[0 
SUMMER AND AUTUMN. 
BY GEORGE ARNOLD. 
Gorgeous leaves are whirling down. 
Homeward comes the scented hay; 
O’er the stubble, sere and brown, 
Flaunt the autumn flowers gay : 
But alas! 
Summers pass.— 
Like our joys they pass away! 
Fanned by many a balmy breeze, 
In the spring I love to lie 
’Neath the tiewly-budded trees, 
Gazing upward to the sky; 
But ala* I 
Time will pass, 
And the flowers of Spring must die I 
Oft my maiden sat with me, 
Listening to the thrush’s tone. 
Warbled forth from every tree 
Ere the meadow liay was mown; 
Bat ulas I 
Summers pass,— 
Now, I wander all alone 1 
Love, like summer-time, is fair, 
Deck'd with buds and blossoms gay; 
But npon this autumn air 
Floats a voice, which seems to say, 
" Lovoa, alas! 
Also pass, 
As the summers pass away!” 
ADVERTISING MATRIMONIAL. 
We have received something unique in the 
way of an advertisement. It comes to us to¬ 
gether with a letter in which five dollars are 
inclosed, and which is signed “ Homeofatri- 
cian.” As an advertisement it cannot he in¬ 
serted in the Rural, but for the amusement of 
the ladies, and to preserve it for some future 
collector of literary curiosities, we give it here: 
HOMEOPATHIC MATRIMONY ! 
A Physician — American —age 47 —earnest in bis 
profession — desires a permanent associate In business. 
A flood student with a taste for science, in the per¬ 
ron of an active, prompt, energetic, ambitions, healthy 
and substantially affectionate Tram* Lady—age from 
IB to 22 years—who con command $8,000 ready capital 
for hrrxr.lf to employ with the education, experience 
and Jiy.OiJO oapital of the undersigned, will be a satis¬ 
factory candidate. Haiti association mutt be made a 
permanent Professional and Matrimonial alliance. 
Address In this connection for specific particulars, 
for “ Bona Fide ” business and domestic Intentions. 
Must, inclose a flood and correct photograph, sign full 
and honest name, giro exact ape, complexion and 
weight. A confidential and truly honorable corres¬ 
pondence indulged, with strictly eligible parties. 
Satisfactory references furnished, and positively re¬ 
quired from respectable and responsible persons. 
Address IHAONOSTICIAX, Iturul New-Yorker Office. 
Rochester, N. Y. 
Now this is evidently the work of one who 
has the talent of a coward splendidly developed. 
The fact that he asks ladies to give their “full 
and honest name,” and docs not give Ills own, 
Is sufficient proof of it. If any other were 
needed, however, it appears in his attempted 
dealing with us under a dlsgnise. We do uot 
wonder that he is driven to advertise for “ a per¬ 
manent associate in business.” Such a cringing, 
unmanly spirit as he exhibits could scarcely 
hope to win favor with the fair sex in au open, 
direct acquaintance. With so many charming 
girls at hand ready to be wooed and won, (for 
wo don’t know of a country town anywhere that 
cannot boast a good representation of feminine 
loveliness,) if he were even nine parts of a man 
he would not be compelled to publish his wants. 
As it is he ought to advertise, and—catch a Tartar. 
In his letter, “ Homeofatrician ” says he is 
“ a regular graduate — an honorable and success¬ 
ful practitioner of medicine in the State of Rhode 
Island.” Here, then, is he endeavoring to play 
the “Artful Dodger” also, for the letter was 
posted at a town in the western part of this 
State, and we are requested to forward all com¬ 
munications that come to U6 for “Diagnos¬ 
tician” bo the same place. The “regular 
graduate” and “honorable and successful 
practitioner,” is respectfully informed that 
we do not act in the capacity of “go between” 
in any such business; and that if any of our 
readers should be foolish enough to send messa¬ 
ges as requested, we should Incontinently con¬ 
sign them (the messages) to the waste basket. 
Though “Diagnostician” is quite explicit 
in stating his case, he is not as pointed as was 
an advertiser in the “personal ” column of the 
New York Herald, a few months ago. Thus 
read his advertisement: 
“ Wanted —A situation as son-in-law in some 
small family.” 
We “clipped” this, at the time, considering 
it indeed a novelty. The crispness of its style is 
really charming. When “Diagnostician ” fully 
concluded to advertise he ought to have had 
this as a model. But perhaps he didn’t care to 
be so very terse. There were several things ho 
wished well understood. 
