not yet learned to imitate her successfully. Have 
we come to that that it requires an effort to be nat¬ 
ural ? Have we indeed not always been there ? Cus¬ 
tom compels this. f. g. 
Written for Moore’s Rural Nev-Yorker 
THE FIRST SNOW. 
BV COB. A. J. H. DUGANNE, 
He gave me a knife one day ut school, 
Four-bladed, the handle of pearl— 
And great black words on the wrapper said, 
“For the darllngest little girl." 
I was gladt Oh, yea, yet the crimson blood 
To my young check came and went, 
And my heart thumped wondrously pit-a-pat, 
But I didn’t know what it meant. 
One night he said I must jump on his sled, 
For the snow was railing fast; 
I was half afraid lint he coaxed and coaxed. 
And he got me cm at last. 
Laughing and chatting in merry glee, 
To my home his course he bent, 
And my sisters looked at each other and smiled, 
But I didn't know what it meant. 
Ten years passed on, and they touched his eye 
With a shadow of deeper blue; 
They gave to his form a manlier grace— 
To his Cheek a swarthier hue. 
We stood by the dreamily rippling brook, 
When the dayjwas almost spent, 
His whispers were soft as the lullabys; 
And-now I know what it meant! 
BT BERRY BRIAR 
A good short story teller is as rare as a good 
writer of sonnets, and even the few who in a long 
serial would shadow forth a faint Miltonic power 
(so to speak), are not successful, as Dr. Johnson 
would say, in carving heads out of cherry-stones. 
Think, for instance, of all the qualities that are 
necessary’ in a short story which, like some stories 
of a larger growth, is worthy to he re-read from 
time to time, and then calculate the possibility of 
these qualities being combined in a story restricted 
to one or two or even three columns of a newspa¬ 
per, say like The Press. Neither “Vatliek” nor 
“ Rassclas,” which are ten or twelve times the length 
that most newspaper stories are restricted to, would 
stand much chance if cut down to one-halt their 
present size. And if the genius of a Beekford or a 
Johnson could achieve little under those conditions, 
the talent of the average story-writer could achieve 
infinitely less. 
The novelette, to be worth remembering, requires 
many of the characteristics of the novel. The 
characters must be cut with clean, bold, sharp, 
courageous strokes. The language must be fervid, 
with a phosphorescent heat of thought that never 
loses its brightness. The interest, cuiralnating 
from the first word to the last, must be capped in a 
climax brought about in the easiest, simplest, and 
most unsuspecting manner. The conversations 
must he the idiomatic ones of real life, and not full 
of the grammar and rhetoric which even your ele¬ 
gant and educated people of real life dou't always 
remember. In fact, the short story worthy of re¬ 
membrance must be such as the envious competi¬ 
tion among the small writers of newspaper stories 
will not easily let live. 
Consider that all these qualities are to be clearly 
set forth within one or two columns of the average 
6ize—say like those I am filling at present—and then 
compare with such requirements the breadth and 
deplb of brain ol most of the writers of short news¬ 
paper or magazine stories of the present day. Re¬ 
member that what is called success in this line of 
literature is only attained by the incessant composi¬ 
tion of stories—say from four to six a week—and 
then calculate how many writers can write in a year 
two hundred short stories that are worthy of a sec¬ 
ond reading. In the commencement of their career 
these insect authors may have had 6ome honorable 
ambition, and have striven after force and originali¬ 
ty in everything that left their pens. Happy it is 
for them if, before the first, year be passed, they do 
not settle down upon translations from the French, 
or adapted stories from English magazines.— Cor¬ 
respondent Philmldphia Press, 
There is a gateway, damp and cold, 
There is an archway, gray ftDd old; 
Many the path, and many the track 
Leading to them, bnt none leads back: 
Silent the step, and swift the march, 
Down to the gate, and under the arch— 
Into the gate, and beyond the arch ! 
Brave arc the banners on yonder plain, 
Steady the tramp nr a soldier train; 
Loud are the trumpets, cheering the fray, 
Bold are the captains, leading the way— 
Down to this archway, gray and low; 
Under it even the Chief mnet go; 
Under it Valor and Fame must go I 
Softly the viols and hautboys sound; 
Gayly and lightly the dance goes round; 
Whispers of lovers, vows of brides. 
Hippies of joy ou the rhythmic tides; 
Down to the archway all must flow: 
Under it even the Bride must go; 
Under It Beauty and Love must go! 
