Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
NOT DEGENERATE. 
Zifas’ § ejjattmcttt. 
THE SONG OF THE SKIRT. 
BT WOMAN HOOD. 
With fingers scalded and worn, 
With wash-hoard placed aslope, 
A woman stood by the steaming tub, 
Plying her cake of soap— 
Wash! wash I wash! 
While the soap ends spatter and spirt, 
And still, with a voice of frenzied pitch, 
She sang the ‘‘Song of the Skirt." 
“Wash! wash! wash I 
While I sweat from every pore I 
And wash—wash—wash— 
Till I fairly flood the floor! 
It’s ohl to be a slave 
Along with the barbarous Turk, 
Where woman has never a skirt to wash, 
If this is decent work. 
“ Oh, men with sweet-hearts dear I 
Oh, men with women of kin 1 
It Isn’t the linen they’re wearing out , 
But the linen they’re bringing in ! 
Wash—waab —wash— 
While the soap-suds spatter and spirt, 
Cleaning at once with a single wash, 
A crossing as well as a Skirt. 
“Ohl but to smell the breath 
Of the perfume bottle so sweet— 
With the chandelier over my head, 
And the ‘ Brussels 1 beneath my feet. 
For only one short hour 
To feel as my Lady feels, 
Gaily tripping along Broadway 
With a yard or more at her heels P 
With fingers scalded and worn, 
With wash-board placed aslope, 
A woman stood by the steaming tub, 
Plying her cake of soap— 
Wash! wash! wash! 
While the soap suds spatter and spirt, 
And still, with a voice that you wouldn’t applaud 
(Oh that its tones could reach Miss Maud!) 
She sang this “ Song of the Skirt.” 
--4 «*-» « « »- 
Written for Moore'B Rural New-Yorker. 
MATRIMONIAL AMBITIONS. 
An article in a late number of the Rubai, entitled 
“Literary Ambitions,’ 1 lias set me to thinkiog, and 
it is not without an effort on my part that I have 
been able to dismiss the subject from my mind so 
as to attend properly to other duties. I have read 
and re-read your remarks, and the result is this let¬ 
ter of thanks for the kind and pleasing manner in 
which you have treated the subject, aud for the del¬ 
icacy and consideration you have always exhibited 
for your girl-friends. You see I am already acting 
upon your advice ih sending an article to my “ fa¬ 
vorite journal.” How did you know that we were 
aching for your opinion upon this selfsame subject, 
not daring to ask lest you might think it presump¬ 
tion ? But it is one of your accustomed freaks to 
anticipate onr wishes and come In upon us unex¬ 
pectedly with 6ome delightful surprise. Verily, 
Rural, yon are a household treasure. We (girls) 
are not unappreciative of your almost invariably 
excellent advice, and we acknowledge that your 
cautions were timely and not wholly unnecessary, 
though they have somewhat cooled our youthful 
ardor and checked some wild aspirations. 
But we are sorry that you advocate matrimony so 
strongly, for it involves us in great perplexity. We 
have been advised uiuercnuy, anu uuai too u> wo¬ 
men who were faithful, affectionate wives and 
mothers. Tt may be that they spoke upon the im¬ 
pulse of the moment, when weighed down by cares 
and anxieties, but we have certainly heard them 
say, “Girls, if yon know when yon are well off you 
will remain single.” And then, too, we have had 
our eyes open. We have been observing (don't 
laugh, please, we confess that we do think of these 
things occasionally, although, when accused of it, 
we blush most convincingly, and earnestly protest 
that nothing is further from our thoughts,) the 
married people, around us, and among them ail so 
few are happily paired that we dare not mention 
the number. We have seen, too, that two-thirds of 
the blame rests, or should rest, upon the husbands. 
Pray don’t start back in amazement and indignation 
at this assertion, and reiterate the charge of wo¬ 
man’s extravagance, her frivolity and empty pride; 
don’t wheel into line all the slatternly housekeep¬ 
ers and all the huttonless shirts that ever existed 
since shirts were invented. 