The first was that he wanted “ a permanent 
associate in business.” (The italics arc his own.) 
Well, in view of the numerous divorces nowa¬ 
days, “ permanent ” was a wise thought. But 
why an “associate in business ?” We were uot 
aware that homeopathy admitted women to its 
practice. If such is the case, however, we set 
the fact down to homeopathy’s credit. 
Then he desired it known that “ a satisfactory 
candidate ” must have “ a taste forscienee,” and 
he “substantially affectionate.” The former 
qualification is unobjectionable, but the latter 
is rather ambiguous. Does “substantially af¬ 
fectionate” menu that her affection must be 
substantial; Or that she must be substantial and 
affectionate ? 
Furthermore, the eligible party must “com¬ 
mand $3,000 ready capital for herself." Evidently 
this last is a mistake. Three thousand dollars 
for herself i Assuredly it must be ior him. Ver¬ 
ily, “a situation as son-in-law” would not ex¬ 
press all he wanted. He did not wish to marry , 
even “a s malt family.” Nothing less than three - 
thousand dollars would satisfy — three thousand • 
for her! 
• And finally — not to be too particular—it was 
well to say “satisfactory references furnished; ” 
but why add “ and positively required from 
respectable and responsible persons?” Are we 
to understand that all other classes of persons 
would not be required to furnish any references ? 
We have returned to “ IlOMROI’ATRiciAN ” the 
five dollars sent us. His advertisement has 
amused us, aud, we trust, will not prove unin¬ 
teresting to our readers, and we have uo desire 
to “realize” further from its publication. 
A word or two now* regarding matrimonial 
advertising in general. We suppose that many 
who indulge in it are mainly in search of amuse¬ 
ment. We believe that those who do it seriously 
have not sense enough to warrant them In mar¬ 
rying at all. As an amusement, no great ham 
may result from it, in some eases, but in many 
instances the injury is marked and abiding. 
Could we give a word of caution to every young 
girl we should say, never eugage in correspond¬ 
ence with a man unknown to you. He may 
possibly be a gentleman,— It is more than prob¬ 
able that he is an unprincipled advcnturc-r. In 
the brain of any one who will advertise for a 
companion there must be a derangement which 
will unfit him for conjugal felicity, and which 
not even a pill of three thousand dollars, sugar- 
coated in the best style of homeopathic art, can 
entirely remedy. 
KIND MANNEES AT HOME. 
There are many families, the members oi 
which are, without doubt, dear to each other. 
If sickness or sudden trouble falls on one, all 
arc afflicted, and make haste to sympathize, help 
and comfort. But in their daily life and ordina¬ 
ry intercourse there Is not only no expression of 
affection, none of the pleasant, and fond be¬ 
havior that has, perhaps, little dignity, but which 
more than makes up for that in its sweetness; 
hut there is an absolute hardness of language 
and actions which is shocking to every sensitive 
and louder ieeling. Between father aud mother, 
aud brother and sister, pass rough and hasty 
words; yes, and angry words, far more frequent¬ 
ly than words of endearment. To see and hear 
them, one would think that they hated, instead 
of loved each other. It does not seem to have 
entered into their heads that it is their duty, as 
it should be their best pleasure, to do and say 
all that they possibly can for each other’s good 
and happiness. “ Each one for himself, and had 
luck take the hlndermost." The father orders 
and growls, the mother frets, complains, and 
scolds, the children 6nap, snarl, and whine, and 
60 goes the day. Alas! for it, if this ie a type of 
heaven!—as “the family” is said to he—at least, 
it is said to be the nearest thing to heaven of 
anything on earth. But the spirit of selfishness, 
of violence, render it more like the other place— 
yes, and this too often, even when all the mem¬ 
bers of the household are members of the 
Church. Where you sec—when you kuow it— 
one family where love and gentleness reign, you 
sec ten where they only make mils, and this 
among Christian families as well as others. 
Now, it is a sad and melancholy thing to “sit 
solitary” in life, but give ine a cave in tbe bow¬ 
els of earth, give me a lodge in any waste, howl¬ 
ing wilderness, where foot nor face of human 
being ever came, rather than on abode with pa¬ 
rents, friends, or kindred, in which I must hear 
or utter language which causes pain, or where I 
must see conduct which is uot born of love. 