Lofty and large is the Ruler’s scat— 
Many the steps beneath his feet; 
Whether of marble, or whether of brass, 
Down them all the king mast pass: 
Dolling his crown at the archway low, 
Under it even the Krsto must go— 
Under it Rank and Power must go 1 
Rare arc the treasures of mart, and mine, 
Garments that rustle. Jewels that shine; 
Broad is the realm that Wealth may hold, 
Proud are its mansions of silver and gold 
Out of their portals, moving slow, 
Under the arch the Rich must go: 
Under it Fortune and Pride must go! 
Bright is the beam, and dark the cloud; 
Weary the bead that is always bowed; 
Barren the life that counts but lose, 
Drooping the back, and heavy the cross; 
Only, at last, from want and woe. 
Under the arch the Poor Men go; 
Under it Jesus our Lord did go! 
Over my harp in love I bend ; 
Up to the stars my song I send; 
Sweet are ttoe flowers beneath my way; 
Low are the echoes that greet my lay; 
Evermore sweet and evermore low; 
Under the arch my Harp must go; 
Under it Glory and Song must go! 
The white flakes fall upon her little grave. 
O what a change! hut one short year ago 
She stood with sisters three beside the pane, 
And watched with childish glee the falling snow; 
And merry shouts rang out when winter's breeze 
Shook down a fleecy cloud from oil' the trees. 
Blue hood and erltnson mltttcns laid aside,— 
No thrill of pleasure stirs her quiet breast; 
Blue eyes and crimson cheeke hid from our sight,— 
The snow wreaths deck her lowly bed of rest; 
One more sweet, pilgrim called unto her home, 
Wheuce little weary feet may never roam. 
Call we those lost, our darlings who have flown ? 
We know their tender Saviour keeps them now, 
Where sin, and shame, and sorrow cannot come; 
O, rather, saved from all this earthly woe. 
We feel that they are safe, and new ties given 
To bind our own sad hearts the nearer Heaven. 
We thank thee, Father, that thou ealledst her home, 
Ere yet the world had left a blot or stain 
On her nnsulliod spirit . By Thy grace 
And tender love wo hope to meet again. 
When earthly sufferings forever cease, 
In you bright world, where all is bliss and peace. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
HOW MARJORY WENT TO WASHINGTON 
OR, THE WILL AND THE WAY. 
BV LIZZIE M. BOYNTON. 
Concerning many things of which we should all 
like to know more minutely, the Scriptures are 
silent. Our curiosity, merely, is seldom or never 
gratified in their pages. What is of vital impor¬ 
tance to us, as hearing upon our spiritual life,— 
what wc need to learn, to fit us for heaven and the 
joys of the redeemed,— it teaches fully and clearly. 
Touching these it leaves no room for doubt. The 
light, it sheds upon them is bright enough to all 
whose eyes are not blinded by unbelief. 
Bnt of numerous minor points the details of 
which would interest even if they did not benefit 
us, it utters not a word. “ Take, for instance, the 
recorded life of Jestjs Christ," says the Baptist 
Quarterly, in treating of this subject, "and the 
progressive development of Christian doctrine in 
the writings of the Apostles, Only in the fore¬ 
ground of his infancy do wc find tiny of the outer 
incidents uf his life detailed. There are the man¬ 
ger, the star, the shepherds, the magi—a little group 
of facts that lend color and vividness to the whole 
picture. Twelve years away there stands out, 
Isolated from all its surroundings, one suggestive 
scene. Here a revealiug ray, os a rift in the over¬ 
hanging cloud, lights the picture a little. Then, 
eighteen years away in the distance, rise up in all 
their majesty and glory, but enveloped in cloud all 
about their bases, the mighty facts of his life and 
death. And still on, partly In the mist and partly in 
the sunlight, the domes of Christian doctrine raise 
their sunlit crests high up toward God, Thus min- 
glod, the light of revelation and the shade of con 
cealment make up a picture more vivid, and grand, 
and real, than could have been secured by a flood of 
light that should, in the attempt to reveal all, have 
obscured all by its dazzle. God’s revelations are 
adjusted to Unman eyes.” 
The cotnpuraison here made to a painting is apt 
and suggestive. As in u master-piece wc see details 
Bimply in the immediate foreground, while in the far- 
reaching vista there are only towering peaks rising 
oue beyond another, dim and undefined, so in our 
Saviour's life the prominent features only are 
shown. And yet, as in looking at the master-piece 
we sometimes feel a desire to know what lie3 in the 
hidden valleys between those successive mountain 
ranges, so we should like to learn of the hidden 
things in the mortal life of Jesus Christ, — of his 
boyhood, of his youth from the time when he rea¬ 
soned with the doctors, and of his young manhood. 
