, husbanding his means 
most judiciously, while his benevolence is nobly 
conspicuous. ULs wife has not come hack to 
him, hut still lives in her own establisement in 
London, while his residence is at Rochester, 
thirty miles away from the city. 
Number Two, —That one of Mr. Longfellow’s 
daughters was horn without arras; that she 
draws and paints beautifully with her feet. 
This error arose from a photograph which, by 
a mistake in position, gave the impression of an 
armless child. 
Number Three.— That Samuel Rogers, the En¬ 
glish poet, kept a million pound note framed aud 
hung up iu his library. 
This lie was started by an Englishman in 
America, and was first printed in a foolish 
account of some London authors in a hook 
called “ Pen aud Ink Sketches.” The writer’s 
name was John Ross Dix, who hoaxed the read¬ 
ing public in various ways. 
Number Four. —That the lyrical poem begin¬ 
ning “ I am old and blind,” was written by John 
Milton. 
The piece was written by a lady of Philadel¬ 
phia, some years ago, who never pretended Mil- 
ton had anything to do with it. 
Number Five. —That Humboldt said of Bayard 
Taylor he had never met with a traveler who had 
gone over so much ground and seen so little. 
This malicious anecdote was invented by an 
envious lecturer in New York, who wished to 
write down Taylor aud write up liimscf. 
Concerning New Year.— The old Romans 
divided the year into ten mouths only; it was 
Numa Pompilius who added January and Feb¬ 
ruary. ‘The former took its name from Janus, 
to whom it was dedicated. As it opened the 
new year, they surrounded its commencement 
with good omens, and thence came the custom 
of visits between neighbors, of wishing happi¬ 
ness aud New Year's Gifts. The presents given 
by the Romans were symbolic. They consisted 
of dried figs, dates, honey-comb, as emblems of 
“the sweetuess of the auspices under which the 
year should begin its course,” and a small piece 
of money called slips, which foreboded riches,— 
Attic Philosopher, 
An Opinion of Boston. —A recent visitor in 
Boston, writing to a journal in New York State, 
gives his opinion of the New England metropo¬ 
lis in the following felicitous style: — “Boston 
is chiefly distinguished for its Yankee enter¬ 
prise, magnificent harbor, crooked streets, spa¬ 
cious Common, big organ, dilapidated State 
House and the Atlautic Monthly.” 
Editing a newspaper is a good deal like 
making a fire. Everybody supposes he can do 
a little better than anybody else. Wo have known 
people doubt their fitness lor apple peddling, or 
driving and counting laths; hut in all our expe¬ 
rience we never met with an individual who did 
not think he could double the circulation of any 
paper iu two months. 
--♦**- 
We find self-made men very often, but self- 
unmade ones a great deal oftener. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
SEPARATED. 
BT ROSE. 
Apart from tkeo! Beloved, I hear naught else 
But this sad echo in my throbbing heart! 
Ah, how can we, whose yearning souls have met 
In truest recognition, live apart ? 
Apart from thee t I leaned on thee to lead 
Me into wiser ways, but now I take 
The cross thou bid’st me bear, and in Christ’s 
strength, 
I will be brave and patient for thy sake. 
Apart from I hee 1 God grant the way be short,— 
He fills few lives with sorrow’s starless night 
To the drear end. We may not know, perchance, 
“At eventide,” for ns “ there shall be light.”. 
Riverside, Jan., 1S67. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE LORD'S PRAYER 
In the services of all Christian congregations 
the impressive custom prevails of repeating, 
more or less frequently, the Lord’s Prayer. 
Sometimes, to our sorrow, wc have heard clergy¬ 
men vary the words, enlarging upon and para¬ 
phrasing the simple, grand original. Against 
this—to us—unhappy practice, allow an earnest 
protest. When our Lord's disciples said “Teach 
ns to pray,” then said He, " When ye pray, say 
1 Our Father who art in Heaven.’ ” We will use 
those words as they were taught us by the bless¬ 
ed Jesus; and let no vain trifling by misjudging 
mortals he indulged. There arc no words so 
sweet, so expressive to the Christian heart, as 
those his Saviour used; and though oft they be 
repeated, he shall never weary of nor desire to 
exchange them. 
