Cljt amiN Cirtlf. LET ME GO! Let me go I my feet are weary, In the desert where I roam ; Let me go I the way is dreary— Let the wanderer go home! I am weary of the darkness Of those lonely, failing streams— Let me go! where founts are flashing In the light of Heaven's beams! Let me go I my soul is thirsting. For those waters, bright and clear. From the Fount of Glory bursting— Ah I why keep the pilgrim here? I can catch the far-off murmurs Of Life's River, sweet and low, Calling, from Earth's bitter waters, Unto them—Oh, let me gol Let me go I - my heart is fainting '.Neath its weight of sins and. fears, And my wakeful eyes are failing With these ever-falling tears! For the morning Ism sighing, While I earth's long vigils-keep ; Here the loved are ever dying, And the loving live to, weep! Let me go ! I . fain would follow Where I know their steps have passed ; Far beYond Lift's heaving billows, FirtdiitigThonte andiheaven last! While, uy i sailed ,heart.is,pining To " Father's" face,' • They, in His own brightness shining, ileekon me to that blest place! - "LetTne - orri. heur theth calling, "1101 thou weary'one, come hornet" Word's which on mine ear are falling, Wheresoe'er my footsteps roam. Aht 'how gladly would I listen— Gladly' lay mine armor down, And with: eager footsteps hasten Where awaits the conqueror's crown! Let me:go! Oh I .who would' linger, ~. Fainting, fearing, and a,thirst, When before us lies a rigion • Where undying pleasures burst? Let me gd I , my soul is springing ~For its flight from , sin's dark vale, And would fain its way be winging Where no storing will e'erassail I Let me go but, Heavenly Father I Thou dOst hear thine orphan cry! When around me tempests'gather, , Thou Bost sit above the sky. Trusting Thee, through. Thine Anointed, I ean yet,contented`roam, Knowing, ita Thine hour.appointed, Thou wilt take-the wanderer home. —Drafted Snots Flakes. THE SAXON WIFE. [We extract from The Early Dawn, by the Schonberg Cotta author, a few 'scraps from the "Lady Adeleve's dis course to her Nun Daughter," chiefly for the beauty and simplicity in which the loftier human sentiments are por trayed., but also as exhibiting the tone of religious superstition in Britain, 'before it was more vilely Latinized, and while as yet a sincere and scrip tural heart experience was not lost among traditional corruptions.] "But especially I remember all that your father said to me at that time, because so soon afterwards he was ,brought home with'a broken leg from the, chase, anti was, laid'lm the ,bed k Triim Which he never rose, although one of the best leeches in the land was a monk' of the monastery at Tarrow, ' 'and attended him constantly, skilfully binding up the limb in tight ligatures. "iiefore any surgeon could come, "'however, when he was brought 'in stunned, I ventured myself to bleed hirn, as I had learned at the abbey of "Whitby. And for this I shall re . proach myself as long as .I live, As one thing that hindered his recovery. For in my fright and distraction, I forgot the moon was waxing instead of waning; at whic,h time the Arch bishop Theodore himself said it was dangerous to let blood. "Yet - when once I with bitter tears told'this to your father, he said, Surely; if the Lord Christ sees it time to call me, he will see that his summons is delivered, be it by whose hand it May' That is true, and it comforts me Much to think so. But surely the compas sionate Lord would never have given. Buell a, message to me. No doubt it was the distracting devil who confused my senses. • ' "Your father's illness was long, and his suffering (except from the treat ment of the doctor) not great. Very often the good monks would come to visit him, and held edifying discourses, especially the young monk Bede, who had always wise words to say (either his own or from the innumerable books he knew); and also examples of the lives and deaths of good men to en courage us with, from the days of the Gospels to our own, when many can . still remember the dying looks and words of Bishop Aidan, and of Cuth bert, and of the. Abbess Hilda ; Bishop •.Chad, and other saints. "His story of the death of Bishop Cuthbert and his friend Herbert, went to my heart, partly because I had known the anchorite Herbert on the Derwent Lake in my childhood. "'Herbert was wont,' the good monk Bede told us one day, 'to visit Bishop Cuthbert on his