We have- heard all this from onr earliest infancy, 
and have taken it all into consideration. We know 
that wives are faulty enough, — that not one is per¬ 
fect; hut the wife who is really untrue to her hus¬ 
band,—who is guilty of infidelity to the marriage 
vows, — is a rare exception to the common rule, 
which is more than can be said of the opposite 
party. Letting this alone, there are other vices, 
not at all uncommon, which distress and harass a 
wife more than words can express. How dare they 
who drink, chew, smoke, drive fast horses, and so 
on to the end of the catalogue, — who will not sur¬ 
render one vicious propensity which interferes with 
another’s happiness,— preach about a wife’s duties, 
her privileges, immunities, &c., when her whole 
life is a sacrifice to her husband and children V 
Do yon remember how Mrs. Stowe makes the 
young and lovely Madame De Frontig-nac, writing 
under her first great sorrow, to say, “I am not so 
happy as I used to be when I cared for nothing but 
to sing and smooth my feathers like the birds? 
That is the best kind of life for ns women; if we 
lone anything belter than our clothes, it is sure to bring 
us son-ow.” There is more truth in that than one 
would at first suppose, and we fancy that the senti¬ 
ment has re-echoed in the heart of more than one 
lady-reader. 
Marriage docs not interfere with a man's occupa¬ 
tion or vocation; he is still free to do what he likes 
and to spend his time and money as his inclination 
shall dictate. It does interfere with a woman’s 
occupation; it monopolizes her time, which would 
otherwise he money, and thus makes her a de¬ 
pendent on her husband’s bounty (not often large;) 
or if she have individual property by inheritance, 
her husband thinks it an unpardonable breach of 
confidence and utter lack of devotion if it is aot 
unhesitatingly placed in his hands. If Bhe have lit¬ 
erary preferences they must be ignored; if she have 
musical talent it must be hidden; and if she pos¬ 
sess genuine artistic taste her time is much too 
valuable to waste in drawing, painting, or modeling. 
How can yon, good Rural, urge this relation upon 
ns as the only true and noble ambition in life ? Is 
it just and right that all the sacrifice should be on 
onr part? Is it not rather for our happiness and 
well being, since in choosing a husband we ran such 
a fearful risk, to cultivate the talents Gob has given 
us, deriving from them solace and content, living 
rich and beautifal lives and, although single, doing 
that good to others which it is the privilege of every 
human being, in whatever sphere, to do ? Vixen. 
It has been the boast of America that nowhere in 
all the world was woman so much respected and 
esteemed for her refinement arid virtue as in this 
country; but, judging from the spirit of the press 
at the present time, one would be led to suppose 
that the whole sex had been revolutionized entirely 
within the last few years. Let us inquire if this is, 
really, the case. 
There is now, as there ever has been, the giddy 
throng, sacrificing to their idols,—wealth, fashion 
and display, and neglecting those things which con¬ 
stitute trw happiness. But we would not judge all 
women by the vain, idle ones with whom we fre¬ 
quently meet; for we know that many are striving 
to make their record on life’s page beautifal and 
pare, so that God and His holy angels may approve 
It. In far-away heathen lands we have many sisters, 
toiling day by day, who have sacrificed the dearest 
ties of friendship and love to labor for the good of 
others. And the low moHnds which mark the last 
resting place of many who have thus labored in the 
past, might often tell of braver deeds and nobler 
sacrifices than often are honored by stately pillars 
aud costly monuments. 