But touching these things, and many others, the 
silence of Scripture is complete. 
Yet is not this Scripture silence best? Did the 
Bible treat more minutely of minor matters, we 
might be less impressed with its great and momontr 
ons teachings. Concerning the solemn questions 
of duty there is uo silence. The injunction fe plain: 
“repent," “believe,'* “go, work." May not even 
the silence of God’s oracles be a merited rebuke 
to human questionings and speculations ? Is it 
not really the “Thus far shalt thou go and no 
farther" of Divinity itself, relative to mysteries 
which we are not warranted in attempting to 
unfold? 
CHAPTER I. 
Deab Madge: —Here is ft problem for yon: yon re¬ 
member mine Is not a mathematical head. If fifty yards 
of rag carpet took yon to Washington, how many will it 
require for me to “ see Naples—and die ?" 
Having read thus far, it occurred to me that the 
little note might have been accidentally placed 
among the “photos,” and was not intended for 
the pnblic. However, my womanly curiosity was 
aroused, and with note in hand I went in quest of 
“Madge," my fair young hostess. 
Madge was an authoress, a young wife and 
mother; hut the holy duties of motherhood for 
the present had usurped all literary labors. Stran¬ 
gers failed to recognize the “ blue stocking," and 
spoke of her as a model housekeeper. One of her 
prominent characteristics was love for women, hence 
to her girl-friends Marjory's home was the practi¬ 
cal demonstration of their ideal. Life, to Marjory, 
was intense, real, happy and satisfectory. She lived 
In the present, thus escaping the Seylla of brood¬ 
ing memories, and the Charybdis of castle building. 
Every day was rendered complete by duties per¬ 
formed, a good thought read and treasured, a merry 
song sung. Her home was beautiful. You would 
not discover “Brussels" on the floors, mirrors 
npon the walls or damask at the windows, but. you 
would discover and rest your eyes upon the few 
choice engravings, the huuging baskets, evergreen 
wreaths and vine-covered windows, and pronounce 
the little home “complete.” And yet — Marjory 
was literary, and did believe in sulTrage for women. 
Come into this jjlcasant library, where the twi¬ 
light shadows are autographing memories of the 
past. The crickets chirp of peace and content¬ 
ment, and the sweet voice ol my friend warbles 
out from an upper window as she lullaby’s her 
baby. Nestle down amid the cushions and let me 
tell you of her girlhood, and how she went to 
Washington. 
“ Mother, do you really believe that a strong will 
aocomplishes everything. When there is a will, is 
there always a way ?” 
Mrs. May scrutinized Marjory’s face, as she re¬ 
plied,— 
“ You kuow, Madge, there are exceptions to all 
rules; but as a general thing a strong will accom¬ 
plishes much more than a weak one. But what 
Idea have yon in your crazy little head now ?" 
“A winter in Washington,—there, you have my 
secret. I have not said anything about it before, 
but I have been doing a great deal of thinking. 
You remember Judge Brown said I could go with 
his wife and daughter." 
“The law me!—if ever!—just listen to her! It’s 
a pity you wasn't bora a queen, or suthin’ or other. 
For a girl with as sensible a mother as your’n, yon 
do beat all. I reckon after you’ve been to the 
‘ White House,’ you’ll be starting to call on Queen 
Vic.” Having thus essayed, housekeeper Jane sub¬ 
sided, yielding the floor to Marjory’s fourteen-year- 
old brother. 
“ Hurrah ! I tell you what, Sis, I will go half a 
dollar on the trip. Good-by, in case I don’t see 
you again, and be sure to tell General Grant that I 
think he is a spunky fellow." 
Marjory had faced this kind of opposition too 
frequently to deign to notice it, and so quietly in¬ 
quired of her mother what she thought of her sug¬ 
gestion. 
“Nothing would afford me greater pleasure, my 
dear child, than to be able to give you all the ad¬ 
vantages of travel that you would have enjoyed if 
your father had lived; but as it is, I fear your win¬ 
ter at the capital must be nnmbored among the im¬ 
probabilities. Ycmr outfit would cost a large sum, 
and I must save all that I can for yonr brother. 
Boys require the means for travel, hut a girl is 
about as well off at home.” 
Madge could scarocly refrain from saying her lit¬ 
tle say in regard to the injustice to girls, but she 
did, and In a moment remarked quietly,— 
“ If 1 earn the money, can I go ?" 
