330
Civdt.
THE GLORIOUS PSALMS
Sing me the Psalms ! the glorious Psalms of
old,
That sounded first upon Judea's plains ;
All other music lifeless seems and cold,
, Beside the melody of David's strains.
Sing me the Psalms that echoed from the hills,
Those favored hills, where Israel's sons had
birth,
Wake, wake each harmony the soul that fills
With rapture, more allied to heaven than
earth !
Bing Psalms of praise when• victory , is given
O'er outward foes, or over hosts unseen ;
Johovah Jah still reigns in earth and heaven,
As strong to save as He hath ever been.
Sing, when the earth is clad in softest green ;
Join Psalms of gladness to the birds' sweet
g ;
Praise son Israel's Shepherd, when His hand is
seen '
Leading Ihy steps the quiet streams along.
Bing, when all nature wears a snowy shroud ;
When ice-bound fountains into torrents rush;
When azure skies are veiled behind the cloud,
Let wondering praises from thy Psaltery
gush. •
Sing me the Psalms, even when the burning
tear
Tells of departure from the narrow way ;
Oft David's song was sad when he was here ;
O'erwhelmed with sin, he turned to weep
and pray.
Sin I though affliction swelleth like a tide.
When deep to deep calls, in thine hour of
woe;
Thine anchor's safe within the Rock's cleft side;
Billows may toss, but cannot overflow.
Sing David's Psalms, when earthly light grows
dim, 40
And ev'ry conflict but the last is o'er ;
Bid mourners join in the triumphant hymn,
That wings thy spirit to the heavenly shore!
—Selected.
CELESTIAL VISITORS.
The following lines were written by
the late Mrs. Balmer, on visiting one of
the churches in London, where she was
wont to worship, after a time of severe
affliction in which she had lost several
of her friends.
"Who are these whose soft and shadowy light
Falls like a sunbeatu thro' an evening cloud?
Oh, they are hosts of sainted spirits bright,
Who once beneath this hallowed temple
bow'd, •
Bat now escaped from earth away,
Tread the bright pavement of the skies ;
Yet love to linger, love to stay,
Where first they learned to weep and pray,
On wings of faith to rise.
" Oh, they are those whose bosoms glowed
With zeal for thy prosperity ;
Whose glistening eyes with tears o'erilowed,
Jerusalem thy joy to see :
Thy sacred gates unseen they throng;
Unheard they join the choral song ;
They cleave the realms of lucid air,
With cherub lyres,
Seraphic choirs,
The solemn joys to share.
"A cloud of witnesses they stand,
A diadem'd, illustrious band,
And urge us to proceed ;
To lead the trophied armies on,
To spoil the foe, to take the crown,
And win the world to God."
MATCHES.
BY THE MISSES WARNER, AUTHORS OF THE "WIDE,
WIDE WORLD,',' "OLD HELMET," &C.
Chapter 11.
And where did you learn to cry
matches, my boy ? I think it would take
me some time to get my voice into such
order,'—for Johnny's cry had rung
round the streets, finding its way in a
sort of wiry fashion into every corner.
The speaker was a young man with a
pleasant face, and a voice which certainly
was good for his purposes. It was a day
when Johnny had been kicked and beaten
and abused till he was, as be said, 'half
dead;' and now very weary and hopeless
he wandered along with his basket, of
matches, from which as yet people had
- bought nothing. That voice was the
pleasantest thing Johnny had heard to
. day, and the kind face the pleasantest
thing he had seen. So instead of answer
big he looked up at it.
' Where did you learn ?' repeated the
gentleman. Johnny's face darkened
again.
guess I learned it here,' he said,
slapping his pooket,—'and here,'he add
ed, turning back the cuff of his ragged
jacket and shewing a long bruise.
'My poor fellow,' said the gentleman,
is that the way you liVe ?'-
' Pretty much so, sir,' said Johnny,
'Taint so bad, times—and times it's
worse.'
'Where are you going this morning ?
Just round, sir,—but everybody's
got matches to-day. Guess. I shan't get
.home to-night.'
' I want sixpence worth,' said the
gentleman, taking out a bright coin.
What do you mean by your not going
home to-night ?'
