HEPWOETH 
DIXON ON 
SARATOGA. 
WOMEN 
Written Tor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A FRAGMENT. 
Fairer than mom upon the eastern kill*, 
A vision dawucth on my eight to-day— 
A bright-haired child, whose a3mc I will not breathe. 
Bat in my heart, 'tie christened, only—May: 
Sweet May! that broke the winter's icy chain 
And brought the sunshine to my heart again. 
Ah, could I paint the glimmer of that hair 
Circling t.by forehead like a crown of light, 
Ah conld I tell tho sweetness of that face 
Where beauty, purity and love unite, 
My fame wonltl ring through ages yet to come; 
But when I gaze on thee, my lips arc dumb. 
I fear for thee! The future sure must bring 
To such as thee more than a common fate; 
But In God’s hand? I’ll leave thy destiny; 
Trusting in Him, my patient soul can wait. 
I only pray—G od keep her undcflled, 
Through all the coming years be With my child. 
Porter, March, 25th. A - E - H - 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
COMMON SENSE ON FASHIONS, &c. 
Mt attention being called to the rhymes en¬ 
titled “ The Past and Present,” published a few 
weeks ago in the Ritual, I cannot forbear a few 
comments for the consideration of the author, 
and all others taking a similar view of things, 
hoping that “ a word to the wise is sufficient.” 
J see that the same cry is still raised that was 
moaned forth over thirty years ago, “ when my 
good mother was a girl,” anil took “ Atkinson’s 
Casket.” It was an old book when I was large 
enough to read it. It must have been published 
us early as 1888. It contained that very piece, 
telling what the girls used to do, and what they 
dou’t do now. 1 wish it was still in existence, 
that I might scud you a few of its fashions, for 
sure I am that they would compare favorably, 
in point of ridiculousness, with the present style. 
I remember one, which I will describe as cor¬ 
rectly as possible from memory:—A pea-green, 
watered feUk dress, open down the front, dis¬ 
playing a petticoat (excuse the word—they used 
to wear them) of white satin, the edge of the 
dress being turned back, from the waist down, 
rolled over around the bottom, and confined 
with strings of pearl bends, displaying an ankle 
and foot of the smallest dimensions, squeezed 
into a tiny slipper, pointed at the toe, with a 
heel as high as the highest that are now worn 
on boots; the corsage a little lower than the 
ultra-low dresses of the present day. But the 
sleeves! which “would just hold their arms.” 
This eminent Englishman’s book of travel in , 
this country is remarkably fair and candid, as j 
well as full* of interest, from its vividness, case 
and fidelity of description. Some mistakes he 
makes in his views of our customs and modes 
of thought, but they do not arise from narrow 
prejudice. There is a good lesson in this cou- | 
versation. Although the Yankee speaks with 1 
emphasis, behind bis exaggerations is, a sad 
truth: 
“ What do you say now to our ladies f’ said 
to me a bluff Yankee, as we sat last night under 
the verandah, here in the hotel at Saratoga. 
“Charming,” of course I answered, “pale, j 
delicate, bewitching; dashing, too, and radi¬ 
ant.” “IIoo!” cried he, putting up his hands ; 
“ they are just not worth a d-n. They can’t 
walk, they can’t ride, they can’t, nurse.” “ Ah, 
you have no wife,” said I, in a soothing tone. 
“A wife!” he shouted; “I should kill her.” 
“ With kindness ?" “ Ugh I" he answered, 
“with a poker.” “Look at these chile here, 
dawdling by the fountain. What are they doing 
now, what have they been doing ajl day ? Fed 
and dressed. They have changed their clothes 
three times, and had their hair washed, combed 
and curled three times. That is their life. Have 
they been out for a walk, or o ride ? Have they 
read a book, have they sewn a seam ? Not a bit 
of it How do your ladles spend their lime?” 
“They put on good boots, they tuck up their 
skirts, and walk away through the country lanes. 