“ Well, I think I am perfectly safe in saying yes. 
Bnt remember you must not take in sewiug again; 
your brother does not like to see you do that; he 
says it makes him feel a little unpleasantly to see 
yon carrying bundles.” 
“ Ah, yes; I understand where, that sudden un¬ 
pleasantness originated. Little Helen Holden 
told him he ought to be ashamed to be strutting 
around with cigars in his mouth, while his sister 
was taking in sewing. Mother, if 1 had not re¬ 
ceived sufficient encouragement to warrant me in 
writing, I would not attempt this trip; but I am 
determined to write, and I must travel and improve 
every opportunity for studying human nature. I 
am conscious of the fact that many of my friends 
deem me selfishly ambitious, but I also know that 
my ambition and determination to he useful in the 
world has its source amid higher and purer motives. 
I will not argue the question, however, now that 
you have consented to let me go provided I can 
J earn the means. Of course I can do that, because I 
have the will, essential to the way.” 
¥ “Madge, do you remember the time you fell 
| down stairs, and it made you crazy for a day or 
\i two? Well, I think you give strong indications of 
y a relapse. Yon don't really suppose that you will 
V gain a peep at the 4 White House ’ this winter, do 
5r you? My opinion is, if you wait until you earn the 
m 1 checks,’ you will be too old to travel so far. But 
what do you propose to do ?” 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MONDAY MORNING. 
Much has been written of Saturday nightthat 
time so welcome to the laboring man, since in it he 
lays aside the weekly cares and toils in anticipation 
of a day of rest; bnt who of us lias ever written of 
Mouduv morning, the time in which we “ gird on 
our armor” for the week, and enter upon its duties 
with new zest, and a freshness of oody and rniud? 
And yet, is there not an importance attached to 
Monday morning which there is not to Saturday 
night? An importance of beginning the week in 
such a manner that Saturday night may bring to us 
no regretted, misspent hours, no illy completed 
labors ? If, on Monday morning, one sits down with 
folded hands, dreading the Disks before liim, how 
easily the time glides away, until, ere he is scarcely 
aware, the week is passing and nothing accom¬ 
plished ! “ Six days shalt thou labor,” is quite apt 
to be overlooked, though itjis no less a part of the 
fourth commandment tbfttt ihe words, “ Remember 
the Sabbath day to keep it holy.” Then, if one suf¬ 
fers the beginning ol these “six days" to pass in 
idleness, he fulfills not ull the command. 
May not life be compared to a single week? 
Childhood may be represented by the first day. As 
in it wc rest, thereby gaining new strength for the 
duties of the week, so during this period the child is 
acquiring needed strength lor his life-work. But as 
this period passes, the Monday morning of lile 
dawns npon him. If then he sits idly down, dream¬ 
ing of some golden future awaiting only the touch 
of some magic, fairy wand to reveal to him its boun¬ 
teous good, or if he wastes in idle pleasures this 
starting-point of life, how seldom, in alter years, he 
proves himself more than half a man! At the be¬ 
ginning of each new period of his life, he is less 
fitted to enter upon the work of Monday morning, 
and most likely when he reaches the Saturday night 
of a wasted lifetime, it will bring him naught but 
sad regrets, and bitter repiaings over a wrecked 
life which goes down beneath the waves of time, 
with no hope of a glorious resurrection. 
It is pleasant, we know’, to muse on Saturday 
night — ou the peaceful closing of a life brightened 
by “ hope beyond,’’—but while onr weeks come and 
go it is of far more profit to ns that we think on 
Monday morning; that we think on life’s beginning 
and its week of labor; on the good we may do here, 
and on our preparation for a future uumeasured by 
earthly weeks, leaving onr Saturday nights, — the 
closing of our earthly labors, —with Him who 
metes out to us these weeks. Then shall we find 
the Saturday night of life sweet to our wearied 
sonls, but sweeter for the dawning of the long Sab¬ 
bath of Eternity. Edith Melbourne. 
GOOD BOOKS 
Good books, like good friends, are fewand chosen ; 
the more select the more enjoyable. Like living 
friends they too have their voice and physiognomies, 
and their company is prized as old acquaintances. 
A good book justifies our theory of personal suprem¬ 
acy, keeping this fresh in the memory and peren¬ 
nial. What were days without such fellowship? 
Wc were alone in the world without it. Our favorites 
are few; since only what rises from the heart roaches 
it, being caughtand carried on the tongues of men 
wheresoever love and letters journey. 