Can't go home till I've sold my
matches,' said Johnny, shaking his head.
There's six of the biggest boxes, sir,-
them's real full.'
' Are some fuller than the others ?'
said his friend, as he put the boxes in
his own coat pocket.
4 Well—they may be,' said Johnny in
differently. "All customers ain't alike,
neither.'
'Did you ever go to Sunday-school ?'
said the gentleman.
'No school, of mil Kind; said Johnny,
not since I can remember.'
''Well suppose you come to mine next
Sunday ? It's in that red brick hoise on
the corner.'
' Suppose I do,' said Johnny, looking
up at his questioner,—'what then ?'
Then I'll try to teach you that the
difference in customers ought to make no
difference in the match-boxes.'
Ah, but it can't help it,' said Johnny.
Some folks is good and I'll give you a
lift, and some most puts their hands in
your pockets to get what ain't there.'
' Yes, but that must not make any
difference,' said Johnny's. new friend;
that's not the way God deals with us.'
Aint it ?' said the boy. Well I
don't know,—we don't have much'to do
with him any way.'
Oh yes you do,' said the gentleman.
He hears everything you say,and knows
every thing you do.'
`Think so?' said Johnny. Well,does
he like to hear cursing and swearing, and
lying and such like?'
No indeed, it displeases him very
much.'
Then I don't see why he don't burn
our house down,' said JOlnny, arranging
his basket strap and making ready for
a move.
' Ah that is just because he is so very
good—so kind to us. And because
Jesus pleads for us. Did you - ever hear
about the Lord Jesus Christ ?'
`Not much,' said Johnny,
Well come to my school next Sunday
and I'll teach you,' said the gentleman.
And now listen. Jesus gave his life for
you, that , you might live. And he wants
you to be good, and is very much grieved
and displeased whenever you do wrong;
but if you love him and trust to him, he
will take care of you for ever. Pray to
him, beg him to make you his child ; and
the Lord bless you!'
The gentleman went on his way, and
Johnny trudged along with his basket,
down, down, to the' Fulton - ferry ; for
this day he was going over to Brooklyn
to drive his trade there. The day was
pretty successful ; but as he came back
at night a gentleman on the boat bought
some matches from the little basket, and
handed. Johnny a piece of money which
proved to be a two and a half gold piece.
I do not know whether the gentleman
meant to give him such a sum, or
whether it was an accident: however,
Johnny took it home to his father, who
was quite delighted to see so much money.
And the next morning, Sunday though
it was, he sent off for a gallon , of brandy.
There was a dreadful scene in the house
after that,until at last Johnny was so worn
out with scolding and abuse that he got
leave to g 0 out; and once in the street he
started for the red brick house where
his new friend kept Sunday-school. It
was a mile off, but Johnny limped gladly
along—anything was better than hoine!
Those little children who go to Sunday
school know well what beautiful things
are taught there, and can guess what
music the sweet words and kind voices
were to Johnny's ears. And those of
you who do not know, must go the very
next Sunday and find out.
From this time Johnny went every
Sunday when his father would give him
leave ; and his father—finding out that
Johnny liked to go = told him that he
should have leave whenever he had
brought in a good- deal of money the
week before ; but if he had sold few
matches through the week then homust
stay at home on Sunday. And soon he
would not let him go at all.
Then Johnny tried running away,
and did not go home at all for several
days and nights, he, and one of his little
brothers. The first night the two boys
slept in the coal box at a grocer's door,
and the next night the same way ; and
the next night they paid for a trip on
one of the ferry boats, and then curled
themselves up on the deck to sleep.
But when the b )at was moored and all
quiet, one of the deck hands came along
and saw the two boys in the corner.
And when he heard their story, he took'
them down stairs and gave them some
tea and bread and butter, and then bade
them, go to , sleep on the floor of the
engine room. How would y,ou like that,
little children ? Would you think that
was something to be thankful 'for?.
How glad Johnny would have been to
sleep so warm every night I Butt that
might not be. • ,
Next day the boys were found and
brought home, and then treated worse
than ever; and ,Johnny resolved that
the next time he ran away, it should be
to some place where his father would
not find him.
