Written lor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
NOTHING TO DO. 
BY MBS. B. M. LINCOLN. 
Have I nothing to do, dear Father, 
But fold my idle bands, 
Gaze vacantly over the whitening fields. 
O’er thy chotM'U and fruitful lands i 
Have 1 nothing to do in this busy world 
Where thy servant* hove toiled so long ? 
Hast thoo not loft me a day’s work too 
Somewhere in the busy throng y 
The gleaming fields are teeming now, 
With a bountiful harvest to reap; 
There are laborers few for a work so vast,— 
Should I like an idler sleep t 
There is work indeed, but laborers few 
With willing heart and hand, 
To battle nobly with sin and self 
And follow their Lord's command. 
They’re shrinking back with questioning heart, 
Like weak and wavering me, 
Forgetting that God hath work each day. 
Though simple the work may be. 
A noble work, though heeded not 
By the busy world to-day; 
If patiently done ’twill bring sweet rest 
When we throw nff this cumbrous clay. 
Canandaigua, Jan., 1867. 
TEUE ELEVATION OF WOMAN. 
Treating of this subject, the writer whose 
contribution we publish below puts forth an 
idea which stems not to have occurred before to 
auy of onr lady correspondent*}. It is, in our 
opinion, the only approach to a decisive argument 
that has yet been urged against female suffrage. 
But we like it better, because thus it is more 
consistent and complete, in the broader form in 
which a friend of ours expressed it. Said he:— 
“I would have no person, black or white, man 
or woman, cost a ballot whose ultimate conse¬ 
quence might be war, uuless he was able and 
ready to meet that consequence and carry out 
with his strength and life his idea or opinion, 
expressed by his ballot, to its Anal result. 
Therefore I would exclude from voting, not only 
women, but cripples and nil who by reason of 
age or profession are incapable of military duty.” 
The objection to this, however, is that it con¬ 
templates] only the exceptional contingency of 
war, and that eveu then it. would be doubtful 
policy to dispense with the ripe judgment of age 
and experience and the superior morals of wo¬ 
man, which might combine to prevent a foolish 
and useless war that the ardent youth of military 
age might feel in honor bound to rush into. 
Eds. Rural New-Yorker:— While convers¬ 
ing, recently, with some highly esteemed lady 
friends, I was sorry to learn that nearly every 
one of them entertained notions in regard to 
what our privileges should be, which, I believe, 
tend to produce family disagreements equally 
with any other vice, not excepting the deplorable 
habit of gambling and intemperance. The no¬ 
tions to which I refer are these:—that women 
are, in nearly every respect, equal with men; 
that our judgment entitles us to the privilege of 
casting votes; and if one of us were to receive 
a nomination for the Presidency, it should be 
considered her duty, on receiving the number of 
votes required for her election, to cuter upon 
the discharge of the great and numerous duties 
devolved upon her by a nation. Many females, 
it is true, Lave knowledge enough to lead a na¬ 
tion more riextrously than some Presidents we. 
have had. But many things are possible which 
arc by no means prudent. Woman ruled once; 
but that reign was destructive to the whole hu¬ 
man family; and never, since Adam ate the 
poisonous fruit., has a family or nation been 
thoroughly prosperous where a woman has 
swayed the scepter. 
God never designed us for judges and rulers, 
as our very natures prove. If we would rule 
over a free land, why did we not go forth and 
assist in fighting those great battles to secure 
freedom for ourselves and our children t The 
heavy burdens of a soldier were no harder to 
bear than the great responsibility resting on 
those who are at the head of this divided nation 
to-day, or especially during the time that Abra¬ 
ham Lincoln was onr President. I do not feel 
inclined to believe that wc are able to do justice 
to cither the position of soldier or President, 
The less able, because God doesjiot so abund¬ 
antly bless the disobedient child as those who obey 
his commands; and when we are told that man 
is the head of the woman, then is it not sinful 
disobedience for us to attempt to elevate our¬ 
selves beyond our own heads ? And again, what 
impartial observer has not long since discovered 
that the modest, obedient, self-denying, self- 
possessed woman is more beloved than she who 
wishes to gain praise by traveling In an opposite 
direction and disregards heavenly teaching con¬ 
cerning our true positions aud relations to man ? 