Nor need we wonder at their scarcity or the value 
we set upou them; life, the essence of good letters 
as of friendship, being it* own best biographer, the 
artist that portrays the persons and thoughts we are 
and are becoming. And the most that even he can 
do, is but a chance stroke or two at this fiuu es¬ 
sence housed in the haudsome dust, but too 
fugitive and coy to be caught and held fast for 
longer than the pissing glance; the master touch¬ 
ing ever and retouching the picture he leaves un¬ 
finished. 
My life has been the poem I would have writ, 
But I coaid not both live and ntter it. 
A good book is fruitful ol other books; it per¬ 
petuates its frame from age to age, and makes eras 
in the lives of its readers.— Aleott's “ Tablets," 
ORIGIN OF SURPRISE PARTIES 
What are now called surprise parties became 
quite fashionable in England about the year 1800, 
when they were called “ picnic suppers.” The bill 
of fare was prepared, each dish being numbered, 
and the subscribers to the entertainment drew lots, 
and each was required to furnish the dish marked 
against the number ho drew. This may be useful 
as a hint to persons getting up surprise parties, 
which, by the way, are the most sensible species of 
entertainment now in vogue, oecause the enter¬ 
tainer is required to furnish only the parlors, and is 
put to uo trouble to prepare for the guests, while 
the visitors furnish their own supper and music, 
and thus equalize expenses. In that case people 
who live in a pleasant house bat who cannot afford 
to prepare an entertainment entirely ut their own 
cost, may still receive their friends occasionally, 
and enjoy a social and festal evening. 
If I were asked a recipe for cheerfulness, I would 
say, humbly enjoy the good gifts of God, love those 
around you tenderly, realize that amiability is a 
binding virtue, and that we arc bound to diffuse 
joy around us in our homes. But there is just one 
more item in my prescription; we must be willing 
to unbend, even to stoop to a little harmless folly. 
A love for animals will eneourage this; the very 
presence of these true hut unassuming friends will 
do our hearts good. We may talk nonsense to 
them; they introduce an element of Intellectual re¬ 
pose. Dogs, cats, horses, poultry, are so many con¬ 
tributors to the gaiety and simplicity of our daily 
life. We cannot enjoy them without loving them. 
I am not goiug to enter into the ranks of those who 
contend that they have souls; still I hope my reader 
holds in equal abhorrence with myself the systems 
of Descartes and Malebranebe, which would make 
them out to be mere machines. We have but to 
contemplate the dog that follows us, watches our 
movements, share* onr fatigues and perils volun¬ 
tarily, either to sink at our side, or perhaps follow 
ns to the grave and die there — to reply to the 
theory of mere mechanism. Animals are, in some 
sort, members of the family. They are the friends 
of young and old, and old and young alike enjoy 
and benefit by their gleeful, irrational society.— 
Count de Gasparin. 
Let no one flatter him or herself that life can be 
without griefs. Whoever saw a piece—a tissue that 
had not some dark threads ? The only white robes 
we shall ever wear will be the white robes of heaven 
when we shall be transfigured in the presence of the 
Lamb. I know not why it is so. I do not pretend 
to know. I do not think others know any better 
than I why sorrows come, and great griefs weigh 
down the soul, or seize it and rend it like a pack¬ 
thread, or cast us upon a bed or a rack of torment. 
These pungencies that pierce us so sometimes— 
what strange stuff they are made of! Out of what 
unexpected materials they are wrought 1 Our best 
and noblest deeds, our divinest thoughts and ac¬ 
tions, our purest and most hallowed affections, our 
most beautiful and blessed tbiugs—out of these shall 
come threads of darkness and webs of shadows to be 
woven into the woof of life I Out of these shall 
come drops to po'tBon life’s sweetest cups, distilled 
by slander’s tongue! Out of these shall spring 
teeth to bite like a serpent, and sting like an adder, 
when the wicked persecute, and malice has a work 
of death to do. 
A young lady’s motto—“The lip that touches 
liquor shall never touch mine." 
When the clergyman makes man and woman oue, 
the dispute generally arises as to which is the one. 
The question is not always difficult to settle. 
The pulse of young ladies generally beats stronger 
in the palm of the hand than at the wrist. This fact 
in physiology has been observed by youug men of 
an investigating turn of mind. 
The expense of a modern fashionable wedding 
averages from one to five thousand dollars. The 
groom pays all the expenses of the church, marriage 
fee, organist, sexton, gas, awning and cards. 