island in the lake every year, and to receive from him spiritual advice. Hearing that Cuth bert was come to the city of Carlisle, he: repaired one year to him, according - custom, , being desirous of being r ;still more inflamed in heavenly desires t. through his wholesome admonitions. they alternately entertained. one another with the delights of. the . celestiallife, the bishop, among_ other things, said, 'Brother Herbert, remem ber at this time to ask me all the ques tions you wish to have ansypred, and say all you. design, for lye shall see each. other. no more in this world. For I am sure that the, time, of my depar ture is at, hand, and that 4 „shall speedily ut off ;this tabernacle of the flesh. Heaiing these words, he fell down at his feet, and weeping, said, I beseech you by our Lord, forsake me not, but THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, PHILADELPHIA, THURSDAY, JANUARY 12, 1865. remember your most faithful com panion, and entreat the Supreme Good ness that, as we served him together on earth, we may depart together to see his bliss in heaven.' The bishop applied himself to prayer, and having presently intiwation in the spirit that he had obtained what he had asked of the Lord, he said, 'Rise, brother, "and weep not, but rejoice, for the Heavenly Goodness has granted what we desired.' And even so it happened. They saw each other no more in the flesh_; but' their souls quitted their bodies on the same day, the 20th of March, one' frOm the wooded islet on the Dement Lake, the other from the rocky island of Fame, in the sea; they ' were , immedi- ' ately again united and. translated to heaven by the angels; and Herbert being by a long previous sickness dis eiPlined to holiness as'great as that of Cuthbert, on the same day they ascend ed to the same seat of eternal - bliss, there to pais tbiough all the endless stages of the glorious - life together, twin-brothers in the heavenly world.' . W hen the good Bede had finished, and I sat silently weeping by nay hu.s band's bedsideele took my hand and said,— 'Come, let us pray faz-thior. this.' "'lt would be sweet, indeed,' he said, smoothing my hair, 'but can we ask it?' " 'Not yet, perhaps;'., I sobbed, 'not now 1 but that he, migh, spare us both till the elder ones could care, for the, younger, and then.—' "What if one of us should be left to bring all the flock to the other wait ing in heaven, and to the Lord the Good. Shepherd, who gave his life for all? Would not that also be sweet, my wife?' "I could not answer, the words seemed so like a terrible doom of sepa , ration;. but as I Sit here, an old gray haired woman; now that so many have gone, and gone, as. I trust,' home, I could. almost think it 'Might be sweet, thus to close the eyes of all, and then follow them, if God willed it so, to Christ and to him. " One thing perplexed me in the holy monk Bede, as in many of the monks at Tarrow. Much as he honor ed our Father Aidan as a true 'servant of God, he thought him "and the Scotch monks in very great darkness about Easter and the tonsure, only indeed to be excused by their, ignorance. One day, however, when I, who could. not , endure to hear a word of blame on those holy men, the teachers of our sainted mother the .Abbess, Hilda, had spoken to him of their devoted labors and self-denying holiness, and of the love all the people bore thern, he, said,— , " These things I much love and admire in. ,Bishop_ Aidan. His love his continence and humility ; his mind superior to anger and avarice ; to pride, and vain glory ; his industry in 'keep ing and teaching the divine command ments ; his, . diligence in reading and watching; his, authority as a priest in reproving the haughty and. powerful his tenderness in-comfOrting the afflic ted, and in relieving, and. defending the poor ; his willingness to perform to the utmost all he found in the apos tolical or prophetical Scriptures, be cause I doubt not they were pleasing to God; but Ido not praise or approve his not observing, E, aster. at the. proper time. Yet this I approve in him, that in the celebration of his Easter, the object which he had in view 1 he said, did, or preached, was the same as ours, that is, the - redemption of man kind through the passion, resurrection, and ascension into heaven of the man Christ Jesus, who is the mediator between God and 'man. "Nobler praise than this, even, the, Abbess Hilda could not have desired for Father Aidan, - wherefore' I never again debated these points with the holy monk Bede, who in all things was so much wiser and better than I. " But dearer to your father than even his words was, my reading to him in the Gospel of St. Luke, or in the Anglo-Saxon Psalter, or my re peating' hymns and prayers which I had learned. Especially he loved the verses of the Saxon hymn, beginning, 0 Lord beloved I O God, my judge! Hear me ! I know that my soul Is wounded with sins. Heal thou it, Lord of Heaven.! For thou easily canst, Physician of us all. 0 Light of light ! 