No wealth, no advantage of any kind, would in¬ 
duce me to live with people whose intercourse 
was of such a nature. The dearer they were to 
me, the less would I remain among them, if they 
did not do all they could to make each other 
happy. With mere strangers one might endure, 
even under such circumstances, to remain for a 
time; for what they say or do has but limited 
effect npon one's feelings; but how members of 
the same family, children of the same parents, 
can remain together, year after year, when every 
day they hear quarreling, if they do not joiu in 
it, and when hard words fly on all sides of them, 
thick as hail, and tbe very visitors In their house 
are. rendered uncomfortable by them, is indeed a 
mystery. 
“Count life by virtues; these will last 
When life’s lame, foiled race is o’er; 
And these, when earthly joys are past, 
Shall cheer us on a brighter shore.” 
FEMININE GOSSIP. 
“ Now put that back where you took it trom,” 
as the young lady said when her lover stole a 
kiss. 
Scolding, says a good-for-nothing old bache¬ 
lor, is the pepper of matrimony, and the ladies 
are the pepper boxes. 
A coquette is a young lady of more beauty 
than sense; more accomplishments than learn¬ 
ing; more charms of person than grace of mind; 
with more admirers than friends. 
“ There are two eventful periods,” says the 
Ledger, “ in the life of a woman. One, when she 
wonders whom she will have; the other, when 
she wonders who will have her.” 
Douglass Jerbold calls woman's arms “ the 
serpents that wind about a man’s neck, killing 
his best resolutions.” The “ oldest inhabitant” 
says he don’t object to that kind o’ serpents. 
A gentleman once asked, “ What is woman ?” 
when a happy married man replied: “She is an 
essay on grace, in one volume, elegantly hound. 
Although she may be dear, every man should 
have a copy.” 
A Princess of the House of Bourbon, on bein«- 
asked why the reigns of queens were in general 
more prosperous than the reigns of kings, re¬ 
plied :—“ Because under kings, women govern: 
under queens, men,” 
A Paris letter states that the latest fashion in 
veils is to wear them so as to shade the chignon. 
The face is exposed to the sun to let it acquire 
the fashionable color of the brunette, and the dye 
of the chignon is preserved. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
BESIDE THE SEA. 
BY VERONA COB. 
Watching the shadows that darken the land: 
Watching the clouds drifting seaward—Ah me I 
Waiting for snullgbt, and waiting foT calm, 
Aud for hoals lo come in from the terrible Sea. 
When will the sunshine break out of the clond ? 
When will the waves fail asleep on the shore ? 
When will t he winds change, and when will the tide 
Bring the fisher lad’s boat to the offlng once more? 
I Yesterday tnoru when the world was gay, 
My lad sailed merrily into the dawn— 
Laughingly flung me a kiss, and the tide 
Bore him out to the sea—my sailor was gone. 
Hour after hour I wait by the sea 
For the growing gleam of his home-bound sail. 
When the tide runs out., when the tide runs in, 
When the red snn shines, when the moon is pale. 
For sooner or later, if breezes are fair, 
He will draw in his netp, and sail homeward to me; 
Now, haply, ho lingers a moment, to list 
To the mermaids, slow singing, low under the sea. 
But the wreckers, at work by the waters at night, 
Whispered something to me of a boat cast ashore 
On the rocks; of a pale youth dead, with his hands 
Agrip on the half of a shattered oar. 
Bury him tenderly, down by the sea— 
Haply seme woman is waiting for him, 
As I wait for my lad to sail in from the east 
Through the flush of the eventide, tender and dim. 
Clouds drift over me day after day, 
Suns move westward, and round moons wane; 
1 watch lor his boat sailing over the Bay, 
Through sunlight anil starlight and slow-falling rain. 
Patient, though weary, 1 wait for the gleam 
Of his sail on the sea; for he said “ I will come 
In the gray of the gloaming.” I linger and dream 
Of his boat gliding merrily down to his home. 
And some sweet, golden evening that surely will he 
He will pail softly down to the old home shore 
With a song on bis lips, and the day shall he glad. 
And the long, weary watchings at length shall he 
o’er. 
Beilin, Mich., Oct., 1807. 
ABOVE THE 0L0TJDS. 
Clear, crisp, anti spendidly beautiful as are 
many of these autumn days, now and then there 
comes one which is dark, and dull, and dreary 
Indeed,— when the leaden clouds shut densely 
over ns, and, though no rain falls, the atmos¬ 
phere is disagreeably damp and chilling. On 
such a day, if wc chance to remember the fact 
that “every cloud has a silver lining,” it is with 
the wish that, for once, Nature would reverse 
things — that the clond& might wear their lining 
on the outside! 
