✓-> 
afabutb 11 catting. 
SUNDAY. 
BY MARY It- WHITTLESEY. 
The sky was blue as sky could be, 
Above pinc-crested Fairmount; 
Nature had donned, in festive glee, 
Uer rarest azure garment, 
And mingled in lier golden cup 
A pure and sparkling nectar, 
For work-worn mortals bubbling up, 
To chase each week-day specter. 
I climbed up toward the beekoning sky, 
A fair, delusive vision; 
For when I gained the hill-top high, 
It smiled from heights elysiun. 
Gray, leafless trees, against the blue 
Stretched forth their sturdy branches. 
Like strong, still thoughts that, unseen, grew 
Beneath our youthful fancies. 
I walked along, content to be. 
The long. low. undulating 
Blue lulls between me and the sea 
Seemed like a presence, waiting. 
O’er breezy uplands lay the road; 
At last, the sea's blue glory 
Along the far horizon glowed. 
Above low sand-banks hoary. 
From the white city on its shores 
No somber cloud had rlBen i 
Fast closed were her grim furnace doors, 
And souls were out of prison. 
No somber cloud o’erhung the sea; 
It seemed, lit its blue glory. 
The very spirit of the sea. 
And god of ancient story. 
And still, along my homeward way. 
The long, low, undulating 
Blue hills between me and the sea 
Seemed like a presence, waiting. 
How often come such days to earth 
After the week of labor, 
When Nature seems a glad, new birth, 
And Got) our nearest neighbor. 
-- 
THOUGHTS BY THINKERS. 
How to be Free. 
Dii. Deems says :—“ Under every form of 
human government, even the freest, men 
have been slaves of sin; under every form 
of human government, however despotic, 
men have been li ce in Jesus. And you who 
spend so much thought, and Lime and money 
in striving to secure what you call the liber- | 
ty of the people—let me beg you to remem- ! 
her that a mau is free just, iu the measure of 
his yielding himself to Jesus, and that a man 
is a slave just in the measure of his yielding 
himself to sin. ‘Verily, verily, I say unto 
you, whosoever committeth sin is the slave 
of siu; and the slave abideth not iu the 
house forever, but the Sou abideth ever. If, 
therefore, the Son shall make you free, ye 
shall be free indeed.’ ” 
“I Press Toward ilie Mark.” 
Tiiere is a touching story, I remember, 
told of a modern sculptor, who was found 
standing in front of his masterpiece, sunk in 
sad reverie; and when they asked him why 
he was so sad, “Because,” he answered, “ I 
am satisfied with it. 1 have embodied,” he 
would say, “ all that I can think or feel. 
There it is. And because there is no dis¬ 
cord between what I dream and what I can 
do, I feel that the limit of my growth is 
reached.” Unless we saw an ideal far above 
us, the actual would never approximate to¬ 
ward it. * * * The very characteristic ot 
the idea of growth in grace is the indefinite 
approximation to an infinite perfection. The 
type for us is the express image of God, the 
complete mau, Jesus Christ. To that su¬ 
preme beauty our nature is capable of un¬ 
limited approach.— Itev. A. Maclaren. 
The Converted Ainu Inspired. 
Rev. Geo. M. Stone says :— It is a legiti¬ 
mate use of language to say that a converted 
man is an inspired man. Not in the sense in 
which the prophets were, to reveal new truth, 
bur breathed, upon by the Holy Spirit, with 
the quickening power of the old. One of the 
hymns, inspired by this same Divine influ¬ 
ence, says: 
“ Prayor is the breath of God in man, 
Returning whence it came.’* 
No interchange can be so sublime as this. 
True prayer is the first and perpetual re¬ 
sponse of the regenerate soul to the gift of 
life. It is the upspring of a glad heart, after 
the touch which has thrilled it through, A 
new ideal now outlines itself in our con¬ 
sciousness. I have thought that, primarily, 
this was the. chief manifestation of the Spirit’s 
interior work. As birth manifests creation, 
so a newly created ideal stands in the eye of 
every created man. Aspiration is enkindled, 
and flames toward a realization of this high¬ 
er, better life model. 
Radiate Sermons. 
A writer in the Advance discusses ser¬ 
mons which he classes as Radiate, Articu¬ 
late, Vertebrate, and Mollusk. Of the Ra¬ 
diate sermon lie says:—The familiar starfish 
is a type of the radiate kingdom. Its struc¬ 
ture is of the simplest kind; a central body 
raying out, (hence the word radiate) in dif¬ 
ferent directions like a star. Any one now 
who is accustomed carefully to examine the 
structure of sermons, will be ready to admit 
that there is such a thing as the radiate ser¬ 
THE WINTER CAMPAIGN — “ EE.EE-A.E.A.TIOINrS • FOR E’HR.XUNTGrR 3 
mon. We venture to afilrm that two-tliirds 
of Henry Ward Beecher’s sermons are of 
the radiate variety. Mr. Beecher begins at 
the center. He lays down, first of all, some 
important truth. He elaborates this to 
some extent, and especially vivifies it. It 
is then made to ray out, on different sides. 