A Baris letter writer who saw Victoria in that 
city says she is a little, dumpy, red-faced old lady, 
dressed in black, and having in her eye a dull sort of 
gleam, which makes one think of a lunatic asylum. 
A substitute for the old-fasliioned finger bowl 
has been introduced, called a 41 table fountain.’’ A 
small fountain of exquisite perfume spriugs from 
the center of a graceful base of glass mounted in 
silver. 
Black-eyed ladies are most apt to be passionate 
and jealous. Blue-eyed, soulful, truthful, affection¬ 
ate and confiding. Gray-eyed, philosophical, liter¬ 
ary, resolute, cold-hearted. Hazel-eyed, quick¬ 
tempered and tickle. - 
Some of the German papers report that Mrs. Lin¬ 
coln is going to take up her residence at Frankfort- 
on-the-Main, where her income will enable her to 
live in better style than in the United States. She 
will be received In a very flattering manner in Ger¬ 
many, where Abraham Lincoln’s memory is revered 
no less than in America. 
A French journalist, writing shortly before the 
last Spanish revolution, sketches Queen Isabella’s 
portrait frankly, without fear or favor. She is thirty- 
eight, but looks older; has Bourbon obesity, and 
premature wrinkles; round face, turned nose, small 
blue eyes, highly colored complexion, “short, swol¬ 
len, and slightly scaly” hands, masculine manners 
and voice, and dresses richly, but “looks like a 
Queen in Sunday finery.” 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
CHANCE CHIPS. 
Good thoughts are companions; often our best. 
If we have no relish for our work, we have our 
labor for our pains. 
Da flight. —The plain broad daylight, with a face 
like a friend ! Aud a friend it is to you; its laee is 
everywhere; it looks to your steps that you fall 
not—points to danger in the way. And it will come 
every day to do this. At night it bids you rest. 
And when it closes its eye upon you at last, you 
will rest forever. 
Blow your own trumpet and you will go un¬ 
heard. Let the virtue within you speak aud you 
will receive attention at once. 
There is good in everything—great good often in 
the commonest of things, had we but eyes to see it. 
We overlook it because it is common. 
We never write poety; it will not permit itself to 
be thus treated. It comes, aud we give it expres¬ 
sion ; rather, it expresses itself. 
A full stomach makes a Ml head, but not full of 
thought. 
We are apt too to he governed by our moods. 
We are hut to see goodness in her true light to 
fall in love with her at once; aud the hideousness 
of evil to forever forsake it—the one an angel, the 
other a monster. But we are blinded to both, and 
see only by glimpses. 
Improve the man, and his style will take care ol 
itself. 
Nature expresses herself spontaneously; wehave 
Provoke Not Your Children.— The divine wis¬ 
dom forbids ignorant and passionate attempts at such 
an impossibility. “Fathers, provoke not your 
children, lest they be discouraged.” On this pro¬ 
hibitory precept Mr. Barnes aptly says:—“He who 
always finds fault with a child, who is never satisfied 
with what he does, who scolds, and frets, aud com¬ 
plains, let him do as he will, breaks his spirits, and 
soon destroys, in the delicate texture of his soul, 
all desire of doing well. The child, in despair, soon 
gives over every effort to please. He becomes 
morose, sullen, stupid and indifferent as to what he 
does, since all that he does meets with the same 
reception from the parent.” 
WISDOM IN BRIEF 
The voice of God may be heard in every judgment 
of his hand. 
If you would not fall into sin, do not sit by the 
door of temptation. 
There is no salvation of the soul, no hope of 
everlasting life, bnt in the Cross. 
Hold on to the truth, for it will serve you well, 
and do good throughout eternity. 
Many who have wept upon the mountains of Zion 
have sung aloud in the valley of the shadow of death. 
How can we expect to live with God in heaven, if 
we love not to live with him on earth 't—liev, J, 
Mason. 
Christianity is the special academy of patience, 
wherein we are informed, inured, and trained up to 
bear all things. 
Familiar thoughts shape the way to death; but 
if we think not of the subject, the event will be a 
sudden precipice. 
Mr. Micawber’s Advice.— “ My other piece of 
advice, Copperfleld, you know. Annual income, 
twenty pounds; annual expenditure, nineteen, 
eleven and six ; result — happiness. Annual in¬ 
come, twenty pounds; annual expenditure, twenty 
pounds, ought and six; result—misery. The blos¬ 
som is blasted; the leaf is withered; the god of 
day goes down npon the dreary scene; and —in 
6hort, you are forever floored.” 
