wharf, a tall, portly, ruddy-faced man, who 
won my friendship at tlie very first glance. 
“All, Rachel,, how art thou?” was 
Auntie’s greeting. “ And this is our friend, 
Margaret Hamilton? I’m glad to see 
thee, my dear." 
We had a ride of two miles to Mr. Ellise’s 
pretty place, and there his comely wife, 
Mary, repealed the pleasant greeting. “I’m 
glad to see thee, my dear.” 1 think I shall 
be quietly happy here, judging from the 
pleasant beginning. 
May lilh .—'This is just the place for me. 
The house is more than eighty years old, 
and very quaint in its arrangements. The 
grounds about it are tastefully planted with 
all manner of shrubbery—Mr. E. is English 
—the gardens arc large and beautiful, Just 
as pretty as one need desire. A sable-god¬ 
dess presides in the culinary department, 
and a cute little negro, Julie, appears and 
disappears in a silent and almost miraculous 
manner. There seems to be no unpleasant 
“ friction ” thus far. There’s a while collage 
across the garden,and in itdwells Richard, 
•Jr., with his bonny wife and two weans. 
Their other child, Ruth, lives up the river 
in a Pennsylvania town. Mr. Ellisk is very 
social, much given to the relation of anec¬ 
dotes; and he does everything with such a 
zeal that 1 am often reminded ol'Mbs 1 Iowk's 
“ J5:- in earnest. Be thorough.” It is a treat 
to see his shining face at the breakfast table, 
where bis uniform greeting is—“ IIow art 
tliou, Margie?" while Airs. El LISE says— 
“Dii! thee rest well, my dear?" In the 
morning she wears a brown chintz, an ample 
white apron, and white muslin cap and 
kerchief-—na neat and nice as when she wears 
her rustling gray silk in tho afternoon. I 
am growing accustomed to the silent grace 
at meal time, and the sound of First day, &C. 
I read for three or four hours each day, and 
find ample store of books here, both new 
and old. 
Aunt Mary, as I call Mrs. Ei.lise, took 
me over the whole bouse this morning, and 
] was especially interested in the room that 
was her dead daughter’s. Bits of needle¬ 
work were there; a herbarium wherein the 
llowers had long since faded; shells and 
corals. 
There was a queer old sampler framed and 
hanging over the table. In the foreground 
was a tall brick bouse and a vine with large 
red flowers crept to its very chimneys. A 
man was shoot ing at a wolf taller than him 
self, and underneath was a verse which must 
have had a very remoio reference, if any at 
all, to the rest of the picture. It ran thus: 
“ My soul, O (ion, help thou to trust 
All In Thy mighty power; 
Be Tlmii my shield amt hiding place 
And spread for me iliy bower.” 
At the. bottom was the (late" 1840." “More 
than twenty years ago, my dear,” sighed 
she, as her eyes filled with loving tears. How 
earthly mothers love! How they remem 
her! Why doesn’t mine give me a token of 
her presence, if, indeed, she watches over 
me? 
These people rest me so; even the quiet 
colors they wear are grateful to my eyes, and 
the smooth ihees and thous—even if un¬ 
grammatical—are pleasant to hear. I re¬ 
joice in a wrapper all day long; I watch 
Friend Ellisk as ho plants and prunes; 
sometimes l help him with his cherished 
llowers. 1 walk in the shrubbery and do a 
deal of thinking. Something my life lacks. 
If I were sphered in the calm to which I 
once aspired, why should I vex my soul for 
her? If her presence is a wrong, why can I 
not endure it ? If not wrong-then- 
I have thought more of this to-day than 
usual, because silling in the library this af¬ 
ternoon Air. Ei.lise led me on to talk of 
home. “I like what thou sayest of thy 
father,” lie commented; “and thy mother?” 
“ She lias been dead t hree years," 1 replied. 
“Thy own mother has gone to her rest I 
know, b it thy fattier lias married again?’’ 
“ Yes,’’ and 1 crocheted diligently. 
“ Is she not a suitable and worthy per¬ 
son ?’’ 
“ I believe so ;” but. as I answered I felt 
the hot blood leap to cheek and brow. 
“Then thou should’st have a good word 
for her too, Margie.” 
1 wonder if I can have been unjust, as be 
seemed to imply by bis manner and words. 