0 joy of life, Thou art the Saviour, God I' " These words, came back to me always as if spoken by your father's voice, so dear-they were to him. And also the prayers in the Psalter,— " 0 Lord our Redeemer ! 0 dod of truth who hast redeemed mankind, sold to sin, not by silver and gold, but by the blood of thy precious Son, be our protector, and look clown on our low estate, and because great is the multitude of thy kindnesses, 0 raise. our desires ,always to partake them, aad excite our minds to explore them'. " And—' 0 Lord who bast been our refuge before the mountains were brought forth ; Author of time, yet without any limit of time thyself; in thy nature there is no past, to thee the future is never new. May no pride creep . into our thoughts to avert us from the eyes of thy mercy.' "There were also hymns to the Virgin ; but for these he did not care so much. He thought such elaborate devotions must be more for the monks. Whatever others might ao who had more time, he thought he should never have time enough to praiie the hving Lord who died to redeem Us, and to beseech his mercy for his many sins. !!..Iu that mind he passed those last precious days of weakess, and in thatmind his spirit departed, as a sin ful-man calling with his last breath on. the Saviour. , "No mysterious, unwonted light' -came : into the.,chamber , w,here 4ied; but great peace came intifi - my heart - aEr I looked: on him, - and prayed God to, "glve me graa,,e to lead all our little flock, as he had said, to join him again in hea,ven. '!AfterwardS other thought,s 'carne, dark and bitter hours, when I thought - of the dreadful visions some have had of little sins being visited with frost, and fire, and torment in the other world, [purgatory] ; of the devils Who, the monks say, wait to accuse us; of the deathless - serpents who — whet their bloody' teeth to pierce guilty souls; ,of dwellings most bright and fair, which they see from afar, but may not enter.; of. the, angelic, choirs whose ra diance they hear, while the mocking -vils say, There ou _may never ;dwell,' and the wretched soul exclaims, Wo is me, that I ever saw the light of the human world!' " Have, things changed ihen in the other, world since. the poor beggar was carried from the dogs and the pitiless rich man's gate to. Abraham's bosom, or since the penitent, thief, who had no time to do penance, and none to pay for masses, to be said, went, straight from the cross to Paradise ? "Since 'then, indeed, the compassion ate Healer of men, the, Lord who died for us, has gone into. that world, and lives there. Can jlis,welcome : be_less pitiful: thanAbraham's,?-, . '" Through all my ~terrors; , sometimes, those dying words of the Lord, so pre -eious to my dying- husband, come, to my heart like my mother's voice when the storms were howling over our! cradles amidst the mountains; all the rest-- visions, prophecies, dreaaful threatenings—seem to me but inarticu late howls and wails, and those words only living, human, and eternally true. - "Slowly they fall on my heart, and my heart responds: 'To-day,' and my heart answers, 70-day P—not after countless ages, but to-day, straight from the farewells of our beloved to thy welcome! `shalt, thou be with me in Paradise.' And I can only weep and say, 'With thee, pitiful Lord, with thee! Then I will not think any more of the fiery valley or the fragrant fields, but Of, Thee, onlY of Thee. That promise is enough. for, me and mine. my Child,' said my mother, as she finished, 'thou. hast been a nun from childhood, and art better , and knowest more than I, can I be wrong ?' " A NOVEL mAßloat The Lancaster Exptere says that a large crowd' Of 'persons assembled in the Reformed Mennonite Church in that city, on Sunday morning, to wit ness a