It thrusts out, 1 1 ere and touches one man or 
class of men. It pushes out there and 
touches another. It beams forth with light 
in one direction, with heat in another, with 
strength-giving influence in a third. This 
sermon has some very great advantages, and 
is used far less than it ought to be. One 
great advantage of the radiate is, that it dis¬ 
penses with long introductions. There are 
some preachers who linger over an introduc¬ 
tion, us though they had so little to say that 
they would willingly dispose of half their 
time before they get to it. Even such would 
stand a better)' chance if they would begin 
upon some important truth aud follow where 
it leads. Thought is more suggestive of 
thought than vacuity is, and it is easier to be 
iuspired upon something than upon nothing. 
- 4 -*-* - 
Carefulness.— To do nothing is not al¬ 
ways to lose one’s time. To do what we do 
carelessly is to lose it inevitably. It is 
weariness without profit. 
IVCOIST BRAVE.” — FROM A . ZP-A-UNTTINO EY IIENNESSY. 
WRECKS. 
BY U. M’OUIIION. 
The salt sea wind hlowscnld and chill, 
Out o'er the wild bluff’s ferny reach; 
The rude surf foams with angry will. 
And dash os o'er the shelving beach. 
The white gull, clrclini: o'er the deep. 
Now scouts the coming storm Unit’s near; 
The land-birds to their coverts creep, 
And trembling, hide their heads with fear. 
The wrathful storm breaks forth, at last, 
The mad waves climb the light,house wall; 
And thunder peals, borne on the blast, 
Send terror to the hearts of all. 
Through all the dreary dismal night 
The storm king rules with ruthless power, 
And straining eyes seek for the light 
That tins tics from the beacon tower. 
Out where the long reef's breakers glance, 
Aud sunward toss their diamond rain. 
The morn, at last, with Koldun lance, 
Has pierced the dizzy lighthouse pane. 
A fair, frail form, is kneeling there. 
Amid the breakers’ deafening roar; 
To Heaven she lifts her pleading' prayer 
For one whose ship will come no more. 
The rocks are strewn with wrecks at morn, 
And many wrecks ne’er reach the shore; 
And many hearts are rent and torn 
But wrecks of what they were before. 
O maiden, in the lighthouse tower. 
Thy watching aud thy prayers are vain ; 
No plea of thine, or wish lias power. 
To bring the lost to t hee again. 
Above biro float the wrack and drift, 
The yeasty surge, the froth and foam. 
The restless waves that change ami shift. 
The rolling tides that go and come. 
The passing keels of home-bound ships. 
The storm’s loud shriek, or loved one’s prayer, 
Naught, naught can move those silent lips, 
No sound cun roach that listless ear. 
’T18 thus with life’s bright hopes and dreams ; 
"l’is thus life’s lights and shadows blend: 
Thus come to naught Its cherished schemes, 
And thus Us high endeavors end. 
Wrecks! wrecks! wrecks! all about are strewn 
On sea, and lund, aud everywhere; 
Not wrecks of eostly ships alono, 
But wrecks of hopes and hearts arc there. 
Ah, wo must lift our hearts above 
To And a shelter from the storm, 
And trust in Heaven’s unfailing love 
To keep us over safe from harm. 
'fonts for Kuralists. 
AGNES BURMANN; 
OB, HE AND SHE. 
Translated from the Norwegian of Clirlstof Jansen, 
for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
CHAPTER IV. 
War.—Forwards and Backwards. 
[Continuded from page 50, last No.] 
Agnes kept her word. She never went 
out when she thought she might meet the 
Student; and yet she often thought of him. 
He was something above the others. The 
others ?—were there any others ? Her fat her, 
who was nearly always busy writing his ser¬ 
mons or attending to the pnor-housc; the 
village shop keeper, who sold coffee and to¬ 
bacco; Olle in Steusaler, whose daughters 
learned to play the piano, and who always 
talked of bis white mare; the daughters of 
the county steward, who could only think of 
goslings aud Gatafoa Bjork land’s cook¬ 
ery book. No, the Student was certainly 
preferable to these. As she took her lonely 
walks ou the high road, or sat alone in her 
room, her thoughts ofl.cn went back to the 
past, and she compared it to the present; she 
thought over what the Student had said, and 
thought that she had behaved very childishly. 
She felt so vexed about it; hut lie had cer¬ 
tainly been very impertinent; just as though 
she were not grown up, and as if he could 
play with her like a child. No, she would 
he firm, she would never more go and meet 
him—never more trouble herself in the least 
about him; aud yet, at the same moment, 
she looked out of the window, of course only 
just to see if lie might not he passing. Oh, 
if she could only go back to town 1 
The Student could not imagine what had 
become of her, but yet he guessed that after 
their late dispute, she avoided him. How¬ 
ever, one day lie caught her, and this we 
may attribute to his books. He had sat long, 
studying a difficult sentence, without being 
able to understand its meaning, and so lie 
had stayed much longer than usual, and his 
hour for walking was passed before he was 
aware of it. Agnes was much astonished 
when she found him suddenly by her side. 
“ Good day, Miss Agnes,” he said, raising 
his hat. “ How is it that I have not seen 
you for so long. Are you still angry with 
me, because of my speaking plainly when we 
last met? 1 did not mean any harm, and 1 
beg your pardon willingly. It Is seldom 1 
ask any one’s pardon,” lie added in a low 
tone. 
Agnes became quite timid, for he spoke so 
straight-fonvardly, and yet so respectfully 
and delicately. She forgot all the answers 
which she had prepared, in case of meeting 
him, and simply answered that she had noth¬ 
ing to be angry about. 
“ So much the better,” answered the Stu¬ 
dent ; “ then I may dare to hope that my 
company is, at least, not unwelcome.” 