Have 1 been seeking to do good for the 
mere sake of praise? and have I been so 
selfish as to want all the love for myself? 
Letters from home to-day—a note from her. 
20/A—Last First day I went to “meet¬ 
ing”—an experience altogether novel. The 
building was of un pain ted brick, with yel¬ 
lowish wooden shutters, set hack from the 
street and shaded by venerable oaks, one of 
which bears the dignity of two hundred 
years. No spire, no bell, no stained glass 
nor pealing organ. Outside, the Quaker 
youths and maidens gathered in little groups, 
plucking violets from the grass, and saying 
all manner of pretty tilings, I doubt not. 
The floor was uncarpeted and spotless, as 
were also the unpainted wooden seats, guilt¬ 
less of cushion. The men and women oc¬ 
cupied separate sides of the house, and at 
the end opposite the doors were the raised 
seats, filled by the ministers and directors, 
or officers. The prevailing colors were 
stone, gray and drab, occasionally black. I 
felt painfully conscious that the rose buds on 
my hat might offend; and I thought Hint I 
must, resemble a robin red-breast among a 
flock of doves. 
At first I scanned the congregation curi¬ 
ously. Not a flounce or ruffle was visible ; 
and it made the little children look so old. 
Then I begun to wonder who would speak, 
and I watched curiously the various occu¬ 
pants of the facing seats. An aged Friend 
drew olf his black gloves and slowed them 
carefully away in bis pocket; but as I looked 
for liim to rise, lie crossed bis trembling 
bauds upon the top of his stall’ and fell into 
a steadfast contemplation of the floor. A 
man who bad a fit face for the jolly friar in 
“ Ivanhoe” solemnly laid aside his broad- 
brimmed bat, but composedly settled bis 
jolly chin within his coat collar. An aged 
patriarch gave a long-resounding sneeze, 
which caused a woman to shake out her 
handkerchief and instantly refold it. Another 
closed her eyes and nodded suspiciously. 
The house was dreadfully still, the .silence 
broken, only by the notes of a robin and 
the far-olT lowing of a cow. Minute after 
minute glided away, and a feeling of awq 
crept over me. Through the hush I heard 
the voice of the Infinite. He who is a Spirit 
drew near the wailing throng, and taught 
without words. 1 listened to the breathings 
of the Divine voice, smitten with a sense of 
His exceeding love and mercy. 
A slight rustle startled me, and I saw that 
a pale, delicate woman had laid aside her 
bonnet and risen to her feet. Her clasped 
bands rested Upon the rail before her, and 
with closed eyes she spoke such words of 
cheer as I had never heard. Text was 
linked to text so that each strengthened the 
other, building a sure ladder from earth to 
heaven. She spoke rapidly, yet with so 
fluent, an utterance Hint, not even a syllable 
was lost. After a little pause a man rose 
and talked of the mission of the Comforter, 
the Paraclete, who is to be in us, mid with 
us, and fonts—“a very present help.” Then 
another “ led in supplication,” praying with 
the same musical cadence that the others 
had used. Shortly after this the meeting 
broke up by shaking hands, and people met 
ill little knots to exchange friendly greetings 
before going away to their own homes. 
“ Ruth, this is Margaret Henderson,” 
said Auntie, and 1 found myself face to face 
with the beautiful woman who had spoken. 
“ I’m right, glad to see thee, my dear ; thee 
is like thy mother I see," and calling her 
two daughters, Hetty and Amy, she intro¬ 
duced them, saying wc must be better ac¬ 
quainted. 
As wo came home I asked about Ruth 
Elton, whom 1 knew my mother bad known 
in her girlhood. Mrs. Ellisk told me that 
she was “a very satisfactory preacher,” and 
that “ after a long and afflicting exercise of 
mind she at last came into the quiet.” It is 
plain to see where Auntie gained Her quiet 
goodness, her neat, nice ways, for although 
not a strict Friend, she has imbibed many of 
their sayings, habitually using plain speech 
and wearing quiet colors. These people 
rest me, for they seem so thoroughly good. 
Fashionable culture gives one a grace of 
demeanor, a polished address not to be des¬ 
pised, if the heart lie not spoiled thereby; if 
truth be not robbed of her right. Miss Howe 
used to sav there was no refiner equal to an 
intelligent, living faith, for then we are 
brought into love and charity with those 
about us, and it becomes a delight to render 
the small, sweet courtisies of file. 