Sisters, I assure you, I have no selfish motive in 
view, but I wish to see my sex becoming more 
perfected daily. Neither do I think that perma¬ 
nent virtue can exist independent of the pres¬ 
ence of piety. With religion in the heart, every 
burden becomes light aud every duty easy. 
Then envy will not fill our minds and hearts with 
poison ; and if we never attain to the lofty posi¬ 
tion ol a conquering general, we may at least 
secure the honors of th t . obedient daughter, the 
kind sister, the affectionate wife and the loving 
mother. 
The burdens of men are so great they cannot 
lay them down to attend to these, lighter tasks 
which God in his wisdom bestowed upon us 
when he divided the labors designed for frail 
mortals —thus proving that he kindly recog¬ 
nized our weakness and made provision for our 
comfort. Let us therefore strive to overcome 
the envy which destroys our peace of mind, and 
cultivate in its stead, cheerfulness, love and re¬ 
ligion; and we shall reign in the hearts of men 
on earth, and in heaven our crowns will all be 
equally bright. Kate Cake. 
Des Moines. Iowa. Feb. 1,1867. 
“THEBE’S LIGHT BEYOND.” 
“ When in Madeira,” writes a traveler, “ I set 
off one morning to reach the summit of a 
mountain, to gaze upon the distant scenes ami 
enjoy the balmy air. I had a guide with me, and 
we had with difficulty ascended some two thou¬ 
sand feet, when a thick mist was seen descend¬ 
ing upon us, quite obscuring the whole face of 
the heavens. I thought I had no hope left but 
at once to retrace our steps or be lost; but as 
the cloud came nearer, and darkness over-ahad- 
owed me, my guide ran on before me, penetra¬ 
ting the mist and calling to me ever and anon, 
saying, * Press on, master, press on, there's light 
beyond! ’ T did press on. In a few minutes the 
mist was passed, and I gazed upon a scene of 
transparent beauty. All was bright and cloud¬ 
less above, and beneath was the almost level 
mist, concealing the world below me, and glis¬ 
tening in the rays of the sun like a field of untrod¬ 
den snow. There was nothing at that moment 
between tnc and the heavens.” O, ye, over 
whom clouds are gathering or who have sat be¬ 
neath the shadow, be not dismayed if they rise 
before you. Press on— There is light beyond. 
HOW TO “FINISH” A DAUGHTER. 
1. Be always telling her how pretty she is. 
2. Instill in her mind a proper love of dress. 
:i. Accustom her to so ranch pleasure that she 
is never happy at home. 
4. Allow her to read nothing but novels. 
5. Teach her all the accomplishments, but 
none of the utilities of life. 
6. Keep her in the darkest ignorance of the 
mysteries of housekeeping. 
7. Initiate her into the principle that it is vul¬ 
gar to do anything herself. 
8. To strengthen the latter belief, let her have 
a lady’s maid. 
1). And lastly, having given her such an edu¬ 
cation, marry her to a clerk upon live hundred 
dollars a year, or a lieutenant going out to a 
fort. 
If, with the above careful training, your daugh¬ 
ter is not “ finished,” you may be sure it is no 
fault of yours, and you must look upon her 
escape as nothing short of a miracle. 
GOSSIPPY PARAGRAPHS. 
Mr. Tilton, of the Independent, in advocating 
“Woman’s Rights,” tells us that “Harvard and 
Yale belong to a former generation ; their brows 
are ungilded with the dawn of the coming era. 
Put five hundred college boys by themselves for 
four years, without girls for class-mates, and 
four hundred and fifty will graduate more vulgar 
minded than they entered. Put both sexes under 
the same roof — making the college something 
like the family—and the result will be a mutual 
social refinement, and a mutual moral growth.” 
Coral, especially the pale pink variety, is 
again very fashionable in Paris for evening 
dresses. Tunics are frequently embroidered in 
sprays of coral, beads being introduced among 
the work so a- to give it more relief. With bro¬ 
caded dresses, trimmings made with precious 
stones are in vogue, because gimp is not con¬ 
sidered sufficiently rich for such very handsome 
materials; consequently buttons made of lapis 
lazuli, jasper, aventurinc, and amber arc in great 
demand. 
At a wedding in Raleigh, N. C., a few evenings 
since, the invited guests, after the ceremony, 
were requested to pay ten dollars each to the 
bride, who was in such indigent circumstances 
that she had not the means to complete her 
wardrobe. Each person present promptly re¬ 
sponded, and the sum raised amounted to about 
five hundred dollars. The bride thanked her 
friends for their generosity, kissed them all, and 
went home tv ith her husband in the best of spirits. 