marriage between two members of the new Mennonite persuasion.' The ceremony was performed by Rev. John assisted by Rev. Christian.lWit rner, To those of the audience who were never present at a wedding of 'members of this denomination the af fair was novel and interesting. The sermon was appropriate to the occasion. The preacher read from the 3d. to the 19th verses of the 19th chapter of Matthew,' and from the 22d verse to #ip,end. of the ,from chapter of Ephesian.s, basing his remarks on these passages of 'Scripture. The, whole discourse was devoted to the duties of the candidates for matrimony to each other, and their spiritual: relations to "Christ, the head of the Church."' At the conclusion of the regular ex ercises the marriage rite was perfornaed in front of thepulpit. The ,bridegroom ; was asked whether he believed this sister of his faith was allotted - by Christ to be his wife, and whether he was, free from all other women persons. Affirmative answers being given.,, simi-_ lar questions were put to the bride and answered, when the twain were pro nounced man and wife. The manner of bringing about marriages between the members of this denomination dif fers from that of other Christians. What is called "courting" is done by their preachers, the candidates for matrimonial honors not being allowed to visit the object of their affections. When a brother wishes to take to him self one of the sisters as a wife, the fact is communicated to - the preacher, who makes known to the sister the feelings of this brother, and, if no objection' be made on her part, the banns are pub lished in church, and the wedding takes place in due time. A HIGH STANDARD OF COMFORT, The more numerous the comforts, viewed as necessities by the great body of the people, and the farther those comforts are removed from gross sen suality, the higher the moral condition of that people, is a principle in politics without an exception. The warm house, the neat furniture, the decent clothing, the well-weeded and flower decorated garden, the favorite singing bird and spaniel, and the small but well-chosen collection,of books, are en joyMents beyond the means 'of the idle, and not the choice of the tavern-hun ter. THE WOODPECKER. WRITTEN Fpll XXIX MAC-. A woodpecker sat oii'aneld hollow tree, Smoothing his phlilage Bo fine ; And when he had finished his toilet, said he, "I am hungry enough to dine." .Then down on the wood went his head, tap, tap, tap, ../incthwinstantly - .killed - a black-ant with a rap Of his bill, while an echo below muttered ap, Said the bird, "It is laughipg at m . The summer-wind-toyed-with his beautiful crest, Tossing hi.s.plumage, so gay; Said he '"ltf.wee birdies are home in my nest, Whilepapti is dining away. 7 1 - trinttf - Aetitem , their , tap j ttaP, taP, These insects I'll easily catch with a rap -Of my bill;". here the echo below said ap, . Queth the bird, - "Get away you old pest." • , • . And then off he went to, his work with a will, Tapping as hard 'as he could, When he ,hears a low Whisper, "Ipray yon be • still ?, t • " esi e a great spider stood. Quoth the spider, "Please stop, your loud tap, Or' a ll P tA t T : fl you g, ten tat y going into my trap," Here the echo below whispered ap, ap,: ap, And the woodpecker whetted his bill. - " - Said thkbircl to the spider, "'Tis cruel in you To worry "and kilt that poor - fly," .QuothAhe spider, "ay:friend, I suspect that is true, But you are as guilty as I, ' Vor your:bill on ,the bark never goes tap,. tap, But yon seize some live thing with• a merciless snap Of your bill," here'the echo below murmured ap, As-if it were. mocking the two. • . • "Lick-a-day 1" qiioth the bird as• he winked with one eye, This sPider Mint think I' m a'sinner So rather than tell hini the wherefore; and why, _ I will gobble him. up for my dinner. That' save me Much talking, so here it goek" tat, And he gave the ,great spider a thundering rap On the head with his bill, while the echo said ap, When it. Ought to have screamed oh, fie, fie I A hawk: n a cheknut tree stared at.this scene, • girth he,,." Here's a pretty affair; I think `I must fly to that white oak so green, And hide myself cunningly there, And - When yon gay fellow goes tap, tap, tap, I will settle his 'doing's foi him With a clap ,Of my,claws , before echo can utter her ap; And I'll pick every bone in him bare." Then.away flew