There are those in our own land who devote their 
time and energies to literary pursuits, imparting 
nobler ideas of life and its duties, and giving our 
national literature a tone of refinement and purity 
which it could not otherwise have. Mothers and 
teachers are constantly doing their work,—molding 
and fashioning young minds, and preparing them to 
learn the great lessons which, sooner or later, Gob, 
Himself, will teach ns all. Young ladies in our pub¬ 
lic schools and universities are studiously preparing 
themselves, with the noblest ends in view, for future 
usefulness in life. And many others, both rich and 
poor, are casting their mite, whether it he of money, 
of influence, of kind words, or of prayers, into the 
treasury of the Lokd. 
When we consider these things we cannot feel 
that woman is degenerating, bnt we think that Bhe 
is advancing , both in usefulness and in refinement; 
and that, as new fields of labor are constantly open¬ 
ing for her, she will enter them and receive the re¬ 
wards of usefulness more abundantly. 
Maky Clark. 
SENTIMENTAL SWIMMING. 
I don’t wonder women are not enamored of bath- 
iug, for the coBtumes worn are rarely becoming to 
female beauty. Out of the window I catch aglimpse 
of a blue-eyed girl 1 tried to teach to swim this 
morning, though I presume I took more of a le,B6on 
than 1 gave. Bhe is in that charmingly uncertain 
condition between girlhood and womanhood, and 
in her blue trowsers and tunic, her little white feet 
treading symmetry into the sand, and her arch and 
smiling face looking out from beneath a straw hat, 
she certainly looked more bewitching than she does 
at this moment, i carried her to where 1 was 
obliged to hold her up, aud then supporting her 
gently, I told her to strikeout. She did so woman- 
fully. She seemed so pretty, playing the part of the 
boy, that I yielded to the temptation to let her slip 
from my hand, knowing she would be frightened 
aud cling to me like ivy. I was right. Bhe sank 
under the swell of the sea, and I caught her in my 
arms as if I had done a heroic instead of a merely 
sentimental thing. The little creature was terribly 
alarmed, and I had to hold her tightly for the re¬ 
mainder of the bath. She afterwards told several 
persons 1 had saved her life, and as i had no desire 
to receive credit i did not. deserve, l intormed her 
privately of my strategy. She pouted, and looked 
prettier than ever, and assured me she would never 
go into the water with me again. Perhaps she 
won’t. But being a man of incorrigible vanity, and 
a grandfather besides, I believe she will. What girl 
of sixteen is afraid of a man of seventy, more or 
less ? We old fellows sometimes forget our age.— 
Letter from Long Branch. 
- - 
OUR SPICE BOX. 
Popular hose company—The society of woman. 
When is coffee real estate ? When it’s ground. 
A love that is never reciprocated—Neuralgic affec¬ 
tion. 
When do ladies carry fire ? When they have taper 
fingers. 
A hard lock to unfasten (except in Chicago)— 
Wedlock. 
Why is a mouse like a load of hay ? Because the 
cat’ll eat it. 
When a man makes eyes at you can he be charged 
with egotism ? 
Natural accompaniments of a train of sentiment 
—Heart-brakes. 
Woman shows her fondness for unity by always 
wanting to be won. 
Can young women who use fire-arms be called 
shooting gal-leries ? 
Favorite airs of mammas with marriageable 
daughters—Millionaires. 
The last case of mysterious disappearance—The 
man that was lost in thought. 
When does a farmer act with rudeness towards 
his corn ? When he pulls its ears. 
How to make a rich jam—Crowd twenty fashion¬ 
ably dressed ladies into one omnibus. 
When a child is trained up in the way he should 
go, isn’t there danger he will he way-ward ? 
Our musical young ladies have abandoned pianos 
and taken to brass bands. They carry them on their 
heads. 
Expensive plates — Fashion plates, They are 
rather more apt to break those who wear them 
than to be broken. 
A man of our acquaintance has had his library 
fitted up with snuff-colored hangings, so that he can 
be in a brown study. 
“ My notion of a wife at forty,” said Jerrold “ is, 
that a man should he able to change her, like a bank¬ 
note, for two twenties.” 
Beauties often die old maids. They set such a 
value on themselves that they don’t find a purchaser 
before the market is closed. 
