play him false and let him down. A third be¬ 
trays a slight personal acquaintance with the hat 
he wears that day, continually tipping it back 
and pulling it forward upon his head. Still 
another goes around offering his hand t<* every¬ 
body, as If he thought there must be some made 
in the town’s palms. The uneaaiest and unhap- 
plest one of all laughs when he catches anybody 
ease laughing, though he can give no sort of 
reason why he should. If one of the other sex 
chances to pass him on her way in, he begins 
with throwing a glance at her sneakishly, and 
ends with a square and courageous turn-about, 
studying the motions of her shoes till they take 
her up the steps and out of bis sight.” 
instantly recognized by an Italian gentleman 
who said it was a perfect likeness, and gladly 
bought it. She has since become a sculptor, and 
has ample employment, being now at Rome,— 
greatly prized and beloved for her excellence and 
beauty of character by friends both sides of the 
Atlantic.— Editor. 
Written for Moore’B Rural New-Yorker. 
LOVING HEARTS. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
THE FATHER IS OVER ALL. 
Written for 4I oore’a Rural New-Yorker, 
'AFRAID.” 
BT KATE WOODLAND, 
BT ADELAIDE STOUT, 
BT A. A. HOPKINS 
What if another, in searching for truth 
Should honestly differ from me V 
Have I any right, to say he is blind 
Because he has no wish to see? 
On the false, and the ime, on the evil and good 
The sunbeams of Heaven ever fall. 
On the just and the uujust the rains still descend, 
And the Father is over all. 
What if the weaker ones stumble and fall, 
Deprived of the strength to arise, 
Shall I, with the Pharisee’s prayer on my lips, 
Dare lift to the Father my eyes ? 
Perhaps the great sins which their weakness reveals, 
Less odious to God may appear. 
Than /mailer one a, I, In self righteousness love 
And cherish as precious and dear. 
What if affliction should darken my way, 
And sorrow be minified with joy ? 
Shall I say that God is unwise, or unkind. 
Who chooses this means to employ? 
On the false and the true, on the evil and good. 
The sunbeams of Heaven ever fall, 
On the just and the unjust the rains still descend, 
And the Father is over all 
HARRIET HOSMER AND CHARLOTTE 
CUSHMAN AT ROME. 
j _/tw not by what haunting terror 
/he heart of the young child was stirred, 
But under the snowy-white vesture 
It fluttered like frightened bird. 
Ah! why is my little one hiding? 
Whence cornctb the hot fever-flush ? 
Beat warm near my heart, O sweet flutt’rer, 
And not ’gainst the night’s solemn hush— 
Sleep sweetly, for fond arms are round thee, 
01 heart ’neath the snowy robe's fold ; 
I know how the dark shadow broodel.li, 
I know all the terrors untold, 
That creep through the silent night-watches 
And touch with a shuddering chill 
The timid child-heart; and 1 know them 
As all uncontrolled by the will. 
Let me thoughtfully study this marvel, 
And lovingly draw to the light, 
The ghost-like, indefinite terror, 
That stole to t he young heart at. night. 
I sometimes think ’tis little worth— 
This weary, fitful life we live— 
That there is little here on earth 
Sufficient recompense to give 
For toil and waiting, hope deferred, 
And longings ever unfulfilled; 
But now and then my heart is stirred, 
And all my deeper nature thrilled 
By joy the purest, tendereet, 
That ever any i vtng blest, 
A joy no other good imparts— 
The love outpoured from loving hearts, 
Miss Hosmeb 16 often seen in public here in 
Rone, at times driving a handsome carriage aud 
span rapidly along the streets, at times ou horse¬ 
back, making her way (in which latter capacity 
she exerts) to the meet of the fox-hounds outhe 
Campagm.. The pack this year Is good, the 
sport Mr, md the amusement very fashionable. 
Miss Hearner is an expert rider, and both she 
and Miss Cushman are often seen going at a fu¬ 
rious pace ovw walla, fences and ditches close 
upon the heels of the hounds. Each of these 
ladles has a strong and tireless energy, and a 
muscular physique which many men may well 
envy. They are gil'cd with wonderful endur¬ 
ance, which the latter has had occasion often to 
display upon the stage, and with which many of 
your readers arc familiar. Both are thoroughly 
American, yet of strong fcid Impressive individ¬ 
uality, that brings them out hi striking contrast 
to the rest of society In Rome. Miss Cushman 
still continues to take the lend in all social af¬ 
fairs; and though now in mourning, yet dis¬ 
penses her old and abundant hospitality to her 
American friends in a quiet aud genial way that 
is so pleasing to every stranger. 