the,hawk to the white oak tree, But h r e' hid not &Minute to spare, For. the Ivoodpecker tapped just as merrily • A.s..if not a foe had been there. ThetrifebWobped on his:prey with an ill-natured snap. • Of his inurdgrous bilk and ominous' clap Of his wings, while no echo answered ap, But the insects all.tittered with glee. Downi.in the field stood Dick Doyle with his gun, Watching the hawk as he flew ; • Quoth le, "You, rapscallion, I'll show you `some fuii - If I take my aim ateady'and.true." Bang! went the bullet—right onward it sped. Through' the air, till it shattered the fiery red. head , Of the hawk, and the terrified wookpecker fled To hia - nest in the hemlock ao_dun. • INGLESIDE, 0ct.•24 , , 1864. TOES MASTER. "So you are really going, Tom? I hoped you would have thought better of. it." "No, }uncle," said the bby -sorrovi fully, but firmly: I 'promised ray mother on' her dYing ' bed that I wouldn't Ebreak the Sabbath; nor do what I felt was wrong; and 1 •will keep my promise if I . starve through it." "My poor lad! it's of no use trying to turn you back, I know ; lint it's very hard for you to be turned , adrift on the world so early." And; he covered his face with one hand-, while he rest ed the other, on the youth's shoulder. "It'S no harder for me than for a thousand others," said Tom cheerfully; "I'm - not a bit afraid of getting my own living, when I can have the-:least chance for it;:but there's nothing-.to be had round about here just now, so I must go elsewhere. Only do not fret about it; I shall do very well, I have no doubt, and - when I've made my for tune, I'll come back and .see you all." These rather boastful words were heard by somebody who was not meant 'to hear them. This was Tom's late master, who happened to be passing by. They made him very angry; for it seemed ,a e if the boy cared nothing for,the 'foss of his place, Um. at all re 'gretted the past. And he knew, though the would not own it, that •he had done wrong in dismissing a poor,' friendless boy from his service because he re fused to work. for him on =Sunday:; 'and, as is often' the case, the conscithis ness of having injured' him made him dislike him. ' So it was in a sharp, con -temptuous tone that he said, "Come back when you have made your for tune, indeed! You are .much more likely to come back to the work-house, I can'tell you!" The boy looked almost too indig nant to speak. To be taunted thus by the man who had made him homeless and penniless, it was too bad! His cheeks flushed, and his lip quivered, as he exclaimed, "Take care, Mr. Grimes, that you don't go there your self in the end." "Hush, hush, Tom," whishered his uncle, "what - would your teacher say if he heard you?" Tom cooled down directly at the thought of his. teacher. "I'm sorry," he said, "if I'spoke too hastily, and I don't , beasiany ill will to you, sir; but you ought not to have said that about the parish; for you know I'm an ho nest, hard--working lad, that would be ashamed to be beholden to anybody while I .had a finger to help myself with. But, Mr. Grimes, I am going away directly, sir, so you will surely listen to me; yc t u will never prosper in the long run without God's blessing ; and his blessing cannot be yours if you break his commandments, and try to make other people break them too." Mr. Grimes walked proudly away before-the close of Tom's speech, and took no notice of it; perhaps he did not choose to hear it. Such was the parting between Tom and his old master. The parting between Tom and his uncle was far more tender and touch ing; for Tom's uncle was very-fond of him, but then he had a sickly and a large family of young children to care for, and the times-were-hard, so he had to, let him- go, and trust him entirely to God's chre. With a - sad yet a -brave -heart, -Tom went his way—went to battle with lite's trials in his boyhood, and to earn; among strangers the bread which was denied him at home. But he took with him" a conscience Void' of offence," and a simple faith which made the pro mise of Jacob's his own, Behold I am with thee, and will keep thee in all places whither thou. goest.' Was not the , orphan-boy, after all, more to be envied than Mr. Grimes? Several years passed away, and Tom was almost forgotten—except by his. uncle—in his native village. Not much had been heard of him since he left., It was said he had gone to Australia, and