Suakspeare was performing the part of a 
king, in one of his own tragedies, standing near 
the Queen’s box; having given orders to the at¬ 
tending officers. Elizabeth, wishing to know 
whether he would depart from the dignity of the 
sovereign, at that instant dropped her handker¬ 
chief, when the mimic monarch imm mediately 
exclaimed, 
“ But ere this be done, 
Take up our ‘ sister's’ handkerchief.” 
“ If you ever marry,” said a Romau consul to 
to his eon, “let it be a woman who has sense 
enough to superintend the setting of a meal of 
victuals, taste enough to dress herself, pride 
enough to wash before breakfast, and sense 
enough to hold her tongue when she has nothing 
to say.” 
Mrs. Jelliflower, who is from the rural 
districts, went to see Ristori at the Opera House, 
and thinks the ladies and gentlemen that com¬ 
posed the audience very unmannerly “for,” said 
she, “they sot up and read dime novels the 
whole evening.” 
A number of the seamstresses in Paris have 
been attacked with severe sickness, caused, it is 
supposed, by getting into their mouths Bewing 
silk impregnated by venders with sulphate of lead 
to increase its weight, as it is so sold iu France. 
Charles Dickens shocks the honest country 
folks about his home at Gadshill, by playing 
croquet with bis daughters, for health and recre¬ 
ation, on his lawn on Sunday afternoons. 
It is rumored that John G. Whittier, the poet, 
is to be married in his old age to a widow of 
Philadelphia, with whom he has been in love 
for thirty years. 
Bismarck bonnets and needle-gun skirts are 
among the latest whims of fashion. 
TO CONTRIBUTORS. 
The following contribution? are respectfully de¬ 
clined, for the reasons annexed“ Bring Flowers for 
the Dead,” I. H. Do not use more than one rhythm 
in so short a piece. Try a newer subject.-“ Then 
and now,” E. IT. Your analysis is faulty, and the ar¬ 
ticle is too loDg.- “ Drifting,” M. F. In some of 
the reading books you will find an extract in which 
Bishop Hebzb has carried out your figure to perfec¬ 
tion. Practice careful revision and close criticism, and 
you will make a good writer.-“Invitation to 
Spring,” G. T. You rhyme well. Try a less hack¬ 
neyed subject.-“ Revival in Chili,” II. K. F. Put 
It into prose and -end it to a religions paper. Your 
concluding lines, 
“The powers of sin a*e giving way, 
And God in Chili reigns,” 
border close upon burlesque.- —Frank. We were 
obliged to cnrtall your article. The latter part was a 
little CarJylniab.—J. J. M. Explanation perfectly 
satisfactory to ns: but few reader* would have under¬ 
stood the allusion. We did not, though we had seen 
the picture.-We have received several copies of 
“Peace be Still.” One contributor requests us “for 
mercy's sake” to nay nothing. In this department, of 
her article. As you please, of course; but one inten¬ 
tion of it is to give unsuccessful contributors such 
hin Is as will enable them to produce acceptible articles. 
€B,ol« ifEbcolIattn. 
CHANGE. 
[The following 6tanzaa, which we find floating 
anonymously in exchanges, are from Longfellow’s 
translation of “Coplae de Manrique,” a Spanish poem 
of the Fifteenth Century, and are probably the best 
ever written ou the subject.—E d. Rural.] 
Swiftly our pleasures glide away; 
Our hearts recall the distant day 
With many sighs; 
The moments that are speeding fast 
We heed not, hut the past, the past 
More highly prize. 
Onward its course the present keeps. 
Onward the constant current sweeps, 
Till life is done; 
And did wc jndge of time aright, 
The past and future in their flight. 
Would be as one. 
Let no one fondly dream again 
That Hope and all her sliadowy train 
Will not decay; 
Fleeting as were the dreams of old, 
Remembered llko a tale that's told, 
They pass away. 
Our lives arc rivers, gliding free 
To that unfathomed, boundless sea. 
The silent grave; 
Thither all earthly pomp and boast 
Roll to be swallowed up, and lost, 
In one dark wave. 
