PRESSED LEAVES. 
BY CH-ABLOTTE A. CORDNEB. 
Memokijs green and scarlet and gray. 
Pressed In life's book, this many a day. 
Some bearing marks like autumnal tears; 
gome worn and soiled by the tramp of years; 
Bume where the tire like # flame still burns, 
Brightening tbn pace my hand idly turns; 
gome prosed lu youth, all covered with gold, 
And some over which life's russet has rolled— 
All tell a tale of the gray-haired past, 
Booked lit ray heart with Its pulsing claap. 
Shall we e'er meet In more living green. 
These leaves of ours with their faded sheen? 
Or will they next ns blossoms appear, 
Changing to fruit us autumn draws near, 
Wearing the gold and scarlet and green— 
Celestial hue* of the leaves now seen,— 
Complete at last, like a tale all told,— 
A volume bound In covers of gold, 
Where leaves stained bloody and brown and gray. 
Are garnered as fruit that can never decay ? 
m 0 
tonus for lUmilisfs. 
TACEY’S 
EXPERIENCE IN CHICAGO. 
BY SYLVIA BROWN. 
CHAPTER I. 
“ Mother, there is to be a picnic and 
strawberry party at Mr. Kelsy’s next week. 
It is in lie in tin; Plum Grove. They will all 
meet at Mr. KelSy’c house, and go together 
to the grove. Can I go V ” 
“ No, indeed! How can you go to a pic¬ 
nic when you have just got oil' a sick lied 
where you came near dyin’ of lung fever?" 
“But., mother, I am well now. U was 
last fall I had the lung fever — last year. it. 
is summer now. I never go anywhere," 
“1 shan’t consent to let you go. You 
may as well be contented at once. 1 wish 
there would not be another party or picnic 
in a year. You are tensing to go somewhere 
all the time. I’d like to know what good 
ever comes of it. Then you are continually 
wanting a new dress, a new hat, a new para¬ 
sol or a new ribbon, and you uever seem to 
realize that you are wearing my life away 
by inches. I’d like to know what young 
folks are good for these days. 1 wonder 
what you will do when your poor old 
mother is gone and nobody is lell to earn for 
you to spend, to take care of you when you 
don’t know bow to take care of yourself, to 
listen to your never-ending ‘ I wants,’ and 
get all these things for you ? And who will 
keep you under proper restraint then, and 
give you a Christian bringin’ up ? No, 
you’re not going off to Zurich gallivantin’ 
about with nobody knows who. 1 hope 1 
know my duties better than to allow it.” 
Mrs. Thorne was a woman of a highly 
nervous temperament, and whatever annoy¬ 
ance jarred across her tender sensibilities, or 
whatever depression affected her, whether 
mental, moral or physical, there seemed a 
secret telegraphic nerve communicating it to 
her tongue, and through that medium to all 
about her. Even the gray cat in her serene 
composure understood the condition of the 
mental and social atmosphere, and betook 
herself to her hunting grounds whenever 
storms arose in the domestic sky. 
Mis. Thorne had, indeed become, through 
years of experience and an unchecked habit 
of allowing herself to be irritated by small 
matters, an unconscious scold. She had ac¬ 
quired a pathetic lone which, had it not been 
a semitone too high, would have been an ex¬ 
cellent model for a comic actor. If pleased, 
she scolded to herself as a kind of pastime, 
which afforded her much satisfaction. If 
displeased, she scolded vigorously. When 
really angry, her voice assumed the falsetto, 
and swept right down like a denunciatory 
hurricane upon both innocent and guilty, 
finally subsiding into a hysterical sob. As 
might naturally be supposed, her home was 
not so attractive and pleasant as it might 
have been with a more equable spirit as its 
presiding genius. Her children were always 
fretful, and full of grievances uud troubles 
with each other, and, from some cause, Mrs. 
Thorne often wondered why it should be 
so, since she had faithfully endeavored to fill 
their minds with every Christian precept and 
commandment, they were often finding fault 
and disputing with herself. She sometimes 
thought they were determined to go to the 
bad in spite of all her unwearied remon¬ 
strances. Had she not told them, day after 
da} r , the command in respect to honoring 
parents, and that sudden destruction and 
everlasting calamity awaited all children who 
were disrespectful of parental authority? 
What more could she do ? She had been 
governed ill this rigid way, and had never 
questioned its being the only way. She had 
sternly commanded her children to love her, 
but had forgotten that she must be loveable, 
ihat the mother’s heart should always go out 
to meet her children. 