'LETTER-WRITING
Did you ever think what a good thing
a good letter is ? .1 was looking the,
other day, over a bundle of old letters,
the writer of whom is in rebeldom, and
I sadly fear, a rebel, but whose. name is
dear to any heart, as the fragrance of
flowers, in the spring. No word has
passed between us, since the dark hour
when old Virginia • erased her name from
her country's, roll of honor, and took, the
downward step, which- plunged her so
low, but here, in the sweet soulful letters
of my friend, she came back to me. I
seemed to hear, the low. clear voice to -
See the smiling lip, and the seft, kind
eyes of my darling. The little gossip
abodt home, so trifling in itself, but so
pleasant to 'the ear of a friend, the
womanly allusions, to ribbons .and rings,
and bonnets, and dresses, and the sweet
er iages, wherein together we communed
of the things which are beyond all price,
of the Savior, whpse name is above every
name, how vividly they brought back the
past. And then the last letter, in which,
with the blindness of a Southern woman,
she exclaimed; "Many and bitter have
been the wrongs of my poor South, but
yet I hope, Virginia will not seqede. I
hoped and-prayed that Mr. L. might not
be elected, but God has willed it other
wise.,,
One stormy day last winter, I was
looking over some old school-books. From
the leaves of a grammar, there fell a
tiny folded - paper. rtook it and found in
the well-known hand of a beloved teacher,
these words:
" Whether you eat or drink, or what-
.E'HILADELPHLI., 'THURSDAY, OCTOBER 20, 1864.
ever ye do, do all to the glory of, God!'
Straightway I remembered, how one
day I had gone to this lovely lady,
the idol of my childish day's, with a case
of conscience, and this had been her re
ply. Years ago, " she passed through
glory's morning-gate, and walked in
Paradise !" but though dead, she still
speaks.
It is a matter of regret that married
ladies so often give up their correspon
dence. Engrossed in domestic cares,
they gradually become weaned from the
friends of girlhood, and they lose a great
means of intellectual culture, besides
shutting up one of those sweet springs
of friendship, whose bubbling waters
keep the heart ever fresh. People seem
to make a bugbear of letter-writing.
You shall hear a young girl, whose lively,
talk and winning ways make her the life
of her little circle, declare that she "never
can 'write a decent letter, her ideas take
flight the moment she takes the pen in
her hand.".
The great trouble is, that letter-writ
ers usually want to produce something
sentimental, or beautiful or particularly
proper and correct. They appear in let
ters as they do in photographs, in their
best clothes, without a spot or a wrinkle,
every muscle forced to rigid stillness,
every hair in its place. When you get
the letter and sit down to it, expecting
a feast of friendship, it is as if, for
bouquet of June roses, one sent you an
herbarium, or for a luster of scented
leaves, rustling of the Spring, a beauti
fully prepared phantom. Write as you
talk, friends, and Your letters will come
home to the heart, as you would yourself.
Write, as the mother to her soldier boy,
as the wife to her husband, pacing the
night long on the picket line, as the sol
dier to his wife; on the eve of the battle.
Write such warm breathing, earnest,
" live" letters as Farragut and Sherman
write, with nothing Napoleonic or stilted
in their style, but with a great-deal heart
whole, and American. First have some
thing to say—next say it. M. E. M.
A correspondent of the Bangor Whig
narrates the following incident, which
recently came under his observation :
'‘ On the stage were seven or eight
soldiers from the Bth Maine regiment—
.
civil, well behaved, intelligent men, as
was apparent from their conversation.
While at the stage-house in Lincoln,
there came into the grace p"o"or old
blind man—stone blind—sloWly reeling
his way with his cane. He approached
the soldiers and said in gentle tones,
Boys, I hear you belong to the Bth
regiment, I have a son in thal regiment.'
What is his name ?' 'John—,' 'Oh
yes, we know him well. He was a ser
geant in our company ; we always liked
him. He is now a lieutenant in a colored
regiment, and a prisoner at Charleston.'