She has shown great kindness to artists, espe¬ 
cially to those from her own country who have 
come here poor and friendless and needed a 
helping hand. In this connection, her generos¬ 
ity aud devotion have been unlimited, and tor it, 
if for nothing else, she deserves the gratitude of 
every American. Often has she infused her own 
courageous temperament into the despairing, 
and given them fresh energy to encounter the 
hardships that so often surround the beginning 
of an artist’s career. And more than this, many 
a time has she bestowed from her own purse 
upon the deserving who were struggling with 
failing means the aid that was so much needed. 
Miss Cushman has a noble reputation in her own 
country for benevolence and public spirit, but 
nowhere can one appreciate so thoroughly us iu 
Rome the good she has been so unwearying in 
doing.— Cor. Boston Ibst. 
AN EXQUISITE STORY BY LAMARTINE 
In the tribe of Neggdeh, there was a horse 
whose fame was spread far and near, and a Be¬ 
douin of another tribe, by name Daner, desired 
extremely to possess it. Having offered in vain 
for it his camels and his whole wealth, he hit at 
length upon the following device, by which he 
hoped to gain the object of his desire. He 
resolved to stain his face with the juice of an 
herb, to clothe himself in rags, to tie his legs 
and neck together, so as to appear like a lame 
beggar. 
Thus equipped, he went to wait for Naber, 
the owner of thchoree, who he knew was to pass 
that way. IVhen he saw Naber approaching on 
his beautiful steed, he cried out in a weak voice, 
“I am a poor stranger; for three days I have 
been unable to move from this spot to seek for 
food. I am dying; help me, aud heaven will 
reward you. The Bedouin kindly offered to 
take him on his horse and carry him home; but 
the rogue replied, “I cannot rise, I have no 
strength left.” 
Naber, touched with pity, dismounted, led his 
horse to the spot, aud with great difficulty set 
the seemiug beggar on his back, but no sooner 
did Daner feel himself in the saddle, than he set 
spurs to the horse and galloped off, calling out 
as he did so, “ It is I — Daner — I hove got the 
horse, and am off with it.” Naber called after 
him to stop and listen. Certain of not being 
pursued, be turned, aud halted at a short dis¬ 
tance from Naber, who was armed with a spear. 
“You have taken my horse,” said Naber. 
“ Since heaven has willed it, I wish you joy with 
it, but I do conjure you never to tell any one 
bow you obtained it.” 
“ Why not?” said I)ancr. 
“Because,” said the noble Arab, “another 
muu might be really ill, and men would l'ear to 
help him. You would be the cause of many 
refusing to perform au act of charity, for fear of 
being duped as I have been.” 
Danar, struck with shame at these words, was 
silent for a moment, then springing from the 
horse, returned it to its owner, embracing him. 
Naber made him accompany him to his tent, 
where they spent a few days together, and be¬ 
came fast friends for life. 
Fond loving hearts! there are no shades 
However dark, no woes so drear, 
Bat thro' them all they weave their braids 
Of sunlight, giving holy cheer: 
There are no bitter draughts to drink. 
No lessons sad lor lives to know, 
No sorrowings as ltuk by link 
Our cherished love-ckaius shelter grow, 
But nestling closer to our own 
We feel these loving hearts are grown, 
And Hope, our sweetest angel, flings 
A gleam of Heaven from off her wings! 
ill. 
Ah! better ’tis to work aud wait, 
Than taste the sweets of ripe reward, 
If haply, by some kindly late. 
These loving hearts with ns accord; 
For toil and waiting sweeter are 
When shared by them, than rich return 
Enjoyed alone, aDd dearer far 
The saddest lesson we may learn, 
When through a hand-clasp warm and true 
We feel their pledge of love anew, 
And know, though happen good or ill, 
Those-loving hearts will cheer us still 1 
SPEAK ENGLISH. 
Somebody says, the dictionary of some young 
ladies has. just two words—“ horrid ” and “ splen¬ 
did.” Possibly a few more might be added,— 
“awful,” and “first-rate,” and “Ob. sugar!” 