I was in Hampshire once; my host was a duke; 
his wile was out before breakfast with clogs on 
her feet and rosea on her cheeks; she rode to 
the hunt; she walked to the copse; a ditch 
would not frighten her; a hedge would not 
turn her back.” “ Why, our women, poor, 
pale—.” “Come,” I said, “they are very 
lovely.” “Ugh!” said the saucy fellow, “they 
have no hone, no liber, no juice; they hare only 
nerves ; but what can you expect ? They eat 
pearl-ash for bread ; they drink ice-water for 
wine; they wear tight stays, thin shoes, and 
barrel skirts. Such things are not tit to live, 
and, thank Hod, in a hundred years not one of 
their descendants will be left alive.” 
AN ENGLISHMAN’S OPINION OF AMERI¬ 
CAN WOMEN. 
In Hepworth Dixon’s new book about Amer¬ 
ica, he devotes a chapter to the ladies, generally 
complimentary. The following is hi? opinion: 
In the sweet New England girls, be thinks 
there must be a lack of vital power. At present 
you cau hardly speak to them without tearing 
lest they should vanish from before your face. 
Alas! it was a small portion of their arms which Among the higher classes in America the tra- 
€&oic0 
THE VOICE. 
BT FOP.CTTHE WILSON. 
[ The following lines poseess a melancholy interest, 
n 3 the young poet, author of “ The Old Sergeant,” 
and other poems, evincing no ordinary genius, lately 
died suddenly.] 
A saintly voice fell on iny ear 
Ont. of the dewy atmosphere; 
“ O hush, dear Bird of Night, be mute; 
Be still, 0 throbbing heart and lute!” 
The Night-Bird shook the sparkling dew 
Upon tne as he ruffed and llew; 
My heart was still, almost as soon, 
My lute as silent a? tho moon; 
I hushed my heart, and held my breath. 
And would have died the death of death, 
To hear—but just once more—to hear 
That voice within the atmosphere. 
Again the voice fell on my ear. 
Oat of the dewy atmosphere! 
The same words, bat half heard at first— 
I listened with a quenchless thirst; 
And drank as of that heavenly balm, 
The silence that succeeds a psalm: 
My soul to eceta-y was stirred ; 
It was a voice that I had heard 
A thousand blisafVi time* before. 
But deemed that I should hear no more 
Till I should have a spirit’s ear, 
And breathe another atmosphere! 
Then there was silence in my ear, 
And silence in the atmosphere; 
And silent moonshine on the mart, 
And peace and silence in my heart; 
But. suddenly a dark doubt said: 
“ The fancy of a fevered head !" 
A wild, quick whirlwind of desire 
Then wrapt me as in foids of fire; 
I ran the strange words o’er and o’er, 
And listened breathlesely once more; 
And lo! the third time, I did b«ar 
The same words in the atmosphere! 
They fell and died upon my ear 
As dew dies on the atmosphere; 
And then an intenee yearning thrilled 
My soul, that all might be fulfilled: 
“ Where art ihou, Blessed Spirit, where f 
Whose voice Is dew upon the air?” 
I looked around me, and above. 
And cried aloud: “Where art thou, Love ? 
O let me see thy living eye. 
And clasp thy living hand, or die 1" 
Again, upon the atmosphere, 
The self-same words fell: "lam here." 
I am here.' 
