I WB B 
A 
&M 
THE FIRE ON THE HEARTH. 
BT MR*. PRANCES DANA GAGE. 
Thebe is luxury rare in the carpet of Brussels, 
|9 And splendor in pictures that hang on the wall, 
And grace In the curtain, with rainbow-hued tassels, 
And brilliance in gas light, that flashes o’er all; 
But give me the glow Of the bright biasing lire, 
That sparkles and snaps as it echoes your mirth, 
And leaps, in its Joy, up the chimney still higher, 
When the cold winds without make us draw near 
the hearth; 
The old-fashioned tire, the cheerful wood Are, 
The maple-wood lire that burns on the hearth. 
As I feel its warm glow, I remember my childhood, 
And the circle of loved ones that drew round our 
board; 
The winter eve sports, with the nuts from the wild¬ 
ly - • wood, 
The apples and cider from cellars well stored; 
I hear in its roar the wild shout of my brothers, 
And the laugh of my sisters, in innocent mirth, 
And the voice of my sin*, as he reads to my mother, 
Who knits by the firelight that glows from the 
hearth; 
The old open lire, the health-giving Arc, 
The home-cheering tire, that glows on the hearth. 
Like the strong and true-hearted, It warms its sur 
roundings, 
The jamb and the mantle, the hearth-stone and wall, 
And over the household gives out its ahoundings, 
Till a rose-tinted radiance is spread over all. 
If you lay on the fuel, it ever burns brightly, 
Till the day’s work is done, and we lay by our mirth; 
Then we gather the embers and bury them lightly, 
At morn to renew the fresh Arc on the hearth— 
The old-fashined Are, the life-giving Are, 
The broad-glowing Are, that burns on the hearth. 
It reminds us of friends (bat we draw to the nearer, 
When winds of misfortune blow heavy and chill, 
And fee), with each blast, they are warmer and dearer, 
And ready to help us and comfort us still— 
Friends that never grow cold fill the long day is ended, 
And the ashes are laid to their rest In the earth. 
And the spirit, still glowing, to God hath ascended, 
To rekindle new Ares, like (he coal ou the hearth. 
Then give me (lie Are, the (Vesh-glowlng Are, 
The bright, open Are, that, burns on the hearth. 
You will tell me a stove heals a room in a minute, 
Expels the cold air, and I know it is so; 
But Open a door, is there anything in it? 
Your warmth is all gone—there’s not even aglow; 
Just like modern friends, one is every day meeting, 
All professions and smiles, as the impulse gives 
birth, 
But as black and as cold, at the next hour of greet ing 
As your stove that has banished the Are from the 
hearth; 
Then give me the Are, the old-fashioned Are, 
The bright-glowing Are. that burns ou the hearth. 
THOROUGH CULTURE AND WORK, 
We are not about to charge all the super¬ 
ficiality and half-doing to women. There are 
smatterers enough, and persons enough who 
never do things daftly ana w*>u twmg m,iu. 
But we venture to suggest that a want of thor¬ 
oughness is ft great fault in woman's education; 
—using that word not alone as limited to the 
school or to books, but in its widor range, of 
home and society, and the life-work which is 
before us all. 
Girls jingle at the piano : how many compre¬ 
hend or call out its wondrous range of expres¬ 
sion ? Ladies sing pleasantly and sweetly: how 
many know the wealth of beauty and wondrous 
feeling in that instrument of widest range and 
most varied utterance, the human voice ? We 
have French in nice phrases, half spoken, bot¬ 
any in minute sldmmings, history in a few bald 
facts, and so on. Much ground spread over but 
very thin, and no depth anywhere. 
Of course, no one can be an encyclopedia. 
“ Concentrate tliyself” was the wise advice of 
the great Gocttte. And it is well, no doubt, to 
look over a wide Held, even if it be not very 
thoroughly explored ; but somewhere, in the 
direction where the mind reaches out instinct¬ 
ively, there should be such depth and thorough¬ 
ness of culture as shall redeem the whole intel¬ 
lect from all shallowness. 
A boy reads by pine knots and makes a saw¬ 
mill or a noisy work shop his study, building an 
invisible wall of his own thoughts,'within which 
he sits in quiet seclusion, and works on until 
he masters the depth of the matter that absorbs 
him. We remember the psychological differ¬ 
ences of the sexes, the intuitions of woman, 
quick and clear, which are instead of man’s 
slower and more labored research, and would 
allow for nil these; yet some such persistent 
strength would be a great help to girls. 