These poor words are maids of all work, and do 
duty on all possible and impossible, appropriate 
and inappropriate occasions; eked out by 
screams and lnughs, sharp, rude and emphatic. 
Girls, do speak English,—simple, clear, varied 
and natural,—not Pottawotamie, or Congo, or 
Ojibwa. Do laugh, when you feel like it, with¬ 
out effort, and then it win be musical as the rip¬ 
ple of a brook. Do scream when there’s real 
danger, and we shall all know it means some¬ 
thing; but this counterfeit screech only makes 
the air hideous and you—disagreeable; which you 
don’t want to be at all, and don’t need to bo. 
The “loud” style of manners is a pest, to be 
banished from good society, and a pest which 
affects those who wear silks and diamonds as 
well as those clad in plainer garb. But into the 
choice circle where the divine art of conversa¬ 
tion is, it cannot come, save as a transient in¬ 
truder. 
The finely modulated voice of a cultivated 
woman, ranging in its varied conversational ca 
dence, “ from grave to gay, from lively to se¬ 
vere,” is the most attractive music iu the world; 
but bald exclamations, stereotyped phrases, in¬ 
tense even for slightest trifles, and meaningless 
noise, pitched on a high key, are just the oppo¬ 
site in their effects. 
Really good society, where is best and richest 
enjoyment and finest natural sentiment, Is lim¬ 
ited to no rank or grade of wealth, but is found 
in country and city. Fortunate indeed is man 
or woman who socks It. by force Of some innate 
attraction thereto; but an invisible barrier, 
which yet they cannot pass, will stop their en¬ 
trance into this charmed circle, until they can 
drop all explosions and expletives, speak and act 
simply and naturally, and use “ English, pure 
aud uudeflled.” 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
SOWING POE OTHEES TO EEAP, 
Sitting here with the twilight shadows gath¬ 
ering arouud me, looking out beyond the maples 
at the wheat Held with its beautiful green, wav¬ 
ing in the evening air, I can but think of him 
who last autumn scattered the seed, little dream¬ 
ing that when the harvest time should come 
other hands would reap the golden grain, and 
his be folded silent and cold beneath the grave- 
mound. But the father’s work is ended; he has 
sown that others may reap. 
Is It not ever thus with life? Wc plant, we 
build, wc lay our plans, but how seldom do we 
realize their entire fulfillment. Yet we are not 
toillug in vain; others will coinc after us who 
will reap the benefit of our work, even as we 
have reaped the harvests planted by those who 
have gone before us. 
Each day we are sowing. We scatter words ; 
sometimes of love and wisdom which take root 
in the heart of a fellow being and spring up to 
bring forth golden fruit. Oft times our unklud 
words rankle in the bosom of another, causing 
weeds to grow where might have been flowers. 
The parent scatters in the heart of childhood the 
seeds which are to bring forth good or evil, the 
fruitB of which are to tell in the coming harvest 
of life. 
How great the responsibility of sowing for 
others to reap—how necessary that the seed we 
scatter he pure aud free from tares, that when 
the Master callB, we can go hence rejoicing, to 
reap the golden fruits he liu* prepared for the 
faithful beyond the River of Death. 
Maple Hill, Cazenovia, N. Y. S. E. W. 
AN OLD-FASHIONED SUNDAY, 
From “ HomeBpun ; or, Five-and-twenty 
years ago,” a charming book recently noticed 
In our columns, wc take the following admirable 
picture of a Sunday iu the country: 
“ In the summer time, when the sun gets up and 
looks in at the cast windows, not far from 4.% 
o’clock of a Sunday morning, the good farmer- 
folk bestir themselves right early. In place of 
setting thepitchtr in the dingy aieafor the milk- 
and-water-man, they turn out to fill their owu 
frothy pails as boovj, certainly, as sunrise, and 
then send off the dewy-eoated cows to pasture 
again. The children Ve all brought up to the 
kitchen sink and 6crubUed and rubbed till they 
take on a shine like new furniture. Pretty soon 
old aunts slip out iuto the garden and snap oil' a 
spike or two of lilac blossoms from the bush 
close by the gate, which they stick into broken- 
nosed pitchers about the mantels and hearth. 