was doing very well there ' • but this was as much. as any one knew about him. • One bright summer's day he, gita.ex pectedly came back, and broughrwith him a fortune! Yes, Tom was really a rich man; but I was not thinking of that just now; I was thinking that, al though he-had parted with his poverty,, he still kept fast- Vold. of his faith in.. God, and was more than ever devoted. to his service.. In finding money he did not lose, 'his religion; and it, is not every rich man who can say that. ' God had greatly - blessed the orphan lad, and proved in his experience the truth of these words, "They that ho -nor me, I will honor." "Seek first the 'kingdom of God and his righteousness, and, all other things shall be added unto, you." tilt what beeanie, of Tom's master?. He had lost-hiS business, lost his cred it, lost his health, and was now, in his, old age, an inmate-of the' work-house , —yes, of that very work-house which : he had threatened the forlorn and, friendleSS Tom ! And what do you 'think Torn did ? Just what I hope you would have done if you had been in his place. He pro vided a comfortable lodging for Mr. Grimes, took him, out of the work house, and saw that he did not want anything as long as he lived. Was not this heaping coals of fire , on the old man's 'head ?—Ohscrch of England Sunday Scholar's Magazine. TEE WAY TO SPEAK TO BOYS. Many years ago,:a certain minister was-going one Sunday morning from his house to his school-room. Ile Walk_ed through a nuMber of streets,; and as he turned a corner, he saw aS-' Senibled around a - pump -a. party of little boys who.werekplaying at mar l tiles. On seeing lam approach, they began to pick up their marbles and run away as fast as they' could: One little fellow, not" having seen him as soon as the rest; could - not accomplish this so 'soon; and before he had suc ceeded in gathering up his marbles, the minister had closed :upon him and placed his , hand upon his, shoulder. They were'face to face, the minister of -God and the poor little ragged boy who had. been' caught in theact of playing marbles on Sunday morning: And how did the minister deal with the bey? for that is what I want you to observe. He might' have said to the boy, "What are yeildoing here? You are breaking the-Sabbath.! Don't you de serve to, be punished.. for breaking the eompand. of Gpdr But, he did nothing of the kind. - He simply said: "Hive you found all 'bias?" your ITIAT "No," said -the little boy, "I have not." "Then," said the minister, "I will help you to fpid them;" whereupon he knelt down and helped to look for the marbles, and as he did so he remarked, "1 liked ''to play at -marbles - when a little boy, ver3r=much, and think I canheat you; • but," added he, "I never played marbles on a Sunday." The little boy's attention was arrest ed. He liked his friend's face, and began to wonder who he was. The minister said: "I am going to a place where I think you would like to you come with me?" . , Said the boy : "Where do you live ?" "Why, in such and such a place," Was the reply. • "Why, that is the minister's house!" exclaimed the boy, as if he did not suppose that a kind man and the minis ter of the, gospel could be the same person. "Why," said the man, "I am the minister myself, and if you will come with me I think I can do you some good." Said the boy: ".My hands are dirty; I cannot go." Said. the minister: "Here is a pump —why not wash?" Said the boy: "I am so little that" I can't wash and pump at the same time." Said the minister: "If you'll wash, I'll pump." He at once sot to Work, and pumped, and pumped, and pumped; and as he pumped,. the little boy washed his hands and his face till they were quite dean.' • - Said the boy : "My hands are wring ing wet, and I don't know how to dry them." The minister pulled out of his pocket a clean pocket handkerchief, and offered it to the boy. Said the little boy : "But it is clean." "Yes," was the reply, "But it was made to be, dirtied." - The little boy dried . his hands and face with the handk.erchief and then 'accompanied the ,Minister to the door of the Sunday-school: - Twenty years'after, the minister was walking in the street of a large city, when a tall' gentleman tapped him on the shoulder,-and looking into his face, said, "You don't remember me." "No," said the minister, "I don't." "Do you remember, twenty years ago, fuldingiiittle