A Sister’s Influence.— “ That man has grown 
up among kind and loving sisters,” I once heard a 
lady remark. “And why do you think bo?” said 
L “Because of the rich development of all the 
tender feelings of the heart, which are so apparent 
in every word.” A sister’s influence is felt even in 
manhood’B later years, and the heart of him who 
has grown cold with its contact with the world, will 
warm and thrill with pure enjoyment as some inci¬ 
dent awakes within the Boft toneB and glad melodies 
of his sister’s voice. And he will turn from pur¬ 
poses which a warped and false philosophy has rea¬ 
soned into expediency, and weep for the gentler in¬ 
fluence which moved him in his earlier years. 
Choice fpscrllatig. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
FRIENDS OF THE PAST. 
Though the darkness of night envelop yon, keep 
the star of hope in view. Do your work bravely; 
ouly have patience and the ocean of prosperity will 
be reached at last.” Annie Bell. 
A SIBERIAN PICTURE. 
fUafling. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
“BABY.” 
Fkiknds of my heart I Friends of the past! 
My tears are falling thick and fast, 
But all unwiped they stain my cheek, 
An d all unheard my grief I speak; 
For time and absence, change and death, 
Have swept these from me at a breath. 
ThoHeh always dear, I never knew 
How kind, how tender, and how true. 
Till through the lapse of space and time 
I hear the sad. sweet memories chime — 
And tender glances, gentle words, 
Float through my heart like bright-winged birds. 
I mourn not for the days of youth. 
Those hours of guileless joy and truth; 
The absent,—time can heal the pain; 
The dead,-our loss Is but their gain; 
Bat friends estranged—this Is a grief 
For which time gives no glad relief. 
When earthly friends no comfort lend, 
Where shall our sorrow find a friend f 
Is there no spell to soothe our pain, 
And bid onr hopes revive again t 
Yes, there’s a land where doubt and tears 
Khali vanish with our vanished fears; 
Where truth undimmed shall ever reign, 
And friendship shine without a stain. 
Porter, N. Y., 1868. a. b. h. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
POETRY. 
There’s a voice in poetry which wakes the 
sleeping music within me — a voice that stirs almost 
to melody the imperfect rhythm of my soul. This 
spirit of sor g comes to me in my changeful moods— 
sometimes making my thoughts surge tumultuously 
back and forth against their prison walls, — again its 
echoes come thronging with such intense joy that 
they diflase through all my being happiness and 
delight. 
"When the tumult of care makes me weary, poetry 
brings the luxury of pence aud makes tnccontent to 
be soothed. When my heart is sad, and the pain of 
disappointment pierces it keenly,—when hope, long 
deferred, inaketh it sick,—when it tries to smother 
and repress every sigh of feeling,— poetry,will pene¬ 
trate and gently, lovingly touch the fountain of 
tears, and the burthen rolls off. When my eager 
eyes have looked anxiously, 
11 For brighter sides and kinder fate,” — 
when my Father’s chastening hand presses heavily 
upon me aud I shrink from, its repeated discipline, 
one touching line of real poetry makes me bow 
in willing subnuissiveueas; aud so sweet an assur¬ 
ance comes to me that 1 wonder if ’twere not a min¬ 
istering spirit that breathed to faiuting mortals like 
me, a sweet hope in poetic trust,— 
“For you to-morrow’s sun may rise 
In the unending summer’s skies, 
And out of sorrow's pleased surprise 
Well tip a joyous song 1 ” 
The poet’s faith strengthens name, and a new hope 
makes me know that 
“Our lives shall be as one long smile, 
Dndimmed by any thought of guile, 
Or aughi of bitter tears.” 