Tacey kept moodily on with her sweep¬ 
ing, until sitting-room and kitchen had been 
made faultless of dirt and dust. Theu si. i 
went out to brush the scattered and faded 
rose leaves from the porch floor. There was 
something, it may have been in the heavy 
fragrance of the roses and honeysuckles blos¬ 
soming in such profuse wastefulness of beau¬ 
ty and perfume, that stirred her heart to 
stronger pulsations, and awakened a vague 
idea of a human being as comparatively per¬ 
fect in its development as this perfection of 
nature. For a time she stood drinking in 
the beauty of the flowers before her, the 
fields, the groves, and all the intoxication of 
the rich spring-time. 
Tacey was as comely a maid as th ere was 
in all the country around; her fair, clear, 
eastern complexion contrasting favorably 
with the darker tints of her prairie cousins. 
Thanks to her healthful country habits of 
early hours and out-of-door exercise, both lil¬ 
ies and carnations bloomed upon her cheeks. 
She had her full share of day dreams, and of 
desire to mingle in all the pleasure-takings 
that might be available to her. She knew 
quite Avell, had she thought about it, that 
her mother’s word was not irrevocable, and 
that the maternal pride centered in her 
daughter would have been greatly wounded 
had any social event transpired in their im¬ 
mediate vicinity to which Tacey was not in¬ 
vited. 
The child had inherited the same nervous 
irritability that her mother bad so diligently 
cultivated during all the years which she 
had been wearied and worried by household 
.cares, and now she took up her inheritance 
as she looked across the summer field and 
sighingly plucked a spray of the sweet 
honeysuckle and placed it in her hair. 
“ It is always just so! Mother uever wants 
me to go anywhere, or to have anything 
like Other girls. She is always scolding. 1 
can’t say a word about the least thing that 
ever was, without a long lecture to follow 
it, with as much condemnation bestowed on 
me as though I had committed mi unpardon¬ 
able crime. Mother doesn’t care a bit for 
me. When I try to do the very best 1 can, 
and take special pains to please her, she tells 
me I am the greatest trouble she lias in the 
world. If 1 particularly admire anything 
which I soc, and express a wish that 1 could 
have it, 1 am accused of being discontented 
and unthankful- Tt is just the way to stir 
up discontent. Home! There isn’t any 
home about it! We just stay here and learn 
to hate each other, and wish we could get 
away, if only for a day or an hour of quiet 
and peace. If it was really a home, and 1 
could feel that anybody eared for me and 
sympathized with me, and it I could feel 
that I had a mother somewhere near to me, 
who would not repel me like au opposite 
magnetic pole whenever 1 tried to approach 
and open my heart to her; it 1 only dared 
to tell lior my thoughts, wishes, plans and 
troubles; if she would only take me into her 
heart and comfort me, and give me sym¬ 
pathy, and let me know by some demonstra¬ 
tion of lender kindness that she loved me, she 
would help me to become wiser and better, 
and far happier I ban I am now. I feel now 
as if all t he circumstances, surroundings and 
home associations of my life were a weight 
about me, dragging me down when I would 
gladly break loose from them uud rise to a 
more exalted life. L might be as far above 
what 1 am now ns the deep sky yonder is 
above the earth. J feel sure that there are 
capabilities in my mind and nature that will 
never be developed into the grandeur of such 
an existence as might be possible if all about 
me was congenial to my naturally refined 
tastes. Oli, such a life as this! I cannot 
live all my life thus ! Mother, nor any one 
else has any right lo dwarf iny life and sap 
it of all the richest, possibilities. If I could 
find a situation with some dress-maker or 
milliner, to earn ray own living, I would 
take il just to get away from home. Yes, 1 
I would do housework if I could get 
in a good family. I should be depen¬ 
dent upon nobody and nobody would dare 
speak to me in a way that hurts my feelings 
and self-respect. 1 wish 1 could go to the 
city, i would uever come back here again.” 
Tacky shut her lips tightly together as au 
emphasis to her thoughts, but her eyes were 
away across the fields, following along the 
narrow band of iron that led to the city. 
There was a blue cloud of smoko in the dis¬ 
tance, left by the mail train which lmd just 
passed. That hud taken her thoughts away 
to the great city which she had never seen, 
though only thirty miles distant. That train 
passing so rapidly across the prairie, almost 
a ihing of life. It had gone flying on to a 
great world of pleasure, wealth, happiness, 
and, most of all. a world of freedom. Oh, if 
she was only there in the car, beyond the 
blue smoke line, on her way to that joyous 
world beyond, it would be like another ex-. 
islenec; there would be no more of this bur¬ 
densome life so full of vexations, fruitless 
wishes, troubles, and—scoldings. 