could be contained in them. Howbeit as much ditions of English beanty have not declined; 
cloth was required t.o make one ac is now used t^e oval face, the delicate lip, the transparent 
for a neat, fashionable sleeve, which will cover UO stril, the pearl-like flesh, the tiny hand, which 
the arm. Just Imagine a circle three-fourths of mar g m May Fair the lady of high descent, may 
a yard in diameter, three inches from the side, a gecn ^ a u the best houses of Virginia and 
hole cut just large enough to admit the arm; Massachusetts. The proudest London belle, the 
said hole, being bound and trimmed with beads, fairest Lancashire witch, would fiud iu Boston 
formed the bottom of the sleeve; the outside of Richmond rivals In grace and beauty whom 
the circle gathered into the arm-hole, making a could not feign even to despise, 
sleeve three inches In length, on the under elde, Again, New* York beauty bas more dash and 
and distended, by means of a stiff lining, into a color, Boston beauty more sparkle and delicacy, 
huge pair of horns on the shoulders. The hair g orue men prefer the more open and audacious 
would frighten the most awkward waterfall into loveliness of New York, with the Rubens-like 
insignificance: combed up and tied upon the rosiness and fullness of the flesh: but an Euglisk 
top of the head, and twisted around a comb four e y e tind more charm in he soft and shy ex- 
or five inches in height, surmounted by two pression of the elder type, 
long ostrich feathers, made to stand as nearly Among the lower grader oi women, there is 
upright as possible. The front hair, puffed over Q0 6Uc i} w ide and plentiful crop of rustic loveli- 
an indefinite number of cushions, nearly con- ncg6 a6 An artifit finds .’n England; the bright 
ce&led the forehead, while a bunch of false curls fc .y e9) the curly locks, the rosy complexions, 
hung against the cheeks; the whole finished everywhere laughing you into pleasant thoughts 
with a bandeau of beads to match the dress, among our Devonshire lanes and Lancashire 
The accompanying figure represented a morning streets. But theu comes the balance of ac- 
dress, with surplice waist and bishop sleeves, counts. With her gifts of uature, our English 
which would require more time to lay the plaits rus tic must close her book in presence of her 
thau will now suffice to make and trim a whole ^ ecu an( j ua tty American sister. 
dress. The bonnets were as Indescribable as ——-- 
those which are now worn, and quite as ridieu- “Right Dress.” —The New York Tribune 
lous iu their appearance. thus refers to the inartistic character of the 
Now, when we consider that “The Past and present fashion of ieruale dress: \ ery many 
Present” was written over thirty years ago, dresses arc trimmed up every seam with aeon- 
does it not prove that human nature was the trasting color. They look like panels set in 
same then that it is now, and will be thirty motion, and are as tasteful. As usual, excessive 
years hence. There is no use in the “lords of trimming is the offense of all our new modes, 
creation ” complaining of the ladies, for they It seems to be a part of the penalty of Eve that 
will dress and conduct themselves in the way that capability of good dressing which she be- 
which they find to be most pleasing to the op- queathed to ns should rust iu us unused, by rea- 
posite sex. Until a woman can engage in sensi- son of the wiles of the adversary who beguiles 
blc conversation without incurring the danger us with beads and wampum, and glass, and 
of being dnbbed a blue by her lover, or dress as trinkets, and glittering generalities in the way 
her conscience and purse dictate, without being of jets. Trimming no longer ornaments the 
shunned for her stingy, methodical principles, dress, but the dress is a scaffolding for trim- 
nor keep house properly without being “ an old minis. Geometry is exhausted to furnish fig- 
maid,” you need not expect us to do differ- ures for fringes and gimps to describe. Archi- 
ently, for mm shan't. Me'may talk about a wife tecture contributes studies in cornices, columns, 
that will help her mother. I’d like to know and capitals. Niuevah and Babylon are repeated 
who of yon, when calling upon a lady, would in hieroglyphs. 
submit to be entertained by mamma, because her -- 
daughter was iu the kitchen, baking, Ironing, or A Good Education. — Mrs. Sigourney says: 
getting dinner, or perhaps doing all three, that A good education is a fortune itself. I do not 
mother may have a chance to rest ? I venture mean that it will always secure wealth. But it 
to say that your call would be short, aud wo be brings something better than the gold that per- 
to the unlucky dog that gets In too close prox- ishes, for this may be suddenly lost. Fire may 
imity to your rattan as you wend your way consume it; the thief take it away; but that 
homeward. I’ve seeu this tried, and know it is knowledge which enriches the mind, which 
s0 . moderates its desires, which teaches to make a 
Now, I'll tell you what you want. You want rl « ht “'“ u “ ot ,inlc ’ a,ld l' romote tU f l “W t 
the lady of your choice to be os pretty, idle, and n « s ot ' otheri ' is '“P er ‘“ r 10 thc 
useless as a hutterty ; would esteem it the Fire, air. earth and water have uo power over ,t. 