How often 1 follow in imagination this sweet 
spirit of song to the “endless summer land,” while 
it bre-nthoo of ito joys 'll language strangely beauti¬ 
ful, ranges unbounded, xteonfincd over the celestial 
plains, chants with the angels, bows at the feet of 
Jesus, or flies through the unclouded glory of balmy 
skies that know no gloom, no sorrow, no tears, “ no 
dark December’s night,” naught but the bliss of 
“June’s eternal day!” 
Ye who are poets, sing on. Let the golden chains 
of thought link themselves to the hearts they were 
made to reach—hearts, may be, to whom angels min¬ 
ister through you. Let your free and happy songs 
bring back the memories of youth to aged hearts, 
while the young and gay catch glimpses of the glory 
the Great Father reveals to you, as He teaches you 
to send melody through this wide world of care. 
And will you not lead my thoughts to the “ sum¬ 
mer laud ” of eternal life, where hearts are perpetu¬ 
ally young, eyes forever unclouded by tears, and 
where brows never grow cold from the touch of 
pain, or the anguish of dying? When the Angel of 
Death with his lowering wing shall fan my pallid 
cheek, will you not sing some holy, touching lay 
until 1 pass beyond the thraldom of the flesh, to that 
country where there shall be no more night, and 
where 1 may breathe forth the music of my soul at 
the feet of the Lamb who is the light of the Eternal 
City? Mrs. H. M. Lincoln. 
Canandaigua, Aug. 25, 1868. 
-- 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
A SERMON IN THE BROOK. 
I know a brook that runs alODg, day and night, 
ceaselessly. It has its source in an obscure nook, 
but what of that? Does it go any the less swiftly? 
Ah no ! merrily enough it ripples by, singing a low, 
musical song of joy, paying no heed to the kisses of 
the flowers or the green, coaxing plants that bend 
down receiving life and strength from its crystal- 
clear waters, but never prevailing on it to stay or 
even to go more slow to its higher work. 
Trees that have grown tall, and can see something 
of the world, stand on each bank and throw a chill¬ 
ing shade on the limpid stream, bnt it patiently 
looks upward, and seeing the blue sky peeping 
through the wealth of foliage, reflects the azure and 
never pauses. With an untiring vigor it leaps along 
from rock to rock, aud no discouragement can stop 
it. The light creeps Bkyward, sending a last faint 
golden arrow down, then vc.Dishes and darkness 
comes. But the infant river sees a Btar, and, cheered 
by its ray, labors on, ever tending to deepen, and 
broaden, and do more good in its onward journey. 
The summer sun pours down its scorching beams 
and seems striving to dry up the cool rivulet, but 
other, though smaller streams, have by this time 
added their contents, and in helping them on their 
course to the ocean it has strengthened itself. Its 
banks are fringed with grasses that its own life- 
giving fluid has given growth to. It turns a mill 
here, and waters the land there. All along are 
paths leading down to its side that have been made 
by the feet of the cattle who know it well. And 
now it is an unfailing, beautiful river. Boats ride 
on its broad bosom. By its toiling it has grown 
strong, and at last it reaches the sea. 
A simple sketch I have written you, after all; but 
can yon read the sermon ? If not, go down by the 
brook and hear it, and tell me if it does not say to 
you, as It did to me, — “ Though your strength is 
small, improve it; 'tis the still water that faileth; ” 
“ ’ tie the coward heart that faltirs. If the begin¬ 
ning is lowly, do not make the vhole life useless. 