A young man goes onto his farm, into a work¬ 
shop, or to sonic business or profession, masters 
principle* and details thoronghly, (if he be a man, 
that is,) and is proud of hts mastery and of his 
power to work in his chosen field. Are his sis¬ 
ters equally thorough in their field, equally at 
ease in details and principles, and justly willing 
to entertain a modest pride in their capacity for 
useful work, in the house, or wherever it may 
be? 
We know it may he said that if women are 
thoroughly educated they have no scope for 
their capacities ; but the field is widening,— 
occupations fit for woman, and in which she 
can and does win eminent success and self-sup¬ 
port, are increasing, and a great change in the 
world’s thought is going on about these mat¬ 
ters. And there is the rich, wide field of home, 
where woman is ever to he the influence to 
harmonize, to ennoble, to reiinc, to spiritualize. 
Let all shallowness of mind and heart be ban¬ 
ished from those sacred precincts, and more 
perfect culture, more depth of character, more 
womanly earnestness take their place. 
Conversation is the charm that lasts and e/rows ■ 
there can be only idle prattle, unless there be 
breadth of views, and depth of feeling, as well 
as cheerfulness and grape. Men of sense do not 
dread, but are filled with reverent delight by 
the talk of women who have soul and sense and 
thorough information, and a woman need not 
study surely to please shallow fools clad in 
pantaloons. 
INTERESTING TO DRESS - MAKERS. 
The London Dress making Company, a coope¬ 
rative establishment, is thus described by Fran¬ 
ces Cobbe, in the London Times: 
The hapless girls whose fate suggested Hood’s 
“Song of the Shirt" and “Bridge of Sighs” 
were martyrs who suffered for all their tribe; 
and, in like manner, the poor young woman 
who died three years ugo at a fashionable milli¬ 
ner's, served many hundred of her fellow-work¬ 
ers by arousing the care of ladies for their sani¬ 
tary and moral condition—a care which did not 
stop even when it became known that in her 
special case disease, and not hardship, was the 
cause of death. 
It was a good work that ladies then under¬ 
took. Two years have since elapsed, and the 
third report of the “London Dress - making 
Company," which they established, is before 
me. The directors are justified in boasting that 
“ the object for which the Company was started 
—namely, the improvement of the condition of 
the work-women of London — lias been kept 
steadily in view; the limitation of the hours of 
work has been strictly observed, and the system 
adopted by tills Company is being gradually car¬ 
ried out by the best houses in the West-End 
trade.” In other words, a sort of normal shop 
has been set up, whereby it lias been demon¬ 
strated that well-made bonnets have no inevi¬ 
table connection with pulmonary consumption, 
nor graceful bull dresses with rapid decline, and 
that the principles of commerce and humanity 
are not severed beyond reconciliation. 
How* tar these various tasks, from the high art 
of fitting a bodice to the humble mechanism of 
hemming a seam, were adequately fulfilled, 1 
shall not presume to decide, but one remark I 
may fearlessly make. The young workers look¬ 
ed as healthy as so many country girls, and were 
certainly chattering as cheerfully us so many 
magpies. The peculiar physiognomy which 
some experience of over-worked girls bus taught 
me to associate with needlewomen, the large 
bright eye, the thickened skin, a certain degen¬ 
eration of nose and upper lip, were nowhere to 
be seen. There were no tokens of sitting four¬ 
teen hours a day at u tusk which, from its nature, 
can give neither play to tbe muscles nor thought 
to the bruin, but only monotonous irritation of 
nerves and ruinous wearing out of eyesight. 
The young women in Clifford street were visibly 
leading a life as healthy (perhaps a good deal 
healthier) than that of ladies whoso robes they 
were manufacturing. I was assured they never 
work after 8 of an evening, or before 8:30 of a 
morning, and that they have an hour and a half 
of leisure for the wholesome meals of tbe day, 
and, of course, tbe Sunday for exercise and rest. 
In tbe spare time so secured, their friends, tbe 
directors of the Company, and the cheerful, 
LliuUv i.n,v, 1 « 11Ci>, IjnVO JuuTld^d fur them, 
at their Option, several healthful amusements— 
singing classes, calistbenic lessons, and abund¬ 
ance of pleasant books." 
Above the workrooms I saiv the bedrooms of 
tbe girls, clean and airy chambers of reasonable 
size, with white curtains dividing each of the 
four or five beds, with their dressing tables, one 
from another. 