Well, the silver is on the outside, even while 
wc wish it, but St is on the other side. On the 
other Eide — just as are very many of our bless¬ 
ings—and so avc cannot see it. It may do us 
good, at times, to go above the clouds, and see 
lor ourselves the brightness reigning there. If 
we never do this, wc may come to believe that 
when it is cheerless around us there is no sun¬ 
light anywhere. 
We have been thinking—and with a deal of 
pleasure—of a sunny morning that once glad¬ 
dened us, aud that is set, a perfect picture which 
years cannot dim, in onr gallery of never-to-be 
forgotten gems — a morning above the clouds. 
We were ou the rock-crowned summit of New 
England’s highest peak, and far below us lay the 
cloud-sea. On the afternoon previous we had 
left the dreamy little village of Gorham, N. H.,— 
had ridden away from the quiet coziness of the 
“Alpine,” with all its comforts and attrac¬ 
tions—and w inding along the noisy little Pea¬ 
body River, searching out the daintiest dells 
imaginable, and gainiug neiv and bolder moun¬ 
tain views at frequent intervals, had looked up, 
after an hour’s drive, to see Mount Washington 
towering in all ils kingly proportions directly 
before us. Then for four hours we had elowly 
mounted skyward. From the warm sunlight of 
the valley Ave had passed to the dense, blinding 
mist that encircled the. mountain's brow, and 
which, home cm by fierce, cutting blasts, seemed 
to pierce our very vitals, albeit extra wrappings 
Avere iudulged in without stint. 
Reaching “Tip Top” at last, half frozen, 
wholly bewildered, and just as a storm began to 
rave madly, wc had tested the comforts there 
found, aud through the brief summer evening 
had listened to the wild, Aveird tales told by the 
party gathered around the blazing fire in the sit¬ 
ting-room— tales of lost wanderers upon the 
mountain side, and of fearful, lonely deaths when 
the storm claimed its victims. All the night long 
the storm had raged, but at morning the clouds 
drifted away from the summit, settled lower 
down, aud the sunlight above them appeared in 
its transeeudent glory. 
In every direction the cloud-sea reached away 
below us, lit into such wondrous beauty by the 
shimmering sunbeams as no pen or pencil could 
portray. A wide spreading ocean, with surface 
white as whitest milk foam, it closed around the 
mountain midway up its 6ide. Beautiful as it 
was, it seemed to grow every moment more 
beautiful by Us continual changes. We had seen 
clouds dyed with all the splendors of the sunset, 
but never anything so magnificent as this. An d 
here was the “silver lining.” Indeed, was it 
not all silver? Could there be aught of dreari¬ 
ness below ? We should 6ee. 
We descended. The extra wrappings of the 
afternoon previous were unnecessary. In place 
of the cutting blasts we had experienced, we 
felt only mildly tempered breezes. Cheeringly 
glowed the sun above us, and brightly glistened 
the strangely beautiful sea below, For an hour 
we wound downward, our whole being revivified 
and thrilled by the grandeur of the scene. Then 
we plunged into tbe cloud-sea, and its damp 
l chilliness pierced us through and through. A 
half hour longer we dove through it, until the 
dark green of tbe valley was discernible below. 
In the valley there was no ray of sunshine. 
The cold, dun clouds overhung it with a thick 
gloom, but they could not render the day dark 
and dreary to ns. Henceforth we should know, 
of a truth, that “ every cloud has a silver lining.” 
TFc had seen it! 
And now, when the cheerless days come, and 
the air is all a-chill with never a ray of warmth 
to gladden it, the thought of that morning above 
the clouds is like a flood of sunlight. It was a 
beautiful lesson that wo learned away up there 
amid the gray old rocks on the mountain top. 
It was Avorth a week of toil and of storm-bat¬ 
tling,— it will do us good 60 long as clouds come 
over the sky or darkness eaters into the heart. 
Would that wc could impart to every reader the 
lesson of the clouds, in its fullest and deepest 
meaning. Then would doubt and despondency 
give way ever to glad lioping, and all hearts sing 
cheerily of “ the good time coming! ” 
Written tor Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
LEAVES. 
Beautiful are the leaves; whether the open¬ 
ing leaf of spring-time, or the gorgeously dyed 
leaves of autumn, which blush to crimson and 
scarlet, or turn pale with terror at the breath of 
the frost-king. I watch them as they drift 
around me, thinking how soon we shall forget 
them, when May flowers shall bloom around us, 
and May’s robe of green hide from our eyes all 
things which 6adden the heart. All through the 
6omber woodland, the long grey moss waves 
like a funeral pall over the fragile things, which, 
in the days agone, shielded it from the summer 
sun. 