As the day slowly dawned the howling of onr 
wolfish dogs roused ns from that deep sleep which 
only tired men know, aud we groped our way out 
of the dark subterranean hut into the fresh, crisp 
air of the most charming winter morning which 
ever dawned on earth. The scene which met our 
eyes was decidedly Siberian in every particular: 
the wonderfully clear, transparent, atmosphere, the 
dense gray mist hanging motionless over the open 
water of the Gulf, the vast snowy steppe stretching 
away from the fringe of timber to the white spectral 
mountains in the distance, and the dogs and sledges 
grouped carelessly here and there among the trees 
in the foreground, all composed a picture which has 
no counterpart outside of Northeastern Asia. Asa 
giitterlog segment of the sun appeared between the 
distant cloud like peaks of Kamenoi, the scene was 
one of enchanting beauty. The horizontal rays of 
light, colored by some subtle influence of at mor¬ 
ph ere, seemed not merely to throw an external 
flush upon the objects which they touched, but to 
fairly transfuse and imbue them with a deep glow 
to their very center, as though the rosy light were 
internal, and shone out through ft translucent 
mediam. The birches around the yourt, covered 
heavily with frost by the vapors from the open 
water of the Gulf, were lit up with a glory inde¬ 
scribable. Not only did every branch and delicate 
twig flash and sparkle like a string of jewels, but 
they seemed imbued by the red light of 6unrise 
with color like rose-quartz, The birch which over¬ 
hung the yourt was one intricate network of rosy 
lines, relieved by dazzling rainbow flashes of light 
as the gentle morning air 6tirred the branches. It 
was the very apotheosis of a tree. 
1 thought of the Parsecs and their fire-worship¬ 
ing creed, and wondered no longer that they deified 
the luminary which produced 6ueh wondrous effects. 
As I stood in sileut admiration by the door of the 
hut, a voice at my side exclaimed, “See the mi¬ 
rage!” and turning toward the western horizon, I 
beheld a tangible realization of the gorgeous dreams 
of the opium eater. The wand of the Northern En¬ 
chanter had touched the far away mountains, and 
out of a blue lake in the distance rose the walls and 
dome of “a city not bnilded with hands”—avast 
Oriental city, whose uncertain outlines shimmered 
tremulously, as if seen through currents of heated 
air. Around the borders of the lake masses of dark 
foliage seemed to overhang the water and to be re¬ 
flected from its deptliB, while the white walls above 
just caught the first fiush of the rising sun. Never 
was the illusiou of Summer in Winter, of Life in 
Death, more palpable or more perfect. One almost 
instinctively glanced around to assure himself, by the 
sight of familiar objects, that it was not a dream ; 
but as his eye turned agaiu to the westward across 
the dim blue lake, the vast outlines of the mirage 
still confronted him in their unearthly beauty, and 
the “cloud-capped towers aud gorgeous palaces” 
seemed by their my&terions solemnity to rebuke the 
doubt which would ascribe them t« a dream. Aud 
yet, what could It be called but an Oriental dream, 
tantalizing us with visions which could not be real¬ 
ized, and mocking ns in the desolation of onr North¬ 
ern steppes with the unattainable glories Of the trop¬ 
ics. The bright apparition faded—glowed, aud faded 
again into indistinctness, and from its ruins rose two 
colossal pillars, sculptured from rose-quartz, watch 
gradually and almost imperceptibly united their cap¬ 
itals and formed a Titanic arch like the grand portal 
of Heaven, through which one almost expected to 
see, passing and repassing, the bright inhabitants of 
another world. These in turn melted into an ex¬ 
tensive fortress, flanking towers and deep embra¬ 
sures, and salient and reentering angles, whose shad¬ 
ows aud perspective were as natural as reality itself. 
Imagine this magnificent mirage suffused with a soft 
rose color by the rays of the rising sun, and the 
reader will be able, perhaps, to form a faint idea ef 
one of the most beautiful of Northern phenomena. 
None of the many strange optical deceptions de¬ 
pendent upon refraction, which are so prevalent in 
the far North, can compare with this in beauty and 
striking effect.— I'uinam for September. 
- 4 » » 4 «♦ »- 
PERSONAL GOSSIP. 
BY MAT WHITNEY. 
He came to ns from out the dim unknown, 
He gilded both onr lives for many a day ; 
God gave a glimpse of HeavtD, then took Hie own, 
“Thy will, not mlHe,” he teaches us to eay. 