" If 1 were only free!” she sighed to her¬ 
self, as she leaned over the balustrade and 
watched tlie distant line fading from sight. 
“ i know I was not made for such a narrow 
and useless existence. 1 need a more Stir¬ 
ling career, i might be, in comparison with 
this vapid state, au angel, if there was room 
to spread the wings of glorious being and 
soar nobly, as a soul feeling its divinity 
should; but in such an unbeaveuly atmos¬ 
phere as surrounds me, even an angel would 
not dare to unfold bis wings, much less to 
use them.” 
This soliloquy was interrupted by a voice 
from the kitchen precincts. “ Tacey 
Tiioune! What in the world are you doing 
there? What are you pulling all those 
flowers to pieces for? Just see how that 
floor looks! Your head is so turned bv par¬ 
ties and nonsense that you don’t know’ what 
you are about. I do wish you could realize 
the value of time, aud how you are wasting 
it I I have to work from morning till night, 
but you are perfectly unconcerned. One of 
these clays you will know what it is to work 
and slave for others, aud for them to be as 
untlmnkflil aud careless for it all as you are 
to your mother. You'll know something of 
care when you have a house of your own, 
and you’ll think then of your poor old 
mother.” 
“ Oh, mother, do stop! I’d marry anybody 
to-morrow il it woula put an end to this 
ceaseless preaching and scolding.” 
“ You’d better to-day, then. You’re fit to 
marry when you’ve no more interest in 
things than a kitten has. Come right into 
the house this minute and go to work, in¬ 
stead of standing there dozing aud .spoiling 
all those flowers." They were planted there 
to look at, not to be torn up in that way.” 
With a murmuring sound following* her, 
as of one talking to herself or holding con¬ 
verse with a familiar spirit, Mrs. Thorne 
went back to the pantry and talked on 
among the milk pans and cream jam. 
Thus recalled from her reverie, Tacey 
took up ihe broom which had fallen beside 
her, brushed off the leaves which her listless 
fingers had scattered, and went, into the 
house, still thiukingofthe rnoredesirahle state 
which her imagination had so colored, as 
her great ideal existing somewhere beyond, 
to be reached by shaking off this dull, repul¬ 
sive cl irysu I is of the present; thinking sor¬ 
rowfully of the life that seemed so heavy 
and distasteful to her. She was longing to 
be independent, to reach out and grasp the 
brightness and glory which she looked for 
only ideally, through anticipation, and 
vaguely. 
flow was she to accomplish her wish ? 
She had no remarkable talent that would 
avail to briug her before the world, and she 
lacked that poaitiven ess of character requi red 
by those women who are able to pilot them¬ 
selves successfully through the difficult, and 
dangerous channels of life’s uncertain seas. 
Mrs. Thorne had worked over the great 
wooden howl of hotter, and fashioned it into 
rolls, on each of which she had stamped 
a rose. The yellow halls lay before her in a 
stone jar, so rich aud golden as to suggest 
cream biscuits aud honey. When all was 
done, she went hack to the kitchen. 
“ Tacey, pul on your bonnet and go down 
to the post-office for the paper. J want to 
see wliat’s the price of butter to-day. I’ve 
promised to get a firkin ready for Mr. 
Sneli. i no to-night. And, Tacky, you may 
take some o’ them yeast cakes to Miss Car¬ 
ter. They ain’t near so good as Lhc ones I 
made before. I don’t know what you did 
to 'em that should make ’em so poor. I’ve 
always had the name o’ makiu’ the best 
yeast of anybody In the neighborhood. And 
while you are about it, you may go round 
tlie corner, to Miss Emery’s, and carry that, 
recipe for doughnuts. Now don't stay a 
minute, for it will be time to be gettin’ din¬ 
ner, against you come back.” 
Tacky’s errands were enough to occupy 
all the time she had to spend, for il, was liuif 
a mile to the post, - office, a quarter of a mile 
further to Mr. Carter’s, then back to the 
post-office corner and another quarter to the 
right, across the railroad to Mr. Emery’s. 
The walk, though a long one, was a recrea¬ 
tion to her. 