We sorrow fully search for the golden and tint¬ 
ed leaves, but find only their gauze-like frame¬ 
work, over which the winter winds wail their 
requiem. How silently they will Re, all the 
dreary days of winter, with the cold white snow 
above them for a shroud — never heeding our 
sorrow over their dead loveliness, only mutely 
teaching us that they have fulfilled their mission, 
delicate and frail though they are. They glad¬ 
dened, for a time, some lonely lives, brought 
balm to some weary hearts, and, when that was 
done, left as silently as they came. So when our 
work is finished — Avhen we have done that 
which our hands have found to do—wc too, shall 
rest, and may it be “ Sunday to-morroiv and to¬ 
morrow!” Lockie. 
Cannonsville, N. Y., 1867. 
FUN AT HOME. 
Don’t be afraid of a little fun at home, good 
people! Don’t shut up your house lest the sun 
should fade your carpets ; and your hearts, lest 
a hearty laugh shake down some of the musty 
old cobwebs there. If you want to ruin your 
sons, let them think that all mirth and social 
enjoyment must be left on the threshold with¬ 
out, when they come home at night. When 
once a home is regarded as only a place to eat. 
drink, and sleep in, the work is begun that ends 
in gambling bouses and recklcss de gradation. 
Young people must' have~fun~ und"relaxation 
somewhere; if they do uot find it at their own 
hearthstones, it will be sought at other and per¬ 
haps less profitable places. Therefore let the 
fire burn brightly at night, and make the home¬ 
stead delightful with all those little arts that 
parents so perfectly understand. Don’t repress 
the buoyant spirit of your children. Half an 
hour of merriment, round the lamp and fire¬ 
light of a home, blots out the remembrance of 
many a care and annoyance during tbe day; 
aud the best safeguard they can take with them 
into the world is the unseen influence of a 
bright little domestic sanctum. 
WIT AND WISDOM. 
Which is the oldest tree Lu the world ? Tbe 
elder tree, of course. 
He that hinders not a mischief when it is in 
his power, is gnilty of it. 
A drop of the blackest ink may diffuse a light 
as brilliant ns the light of day. 
It has been ascertained that the man who 
“held on to the last” was a shoemaker. 
Indiscriminate eulogy and indiscriminate 
invective are equally good —both good for 
nothiog. 
Vehemence creates dislike, excessive mild¬ 
ness contempt; he neither so severe as to be 
hated, nor so tame as to be insulted. 
Sidney Smith said to an ex-M. P. for Edin¬ 
burgh, that ail he wanted to make him perfect 
was a few brilliant flashes of silence. 
The man Avho has nothing to boast of but his 
illustrious aucestry is like a potato — the only 
good belonging to him is under ground. 
A man should know when to laugh or smile in 
company. It shows much more stupidity to be 
grave at a good thing than to be merry at a bad 
one. 
Heaa’en sends us ten thousand truths; but be¬ 
cause our doors and windows are shut to them, 
they sit and sing awhile npon the roof and then 
fly away. 
A countryman, Avho was once charged with 
ten gallons of whisky, which a publican had put 1 
into an eight-gallon keg, said he didn’t mind the ’ 
money so much as he did the strain on the keg. 1 
Idleness is the dead sea that swallows up all 
virtues, and the self-made sepulchre of a living : 
THE TWO VILLAGES. 
Over the river on the hill, 
Lieth a village white and still; 
All around it the forest trees 
Shiver and whisper in the breeze. 
Over it sailing shadowe go. 
Of soaring hawk and screaming crow: 
And mountain grasses, low and sweet, 
Grow in the middle of every street. 
Over the river under the hill. 
Another village lieth still: 
There I see in the cooling night. 
Twinkling stare of household light. 
Fires that gleam from the smithy’s door, 
Mists that carl on the rlver'6 shore; 
And in the road no grasses grow, 
For the wheels that hasten to and fro. 
In that village on the hill. 
Never is sound of smithy or mill; 
The houses are thatched with grass and flowers, 
Never a clock to tail the hours: 
The tnarhle doors are always shut; 
You may not enter at hall or hut. 
All the Aillage lie asleep. 
Never a grain to sow or reap; 
Never in dreams lo moan or sigh— 
Silent—and idle—and low—they lie. 
In that village under the hill. 