We sob the words ont, tearfully and slow; 
We writhe and struggle with the fearful pain; 
We feel onr hearts must break beneath the blow, 
Christ whlppers—“ Peace I in nearen be lives again.” 
In Heaven he rests, secure from want and woe, 
While angels guard and guide the tender life; 
O suffer him to come from depths below 
To bights of love above earth’s sinful strife. 
— -.»..♦«♦•»■-- 
THE DECOY SHEEP. 
Reading in an English magazine lately, we met 
with an account of a curious device of the London 
butchers. It Is a difficult task, as might be sup¬ 
posed, to drive a flock of sheep through the 
streets of a large city, where the resemblance is so 
small to green pastures and country roads. They 
are liable to be scattered In all directions by the 
crowd of vehicles, and to turn every few rods down 
the cross streets, in a manner sorely trying to pa¬ 
tience. Hence, when the butcher has purchased a 
number of sheep at the general market, it is no 
small matter, even with the help of a dog, to get 
them to bis private yard for slaughter. Can any 
expedient lessen the trouble? A knowledge of the 
animal's instincts points ont a method of relief. A 
sheep is taken and petted till it becomes wonted to 
the place, and attached to its owner. It is then 
used as a decoy, being led to the market place, 
where the purchase is made of the little flock for the 
slaughter, and there placed at their head. The 
batcher then starts for home, the decoy sheep ac¬ 
companies him, the others instinctively follow, ac¬ 
cording to sheep-nature, and refuse to be separated, 
threading their way through streets and lanes, carts 
and carriages, pleased with following their leader, 
tilt they reach the place of death ! 
We said, just now, that this was according to 
sheep-Batnre. Is there nothing like it in human 
nature? Alas I we see the same device in use on 
every hand by the great enemy of souls. How few 
he would entrap without a decoy ! Fish do not bite 
the bare hook. Birds will not enter an empty trap- 
cage. Even sheep do not go wittingly to the slaugh¬ 
ter, but must be enticed there, Sinners love sin, 
but not death, and do not crowd the broad road 
with any idea that it leads to destruction. Satan 
has made a study of nature ever since he found our 
first parents in Bara disc, and he understands it 
well. He knows that men, like sheep, are gregari¬ 
ous, and prone to go in troops after leaders. He 
shapes his policy accordingly. He wastes little time 
or work on the common mass, hut he takes great 
pains to train the leaders. One good decoy 6heep 
will conduct a thousand flocks to the slaughter.— 
Advance. 
BROTHERLY LOVE. 
We greatly fear that our Lord’s new command¬ 
ment has not that place in the hearts of His people 
In these times which it ought to have. There is in¬ 
deed much to be thankful for. The Gospel is widely 
preached; religious knowledge is being rapidly in¬ 
creased ; and many persons are devoting themselves 
to workB of true philanthropy; bnt notwithstanding 
this, there is room for a large increase of brotherly 
love. There are divisions amongst us which cannot 
be justified; there is a disposition to disregard each 
other’s feelings, and to ignore each other’s efforts 
in the cause of religion, which is inconsistent with 
the spirit of the Gospel. There are religious men 
who are too obviously lovers of their own scIvcb, 
when ft very slight attention to the precepts of 
Christianity would teach them thftt in lowliness of 
mind each 6hould esteem others better than them¬ 
selves. lienee, men give an undue prominence to 
their own views and plans, which is unbecoming in 
itself, and certainly does not fulfill the law of 
Christ.— Main Sermons for llrilous Times. 
-• »»»♦«> »- 
SIMPLY BELIEVE. 
Gounod, the composer of “Faust" and “Romeo 
and Juliet,” lives in a very handsome house in the 
Rne de la Rochefoucauld in Paris. He is a very 
polished and cultivated gentleman, has a fine, in¬ 
telligent, open face, and what with his graceful 
manners aud easy politeuess makes a most winning 
impression with all those who come in contact 
with him. 