After dinner was over and everything in 
order for the afternoon, and when Tacky bad 
unfastened her hail’ and twined it into wav¬ 
ing curls, put, on a buff print dross, and sat 
down to her patchwork basket for an hour, 
she remembered the paper. It was not the 
price of butter that claimed her interest, but 
the story, with sundry short paragraphs and 
items. Then something in the pages of ad¬ 
vertisements at tracted her attention. Finally 
a line or two caused a quick flush to pass 
over her cheeks. She sat for some time 
looking at the paper without reading, 
dropped it, took up her patchwork, and with 
tier needle kept time to her thinking. She 
took up the paper again, carefully read a 
few lines over and over, then copied into a 
small memorandum book the following : 
Wanted.—A youn*? lady of refinement, who 
is willing to assist in the domestic labors, can 
tlnd a pleasant, home, where she will be treated 
as one ol the family. A srtrl from the country 
preferred. Call, during the week, ut — Michi¬ 
gan Avenue. 
Here was the very opportunity for which 
she had been wishing. She had said that 
very morning that she would go if she could 
find a place. Aud now that the cbunceliad 
opened before her, she regarded it as an in¬ 
dication not to be mistaken. Sbe believed 
that something, fate or Providence, was 
pointiug her cityward, and saying, “ This is 
the way.” It was not at all strange that sbe 
felt thus, for the hest of ns are prone to be¬ 
lieve the path of inclination is tho way of 
duty, that Providence directs ns to take 
when we have prayed, with blinded hearts, 
“ Not Thy will, but mine, O Lord 1” 
The decision was made to go; the first 
independent resolution that Tacey had ever 
formed in her life. Everything seemed fa¬ 
vorable to the project. ’Her mother was 
going, in a day or two, to Aunt Kern’s—a 
dozen miles away—for an all-day visit, so 
she would get ready and go on the morning 
mail train, aud there would be nobody to 
hinder her going in peace. She had a few 
dollars of her own, which she had saved 
from the spring butter-making. This would 
suffice to defray her expenses there, and 
back again if need be—but she should not 
come back. 
“ Tacky, go right this minute, and put on 
the tea kettle for supper. Dear me ! Can’t 
you ever do anything without being told and 
driven about it ? Make haste, child, for it 
is nearly five o’clock now." 
“ Only ten minutes after four, mother, and 
the men didn’t want supper early to-night, 
because they are not going to work to-mor¬ 
row, and they wish to get as much done to¬ 
day as possible." 
“ Well, you go and put on your brown 
calico dress. It’s good enough to wear at 
home. 1 have to work hard from morning 
till night to get clothes tor you to wear out. 
I don’t know as I could ever do enough to 
satisfy you.” 
Tacey did not listen to the impatient, 
tones, for she was thinking of the “ good 
time coming ” when all would be as pleas¬ 
ant as the babbling of a summer brook. 
CHAPTER II. 
The next clay she waited till they had all 
gone. Then she went up stairs, and put a 
few clothes in a satchel, dressed herself in 
her neat suit of gray, then went down stairs 
and caref ully fastened the door, putting the 
key in its accustomed place under the door 
stone. She hastened across the fields and 
down the track to the ilepwt. She was just 
in time for the train. It was as she wished. 
She entered a car without having been in 
the depot or procuring a ticket. 
The train started, and Tacey turned faint 
with a sudden fear as she realized wliat she 
had done: but it was only for a moment. 
Sbe had stood yesterday on the porch yon¬ 
der, and watched the train as il sped on¬ 
ward, and now she was really with it, going 
to a new and broader lane of life. She 
had some misgivings as to whether she had 
done perfectly right or not, and her heart 
trembled so that she hardly dare look about, 
the car lest sbe should meet some luce that 
would recognize her; so she looked out of 
the window, away across the prairie, aud 
wondered why she was not so happy as she 
had expected to be. 
Here and there they passed through little 
I white villages, smiling with flowers and vine- 
covered lattices Sometimes they stopped, 
and heard for a moment the lively hum of 
voices, while a crowd of travelers aud idlers 
surged upon the platform; then the whistle 
sounded, and the little town seemed swept 
for behind them The train finally checked 
its speed, and instead of the green prai¬ 
rie, with its waving fields of grain and herds 
of grazing cattle, there were scattered cot¬ 
tages, Utmmced lots, more numerous streets, 
and then the houses were nearer together, 
carriages, wagons, drays, milk carts, loads 
of hay ami foot passengers began to throng 
the streets. The train moved still more 
slowly. Just there, by the corner, a man 
was driving in a one-horse-wagon,—not, like 
Jehu of old, whose delight was in horses of 
great speed, for this man drove at leisure, 
and as he rode along he lifted up his voice 
and cried out:—“Strawber-rees, ber-rees, 
ber-rees, 6trawber-rees 1" 
An uncouth looking object a little further 
on was joining in the noise by calling in a 
shrill monotone, “ lta-a-a-a-gs !” wliile a 
little urchin, no larger than her six year-old 
brother, was crying in a clear tone of alto, 
“Here’s yer Tri-buna and Rcpubli-Zcim/ 
Paper, sir ?” 