Thither the mighty torrents stray, 
Thither the brook pursues its way. 
And tinkling rill. 
There all arc equal; side by side, 
The poo.} man and the sod of pride 
Lie calm and still. 
Behold of what delusive worth 
The bubbles we pursue on earth, 
The shapes we chase, 
Amid a world of treachery! 
They vanish ere death shuts the eye, 
And leave no trace. 
The cunning skill, the curious arts, 
The glorious strength that yonlh imparts 
In life’s first etage; 
These shall become a heavy weight, 
When Time swings wide his outward gate 
To weary ago. 
The pleasures and delights, which mask 
In treacherous smiles life’s serious task. 
What are they all. 
But the fleet coursers of the chase. 
And death an ambush in the race, 
Wherein we Call 7 
O World 1 so few the years we live, 
Would that the life which thou dost give 
Were life indeed t 
Alas ! thy sorrows fall so fast, 
Our happiest hour is when at last. 
The soul is Reed. 
Thy pilgrimage begins in tears, 
And ends in bitter doubts and fears, 
Or dark despair; 
Midway so many toils appear, 
That he who Ungers longest here 
Knows most of care. 
The goods arc bought with many a groan, 
By the hot sweot of toil alone, 
And weary hearts: 
Fleet-footed is the approach of woe, 
But with a lingering step and stow 
Its form departs. 
Written lor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE OLD HOME. 
BY L. HALSEY. 
Whatever may have been the changes which 
have befallen him on the pathway of life, we cannot 
but pity the roan who can approach the home of 
his childhood without an emotion of love. With 
what mingled feelings of grief aud of gladness 
do we behold that Mecca of the heart, 
“Whither our thoughts return where'er we roam," 
the one place ou earth rendered sacred by so 
maoy endearing memories. Hither we come, 
when our hearts are light and full of laughter, to 
recall the merry scenes of youth. We think of 
the gay gatherings, the sleigh-rides, the moon¬ 
light excursions which we then enjoyed, and of 
the happy faces by which we were then sur¬ 
rounded. Each familiar form rises before ns, 
its features faithfully daguerreotyped upon the 
sensitive brain; aud the friends of our younger 
days seem to sit once more beside us, eager to 
join again In scenes of merriment. 
Hither, too, we come when our hearts are sad 
and bruised by many a sorrow, when it seems to 
us that the light of our life has gone out and no 
ray of hope pierces the clouds which lower above 
us. Mournful memories rise around us, not to 
sadden but to bring us comfort, for these memo¬ 
ries seem filled with life and feeling, and, like fel¬ 
low sufferers,to sympathise with our misfortunes. 
How different the memories which the sight 
of that old home causes to spring up in our 
hearts! Here is a poor tempe*t-t.ossed wan¬ 
derer, who has never known a home since his 
boyish feet crossed that loved threshold for the 
last time. His emotions are all of sadness. The 
joys of home are all past joysfor him; and in his 
heart is an unsatisfied thirst, an ever-gnawing 
hunger after the pleasures which grow only 
around the altar of home. Perhaps he has lost 
his loved ones, and, homeless and friendless, 
wanders an outcast upon the face of the earth. 
Even the sacred sorrows of home ear. never be of 
comfort to him. He cannot sav, with his heart 
overflowing with mournful love : — “I love this 
room, for here my honored father took me upon 
his kneeandtanghtme to love the truth.” “I’ll 
protect that tree; for, though now decayed and 
barren, my Cither planted it, and often when a 
child 1 feasted upon the fruit fresh from its 
branches.” “I can never enter that chamber 
without feeling that my heart is impressed with 
holy awe; for there my angel mother used to 
pray.” Poormau! your 3 arc the saddest memories. 
Here is another, with smiling wife and merry 
children by his side; but can he ever forget the 
Bpot where he sported in innocent childhood? 
Never, if the heart of a true man beats warm 
within ids bosom. He loves to linger where 
sacred memories come thick aud fast around 
him, telling again the half-forgotten story of his 
happiest days. There is the house, where was 
once for him that “world of love at home.” 
There, his father, on bis dying bed, gave Mm his 
parting blessing. There his mother knelt beside 
him and prayed that tier son might live a good 
and useful man. » Every object recalls the acts 
and thoughts and dreams of youth. There is 
the bam where he loved to tumble in the well- 
filled mow, to the left Is the meadow where he 
often sported amid the new-mown hay; there 19 
the majestic old maple with its wide-spreading 
branches, beneath whose shade he built many an 
air-castlc whose fabric faded with his dreatns. 