Assuredly it must be admitted that, compared 
with what lias commonly been the lot of mil¬ 
liners’ apprentices hitherto, the unventilated, 
half-poisonous rooms, the midnight work, the 
nerve-destroying green tea and coffee in Hen of 
wholesome food, (and even these fatal stimulants 
taken at the work-table without a moment for 
rest)—compared with this lot, the destiny of the 
young women of the Dress-makers’ Company is 
fortunate indeed. 
American Women in Paris. — Speaking of 
the Imperial ball, in Paris, the Court Journal 
remarks:—“ One strauge novelty was, however, 
observed—the preponderance of beauty among 
the American ladies. The English beauties who 
were wont to carry away the palm of perfection 
ure effaced, this year, by the peculiar style and 
delicate carnation qf the A inert cans.” After ac¬ 
knowledging the fact, the editor tries to, account, 
for it In tills way :—“ The tact has been account¬ 
ed for in many ways; the supposition that the 
manner of dress adopted this year harmonizes 
better with the startled, Inquiring expression of 
the American ladies, thau with the calm, pen¬ 
sive melancholy of their English sisters, may be 
the right one, after all." 
— ♦ » 4 - 
Fashions in Hair. —The Home Journal says: 
The hair is not worn as high as it was a few 
weeks ago, and is somewhat relieved by curls 
or braids being worn underneath the chignon. 
Some ladies are wearing very long braids down 
the buck, tied with ribbon, to match the bonnet. 
This is odd, yet pretty, although it is a fashion 
not suited to everybody. Ladies should have 
more regard to what is becoming, rather than 
for what is fashion. The present fashion of 
wearing the hair curled or frizzed over the lore- 
head so as to hide the parting, is very becoming 
to a full face, but to a delicate, thin face it gives 
a long, lank expression. 
Equal Rights. —At the late Equal Rights’ 
Convention in New York, Mrs. E. C. Stanton 
said ; 
“ With the coming of woman into that higher 
sphere of influence w ould come the dawn of the 
new* day when politics would be lilted up into 
the w r orld of morals and religion ; w hen the 
polliug places would be beautiful temples sur¬ 
rounded by fountains and flowers and triumphal 
arches, throtigh which young men and maidens 
would go up in joyful procession to ballot for 
justice and freedom; when elections would be 
like the holy feasts of the Jews at Jerusalem.’' 
■Whether prophetic or not, this is eloquent. 
dTnriff -flitsctHant!. 
THE GREAT ENCHANTER. 
Sleep makes ns all Pashas.— Bedouin Proverb. 
Sleep is the poor man's warmest cloak; 
His treasurer to dispense 
His lavish alms, and turn to gold 
Hie scanty pence. 
He heals the sick man in a dream, 
And sets the fettered free; 
He calls the beggar from his den. 
To golden luxury. 
He crowns the hounded extie-king, 
Reverses Gate’s decrees; 
And bids the briefless pleader rise 
Judge of the Common Pleas. 
Sleep joins the parted lover’s hands; 
Wreathes the starved poet’s brow; 
And calls the hero still unknown, 
From lonely village plow. 
Sleep holds tbe resurrection keys, 
And from hie shadowy plain, 
Down Memory’s long and cloudy vaults, 
The dead come back again. 
Sleep comes, like death, alike to all— 
Divine equality 1 
Blesses the monaeh in his state, 
The slave upon the sea. 
-Sleep brings our childhood back again, 
The only Golden Age: 
Sleep 1 O thou blessed alchemist, 
Thon holy AVchiinage. 
[ Chamber's Journal. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MYTHOLOGY AND THE ANCIENTS, 
BY CECIL GREY. 
We think it w*cll for our pagan friends who 
lived when Troy was, and Virgil sang of “ arum 
and heroes,” that their dominions were not more 
extensive. If they had been, their imagina¬ 
tive and inventive genius must have been se¬ 
verely taxed, or else their tutelary gods and 
goddesses would have had their divine hands 
more than full. Well, indeed, for the deities 
themselves, that their empire did not extend 
over all the now known world; for they might 
have been reduced to the common lot of hard¬ 
working mortals. 
Had any of the ancient nations lived in the 
shadow of the Green Mountains, their vivid im¬ 
aginations would have peopled every glade and 
glen with sylvan nymphs; and every one of our 
bright clear streams would have been placed 
under the care of some guardian deity from the 
time it burst up from its mountain bed, holding 
the reins as it dashed wildly over ledges, and 
finally sobering it down to a steady river, wind¬ 
ing its way quietly and properly through green 
lowluuds to the sea. Or, if their domains had 
extende d farther to the west and north, Poi.y- 
riutML'S might have dwelt unmolested in the 
Mammotl e, while the forests of the Cali¬ 
fornian shrtite would have furnished him with 
walking sticks in abundance. 