The farmers themselves, iu snowy shirt-sleeves, 
are everywhere about the barns, greasing up 
their wagon-wheels, tinkering at the harnesses, 
and indulging in a general fuss ol’ preparation for 
the hour of meeting. 
Not a home in the whole breadth of quiet 
landscape but is ut that moment all ready to 
send forth its own swarm. And the white 
wooden meetiug-housc is big enough to collect 
and hold them all safely together. 
Breakfast being done, and the children having 
taken off their long tires, a tedious spell—to 
them—intervenes till church time. Where the 
family is a pious and well-ordered one, the rest¬ 
less young folks ore seated around the room in 
a silent circle, generally with Testament in their 
hands, and there they keep them fast, sitting 
stiffly, primly aud uncomfortably, until the hour 
comes laggingly around. No matter if a golden- 
ringed bumblebee does fly in at the open win¬ 
dow ; or a lady butterfly shakes the yellow dust 
from the velvet Of her gorgeous cloak, just over 
the window-sill; or a bird comes and sings on a 
low bough hard by, to let the boys feel how un¬ 
speakably joyous out-door liberty must be, of a 
Sunday morning; there must they all sit iu a 
row, with faces as rigid as the ’copies of Miles 
Standish, aud spirits crowded back into the pit 
of youthful despair, till the old clock in the cor¬ 
ner rings out ten, and perhaps a little while after. 
After the country wagons begin to stir the 
dust on the roads, they do not stop to let it set¬ 
tle again. One family party close behind another; 
a white horse pulling up behind a red one, and a 
lean beast chasing after a pot-bellied one; a loi¬ 
tering line of sturdy young fellows, honest and 
lusty, whose necks and hands have been tanning 
all the week in the hot corn-fields; now two 
maidenly women iu bonnets to match their 
years,—now a hobbling old man who is not able 
to keep a horse, turniug about all the while to 
let the wagons pass him; girls crowded in on 
the back seats at the cost of much of the starch 
iu their Sunday attire; these are the sights that 
give a new face, on that day, to the landscape. 
You see nothing like it near the cities; you 
would hardly think that such pictures could be 
sketched from life anywhere. 
Almost every country meeting-house has a 
plat of greeu grass before aud arouud it, and, 
occasionally, a few trees, old elms, or vigorous 
growing maples. Commonly, too, a sign-post 
is near—the magnet for knots of men before 
services open within, whereon they attentively 
SKELETON LEAVES 
There is much beauty to be studied and ad¬ 
mired in the exquisite structure displayed in the 
skeleton of plants. Our readers may lie pleased 
to learn how to make such preparations for 
themselves. Dr. G. Dickson of Scotland, in a 
paper communicated lately to the Botanical So¬ 
ciety of Edinburg, gives the following directions: 
“ A solution of caustic soda is made by dis¬ 
solving three ounces of washing soda in two 
pints of boiling water, aud adding one and a halt 
ounces of quick lime, previously slaked; and 
bring it to the boil. During ebulitiou add the 
leaves; boil briskly for some time, say an honr, 
occasionally adding bot water to supply the 
place of that lost by evaporation. Take out a 
leaf, put it into a vessel of water. H the epi¬ 
dermis and the parenchyma separate easily the 
rest of the leaves may be removed from the so¬ 
lution and treated in the same way; but if not, 
then the boiling must be continued for some 
time longer. To bleach the skeletons, mix 
abom a drachm of chloride of lime with a pint 
of water, adding sufficient acetic acid to liberate 
the chloride. Steep the leaves in this until they 
are whitened—about ten minutes—taking care 
not to let them stay in too long; otherwise 
they arc apt to become brittle. Put them into 
clean water and float them out ou pieces of pa¬ 
per. Lastly, remove them from the paper before 
they are quite dry, aud place them in a book or 
botanical press. 
A MIRAGE AT HOME 
This singular illusion by which the traveler 
in African deserts sees limpid water and green 
hills where there Is only the arid waste of sand, is 
not common here; but the Transcript at Jordau, 
Onondaga county, some twenty miles south of 
Lake Ontario, describes one there as follows; 
“ On Monday morning our quiet village was 
awake with excitement by the curious phenom¬ 
enon of a mirage on Lake Ontario. It was so 
singular an occurrence, and so life-like, that 
during the early part of the forenoon the eyes of 
oil the village were turned northward, watching 
with deep interest tins beautiful phenomenon. 