All this was novel to Tacey. They came 
into the midst of factories and machine 
shops, lumber yards aud long warehouses. 
The dust and din of the city was on every 
side. Over yonder was a line of tall masts, 
the first, shipping which Tacky had ever 
beheld. Finally, the train stopped in a long, 
gloomily-looking building. 
“Chi-Caw-go!” was drawlingly an¬ 
nounced by tiie brakesman. Tacky fol¬ 
lowed tbecrowd to the outer plat form, where 
they dispersed in various directions, and she 
found herself left alone, not knowing whith¬ 
er to go. She looked inquiringly about, 
when a gentleman approached her and 
asked: 
“ Looking for your friends, Miss?” 
“ Can you tell me how to find ihe way to 
No. —, Michigan Avenue ?’’ 
“ With the greatest pleasure, Miss. I am 
going directly there. 1 live hut a lew doors 
beyond, and will be most lmppy to accom¬ 
pany you Nothing gives me greater hap¬ 
piness than to assist beautiful females in dis¬ 
tress. I presume you lmvc not beeu in Chi¬ 
cago before. Do your relatives reside ou 
Michigan Avenue?” 
“ 1 have no relatives in the city,” was 
Tacky’s unguarded answer. 
“Ah! I understand. You come here as 
an adventuress to seek your fortune? There 
is no city like Chicago for that. You will 
succeed I am sure. A lady of pleasing ad¬ 
dress and possessed of the divine attributes 
ol Venus is sure to succeed, You may al¬ 
ready regard me as a friend who will assist 
you.” 
There was something in the tone and 
manner of tliis stranger which awakened a 
feeling of distrust in Tacey’s mind. She 
felt, as an intuition perhaps, that she was 
not safe under his assumed protection. lie 
seemed to know, or found out from her in 
some way, just what she felt il would be 
better to conceal from him. Sbe wished he 
would leave her and go about his business if 
he bail any. But she could not find her way 
alone and there was none else to ask. 
They passed along Canal street a short 
distance, then down Washington towards 
the river. There was no bridge before them, 
a fact they did not perceive until they stood 
in a large cavernous doorway. “This 
way,” said her escort, preceding her down 
the steps toward a gloomy darkness. She 
shuddered with alarm. What place could 
this be? Who was be, aud why was he 
bringing her into this dark cellar? There 
were a few people emerging from the pit, 
hut they were doubtless like Iter escort, and 
au appeal to them would be useless. She 
stopped. She stopped, thinking she would 
let him pass and then fly from the place, 
He took her hand aud asked if she was 
afraid. 
“ Where are we? where are we going ?” 
she demanded. 
“ Oh! It does seem a strange place to one 
not familiar with our wonderful city, I pre¬ 
sume. This is the Tunnel, the nearest thor¬ 
oughfare for crossing the river. It is lighted 
and only a short distance through. You 
need not fear. It is perfectly sale.” 
Tacey felt chagrined at Xus knowing that 
she was afraid, though he might not know 
that he was the cause of her fear. She 
stepped bravely down the stairs and looked 
forward. It was dimly lighted, and there 
were so few people near. "She knew there 
were other streets with bridges. Why had 
he brought her in this direction ? There was 
no chance of escape. There was no one to 
be seen, no footsteps near, only the rumbling 
of carriages on the other side of the walls. 
If somebody would only cornel The hot 
breath of her companion touched her face, 
and she shrunk to the. farther side of the 
passage. Just then a man dressed in a long, 
dark coat, passed rudely against her, ami 
seizing the young mau demanded, 
“Why are you bringing this lady here? 
Miss, look to ’your money. This gent has 
| light fingers. We’ve been watching for him 
I for some time. Glynn !” 
At. the call another officer appeared, aud 
after a slight scuffle, the prisoner was hand¬ 
cuffed. Tacky found, to her dismay, that 
her portmounaie was missing. 
“ It is not far away," said the policeman. 