But the most bitter memories are of life’s 
vicissitudes, of the friends who have departed, 
the time which has forever passed away. 
With all the mingled memories of joys and 
sorrows, we shall ever love to visit the sacred 
home of our children. Its loss would leave a 
void in our hearts. 
“ O ye who daily cross the sill, 
Step lightly, for I love it still; 
Aud when you crowd those old bam caves, 
Think then wnat countless harvest sheaves 
Have passed within that scented door 
To gladden eyes that are no more.” 
- — - ■ • ■■ 
MEN OF GENIUS. 
Tasso’s conversation was neither gay nor bril¬ 
liant. Dante was either taciturn or satirical. 
Butler was either sullen or biting. Gray seldom 
talked or smiled. Hogarth and Swift were ab¬ 
sent-minded in company. Milton was very un¬ 
sociable and irritable when pressed into conver¬ 
sation. Kirwin, though copious and eloquent 
in public addresses, was meager aud dull in 
colloquial discourses. Virgil was heavy in con¬ 
versation. La Fontaine appeared heavy, coarse 
and stupid; he could not speak and describe 
what he bad just Been; but then he was the 
model of poetry. Chaucer’s silence was more 
agreeable than his conversation. Dryden’s con¬ 
versation was slow aud dull, his humor satur¬ 
nine and reserved. Cornelius in conversation 
was so insipid that he never failed in wearying; 
he did not even speak correctly that louguage of 
which he was such a master. Beu Jonson used 
to sit silent in company and suck his wine. 
Southey was stiff, sedate, and wrapped up in 
asceticism. Addison was good company with 
his intimate fricndB, but in mixed company he 
preserved his dignity by a stiff and reserved 
silence. Fox in conversation never flagged, his 
animation and vivacity were Inexhaustible. Dr. 
Bentley was loquacious, aa was also Grotius. 
Goldsmith “ wrote like an angel and talked like 
poor Poll.” Burke was entertaining, enthusias¬ 
tic and interesting in conversation. Curran was 
a convivial deity. Leigh Hunt was a pleasant 
stream in conversation. Carlyle doubts, objects 
and constantly demurs. 
QUODLIBETS. 
It is not the past alone that has its ghosts ; 
each event to come has also its spectrum — its 
shade; when the hour arrives, life enters it, the 
shadow becomes corporeal and walks on the 
earth.— Bulioer. 
Have the courage to “cut” the most agree¬ 
able acquaintance you have when you are con¬ 
vinced that he lacks principle. A friend should 
bear with a friend’s infirmities, but not with his 
vices. 
It won’t do to be so devoted to a tender-heart¬ 
ed wife as to comply with her request when she 
asks you.—“ Now tumble over the cradle, and 
break your neck, my dear, won’t you ?” 
Slander is more accumulative than a snow¬ 
ball. It is like a salad, which every one will 
season to his own taste, or the taste of those to 
whom he offers it. 
A sentimental young man thus feelingly ex¬ 
presses himself“ Even as nature benevolently 
guards the rose with thorns, so does she endow 
women with pins.” 
Punch offers as a sentimentMay the tear 
of sensibility be wiped by the pocket handker¬ 
chief of common sense. 
True politeness is perfect ease and freedom. 
It simply consists in treating others as you love 
to be treated yourself. 
Husband.— “ Mary, my love, this apple dump¬ 
ling is not half done.” Wife.—“ Well, finish it 
then, my dear.” 
Give strict attention to your own affairs— and 
consider your wife one of them. 
*i J 
ilmfUli 
mm 
WHAT THEN! 
[Ens Rural:— Reading the poem entitled “After,” 
in the Rural of Jaunary 26th, brings to mind a little 
piece, found some years since among some old papers, 
which I inclose, hoping you will deem it worthy of 
publication.—c. e. m.] 
After the joys of earth, 
After its songs aud mirth, 
After its hours of light, 
After its dreams so bright,— 
What then ? 
Only an empty name, 
Only a weary frame. 
Only a conscious smart, 
Only an aching heart. 
After this empty name, 
After this weary frame. 
After this con scions smart., 
After this aching heart,— 
What then ? 