And as for the other Cyclops, surely volca¬ 
noes enough might have been found, had the 
country been scoured for that purpose, to set 
them up in business this side of tbe Atlantic. 
Fancy the smoke of a pagan sacrifice going up 
from some of the numerous tumuli in our vicin¬ 
ity, or a boat-race, a la Virgil, on one. of our 
lakes, or along our coasts, where, by great and 
heroic deeds, or, perchance a semi-divine origin, 
the victor had won apotheosis. 
What an advantage it must have been, by-tlie- 
bv, to some of those old-time heroes to have 
descended from the gods. What an inestimable 
convenience to some struggling warrior w hen he 
found tbe odds of the strife sadly against him — 
simply to stretch oat his hands and invoke the. 
aid of some deified brother, with the full assur¬ 
ance of Immediate victory. Whether the con¬ 
test was for life, or for a silver cup, it was all the 
same, — an apotheosized brother ever stood 
ready to aid his guardian friend. 
I wonder if our ancient friends appreciated 
their advantages in this respect. After all, in 
what were they so widely difi'erent from our¬ 
selves ? When due allowance has been made for 
the onward march of civilization and the growth 
of a higher religious life in these later days, 
what Inconsistencies do w*c find that, may not be 
overlooked ? They, too, saw the action of some¬ 
thing beyond chance in the surroundings, and 
forthvith a Jupiter came forward to meet the 
demand for a controlling power. They per¬ 
ceived the magnitude of the work and divided it 
among their divinities. Exalting their chief 
deity to the highest conceivable station they 
thought it beneath his dignity to tinge a leaf, or 
gild the grain, and gave it to a Ceres to guide 
the plow In its mission and bless the harvest. 
The god of the heavens must not stoop to min¬ 
gle in the atfuirs of men, and a Mars must 
watch the battle. 
I. was the task of a Venus to school the heart 
in ove’s witcheries—and, as Jupiter could not 
laj aside his thunder holts to attend weddings, 
Juno uiustpresideat the nuptials. The nymphs 
ard naiads were but the predecessors of the 
fa ries of a later day, aud although we acknowl¬ 
edge them as myths of the past, the idea still 
c’ings to us, and we love to people our favorite 
nral haunts with these fairy creatures of the im¬ 
agination. The still beautiful idea of guardian 
tngeis finds its parallel in the watchful care of a 
teified friend or brother over a less fortunate or 
jilted mortal. 
Tbe ancients, like ourselves, knew that finite 
power could not always prevail, and that there is 
a limit to human calculations; so, when their 
own strength and skill failed, where aud to what 
could they turn but to their gods? The tradi¬ 
tions and creeds of ages closed about them, 
until the people knew no otherpvayithan to fol¬ 
low in the footsteps of their fathers and go 
on multiplying demi-gods and traditions till 
their number was like the stars of heaven or the 
sand of the sea shore. Now and then a Socra¬ 
tes would arise, to whom seemed given a phi¬ 
losophy approaching inspiration, who would 
thread his way out of the intricate maze of pagan¬ 
ism almost to the truth. But the world then, as 
now, scouting theories which have not bad the 
test of ages, and forgetting that everything must 
some time have been new, stopped the ears of 
reason with the fingers of unbelief, and drifted 
on hopelessly to the end. And the end came. 
The uations that boasted themselves at the head 
of the world fell from their proud heiirht. But we 
have the lives of these grand old heroes left us; 
some of them, in their simple-heartedness and 
noble sincerity of purpose, reminding us that 
mankind, in whatever age or clime, forms one 
grand chain of brotherhood, no links of which 
may be broken or entirely discarded, though 
they may trail, but half remembered in the 
dusky shadows of the Past. 
OLD KNAPSACKS. 
The following beautiful extract is from a let¬ 
ter of “ a woman in Washington," to the New 
York Independent: 
“ I saw a pile of knapsacks the other evening 
at the cottage on Fourth street; knapsacks and 
haversacks left behind for safe-keeping by the 
boys who went to the front and never came back. 
The eloquence of these worm-eaten and mould¬ 
ed hags cannot be written. Hero was a piece of 
stony bread uneaten, the little paper of coffee, 
the smoked tin cup in which It had been boiled 
so often over tbe hasty fire on the eve of battle. 