" For a moment the old man ventured
not to reply; but at last, slowly and
sadly, he said: feared as much. I
have not heard from him for a very long
tim
"Without waiting for another word,
these soldiers took from their wallets a
sum of money, amounting to twenty dol
lars and offered it to the old•man,saying
at the same time. 'lf our company was
here we would give a hundred dollars.'
The old man replied, ' Boys, you must
put it in my wallet for me, for I am
blind.'
"But mark what follow,ed. Another
individual in the room wholtad loOked
on this scene as I had, with feelings, of
pride in our citizen soldiers, advanced,
and said : ' Boys this is a handsome thing,
sand I. want you to drink with me.' I
stand, treat for the company.' I waited,
with interest, for the reply. It came—
'No sir, we thank you kindly. We ap
`preciate your offer, but we never drink!'
The scene was perfect—the first act was
noble, was generous; the last, was
grand."
"We want a peculiar man at our
place." Yes, and in the next town the
people want a peculiar man also. There
is a growing demand everywhere for
peculiar ministers. Even the older
churches, that have had the , reputation
of being staid, and not carried about by
every wind,have caught the idea. They
have found out that they must ,have. a,
peculiar man for their young people.
And the tastes of the people have become
so various that it does require a singular
man to meet . them all.
But what is to be done with ministers
who are not peculiar?" men of common
sense, sound judgment and sound learn
ing,; sober, prudent, pious men; men
who:are able to teach others, an are
suited to be wise counsellors ? whose
character and influence are unequivocal?
We are aware that an eccentric man,
who is given to saying odd and strange
things, is more amusing and attractive
to the young ; and that common sense
and refined taste are not commoditieS
that secure one great eclat in the world.
But ought it not be considered whether
the influence of the former is equally
salutary, and as well suited to secure
the salvation of souls ? Doubtless God
has called ninety-nine sober-minded men
to preach the gospel, where he has called
one peculiar man. If so, it is by their
instrumentality in the main that the
cause of Christ is to be carried on, and
sinners saved, peculiar ministers being
the exception, and not the rule.
Did not good sense and eminent fitness
ffdertiono.
WE NEVER DRINK
PECULIAR MINISTERS
in things characterize our Saviou'r and
the religion he taught, rather than oddity
and eccentricity ? Would not the
churches of Christ have more dignity,
and exert a more salutary and saving
influence, by educating the young to pay
greater deference to the ordinary and
divinely appointed means of grace, than
by attempting to gratify their desire for
novelty and entertainment ? a desire
which, the more it is fed, the less it is
satisfied. Though the young might be
less highly pleased, would they not be
more contented? Though fewer were
attracted by human means, would not
more be drawn by the Spirit's power ?
We do not object to peculiar ministers in
their places, but do protest against a
growing depreciation of, and disgontent
with, the ordinary ministry of the word
as God has appointed it; a depreciation
and discontent which have been greatly
fostered by the novel reading and popular
lecturing of the day, and which are sadly
affecting the stability and spiritual use
fulness of the churches.- Watchman
and Reflector.
A STORY F.OR FATHERS
I was reading lately of a little boy
who was trying to be like God, by being
a giver. He loved to give. He would
go to his father sometimes half a dozen
times in a day, with his bright eyes
sparkling, and his little round face all
in a glow, and say, " Pa, _I want a pen
ny to give 'to a poor beggar at the door,"
or "to the organ-grinder," or "to the
little girl that wants cold victuals."
And then, on Sunday mornings he would
come and ask for something for the
Sunday school Missionary Society, and
for many other things. His .father
wanted him to form the habit of giving
while he was young, and so he always
let him have what he wanted.
But one day when he came to ask for
something, his father said to him, "My
son don't you think you give away a
great deal of money?"
"Why, yes, pa," said he, "and I do
so love to give."
"But then you come to me for all you
give. It's not your own money that
you are so liberal with."
This seemed to be a new thought to
the little fellow, and he turned away to
his play, perplexed a little by what his
father had said to him. Presently,
however, he came running back.
"Papa," he asked, "rho. gives you
the money that you give away ?"
" I earn it by hard labor, my son."
"But who gives you strength to la
bor with, pa ?" asked the little fellow.
"God gives us our strength," said
his father.
"And, pa, haven't you often told me
that God gives us everything?"