“ I saw him take it just as I came in, and it 
is in this pocket.” Drawing it out as he 
spoke, he restored it to her. 
“Glynn, site that the lady finds her desti¬ 
nation without auy more trouble. I followed 
them from the depot, luckily for her, and 
judging by appearances, this fellow did not 
intend showing her the right way. I’d ’a 
stepped up before for her sake, but I wanted 
to cage this bird safely." 
They emerged from the other end of the 
tunnel, and Glynn saw Tacey salely in a 
Madison car, and gave her directions for find¬ 
ing the desired house oil Michigan Avenue. 
She changed cars as he had told her, but 
when she got out among the throng, she was 
at a loss which way to go, and remembering 
her former experience, she dared not ask 
She stood there, gazing up and down the 
street at the numbers, until someone passing 
observed her, and asked where sbe wished 
logo. 11 was not far distant, and Tacey 
soon rung the door-bell with a feeling of sat¬ 
isfaction that she had found the pleasant 
home which she had so much desired. It 
was a beautiful place, a large, marble front, 
with a flight of broad, white marble steps 
leading from the pavement up to the door. 
The yard and trees were wanting, but there 
was the blue water of Lake Michigan only 
beyond the street.—[To be continued. 
oo 
jiibbatlj Ucabhttj. 
THOUGHTS BY THINKERS. 
God’s Love 1’t-rHonal. 
BEEonER, in one of his sermons, says: 
“ So men think that God’s beneficence is a 
kind of sunlight, flaming with a flashing fire 
abroad. It does throw down a certain good 
will upon everybody, and upon everything 
indifferently, without regard to character or 
position. A certain sunshine of the divine 
nature it is. And so many conceive of God’s 
love as being so universal that it is hardly 
personal, it is atmospheric to their thought 
—not minute, not specific. But the God of 
revelation is a father. Mankind are his chil¬ 
dren. He knows all of them, and is per¬ 
sonal to each, uud is specific to every indi¬ 
vidual creature of the vast household, in¬ 
numerable and inconceivably by us. The 
thought of God points to each one; and as 
if there was but a single creature in the uni¬ 
verse, he looks on that one. 
Love i tie Porce. 
Love is the ministraul force of the uni¬ 
verse. It is that energy which lies behind 
all phenomena; which creates law, and 
Shapes government, and administers them 
both. It is that which lies behind all pain, 
and all sorrow, and all suffering. These 
things seem here to spring from malign 
causes, because many men think they do, to 
a very large extent; and they are traced 
bade and over to a demoniac God, or to de¬ 
mons. But, according to the teachings of 
the New Testament, God’s central nature is 
love, and his government is the issue of that 
love; and all the phenomena in the universe, 
if they are traced back to then source, will 
be found at last to have beeu co-ordinated 
under this great central attribute and ele¬ 
ment of the divine character.” 
Wliat is Life? 
Some writer—we know not who—says 
“The mere lapse of years is not life. To 
eat and drink and sleep; to be exposed to 
darkness and the light, to pace around the 
mill of habit and turn the wheel of wealth; 
to make reason our bookkeeper, and turn 
thought into au implement of trade—this is 
not life. Iu all this, but a poor fraction of 
the consciousness of humanity is awakened, 
aud the sanctities still slumber which make 
it most worth while to be. Knowledge, 
truth, love, beauty, goodness, faith, alone 
give vitality to mechanism of existence. 
The laugh of mirth, which vibrates through 
the heart; the tears which freshen the dry 
wastes within; the music which brings 
childhood hack; the prayer that calls the 
future near; the doubt which makes us med¬ 
itate; the death which startles us with its 
mystery; the hardships that force us to 
struggle; the anxiety that ends in trust— 
these are the true nourishments of our natu¬ 
ral being.” 
Riulit of Opinion. 
Rev. James Martineau says:—“Belief 
flows from causes partly moral, partly intel¬ 
lectual. But can any human eye, I aslc, dis¬ 
cern in what proportion they are mingled in 
any one’s faith ? Dare you say of your dif¬ 
fering brother, that he differs from a prevail¬ 
ing depravity of heart, and not from consti¬ 
tutional causes? If not, theu is there any 
human tribunal to which opinion may be 
called? We are not forbidden lo love any 
fellow-creature, however remote his views 
from ours. As we are unable to discover 
how far diversities of sentiment flow from 
the will, we are hound to treat them all as if 
they were entirely voluntary, and to leave to 
the Searcher of hearts the award of approba¬ 
tion or displeasure.” 