There was tbe letter, sealed, directed and never 
sent; for the soldiers could not always get a 
stamp. Here a letter, half written, commenc¬ 
ing, “Dear Wife:—How I want to see you,” 
“Dear Mother:— My time is nearly out.” The 
rnsty pen, just as it was lain down on the half- 
filled sheet by the gallant and loving hand which 
hoped so soon to finish it. Here tinted with 
red, white and blue. Here were photographs of 
the favorite Generals, and photographs of the 
dear ones at home. Here were letters of heart¬ 
breaking love, and loyalty to duty, and holy 
faith and cheer, written at home; and here was 
the Testament given him by the woman he loved 
best, soiled and worn. 
For the American soldier, If he rarely reads it, 
still would carry his Testament as a dear tal¬ 
isman to save him from harm. Here were thoBe 
mementoes of the brave, living, loving life gone 
out. They never came back! The mourners at 
home do not all know where they fell, or 
whether they were buried. To oue unfamiliar 
with the soldier’s life, these relies might mean 
little. To me they mean all love, all suffering, 
ail heroism. I look on them, and again seem to 
see the long lines of marching men file past, 
dust-covered and warm, on their way to battle. 
1 see the roads of Virginia, simmering In the 
white heal, lined with exhausted men lying 
down to sleep and to die, after the last defeat ; 
hear the cry of the w.ouuded, the moan of the 
dying, see the half-filled grave, the uuDUried 
dead. All the awful reality of war comes hack. 
So, too, do knightly days and dauntless men. 
Peace walks amid the May-time flowers, and 
already our soldiers seem almost forgotten. 
Days of war and deeds of valor seem like dreams 
gone by." 
THE BEAUTY OF OLD PEOPLE. 
Men and women make their own beauty or 
their own ugliness. Lord Lytton speaks of a 
man who “ was uglier than he had any business 
to be; " aud if ho could but read it, every hu¬ 
man being carries his life in ids face, aud is 
good-looking or the the reverse, as that life has 
been good or evil. 0» our features the fine 
chisel of thought and emotion is eternally at 
work. 
Beauty is not the monopoly of blooming 
young men, and of white and pink maidens. 
There is a slow growing beauty which only 
comes to perfection in old age. Grace belongs 
to no period of life, and goodness improves the 
longer it exists. I have seen sweeter smiles 
upon a lip of seventy than upon a lip of seven¬ 
teen. There is the beauty of youth, and there 
is also the beauty of holiness — a beauty much 
more seldom met, and more frequently found in 
the arm-chair by the fire, with the grandchildren 
round its knees, thau in the ball-room or prom¬ 
enade. 
Husband and wife, who have fought the world 
side by side, who have made common stock of 
joy and sorrow, and grown aged together, are 
not unfrcquently, even curiously alike in per¬ 
sonal appearance, aud in pitch and tone of voice, 
—just as twin pebbles on the beach, exposed to 
the same tidal inflnences, are each other’s second 
self. He has gained a feminine something, which 
brings his manhood into full relief. She has 
gained a masculine something, which acts as a 
foil to her womanhood. 
old age. 
‘•The soul’s dark cottage, battered aud decayed. 
Lets in new light, through chinks that Time hath 
made. 
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become, 
As they draw near to their eternal home, 
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, 
That stand upon the threshold of the new.” 
[Edmund Waller, England , about 1680. 
Good Advice. — Be reserved, says William 
Penn, but not sour; grave, hut not formal; bold 
but not rash; humble, but not servile; patient, 
but not insensible; constant, but not, obstinate; 
cheerful, but not light; rather be sweet-tem¬ 
pered than familiar; familiar rather than inti¬ 
mate, andintimate with very few and upon good 
grounds. 
It were far better we should not exist than 
that we should guiltily disappoint the»purposes 
of existence. 
SaBBaUi iLa&inib 
LIFE, 
BT R. It. MILNES. 
So should we live, that every hour 
Should die, as dies a natural flower— 
A self-reviving thing of power; 
That every thought and every deed, 
May hold within itself the seed 
Of future good, and future meed; 
Esteeming sorrows—whose employ 
Is to develop , not destroy— 
Far better than a barren joy. 
- ^-4 - 
“We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not 
breaths; 
In feelings, not in figures on a dial. 
We should count time by heart-throbs. 