height of ill-manoeia were she to employ her- 11 «“ “ s9r ™*‘ e ' ft ™' ta "“A” 
self with knitting or sewing, while you are into the vale of years, and does notleace us till 
spending an evening with her. She must be wc di,; ' _**_ 
always ready with smiles and “fixings” to re- Questions for Women by a Woman. — Can 
ceivc company, and theu when you are married we not — since, while the power of the world is 
you want her to be a tip-top housekeeper. But, J with men, the influence lies with women — cau 
let me tell you, you will not find such a woman; -,ve not bring up our girls more usefully aud less 
for we must learn beforehand, and we can’t showily—less dependent on luxury and wealth? 
while wc have to spend so much time in making ! Can we not teach them from babyhood that to 
ourselves beautiful, or ruu the risk bf losing our ' labor is a higher thing tuan merely to enjoy; 
chance in the matrimonial lottery. 1 that even enjoyment itself is never so sweet as 
Maple Ridge, Pa. Mart Lotd. when it has been earned V 
“Herey Thou art here Love!” “I 
The echo died opoa my ear: 
I looked around me—everywhere; 
But, ah ! there was no mortal there! 
The moonlight was upon the mart, 
And awe and wonder In my heart! 
I saw no form t— Goaly lelt 
Ot .ven's piace uj:<a me as I kuelt! 
And knew a soul 1'ratified 
Was at that moment by my side! 
And there was silence In my ear, 
And silence In the atmosphere ! 
TO YOUNG MEN ON THE PAEM. 
Have a high and true standard of manhood. 
Is it manly to be rude iu manners, vulgar in 
thought, aud of course iu speech ? Is it manly 
to pollute body aud soul, and become filthy in 
person by adopting the bad habits to which oth¬ 
ers may be slaves ? 
That good old word, gentleman — albeit it is 
often badly used In onr day — had a noble and 
true meaning in an earlier time, and still has to 
those who comprehend it. It meant geutle yet 
manly,—pure aud true, tender and brave, kindly 
yet strong. There is no iioise or pretence in 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
ITEMS OF WISDOM. 
Brains nor education can give success to the 
lawyer or the merchant if he eschews labor? 
On the other hand, a fanner is a mere drudge 
and a botch whose labor is not lightened and en¬ 
lightened by both education and brains. Every 
fanner should be an expert in Nature’s laborato¬ 
ry—the farm. 
Our Legislators in State and Congress, vot¬ 
ing for gratuitous appropriations by millions, 
and prodigal incidental expenditures, when the 
nation is so heavily taxed and in debt, and pay¬ 
ing usuroue interest on three thousand millions 
of dollars, must necessarily depress the national 
credit, and postpone a return to lower prices and 
taxation, and prosperous industry, to an indefi¬ 
nite period. England borrows at three per cent., 
and Russia borrows of Englishmen at four, 
while the United States has to pay eight per 
cent, and more. 
When "Doctor Zimmerman went to attend 
Frederick The Great in his last illness, the 
king said to him, “Doctor, you have helped 
many men into thc other world.” “Not so 
many,” replied Zimmerman, “ as your Majesty, 
aor with as much honor to myself.” 
J»hn Stuart Mills says, “ Men may be com¬ 
petent lawyers without general education, but it 
depends on general education to make them 
philosophic lawyers—who demand and are capa¬ 
ble of apprebendiug principles, instead of cram¬ 
ming their memory with details.’ Do not these 
remarks apply as aptly to the farmer ? If a su¬ 
perficial lawyer in legislation supplants a far¬ 
mer it is oniy because be is better practiced in 
details. 