" Yes, my son, every good thing we
have God gives us."
"Well, pa, I love to give away the
money God gives us ; don't you love to
give away the money God gives you?"
The father hugged the little boy in
his arms and kissed him; gave him
what he wanted and let him go. And
then that father sat down to think over
the question which his dear child had
asked him. Like a great many other
people, he had forgotten that the money
which he had was not his own, but God's.
All the money in the world belongs to
God. In one place in the Bible God
says, " The silver is mine, anti the gold
is mine." (Hag. ii. 8.) God doesn't
give us money to keep; he only lends it
to us, to use for him, and to do good
with it. And when we die he will call
us to give an account of the use we
have made of it. God loves to give, and
he loves tcrhave his people give. God is
such a wonderful giver, that when' he
found we could not be saved or be happy
in , any other way, " He gave his only
`begotten Son" to die for us. And when
we learn to give, and love to give, we
become. like God in this respect."
"It is more blessed to give than to
receive," then, because it is more like
God.—Chiltes Paper.
BEAUTIFUL ANECDOTE OF A GREAT MAN
Sir William Napier was one day taking
along country walk near Freshford, when
he met a little girl, about five years old,
sobbing over a broken bowl;'she had
dropped and broken it in bringing it back
from the field`to which she had taken her
father's dinner in it, and she said she
would be beaten on her return "home for
having'broken it; then, with a sudden
gleam-of hope, she innocently looked up
into his face said, "But ye can mend it,
can't ye ?" My father , explained that
he could not mend the bowl, but the
trouble he could;' by the gift of a six
pence ;to buy another. However, on
opening his purse it was empty of silver,
and he had to make amends by promising
to meet his little friend in the same hour
next day, and to bring• the' sixpence
with him, bidding her, meanwhile, tell
her mother she had seen a gentleman
who would bring her the money for the
bowl the next day. The child, entirely
trusting him, went on her way com
forted. On his return home he found
an:invitation awaiting him to dine in
Bath the following vening to meet some
one whom he specially wished to see.
He hesitated for some little time, trying
to calculate the possibility of giving the
meeting to his little friend of - the broken
bowl, and of still being in time for the
dinner party in Bath ; but finding this
could not be, he wrote to decline accept
ing the invitation on the plea of a "pre
vious engagement," saying to us, "I can
not disappoint her, she, trusted me so
implicitly."
DOMESTIC ECONOMY
"E. H. M.,". in Moore's Rural .New
Yorker, makes the following suggestions
to mistresses of households :
I have a slate hanging in my pantry
with pencil attached, upon which we are
accustomed to write down such domestic
concerns as need attention. For in
stance, upon one side of it is now writ
ten, " Send for corn-meal, starch and
lamp chimney." "Examine butter-fir
kin. ' " Engage onions of Mr. Allen
to-morrow." These are for my own at
tention, while upon the other side the
girl- is reminded to " Brown coffee;
gather beans for drying." "Scald the
bread box." " Wash cellar shelves."
Whenever I find any little item that
needs attention either from myself or
the girl, I trust it to my slate, and find
it much safer than to run the risk of
remembering it at the right time. You
often hear housekeepers exclaiming,
"There,- I forgot entirely to send for
'such a thing-•—or do such a thing, and
now it is too late." Try the slate.
ANOTHER.—Beside the slate hangs a
small blank book, also furnished with a
pencil, in which I keep an account of
my household expenses. The pages are
variously' headed, "Flour," " Sugar,"
" Meat, " Butter," &c., with an extra
Page for sundries. At the right hand
corner of the page, above, I put the
amount which I have decided by careful
estimate is all we can afford to spend
monthly, or yearly, (I have tried both
ways) for the article designated. Then
I enter every purchase made under its
appropriate head, giving date, quantity,
price and amount. At the close of
each month it is easy to see whether we
live within our income or not. You
farmer's wives may think this neither
possible nor useful for you, but I assure
,you if you would once try it you would
find a satisfaction from it that would
abundantly repay the trouble. I re
commend it most earnestly, however,
for the wives of salaried men, and me
chanics whose income is fixed, and who
purchase the staples for their family
consumption.