Liszt, the composer, i6 of medium height, Blender 
and erect. His face is fresh aud unwrinkled; his 
large gray eyes have a reposeful calmneBs, except 
when playing impassioned music; then the whole 
face changes, the eyes sparkle and flash, the thick 
steel-gray hair trembles and shakes, and the head is 
thrown into a pose of striking grandeur —the whole 
reminding one of the imposing image of an inspired 
Numidian lion. 
John Ruskin, the critic, and half insane philan¬ 
thropist, lives on the commanding eminence of 
Denmark Hill, in a southern suburb of London, in 
an elegant mansion, with handsome gardens and 
lawns. His collection of pictures and drawings, 
with the wonderful Turners packed away in the 
bottom of his writing table, is only equaled by his 
beautiful collection of crystals. But there is no 
curiosity so great as Ruskin. The fact that he ex¬ 
pends the income of a fortune, said to be equal to 
3-3,000,000, in works of philanthropy, is not much 
known, even in England. It is stated, however, 
that the time of a confidential secretary is entirely 
occupied in answering calls upon his benevolence. 
- 4'l» » • >•»- 
The Underlying Purpose.—I t is not the simple 
digging that makes a man honorable, bnt when he 
has underlying his digging an earnest and noble 
purpose. Not the simple muscular action, driving 
the plane or wielding the ax, but the design and 
purpose that prompts this activity. Not simply the 
great drops of sweat dripping down from the brow, 
and the soil and grime upon the hands and face, that 
we 60 much admire; but these taken as the legiti¬ 
mate result of putting into execution those good 
plans that have been worked out beneath that tired 
brow; these considerations make such a man a 
nobleman.—A. J. Barrett's Address. 
Some one says the best way for a man to train up 
a child in the way it should go, is to travel that way 
occasionally himself. 
“I have the best wife In the world,” said a long 
Buffering husband; “ she always strikes me with the 
Boft end of the broom.” 
Let me entreat you to look to the word of God’s 
testimony, and think not that anything else than a 
simple reception of these words, “ that the blood 
of Christ cleanseth from all sin,” is necessary for 
the purpose of your being cleansed from your sin. 
It is the idea that something more is necessary, 
which obstructs this reception. It is the imagina¬ 
tion of a great personal work to which you must 
6et yourself, and in which you have hitherto sat 
down iu listlessness aud despair, that keeps you at 
a distance from God. He approaches you with 
overtures; and what you have to do is to close 
with them, lie approaches you with tidings; and 
what you have to do is to give credit to them. 
This is doing the work of God, that you believe on 
liim whom He hath sent; and could this transition 
be accomplished, then would you be translated into 
a habit of cheerful and progressive obedience, which 
in a way of legalism, or iu the attempt to establish 
a righteousness of your own, you never can attain. 
— Dr. Chalmers. 
- -4 >l - »n » 
TALMUDIC PROVERBS. 
Even when the gates of prayer are shut in heaven, 
those of tears are open. 
When the rightous dies, it is the earth that loses. 
The lOBt jewel will always be a jewel, bnt the one 
who has lost it—well may he weep. 
The reward of good words is like dates; sweet 
and ripening late. 
T® slander is to murder. 
Thy friend has a friend, and thy friend’s friend has 
a friend—be discreet. 
The camel wanted to have horns and they took 
away his ears. 
Descend a step in choosing a wife, and mount a 
step in choosing a friend. 
If there is anything bad about you, say it yourself. 
One eats; another Bays grace. 
He who is ashamed will not easily commit sin. 
It is a good sign in man to be capable of being 
ashamed. 
Patrick Henry left in his will the following im¬ 
portant passage:—“ I have now disposed of all my 
property to my family; there is one thing more I 
wish I could give them, and that is the Christian 
religion. If they had that, and I had not given 
them one shilling, they would he rich; and if they 
had not that, and 1 had given all the world, they 
would be poor.” 
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