The Sacred House.—Amos Brown, D. D., at 
the late meeting of the Schuyler county Sabbath 
School Association said:—“ I never wear my hat 
across the room of the house of God. You may 
call this superstitious. It is not. Wc are all 
under the influence of association and habit, and 
cannot help it. I accustom myself to this be¬ 
cause I would have nothing common connected 
with the sacred place. I would have everything 
remind me that it is the Sanctuary, and would 
allow no act within its walls which would lessen 
the solemn sanctity of the place.” b. w. s. 
THE LONELINESS OF CHRIST. 
Did you ever think of that correction of Christ 
where He spoke of Himself as being alone, and 
instantly said that He was not alone V You will 
find in the Berlin gallery one of Raphael’s pic¬ 
tures ol the Madonna, in which there is an ex¬ 
quisite seizing of one of the most fugitive 
passages of time. The mother has a book, and 
she is reading, and the child is putting its hand 
in her bosom; and she has the expression of 
being absorbed in the hook, aud yet oi having 
sufficiently noticed the child to look up at it. 
Her expression is caught just at that subtle 
moment of time when she is thinking ol the 
book which she is reading, aud yet is not quite 
thiuking of It, but is thinking of the child. 
The whole picture presents that thought, and 
ybu see it clearly. And where Christ speaks oi 
Himself in this instance, it is one of those subtle 
transitions where lie is thinking ol Himself in 
His relation to the world, and ne speaks of Him¬ 
self as being alone, and yet, instantly lifting His 
thought to God, says, “ Not alone.” This sub¬ 
lime discrimination, how full it is of meaning, 
and comfort, and consolation to us in our vari¬ 
ous relations of life. 
PULPIT INGENUITY. 
A preacher in the neighborhood of Black- 
friars, London, not undeservedly popular, had 
just finished an exhortation strongly recom¬ 
mending the liberal support of a very meritori¬ 
ous institution. The congregation was numerous 
aud the chapel was crowded to excess. The 
discourse being finished, the plate was about to 
be handed around to the respective pews, when 
the preacher made this short address to the con¬ 
gregation : — “ From the sympathy I have wit¬ 
nessed in your countenances, and the strict atten¬ 
tion you have honored me with, there is only 
one thing I’m afraid of; that some of you may 
feel inclined to give too much; now it is my duty 
to inform you that justice, though not pleasant, 
should always be a prior virtue to geuerosity; 
therefore, as you will all he called upon in your 
respective pews, I wish to he thoroughly under¬ 
stood that no person will think of putting any¬ 
thing iu the plate who cannot pay liis debts! ” 
It need not he added that this advice produced 
an overflowing collection. 
The Purse. —A Methodist laborer of Wesley’s 
ti me _Captain Webb — when any one informed 
him of the conversion of a rich man, was in the 
habit of asking, “Is his purse converted?” 
Without the conversion of his purse, the good 
Captain would give no credit to the conversion 
of the man . Iu this he agreed with Dr. Adam 
Clarke, who used to say “he did not believe in 
the religion that cost a man nothing.” The 
religion that costs a man nothing is no religion 
at all; and the being converted, all but the purse, 
is no conversion at all., 
Family Prayer.— Robert Hall, hearing some 
worldly-minded person object to lamily prayer 
as taking£up too much time, said that what 
might seem a loss will be inorc than compen¬ 
sated by that spirit of order and regularity which 
the stated observance of this tends to produce. 
It serves as an edge and border, to preserve the 
web of life from unraveling. “ The curse of the 
Lord is in the house of the wicked; hut He 
hlesseth the habitations of the righteous.” 