LITTLE FANNY
Little Fanny was a child tenderly be
loved and cherished, perhaps more so that
her father filled a soldier's honored grave,
and she was all to the widowed mother.
When that terrible and malignant dis
ease, the small-pox, broke out in the
neighborhood, her mother was so anxious
for her treasure that, to escape contagion,
she kept her closely in the house, and
helelf crept in and out through a nar
row window, and scarcely dared to move,
lest she should catch the infection and
carry it to her darling. At last she
made up her mind to send Fanny to her
uncle, in another part of the city, but
on communicating her intention to Fanny
herself, the child asked :
" Is God at Uncle Henry's, mother ?"
" I hope so, Fanny," was the mother's
reply.
"And is God here, too, mother ?"
The mother replied that he was.
" Then will he not take care of me
here just the same as at Uncle Henry's
if he does not want me to have the small
pox?"
A child's faith The mother had been
troubled and careful about many things,
while the child leaned trustingly on the
hope she held in her heart. This is not
a solitary case. Many other children
as.young as little Fanny, have early given
their hearts to God, with a depth of love
and faith that will carry safely through;
and, children, it is infinitely better.to give
the morning bloom; yet sparkling with the
dew of innocence, than to wait for the
sere and withered leaves of evening time.
—Christian Times.
CORRECT SPEAKING
We would advise all young people
to acquire, in early life, the habit of
correct speaking and writing ; ar.d to
abandon; as early as possible, any use
of slang, words and phrases. Tie longer
you live the more difficult the acquire
ment, of correct language will be ; and
if the golden age of youth, the proper
season for the acquisition of language,
be passed in its abuse, the unfortunate
victim if neglected is, very properly,
doomed to talk slang for life. Money
is not necessary to procure this educa
tion. Every man has it in his power.
He has merely to use the language which
he reads, instead of slang which he
hears ; to form his taste from: the best
speakers and poets in the country ; to
treasure up choice phrases-in his memo
ry, and habituate himself to their use,
avoiding at the same time that pedantic
precision, and bombast which show the
weakness of vain ambition rather than
the polish of an edueated mind.
THE SECRET.
There were two little sisters at one
house, whom nobody could see without
loving, for they were always so happy
together. They had the same books
and the same playthings, but never a
quarrel sprung up between them—no
cross words, no pouts, no slaps, no run
ning away in a pet. On the green be
fore the door, trundling a hoop, playing
with Rover, helping mother -they were
the same sweet-tempered little girls.
" You never seem to quarrel," I said to
them one day ; "how is it -you are al
ways so happy together ? " They look
ed up, and the eldest answered, "I
'spose 'tis 'cause Addie lets me and I let
Addie." I thought a moment. " Ah,
that is it," I said, " she lets you and you
let her ; that's it."
THE OYNIO.
The Cynic is one who'never sees a good
qu ality in a man, and never fails to sees
bad one. He is the human owl, vigilant
in darkness and blind to light, mousing
for vermin, and never seeing noble game.
The Cynic puts all human actions into
only two ,classes—openly bad and se.
cretly bad. All, virtue and generosity
and disinterestedness are merely the op.
pearance of good, but- selfish at the bot
tom. He' holds that no man does a
good thing except for profit. The ef
fect of his conversation upon your feel
ings is to chill and sear them ; to send
you away sore and morose. ' His criti
cisms and inuendoes fall indiscrimi
nately upon every lovely thing, like
frost upon flowers. If a,man is said to
be pare and chaste, he answers: Yes, in
the day time. If a woman is pronoun
ced virtuous, he will reply:' Yes, as yet..
Mr. A. is a religious man : Yes, on bun
days. Mr. B. has just joined the church:
Certainly : the elections are coming on.
the minister of the gospel is called an
example of diligence: it is--his trade.