As far as the eye could reach up and down the 
lake, what seemed to be a boundless expanse of 
water was spread out to view. The represeuta- 
tiou was complete, all the indentation of the 
shore being plainly visible. The most singular 
part of vll was that it seemed to be so near us. 
To look a f it, it seemed as if a fifteen minutes’ 
walk would bring you to it. 
CHRISTIAN GROWTH BY LABOR, 
Health of body can be preserved only by out¬ 
door exercise, and cheerful labor gives a tone 
both to mind and body. Spiritual health is 
equally dependent ou labor, aud the idle Christ- 
tiau is exposed to many moral perils. Au ex¬ 
change says: 
“We have tried to make Christians without 
giving them anything to do; which is like try¬ 
ing to make swimmers without use of hands or 
feet. The churches are all full of religious dys¬ 
peptics, feeble of purpose, weak in faith, indif¬ 
ferent, lauguid, listless, of little use to them¬ 
selves or any body else, aud all for want of the 
natural exercise which would come from doing 
God’s waiting work in the world. Admit that 
Christian character is the great thing; that piety 
and personal holiness are the very highest states 
and attainments; hut to acquire those qualities, 
aud rise up to that serene elevation, we must do 
something more than to sit even iu a closet, and 
muse, and meditate, aud try to magnetize our 
souls by pious exercises; we must go out into 
the world, and put our heavenly thoughts into 
heavenly deeds of love aud mercy.” 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
BE KIND TO YOUR HUSBAND. 
He is older than you. He has battled hard 
and manfully with life’s duties. You may not 
perceive, but others do, that he fails gradually. 
You say lie is getting childish. Yes, ho is get¬ 
ting childish; but it is the childishness of which 
Christ speaks when he says, “Except ye be¬ 
come as little children yc cannot enter the king¬ 
dom of Heaven.” His hair is white?-, his eye 
duller, his lace more deeply furrowed than a 
year ago. You do not consider that his outward 
joja are fewer, bis smiles less frequent. You do 
see that he is more fretful aud forgetful. Have 
you forgotten that time when he was so sudden¬ 
ly stricken in health aud brought so nearly to 
the gate of eternity? And the good resolves 
you then made for the ikture, would God but 
spare him that once? He was spared. How are 
you now performing those sacred vows ? 
Remember, your husband is growing older, 
feebler, more helpless. His golden thread is 
spinning very slenderly. A little jar may break it. 
__ H. s. 
GRINDSTONE’S NIGHTSHADE MICROCOSMS, 
FACTORY GIRLS IN FRANCE 
Home—A nursery of human nature appropri¬ 
ated to the use ol boy-men aud girl-women. 
Fathom —Fout-nuts for striplings in swaddling 
clothes. 
Husbands —Cow-catcliers, prefixed to family 
trains. 
Wives— Richly laden crafts, smuggled through 
life under the guise of fuss aud feathers. 
Young Gentlemen —Creatures of circumstance 
aud occasion, compounded of the scraps and 
scum of society. 
Young Ladies —Delicacies, compounded of su¬ 
gar, salt and sawdust, and seasoned with the 
driblets of fashion. 
Husbandmen — Those commoners who do not 
falsely pretend to uncommon wisdom. 
Professional Men —Those uncommon pretend¬ 
ers who fool commoners out of a living. 
Tradesmen —Those who live upon the advan¬ 
tages of circumstances and locality. 
Mechanics—Those who live upon the homage 
paid to the utilitarian achievements of miud. 
Editors —Those starvliugs strutting over tht 
illuminated pages of life, with the dry bone of 
hope in their mouths. 
Science —A j umble of complicated suppositious, 
simmered down with a plausible paradox. 
Politics —The source of all trickeries that live 
ou the conventional blood of human folly. 
Laics —Rules of action, whereby money-might 
is rendered right. 
Physic —A deadener, that keeps company with 
our bodies to the graves. 
Humbug —A senseless thing, best adapted to 
popular taste. 
Fashion—A whirlpool of stygian filth, wherein 
wiggle all the tadpoles of human folly. 
Microcosms — Curious shadows, that quietly 
whisper to our latent beiugs of truths in the 
dark.— Mobile Register. 