2-Uh, — Strawberries and roses are abun¬ 
dant—large, luscious berries and beautiful 
roses of every line. It doesn’t, sound strange 
any longer to hear uncle Ei.lise speak of 
his new “ swinglotrees” and the “gears,” 
both of which terms puzzled me. so at first. 
I spent a couple of days this week with 
Ruth Elton. She is (lie center of a happy 
household—the presiding genius of its joys. 
The gills displayed rare taste in the group¬ 
ing of autumn leaves, minerals and algos; 
some drawings too were creditable, but 
Quakertloilt draws the line at musical ins¬ 
truments, so I missed the sight of piano or 
guitar. The dear good Kuril and her daugh¬ 
ters were just as kind as possible. A little 
golden-haired Rebecca crept into my lap, 
and putting up her small mouth for a kiss 
lisped out—“ I ’oves thee good deal now, 
and I finks I ’ove lliee. d’eadfnl bad to-mar¬ 
row-day.” And sbe, Ruth 1 mean, went up 
to my room and talked to me of my own 
darling mother, whom she know in all her 
youthful bloom—talked so lovingly of her 
that I couldn’t refrain from tears. A sudden 
impulse moved me, and yielding to it I told 
her all that had troubled me during these 
weary months, so firm was my conviction 
that if earthly hand could aid me it washers 
and hers only ; and when her sweet, brown 
eyes, brimmed over with sympathetic tears, 
I felt that I had not been wrong in my esti¬ 
mate of her woman’s heart. She did not 
talk very much to me. I could hardly have 
borne it just then, but when I came away 
she gave me a little book with marked pas¬ 
sages. Here is one of them. 
“ Know that the love of thyself doth hurt 
thee more than anything in the world. If 
thou seekost this or that, or wouldst be here 
or there to enjoy ibine own will and pleas¬ 
ure, thou shall never he quiet, for in every¬ 
thing something will he wanting, and In 
every place there will be some that will cross 
thee... .Everywhere of necessity thou must 
have patience if thou wilt have inward 
peace." In fact the whole book teaches re¬ 
nunciation and self-denial, of which 1 know 
so little. 
It seems there was r.n arrival in my ab¬ 
sence- -a certain Lawrence Kent from 
Philadelphia, who conies here every summer. 
1 was out before breakfast, gathering my 
flowers, and was just trying to reach an as¬ 
piring group of Baltimore Belles, when 1 be¬ 
came aware of a. shadow, and culled out to 
Uncle Ei.lise that lie was just in time to 
help mo. I confess to a little surprise as n 
man tall enough for the King of Prussia’s 
famous Grenadier Guard readied me the 
cluster and said gravely, “ Heliotrope in ex¬ 
change, Mademoiselle.” He put it in his 
bullonhoiennd strode away. It was roman¬ 
tic enough to suit my most romantic friend, 
little Edith Mills. I shall ask no questions 
about this man, yet 1 doubt not that my cu- 
riosiiy will he quenched in I wo days’time. 
—1 was not disappointed. Age un¬ 
certain, vocation lawyer—something of a 
traveler and more of a student. “Much 
study is a weariness of Hie flesli,” quutli 
Uncle Ellisk, after his guest left the table 
this morning. “Thee must care for him, 
Mary.” “Yes,” replied she, “I’ll have 
waffles for ten, and thee knows how fond he 
is of them.” 1 know now, for Julie brought 
plaLesful of them, and they were rapidly dis¬ 
posed of. 1 begin to like Him—lie’s so very 
odd. They talk together by the. hour, Undo 
and he, of polities and myrals, and other 
deep and dark tilings. lie walks in the gar¬ 
den for a couple ofhours each morning, look¬ 
ing straight ahead, as if lie saw nothing at 
all. It,''a extremely inconvenient for me, as 
I want to refill the vases then, and I hesi¬ 
tate to cross his track. To-day I exhausted 
my patience, and sallied out in spile of him. 
He actually woke up, gathered a quantity 
of blossoms, and arranged them quite as 
prettily as I could have done; for I don’t 
mind saying, in my private journal, that 
very few people can make a decent bou¬ 
quet, and I am one of the few. Usually lie 
takes very little notice of my bumble self, 
which state of affairs 1 rather enjoy on the 
whole, and privately I call him the Iceberg 
—a capital name for bint too—lie’s so differ¬ 
ent from Rob, or Enslkv. 