When the night is starry and still, 
Many a weary soul In prayer 
Looks to the other village there, 
And weeping and sighing, longs to go 
Up to that home from this below:— 
Longs to sleep by the forest wild. 
Whither have vanished wife and child. 
And heareth, praying, the answer fall— 
" Patience 1 That village shall hold ye all I” 
[Shadow of the Rock. 
THE HOME-SHADOWS. 
We could write a sermon on the atmosphere 
of homes. That such a sermon ought to be 
written, and scattered broad-cast over the land, 
we are becoming more and more convinced. It 
ought to be given in 6uch UiriJllug words as 
would search their way into every parent’s heart. 
Home atmospheres feed the life of generations 
to come. Iu them all there avLII be, there must 
be, elements which will either greatly injure all 
who partake of them. But as we have not 
space for the sermon, we will give an extract 
from one by Robert Collier on “Healing and 
Hurting Shadows.” It speaks thus beautifully 
of tbe borne-shadows: 
“ Friends, I ivonder whether we have any deep 
consciousness of the shadOAvs we are Aveaving 
about our children in the home; whether we 
ever ask ourselves, if, in the far future, when we 
arc dead and gone, the shadow our home casts 
now will stretch over them for bane or blessing. 
It is possible Ave are full of auxlety to do our 
best, and to make our homes sacred lo the chil¬ 
dren. We want them to ceme up right, to turn 
out good men and women, to be an honor and 
praise to the home out of which they sprang. 
But this is the pity and the danger, that, while 
we may not come short in any real duty ot 
iuther and mother, avc may yet cast no healing 
and sacramental shadoAV oA'er the child. Believe 
me, friends, it was not in the words he said, iu 
the pressure of the hand, in the kiss, that the 
blessing lay Jesus gave to the little ones, when 
he took them in his arms. So it is not In these, 
but In the shadow of my innermost, holiest self; 
in that which is to us what tbe perfume is to the 
(lower, a soul within the soul,—it is that which, 
to the child, and in the homo, Is more than the 
tongue of men or angels, or prophecy or knowl¬ 
edge, or faith that will move mountains, or de¬ 
votion that will give the body to be burned. I 
look back with wonder on that old time, and 
ask myself how it is that most of the things I 
suppose my father and mother built ou especi¬ 
ally to mould me to a right manhood are forgot¬ 
ten and lost out of my life. But the thing they 
hardly ever thought of,—the shadow of blessing 
cast by the home; the tender, unspoken love; 
the sacrifices made, and never thought of, it was 
so natural to make them; ten thousand little 
things, so simple as to attract no notice, and yet 
s® sublime as I look back at them,—they fill my 
heart still and always with tenderness, when I 
remember them, and my eyes with tears. All 
these things, and all that belong to them, still 
come over me, and cast the shadow that forty 
years, rnauy of them lived in a new world, can¬ 
not destroy. 
I fear, few parents know wind a supreme and 
holy thing is this shadow cast by the home, 
over, especially, the first seven years of this life 
of the child. I think the influence that comes 
in this way is the very breath and bread of life. 
I may do other things for duty or principle or 
religious training; they are all, by comparison, 
as AA'hen I cat and trim and train a vine; and, 
when I let the sun shine and the rain fall ou it, 
the one may aid the life; the other is the life. 
Steel and string are each good in their place; 
but what are they to sunshine ? It is said, that 
a child, hearing once of heaven, and that his 
father would be there, replied, ‘Oh! then, I 
dinna want to gang.’ He did but expre66 the 
holy instinct of a child, to whom the father may 
he all that Is good, except just goodness,— be 
all any child can -want, except what is indispen¬ 
sable,— that gracious atmosphere of blessing in 
the heating shadow it casts, Avithout Avhich even 
heaven would come to be intolerable.” 
~ » » •— - 
“To speak with the tongue of meu or angels 
The idle man is the devil’s urchin whose on religious matters, is a much less thing than 
living is rags, and Avhose diet and wages are 
famine aud disease. 
An Irishman applying for a license to sell 
spirits, being questioned as to his moral charac¬ 
ter and fitness for the trust, repliedOeh, an 
its there ye are; sure an its not much of a char¬ 
acter a man nades to sell whisky!” 
to know how to stay, tbe mind upon God, and 
| abide with nim in the closet of our hearts, ob¬ 
serving, loving, adoring, aud obeying His holy 
power within us.” 
I 
Faith is the key that unlocks Paradise and 
lets a flood of joy into the soul. Faith appro¬ 
priates all to itself. 