At the woolen manufactories in Rheims, a 
large number of female operatives are employed, 
and they arc said to present a striking contrast 
to the same class of workwomen iu this country 
and in England, Instead of the well dressed 
and intelligent factory girl, to be found in the 
great manufacturing cities of America aud En¬ 
gland, these poor French women are described 
as being but little better than working animals, 
and they receive even less consideration from 
their employers than the brutes. Their clothing 
is of the scantiest description, “ but little more 
substantial than the. fig leaf of mother Eve,” 
aud their faces seem to indicate that all intelli¬ 
gence and the softer feelings of the sex have 
been obliterated by the hard labor which they 
have to undergo iu order to obtain the scanty 
wages which are no more than enough to barely 
support existence. The wooleu manufactories 
of Rheims are principally owned aud managed 
by English capitalists. 
CONVERSION OF LOYOLA 
Mr. Parkman thus sharply sketches the con¬ 
version of Loyola, the founder of the Jesuits: 
“Loyola’s training had been in courts and 
camps; of books he knew little or nothing. He 
had lived in the unquestioning faith of one bom 
aud bred in the very locus of Romanism; and 
thus at about the age of thirty his conversion 
found him. It was a change of life and purpose, 
not of belief. He presumed not to inquire Into 
the doctrines of the church. It was for him to 
enforce those doctrines; and to this end he turn¬ 
ed all the faculties of his potent intellect and all 
his deep knowledge of maukiud. He did not 
aim to build up communities of secluded raouks, 
aspiring to heaven through prayer, penance aud 
meditation, but to subdue the world to the do¬ 
minion of the dogmas which had 9ubdued him; 
to organize and discipline a mighty host, con¬ 
trolled by one purpose and one mind, fired by a 
quenchless zeal or nerved by a fixed resolve, yet 
impelled, restrained and directed by’a single 
master hand. 
CAMEO CUTTERS, 
i arc i wu Kiims oi cameo cutting, — one 
with a lapidary’s wheel of hard stones^ as the 
onyx and sardonyx. The shell cameos are cut 
with small steel chisels, from the white part of 
the shell, leaving the chocolate color for the 
background. The figures arc in relief. The 
stone is prepared by the lapidary, and the artist 
arranges bis design according to the capabilities 
of the stone. He makes a drawing in paper, ou 
au enlarged scale, and a wax model of the exact 
size, and the latter is carefully compared with the 
stone, and such changes made as maybe needod. 
The outline is then sketched on the stone and 
cut with the fit tools, and then polished. 
Mrs. Dubois of New York, cut cameo like¬ 
nesses of her friends, and then went to Italy to 
perfect herself, but the artist there told her he 
was not capable to teach her. Peter Stephen¬ 
son of Boston, in 1853, cut some GUO or 700 
cameo likenesses. He says that iu Italy he em¬ 
ployed girls to polish, who earned $1 a day. 
The Misses Withers of Charleston, fi. C., are 
said to cut fine cameo likenesses, Maegabet 
Foley, formerly of the New England School of 
Design, cut cameos for $35 each. —Employments 
for Women. 
Miss Foley once taught in a private school in 
this city. A cameo portrait of Pope Prcrs, cut 
by her and on sale in a Boston book-store, was 
Dr. Bellows recently remarked that the one 
great peiil of American society is the lack of 
mauly, independent thinking, and individual 
conscience. Personal aspiration gets lowered to 
a popular standard. An average and compro¬ 
mised pattern of character is thrust on us by 
a tyrannical, hasty and unreasonable public 
opinion. ^ _ 
Drop every hope and every dependence but 
Christ; give your whole life aud soul to him. 
1 and comfortable business. This Is a mistaken nnitiou. 
1 notion. So far from poverty being a misfortune It is painfully clear that nobody feels at his 
to them, if we may judge from what we daily ease iu his Sunday clothes; the efforts to appear 
I behold, It is a blessing; the chances are more so only make the fact more appareut. One is 
than ten to one agaiust him who starts with a in a sorry state of doubt about the best place for 
I fortune. Most rich men’s sons die in poverty, his hands, and you guess he wishes he could 
while mauy poor men’s sons come to wealth aud have left them at home. That one puts little 
honor. It it is a blessing, instead of a curse, to faith in his feet, thrusting forth first oue and 
have to work out their owu fortune. their the other, as if they were in conspiracy to 