Such a man is generous: Of other men's
money : That man is obliging :To lull
suspicion and cheat you. This man is up
right : Because he is green. Thus his eye
strains out every good quality, and
takes in only the bad,—as the vulture,
when in the highest heaven, will sail by
living flocks and herds, but comes like
an arrow down upon the smallest car
cass. To him religion is hypocrisy,
honesty a preparation for fraud, virtue
only want of opportunity, and, undenia
ble purity, asceticism. .The live-long
day he will coolly sit with sneering lip,
uttering sharp speeches in the quietest
manner, and in polished phrase, trans
fixing every character which is pre
sented : _His words are softer, than oil, yet
are_ they drawn swords.—Ps. lv. 21.
All this, to the young, seems a won
derful knowledge of human nature;
they honor a man who appears to have
found out mankind. They' begin to in
dulge themselves in flippant sneers; and
with supercilious brow, and impudent
tongue, wagging to an empty brain, call
to naught the wise, the long tried, and
the venerable.
I do believe that man is corrupt
enough ; but something of good has sur
vived his wreck; something of evil reli
gion has restrained, and something par
tially restored ; yet, I look upon the
human heart as a mountain of fire. I
dread the crater. I tremble when I see
its lava roll the fiery stream. There
fore, I am the more glad, if upon the old
crust of past eruptions, I can find a.
single flower springing up. A flower in
a howling wilderness, is yet more pre
cious to the pilgrim, because the lonely
tenant of desolation. So far from re
jecting appearances of virtue in the
corrupt, heart of a depraved race, I am
eager to see their light as ever mariner
was to see a star in a stormy night.
Moss will grow upon grave-stones;
the ivy will cling to the mouldering
pile; ,the mistletoe springs from the
dying branch; and God be praised,
something green, something fair to the
sight and grateful to the heart, will yet
twine around and grow out of the seams
and cracks of the desolate temple of the
human heart !
Who could walk through Thebes,.
Palmyra, or Petrica, and survey the
wide waste of broken arches, crumbled
altars, fallen pillars, effaced cornices,
toppling walls, and crushed statues,
with no feelings but those of contempt?
Who, unsorrowing, could see the stork's
nest upon the carved pillar, satyrs danc
ing on marble pavements, and hateful
scorpions nestling where beauty once
dwelt, and dragons the sole tenants of
royal palaces ? Amid such melancholy
magnificence, even the misanthrope
might weep ! If here and there an altar
stood unbrnised, or a graven column
nnblighted, or a statue nearly perfect,
he might well feel love fora man-wrought
stone, so beautiful, when all else is so
dreary and desolate. Thus, though man
is a desolate city, and his pa4sions are
as the wild beasts of the wilderness
howling in kings' palaces, yet he is
God's workmanship, and a thousand
touches of exquisite beauty remain..
Since Christ path ` put his sovereign.
band to restore man's ruin, many points
are remoulded, and the fair form of a.
new fabric already appears growing
from the ruins, and the first faint flame
glimmering upon the restored altar.
It is impossible to indulge 'in such
habitual severity of opinion upon our
fellow men, without injuring the tender
ness and delicacy of our own feelings.
A man will be what his most cherishd
feelings are. If he encourages appe
tites, he will be not far from beastly; if
he encourage a noble generosity, such
will he be; 'if he nurse bitter and en--
•venomed thoughts, his own spirit will
absorb the poison, and he will crawl
among men as a burnished 'adder, whose
life is mischief, whose errant is death.
Although experience should correct
the indiscriminate confidence of the
young, no experience should render
them callous to - goodness wherever seen.
He who hunts for flowers, will find
flowers; but he who Mints for vermin,
will find vermin; and,- he who loves
weeds, may find weeds. Let it be re
membered that no naan,.Wlio is not him
self mortally diseased,-will have a relish
for -disease in others. A:swollen wretch,
blotched all over with leprosy, may grin
hideously at, every wart or excrescence
upon beauty. A wholesome man will
be pained atit, and seek not to notice
it. Reject, then, the morbid ambition
of the Cynic, or cease to call yourself a
man !—.71. W. Beecher.
"BEGINNING TO WALK."
He's•not got his sea legs, the darling
He's been in our ship but a year ;
He isn't yet versed in oar lingo—
Knows nothing of sailing, I fear.
But he soon will hear more of the billows,
.A.nd learn the salt taste of the wave,
One voyage, though short, is sufficient,
When our ports are the cradle and grave.
—Chambers' Journal.