June 4//t.—We arc growing friendlier; but 
lie’s very abrupt. This morning lie took up 
my Coriune, and turning over page after 
page read and criticised freely. “ But Co- 
rinne is too sad for you, Mademoiselle, a lit 
tic girl like you.” My vanity suddenly took 
fire, lie continued talking, more to him¬ 
self than to me, I fancy, of books and their 
authors. I grew audacious, and as soon as 
ever I could, I put in a half-dozen wolds in 
opposition. I began to long for a favorable 
opportunity to dispute something—it mat¬ 
tered little what. 1 advanced a pet theory 
of mine. Ho turned and stared. “ 1 beg 
your pardon, Mademoiselle, but will you 
State your ago?” 
“ Certainly,” replied 1, with a bit of a 
bow. I’m nineteen.” “ Il&r age and her 
name,” said lie in an undertone; and seiz¬ 
ing bis bat be walked towards the meadows. 
My feminine curiosity reasserts itself. What 
difference can my age make to him ? I dare 
say 1 look like a little girl with my cropped 
bead, and simple dress. There’s one ad¬ 
vantage of my illness, at least. 1 am shorn 
of my heavy locks, and my mind is corres¬ 
pondingly lighter. Perhaps I don't contrast 
favorably with bis Margaret ; however it’s 
no concern of mini’, as 1 can see. 
Sunday lie asked me if I wouldn’t like to 
go to church, and in spite of the enjoyment 
] bad in the Friends’ meeting, partly for its 
novelty, perhaps, I experienced a delightful 
home feeling, even it Hie congregation was 
mi unfamiliar one. The youthful speaker, 
with bis clearly cut, Brahmin-like face, im¬ 
pressed me favorably before he uttered a 
word. As for his sermon—’I was of life and 
its duties and privileges—“not to be min¬ 
istered unto but. to minister,” and from it I 
gained new light. I copy again from my 
little book : 
“If tliou desire to mount to the height, 
thou must set out courageously, and lay thy 
ax to the root, HVal tliou mays! pluck up and 
destroy that hidden inclination unto thyself 
and nntoall private and earthly good,which 
being overcome and subdued, there will 
presently ensue great peace and tranquility. 
I have often said unto Lliee, and now I say 
again the same, — Forsake thyself, resign 
thyself, and thou shall enjoy much inward 
peace.” 
21s/.—The Iceberg is thawing upon the 
side towards me; still there arc glittering 
pinnacles Hint tower aloft, and solid depths 
beneath the surface, 1 suppose. They were 
talking to-night of brave people, and he said 
there had been many martyrs of whom the 
world knew naught—upon whose garments, 
’tis true, there was no smell of tire, but whose 
patience and fortitude were worthy of a 
crown—“and they will have it one day.” 
When Uncle went within doors, I ventured 
to ask him if lie had known many brave wo¬ 
men. “ Yes,” lie said, “ women know more 
of true heroism than men. They suffer 
more, and do more, I think.” I could he 
quite content to live a life of simple goodness, 
but my attention was aroused, and I asked 
him to tell me of some brave women he had 
known. I remember one sad story best, of a 
•woman who was left by a selfish father to 
care for the wants of a little sister, •whom a 
severe fright had changed from a bright, 
pretty child to a helpless idiot; that once 
she narrowly escaped death in rescuing the 
little one from the flames,hearing still ascar 
upon her check as a token of her narrow es¬ 
cape. Then, after the death of the child, her 
father married again,and in the space of two 
years she went down into the dark valley 
with Hie father and mother; then devoted 
herself to (lie education of her stepmother’s 
wilful little daughter. “ And she made an 
earnest, useful woman, did Mollie Howe,” 
lie continued. I wonder if it could have 
been my M iss Howe. 1 Icr name was Mary. 
I must ask him. 
23'/.—A strange denouement! It teas my 
Miss Howe, and then talking more at length 
I was so interested by bis account of “Fan¬ 
nie” as lie calls her, for they were intimate 
friends, that admiring her courage and pa- 
lienee, her sweet, womanly character, I said 
that I would give much to know such a 
woman ; that, her friends must indeed be 
happy, since intercourse with so unselfish a 
person must be a never-ceasing delight. 