A Scientific Education teaches us to think, 
and literary education to express our thoughts ; 
hence we require both ? lxxvi. 
A BEAUTIFUL LEGEND. 
There is a delightful tradition connected with 
the site on which thc temple was erected. It Is 
said to have been owned iu common by two 
brothers, one of whom had a family; the other 
had none. On the spot was sown a field of 
wheat. On the evening succeeding the harvest, 
the wheat having been gathered in separate 
shocks, the eider brother said to his wife:—" My 
younger brother is unable to bear the burden 
and heat of tin# day '; I will arise, take off my 
shocks, and place them with his without his 
knowledge.” Judge of their mutual astonish¬ 
ment, when on the following morning they 
found their respective shocks undiminished. 
This course of events transpired for several 
nights, when each resolved, in his own mind, to 
stand guard aud 6olve the mystery. They 
did so, when on thc following night, they met 
each other half way between their respective 
shocks with their armsful. Upon grounds hal¬ 
lowed with such associations as these was the 
temple of Solomon erected—so spacious and 
magnificent, the admiration of the world. Alas! 
in these days how many would sooner steal their 
brother’s whole shock than add to it a single 
sheaf! ____ 
Human Life.— The true scholar will feel that 
the richest romance, the noblest fiction ever 
woven, the heart and soul of beauty, lie enclosed 
iu human life. It ts the richest material for his 
creations. * * * He must bear his 
share of the common load. He must work with 
men iu houses, and not with their names In 
books. His needs, appetites, talents, affections, 
accomplishments, arc keys that open to him the 
beautiful museum of human life. Why should 
he read it as an Arabian tale, and not know its 
sweet aud smart in liis own beating b030tn ? Out 
1 of love and hatred, earnings, borrowings and 
truly fine manners; they are quiet, uupretend- 1 of love and hatred, earnings, borrowings and 
Im?. A true man lets his performance go beyond lendings; out of palu and wooing aud worship- 
hls promise, and so disappoints you in the right fog; out of traveling and voting and care, and 
way;—serves you better than you hoped. even disgrace and contempt, comes onr tuition 
How cheering to see a pure young man! Vices in the serene aud beautiful laws. Let him not 
of the body cannot be hid. The dull eye, the gMric his lesson, but learn it by heart. Let him 
lifeless complexion, or thc flushed face, reveal try exactly, bravely aud cheerfully to solve tho 
all; and hidden things become known to problem of life, and this by practical action aud 
discerning eyes. But that clear and honest eye, 1 uo t by promises and dreams .—Literary Lionim. 
lifeless complexion, or thc flushed face, reveal 
all; and hidden things become known to 
discerning eyes. But that clear and honest eye, 
that fine flush on the cheek, seen even through 
the bronze of exposure to a blazing sun; the 
bloom of health, delicate as thc peach-bloom: 
blessed signs of a pure soul that mil keep the 
body pure. 
Be pure as the blue sky that bends over your 
daily labors; broad iu views as the wide land¬ 
scape, it is your daily privilege to gaze over, 
faithful as the sun, that comes ever to its work 
of warmth and beneficent life. Nature, so moth¬ 
erly and tender yet so able and strong to do its 
daily aud yearly work, is full of highest lessons 
for manhood. 
In these days of travel with cars, and dally 
journals, and magazines, you need not lack some 
knowledge of the world, some mingling in 
varied society. Pity it is that so rnauy young 
men from their farms, when they visit town or 
city for business ot pleasure, seek and know the 
worse and not the better side, mingle with vice 
and polished meanness, not with the noble life 
that can he found in c-vcry city. Shun this as 
-SaBbaHj Hca&tng. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
ABRAHAM AND HIS GUESTS. 