He most lives 
Who thinks most—feels the noblest—acts the best; 
And he whose heart beats quickest, lives the longest; 
Lives in one hour more than in years do some, 
Whose blood sleeps as it slips along their veins.” 
[ T. .T. Bailey. 
THE WRITING ON THE ROOK. 
Ages upon ages ago the tide was out, and the 
muddy beach lay smooth as this sheet of paper 
before me. A cloud passed over the sky, and a 
shower of big ralu or hail came down and pitted 
the mud as thick as leaves on trees. A strong 
Wind drove the drops bo that the impressions 
were a little one-sided. They had written their 
short history Its plain as my pen can write; and 
even the direction from which the wind blew 
was recorded. Some great frogs and lizards 
which used to live there, came hopping over the 
mud, aud left their tracks also deeply printed on 
the shore, By-and-by the great waves came 
softly stealing up, and covered the whole surface 
with fine sand, and so the tracks were eeen no 
more for ages upon ages. The clay hardened 
into solid rock, and so did the sand; and after 
these thousands of yours had passed away, some 
masons came upon the curious inscription. 
Men of science, who are skilled in reading 
these stony leaves of God’s great book, read as 
plainly us if they had been present the story of 
that passing shower. It had been written ou 
the softest clay, but It was read on solid rock. 
So your hearts to-day are like the soft clay. 
Everything stamps them, but the stamps are not 
so easy to remove. They will be. there when 
you are grown up to be a man or woman. 0, 
what deep, dark prints the had words of evil 
associates make! But how lovely it will be to 
recall the record which kind and loving actions 
make upon the soul! There is another place, 
where all our actions are written down, which 
we should never forgot. It Is the book Gon 
keeps in heaven. We can never bear to meet 
that record unless we have, JesU8 Christ for 
our Saviour. Then we shall know that nothing 
there will appear to condemn us. We shall re¬ 
joice when God calls us to come and appear be¬ 
fore Him.— Presbyterian, 
THE COBBLER’S PRAYER. 
I helieve I never heard a more effective pray¬ 
ing man thau a cobbler. He had not the gram¬ 
mar, had not the style, nor the many words, but 
every sentence from the start was a blow* in the 
right place, and drove in the nail. The people 
loved to hear him pray, and it made a tear start 
to my eye When I listened to him—he moved the 
assembly by his fervent prayer. Notwithstand¬ 
ing his want of advantages in other matters, lie 
could still ask, though in feeble words, yet with 
mighty spirit, for his desires, and could carry 
the people with him. And why was it? Be¬ 
cause he prayed like the publican—straight to 
the point, without any unnecessary preliminaries 
of pains-taking to get around it. He said just 
what he iutended to say, and then passed on 
and said something else. He asked for just 
those things that his soul needed, and spoke 
likewise for other souls. 
He prayed fervently aud pointedly, and with 
his whole heart opened. He did not make any 
speech, nor cover all the praying ground; nor 
yet make a Sabbath morning prayer, (save us 
from your fine prayers, they are like statues— 
beautiful, possibly wonderful, but cold as a 
if>ek,) bat he just prayed , and you felt that he 
was praying and you w r ere praying with him, for 
he was iu earuest and asked as If he wanted au 
answer, just as your child asks when he wants 
anything very much. And then, best of all, 
when he got through praying, he did not go off 
into exhortation, but stopped. That is half the 
power of prayer, to stop when you get done. 
APPLIED RELIGION. 
It is a shallow and unworthy view of religion, 
that would so ethere&lizeand spiritualize it, as to 
dissever it from all interference with a man’s 
secular trade, his political activities, or his very 
amusements. Plow, and keel, and anvil, and 
plaue, and auger, the child’s go-cart, and the 
grandsire’s rocking-chair, are to move under the 
ken of tbe Judge above, under the shadow of the 
Elder Brother’s redeeming cress, and in the 
beaming splendors of the Redeemer’s riven tomb. 
And thus the immaterial, the infinite, and the 
eternal, take hold on the things of sense and 
time — the every-day assiduities of common 
life — the worry aud the repose of the nursery, 
the kitchen, the quarter-deck, the shop and tbe 
highway.— Dr. Williams' Jladiso'n Avenue Lecture. 
I will gladden the human circle in which I 
live. 1 will open my heart to the gospel of life. 
I will seize on the good the moment* briug. No 
friendly glance, no friendly breeze, shall pass me 
unenjoyed or unacknowledged. Out of every 
flower will I suck a drop of honey, and out of 
every moment a drop of eternal life.— Selected. 