“ By the way,” said lie, suddenly, “ I had 
a letter to-day from a frieml who is visiting 
in my native village, and be says that Fan¬ 
nie was married last fall to a gentleman 
who lias five children ; so you see Her sphere 
of usefulness is enlarged.” 
“ I quite envy those children," I replied, 
and just at that instant it flushed into my 
mind that fattier calls her Fannie ; that she 
has a curious scar upon her cheek; that 1’vc 
heard her speak two or three limes of “ Sis¬ 
ter Mollie,” I have no doubt that she and 
“Fannie” arc identical. If so, then what 
verdict, can I pass upon myself? I ran 
straight away from Mr. Kent and came up 
to my quiet room to think Hover. I thought 
for two full hours and am thoroughly hu¬ 
miliated and ashamed. If she can he so 
very good and generous as to forgive my 
past, my future shall amply alone. I am 
happier since I made this resolve; neither 
did I make it in my own strength. The 
Comforter has come into my longing heart 
and tilled it with His abiding presence. All 
common things are glorified in the blessed 
light, and henceforth He shall lead me. 
July 3(f. —The Iceberg lias quite vanished 
and given to me a friend who will lie true 
to me, I feel assured. Since I last wrote, 
we have had a piazza chat each night. He 
lias told me of his early life, thedear mother 
who went home so early, and the sweet sis¬ 
ter Margaret, who dieil at nineteen. (He 
gives me my proper name now instead of 
the mocking mademoiselle of our earlier 
acquaintance.) Lust night he said to me, 
suddenly, 
“ You don’t wear a ling, I see." 
“ No, sir." 
“ Here’s one I want to see on your hand. 
It's a Bohemian garnet that I brought home 
for my sister, but she never saw it. Will 
you wear it?” 
I waited a minute, till I thought I could 
speak steadily, and then I told him how 
unworthy 1 was; in fact, I made him my 
confessor—not a hitler thought did I reserve. 
When 1 bad done be simply remarked, 
“ You must wear that ring." So lie put it 
on my hand, for if after he had heard my 
little story lie should still wish me to lake it 
1 could not refuse. J have judged him very 
harshly, since now that I know him better 
lie seems the soul of truth and honor. J 
count myself happy for this brief acquaint¬ 
ance, and he proposes a few days’visit, to 
E-next fall, for Hie sake of renewing 
bis acquaintance with her—I mean with my 
mother. 1 wrote to her last week for the 
first time, and it brought me such a kind 
reply'. Blie says my words gave her great 
pleasure; that she fell sure that I would 
give tier my love in time, and that she had 
wanted it for her own sake and not because 
l loved her Mollie. And 1 am so happy, 
so happy. 
IS//;.—My pleasant visit draws to a close, 
and I dread to leave these dear friends, 
much as 1 long for those at home. Mrs. El- 
lise says they shall miss me, and that is 
pleasant to hear. Dinah lets me make puff 
paste to my heart’s content, and I shall re¬ 
venge myself on Phillis when 1 am at 
home. Uncle Ei.lise s.iys he doesn’t see 
how be is going to carry on his gardening 
operations without me, and as lor his rides 
over the country hereafter, they will be 
solitary ami cheerless. Auntie speaks with 
the added eloquence of tears; and between 
these regrets and the impatience for my 
presence at. home, I am happier than ever. 
Mr. Kent wrote me last week, and some¬ 
thing that lie said—I dare not write it here 
—has given an added luster to the garnet 
that sparkles at every movement of my 
hand. 
Rob comes next week, and I shall write 
no more in t hese pages till I am once more 
at home. The dear home for which I thank 
God daily; He who out of every sorrow 
and pain of my life lias brought great good 
and happiness wholly undeserved. And 
now, farewell. 
fitbbalb |lrabing. 
CALLED. 
BY E. K. I!EXFORD. 
Last night I dreamed that a sweet voice called me, 
Sounding softly and clear from fur,— 
Saying " Come hither! Thy Master waiteth t 
Conic ero the rise of the Morning Star.” 
Then from my couch I rose lip, stricken 
All tit onco witli n sudden awe, 
And I felt, in my bosom the life-beat quicken, 
As before mo a form I saw. 
The face of nti angel, grand and solemn 
Ijooked into mine us 1 trembling stood; 
" There is work for the willing laborer; 
Wot k for thn bunds wilt thou make it good ? ” 
“ Show me the work that Is wailing for me.” 