boy playing mar bles round a pump? Do you remem ber that boy's being too dirty to go to school, and your pumping for him, and your speaking kindly to him, and taking him to school?" "Oh," said the minister, "I do re member." "Sir," said the gentleman, "I was. that, boy, I rose in business and be came a leading man. I have attained a good position in society; and on see ing you to-day in the street I felt bound to come to you, and say that it is to your kindness, and wisdom, and Chris tian discretion—to your having dealt with me aggressively, that I owe, under God, all that I have attained and all that I am at the present day." FEMININE DEVOTEDNESS. At Lyons, when the city became the theatre of daily executions, a woman learned by chance that_ her husband's name was on the list of the proscribed, and instantly ran to 'avert the impending destruction, by secur ing his immediate flight. .She com pelled him to assu.me, her dress, gave him her money and,- jewels, and had the inexpressible happiness of seeing him pass - Unsuspected. 'A few hOura afterwards the officers of justice came to seize him: She had prepared her: self to receive them, by putting on a suit of her husband's clothes, and an swering to his name. She was led before the Revolutionary Committee. In the course of the examination her disguise was discovered, and they de manded of her her husband. "My husband," she answered in a tone of exultation, " is out of the reach of your power. I planned his escape, and I glory in risking my own life for the preservation of his. ' They displayed before her the instrument of punish ment, and charged her to reveal the route her husband had taken.— " Strike !" she replied, "I am pre pared." " But it 1,8 the interests of your country that command you to speak,": said one of the Committee. ."Barbarians I" she answered, " ray coun try cannot command me to outrage the sacred laws of nature." Her dignity and firmness awed even the Members of the Revolutionary Committee, and 'a noble action for once overcame their spirit of desolating cruelty. =THE SCROOLM&STER'S WIFE. The "Day. Dreams of a School master" contains a tribute to a depart- Ad one, ills pathos of which comes di rect from the heart, and which, for simple, unaffected tenderness, is not surpassed by any thing we remember having read: Once upon a, time, reader, a long, long while ago,, I knew a school master ; and that schoolmaster had a wife; and she was young, and fair, and learned like that princess-pupil of old Aschara, fair and learned as Sydney's sister, Pembroke's mother. And. her voice was ever soft, gentle and low, reader • an excellent, thing in woman. And her, fingers were quick at needle work, and ninible in all a housewife's diinning. And she could draw sweet. music- from the ivory .board; and sweeter; stranger music from the chill life of her schoolmaster-husband. And she was slow of heart to understand inisc.hief; but her feet ran swift to do good. And she was' simple - with the simplicity of •girlhood, and wise with the wisdom - that cometh only of the Lord— cometh only to the children of the Kingdom. And her sweet young life was as a morning hymn, sung by child-voice to rich organ-music. Time shall- thro, his dart at death ere death has slain such another. For she died, reader, a long,, long while ago. And I stood once by her grave—her green grave—not far from dear Dune din. Died, reader, for all she was so fair, and learned, and simple, and good.. And, 'I am told, it made a great differ ence to that schoolmaster. SMILE. Which will you do, smile and. make others happy, or be crabbed and make everybody around you miserable? You can live among beintifill flowers and singing birds, or in the mire, sur rounded by fogs and frogs. The amount of happiness you can produce is incalculable, if you will show a smiling face, a kind, heart, and speak pleasant words. On the other hand, by sour looks, cross worth, and a fret ful disposition, you can make hundreds unhapy, almost beyond .endurance. What will you do? Wear a. pleasant countenance, let joy beam in your eye, and love glow on your forehead. There is no joy so great as that which springs from a kind act or a pleasant deed, and you may feel it at• night when you rest and at morning when you ,rise, and through the day when about your daily business.
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