Only a sad farewell 
To a world loved too well. 
Only a silent bed 
With the forgotten dead. 
After this sad farewell 
To a world loved too well, 
After this eilent bed 
With the forgotten dead, 
What then? 
Mineral County, W. Va., Feb., 1867. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
POPULAE IEEEVEEENOE. 
One needs only to glance through the periodi¬ 
cals and papers of current times to discover that 
to treat sacred themes and subjects with levity, 
and often with sheer irreverence, is popular 
Hardly can one find a sheet of public print in 
which will not be wounded the feelings of a 
true, devout, humble worshiper of God, who 
bolds sacred and above all trifling whatever is 
Involved In Hie being and service. Is not this 
a matter of more than mere regret ? Is it not a 
disgrace to our boasted Christian civilization, 
and pregnant with foreshadowings of the nlti 
mate visitation of the deserved punishments of 
offended Deity ? 
As a people wc vaunt of Christianity. Our 
progress in refinement of life, and our release 
from degrading ignorance and superstition, we 
justly ascribe to the possession of the Bible, and 
the favor of the Infinite Creator therein revealed; 
yet do we, with a startling deliberation and 
vicious malignity, hold up to ridicule the source, 
of our great good, and strive to pollute the foun¬ 
tain whence flow the blessings in which we revel. 
What inconsistency, ami how odious this irreve¬ 
rence ! Iu this, a national fault, we are all verily 
guilty. From high and low we hear the profane 
jest, the wanton use of Holy Writ for purposes 
of sport, and sacred names in associations of 
defilement. The printed sheet tot panders to 
the vicious tastes and sinful recklessness abroad 
In the communities. 
Where shall a reform commence? Seeing 
that, as a class, members of Christian churches 
do not condemn these practices as they ought, a 
dark, forbidding prospect obtrudes upon our 
vision. Still, we believe many need only to 
have their attention called to the prevalence of 
the evil to induce them to form alliance with its 
opposers. As the great, potential Instrument 
for good or ill, the press should lend its aid in 
helping to undo the mischief which, with show 
of excuse, it has helped to accomplish. Wc 
know that those who direct the journals of the 
day desire the public weal, and, as a rule, would 
gladly contribute to the establishment and main 
tenancc of good morals, purity of life, and rev¬ 
erence toward God. Do we err, then, in first ot 
all ttskiug that they shall carefully guard their 
columns from the intrusion of jests and articles 
which have a tendency to make common the 
name and attributes of Deity, the word and doc¬ 
trine of Holy Scripture, and the faith and practice 
of the earnest Christian? Yoang minds, espe¬ 
cially, feel the influence of such things, andoilcn 
gaiu a fatal bias from a raudorn thrust, aimed with 
cutting sarcasm, at objects which they erst were 
taught to reverence. We lay no heavier blame 
upon the press, for the evil mentioned, than 
attaches to all who claim to be our good and 
worthy citizens. Censure is merited by us all; 
but, recognizing the effect which a reform among 
the types would have, we bend attention thither 
first b. w. 3, 
Watkins, Feb., 1S67. 
Christ Jesus was preeminently sympathetic 
with all around him. He touched human life at 
every point—lofty and lovfly. He was not afraid 
to confront a ruler, nor ashamed to pity and heal 
a beggar. He did not draw back his foot when 
a Binful woman’s warm tears trickled upon it, 
nor did He refuse a publican’s invitation to go 
and be hia guest. “ This man receiveth ainnern" 
was the sneer leveled at him by the bigoted 
Pharisees. It is a bastard Christianity which 
“snubs” honest worth in a coarse, coat, or re¬ 
fuses to pity and shelter a harlot because she 
has made herself vile; or which builds a “col¬ 
ored pew” in a back corner of the sanctuary 
The Divine Jesus was “ separate from sinners' 
in that he possessed an unspotted holiness, an 
unworldly aim, and unblemished life. He was 
tempted, and yet without sin. 
Christianity is broader than all sects; ito 
blessed influence grows over their petty creed- 
hedges to renovate the outlying world, as the 
sunlight streams across farm inclosures and city 
wells, and a whole continent besides. The moral 
elevation of Jesus is so great that he overlooks 
the walls of all churches, and his benignant, spir¬ 
itual features attract thousands beyond all recog¬ 
nized party lines. He was “ the Son of man.” 