“Look !” and the angel stretched his hand. 
I saw the weary and worn and erring, 
Wandering wide in an earthly land. 
“There are words to bo spoken and bread to be bro¬ 
ken. 
Tears to bo dried e nd hearts reclaimed; 
Go! for tb\ work is before thee, waiting. 
And the Muster of all thy name hath mimed.” 
“ Work with the strength that shall be given; 
There is plenty for all to do; 
The call has come to you, out of Heaven ; 
Work—and the Master will work with you.” 
Stephousvilie, Wis. 
---- 
A CHRISTIAN CITY. 
Here are entire sections of the city given 
over tobe populated ami possessed by vicious- 
uess; and wc plume ourselves if we keep 
it within its own bonds. We give up one 
house out of every three to he a brothel, a 
gambling-den, or rum-sliop, and then rejoice 
that our morals are so well protected. We 
make one-half of the city a safe spot for a 
lady to walk in by day, and one-third of it 
tolerably secure for gentlemen by night,and 
call our method of city government a success. 
I would like to know, would like to ask this 
question of some of you who are interested 
in this thing, because God lias made it Hie 
city of your residence, and the city of your 
hope, and the city where your children arc 
to live—I would like to ask you what you 
think of it? Here you are, Christian men of 
large means and large influence—influential 
enough to he felt In the Sandwich Islands, in 
Africa, in Asia, in China, and in every known 
land under heaven—and your own city is not 
half Christianized. I say, and 1 believe that 
I speak the simple truth, that the state of 
things here, morally considered, is a shame 
upon every man and woman of influence in 
lids city that call themselves Christians. 
Why, look at it. Here we arc living year 
in and year out with a marsh right in front 
of us; l.he atmosphere which we breathe, 
and which our wives and children breathe, 
absolutely fetid and rank with moral rotten¬ 
ness; our jails filled to overflowing; our 
streets so insecure Hint you must needs, in 
many sections of the city, keep your police¬ 
men within sight of each other; the Sabbath 
so openly disregarded that desecration is 
habitual, and excites no comment. And all 
wo have done, so far, has been this:—We 
have hired some twelve or twenty men and 
women to go down each year, and throw a 
thousand Bibles and twenty thousand reli¬ 
gious tracts, as large ns the palm of your 
hand, into this huge bayou of blue mud. I 
ask you to tell me bow long it will take to 
fill it up at this rate? Do you think that 
the stench will be taken out of the air by 
sprinkling the lavender of the ciiy mission¬ 
ary society over tlie pillows on which your 
consciences now sleep, undisturbed by ike 
miasms that every gust of crime blows up 
into your bedrooms?— Rev. W. II. Murray, 
of Boston. 
BRITISH CONGREGATIONALISM. 
Tiie English Independent gives the annex¬ 
ed summary view of Congregationalism in 
the British Empire: 
The total number of churches is 3,G65, 
besides about 3,000 “stations” for preach¬ 
ing and evangelical labors. The number of 
ministers is 2,980, of whom 2,439 have pas¬ 
toral charges. The number Of vacant 
churches in England is only 157, and 108 in 
Wales, while in England there are 424 min¬ 
isters without pastoral charge. The church¬ 
es are distributed as follows: England, 2,045 ; 
Wales, 978 ; Scotland, 102 ; Ireland, 28 ; Is¬ 
lands of the British Seas, 16 ; British North 
America, 108; Australia and New Zealand, 
176; South Africa and Demerura, 12: mis¬ 
sion churches, about, 300. 
-- 
A GOOD RESOLUTION. 
TnAT wasn’t a bad resolution which tire 
Universalist Convention, just held in Phila¬ 
delphia, passed. Its substance was that 
Whereas, By spending more money 
recolv.-d, wo have already contracted u ueut ox tou,* 
°* if. w./fvd! That It is the crnvo judgment of ih*aCoo- 
vontion that unless we get more money trom toe 1**“ 
ishes we must stop our disbursements. 
There is no doubt about Hint, and tliepai- 
islies had better govern themselves uccoid- 
ingly. A religious body, whether it calls 
itself a Church, or a Conference, or ft Con¬ 
vention, or a Concern, which walks dclibei- 
ately into insolvency, and then begins to piay 
for money, isn’t so religious as it might be. 
New York Iribune. 