When the fiery noon was beating 
Fiercely on the Orient plain, 
In his tent-door’s scanty shadow 
Sat the patriarchal man; 
And his snowy flocks fled bleating 
To the neighboring groves amain. 
All around him, balmy zephyrs 
Lightly shook their viewless wings. 
As they came from ont the southland 
Over Yemen's cooling springs; 
And his heart was filled with rapture. 
Unto God and all His things. 
Then, entranced in holy vision, 
To his calm prophetic eye. 
There appeared the Lord of Glory, 
Bending from His throne, the sky; 
And his soul dwelt in Elysium, 
For he felt that Heaven was nigh. 
Looking over beauteous Mamre, 
Gazing with his feeble ken, 
He beheld, surprised with wonder, 
Standing near him, three strange men, 
Quick he rose, aud ran to meet them. 
And he bowed him to the plain. 
They were bright and fair creations, 
As not made of common clay; 
So he knew they were Celestials, 
Whom he entertained that day— 
And they followed to his tent-home, 
Where they ate and went their way. 
It is so through all onr earth-course, 
Wandering on life's desert shore, 
From the cradle to thc grave-pit 
There are angels hovering o’er; 
Ob, how blest, if we but know it, 
Ere they leave to come no more! 
Marah. 
WANT OP THE TIMES. 
Another want of the age is pure upright and 
incorruptible men — men who cannot be awed 
intimidated, or purchased. Meu who know 
their duty and are not afraid to discharge it, re¬ 
gardless of what their unprincipled fellows may 
say. “ Men,” as another expresses It, “ who are 
not l'or sale. Men who are honest, sound from 
the center to the circumference, aud true to the 
heart’s core. Men who fear the Lord and hate 
covetousness. Men who condemn wrong in 
friend or foe, in themselves as well as in others. 
Men whose consciences arc steady as the needle 
to the pole. Men who will stand for the right 
if thc heavens totter and the earth reels. Men 
who can tell the truth aud look the world and 
the devil In the eye. Men that neither brag nor 
run. Meu that neither swagger nor flinch. Men 
who can have courage without whistling for it, 
and joy without shouting to bring it. Men in 
whom the current of everlasting life runs still, 
and deep, and strong. Men careful of God’s 
honor and careless of men’s applause. Men who 
do uot strive, nor cry, nor cause their voices to 
be heard in the street, but who will not fall, nor 
be discouraged, till judgment be set in the 
earth. Meu who know their message and tell 
it. Men who know their duty and do it. Men 
who know their place and fill it. Men who 
mind their own business. Men who will uot lie. 
Men who are not too lazy to work, nor too proud 
to be poor. Men who are willing to eat what 
they have earned, and wear what they have paid 
for. Men who know in whom they have be¬ 
lieved. Men whose feet are on the everlasting 
rock. Men who are uot ashamed of their hope. 
Men who are strong with Divine strength, wise 
with the wisdom that cometh from above, and 
loving with the love of Christ. Meu of God!” 
—United Presbyterian, 
RELIGION. 
Religion gives life, strength, elevation to the 
1 miud, by connecting it with the Infinite Mind; 
by teaching it to regard itself as the offspring 
and care of the Infinite Father, who created it 
that he might communicate to it of his own 
spirit and perfections, who framed it for truth 
and virtue, who subjects it to sore trials, that by 
conflict and endurance it may grow strong, aud 
who seat his Son to purify it from sin, aud 
clothe it with immortality. It is religion alone 
which nourishes patient resolute hopes andjff- 
forts for our own souls. Without it we can 
hardly escape self-contempt, and the contempt 
of our race. 
Without God our existence has uo support, 
our life no aim, eur improvements uo perma¬ 
nence, our best labors no 6ure aud enduring 
results, our spiritual weakuess no power to 
A Poet's Iribute. W. D. Howe.l pays a and virtue, who subjects It to sore trials, that by 
poet’s tribute to Mr. Longfellow. We give a coaflict an( j endurance it may grow strong, and 
single quotation;—“ It is certainly one of the wll0 gen ^ jjjg g on t0 purify it from sin, aud 
great privileges of a beloved poet to have las clotie it immortality. It is religion alone 
thoughts so interwoven with his readers’ days W kieh nourishes patient resolute hopes andef- 
that, looking back, they seem not so much to fort& for our owu gou i 5 . Without it we can 
have read his work as to have lived it, and that ^ ar( jiy escape self-contempt, and the contempt 
they largely recall themselves, remembering of ou ' r race 
what and where they were, and how they fared Without God our existence has uo support, 
when they first read such and such a poem of our life n0 aim( eur improvements no perma- 
his.” The essay concludes by saying of Mr. aencC( our b es t labors no 6ure aud enduring 
Longfellow that his “greatness has tended to resu ita, our spiritual weakuess no power to 
the goodness and happiness of men in so potent ^ eau 0Dj an j_ our noblest aspirations and desires 
and fine a degree that he has not only made the 
world wiser and pleasanter, but has not added a 
word's weight to the bitterness or evil of my 
soul in it” 
There is a marked likeness between the vir¬ 
tue of man and the enlightenment of the globe 
he inhabits—the same diminishing graduation in 
you would pestilence. Find elevating as6oei- j vigor up to the limits of their domains, the same 
ates, go to see works of art. visit libraries, 
churches, lectures, and amusements of the bet¬ 
ter sort, aud thus go hack to the farm with finer 
taste and higher life quickened into nobler 
activity. 
With men, »se such language as your mother 
or sister might hear without shame. For all this, 
and much more which this may suggest, your 
reward will come, for the path wherein lies real 
happiness goes up, never down. 
twilight at the meeting of the two; a something 
wider belt than the line where the world rolls 
into night, that strange twilight ol' the virtues; 
that dusky, debatable land, wherein zeal becomes 
impatience, and temperance becomes cruelty; 
and faith, superstition; aud each and all vanish 
into gloom.— Raskin. 
Teuths. —A merry heart maketh a cheerful 
countenance. 
He that would thrive must rise at five. 
He that has thriven may lie till seven. 
Hope is a pleasant companion but unsafe guide. 
Memory should be a store-house, not a lum- 
Have yon traced the cause and consequence of , He that has thriven may ne im t 
that under-current of opinion which is slowly, j Hope is a pleasant companion bu 
but surely, sapping the foundation of empires ? ' Memory should be a store-hou: 
Have you heard the low booming of that mighty ter-room, 
ocean' which approaches, wave after wave, to j Good health is above wealth, 
break up the dykes and boundaries of ancient He preaches well that lives well 
* A IL ?_UnantYT ? o IT 5 AU WIN XT C 
power.— Mrs. Jameson. 
A thing of beanty is a joy forever. 
no pledge of being realized iu a better state. 
I am accustomed to speak of the greatuess ot 
human nature; but It is great only through its 
parentage, because connected with a goodness 
I and power from which it is to be enriched for- 
ever; and nothing hut the consciousness of this 
connection, can give that hope of' elevation, 
through which alone the mind is to rise to true 
strength and liberty.— Channing. 
A Practical Christian. — He is the best 
speaker of the English tongue who speaks it so 
that we cannot discover whether he was born in 
London, Edinbugh or Dublin. Every city, Lon¬ 
don, Edinburgh aud Dublin, has its own peeul 
iarities, but he speaks the language most purely 
who speaks in such a way that uo man cau saj 
of what city he Is a uative. That man illustrates 
Christianitv most thoroughly who so iove^ u 
lives it, that one cannot discover whether he be 
an Episcopalian, a Presbyterian or an Independ¬ 
ent.— Dr. Cummimj . 
Thet are indeed long shadows, and their eve¬ 
ning sunshine lies cold on the earth, hut they al 
point toward the morning.— Jean Paul 
