famiN &ult.
THE BURIAL OF MOSES.
"And He buried him in a valley in the land
of Moab, over against Bethpeor • but no man
knoweth of his sepulchre unto ' this day."—
nEuT, xxxiv. 6.
By Nebo's lonely mountain,
On this side Jordan's wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab
There lies a lonely grave.
But no man dug that sepulchre,
And no man saw it ere,
For the angels of God upturned the sod,
And laid the dead man there.
That was the , grandest •fnneral
That ever passed on earth,
But no man heard, the trampling,
Or saw the train go forth.
Noiselessly as the daylight
Comes, when the nightie done,
And the crimson streak, on ocean's cheek,
Grows into the great sun.
Noiselessly as the spring time
_ Her crown of verdure weaves,
And all the trees on all the hills
Open their thousand leaves.
So without sound of music,
Or voice of them that wept,
Silently down from the mountain's crown
The great procession swept.
Perchance, the bald old eagle,
On gray Bethpeor's height,
Out from his rocky eyrie
Looked on the Wondrous sight.
Perchance, the lion stalking,
Still shuns that hallowed spot,.
For beast, and bird have seen and heard
That which man knoweth not.
But when the warrior dieth
His comrades in the war,
With arms reversed and muffled drums,
Follow the funeral car.
They show the banners taken,
They tell his battles won,
And after him lead his masterless steed,
While peals the minute gun.
Amid the nobleit of the land,
Men lay the sage to rest,
And give the bard an honored place,
With costly marbles dressed.
In the grdat minster transept,
Where lights like glories fall,
And the sweet choir sings and the organ
rings
Along the enablazoned wall.
This wag the bravest warrior
That ever buckled sword;
This the most gifted poet;
That ever breathed a word.
And t never earth's philosopher •
Traced with his golden pen,
On the deathless page, troths half so sage
As he wrote down for men.. • .„.
And had he not high honor? '
Theltill-side for This pall, ";
• To lie in state, while angels wait . .
With stars for tapers tall.
And the dark-rook pin es,like tossingplumes
Over, his bier to wave, .
And God's own hand, in, that lonely land,
To lay' hini in his
. ,
In that deep grave, withouta name,
Whence his uncoffined clay
Shall break again, most vciiundrousthought
Before the Judgment Day.
And stand with glory wrapped around
On the hills he never trod,
And speak of the strife that won our life
With the Incarnate Son• of God.
0, lonely tomb in Moab's land! .
• 0, dark Bethpeor's hill!
Speak to these curious hearts of ours,
And teach them to be still.
God bath His mysteries of grace,
Ways that we cannot tell 3
He hides them deep, like the secret sleep
Of Him he loved so well.
A DROP OF. WATER.
I was wondering where the water in
the river comes from, when rheard a
very sad, small voice: "I wish I was
at home 1" Now I vas > all alone in
my room, my pen was in my hand,
and a little bunch of arbutus blossoms:
was near by. My pen often speaks, to
me, but this was not pen talk. All
my folks were abed, and the house
very quiet, and I, listened. till I heard
it again, not louder than a thought :
"0, dear! I wish I was at homel" and
I saw a drop quiver and sparkle 'like
a tear in one of the arbutus blossoms.
I: spoke back in the same very still
way : "At home IMy little fellow,,
where is your home ?"
" I'm sure I don't know," said Drop?
" I never stay anywhere long.. wish ,
I could. wish I was at: lome , now 1'
" You may stay and sleep where you
are; that's a nice little ; nest for• you ;
you needn't feel so bad and sob so,"
said I.
" I know how. Will.be," said Drop;
something will happen to me if I stay.
I never could stop anywhere."
"Never could ?" said I. ;." Tell me
why not; don't be afraid.; you are safe
now—where did you come from ?
where have you been ?" And. Drop
told me this story. Pen and. I heard
it, and he has corrected all 'my
mistakes, and says that I've got it very
nearly as Drop told it.
DROP'S STORY
" The first I remember was running
away from home with a whole lot of
drops about my size. I looked up at
the big black cloud, and couldn't bear
to go back to it. And we didn't. I
Wouldn't try. Drown, down we raced,
till suddenly I struck on a fiat stone,
KO that's all I remember of that time.
" The next I remember, I was away
up in the sky, as white as snow, and,
01 so much bigger than I am' now. I
. saw the sun, and the wind sailed me
round in the air. 'I couldn't keep still,
I was so happy. All at once there _I
came such a cold wind along, that I,
shrunk up quick and was Drop
and began to run to get anywhere out
of the cold. But it grew colder the
&idler I ran, till I grew stiff and
hard; and when I touched other drops,
we,'rsitired together like stones. I don't
knOw What was the matter with me,—"
"I do," said I; "you was frozen ;
you was a hail-drop."
"Was I?" said Drop, going on with
his story. " Well, at last I l'ellplurap
into a great lake, and the water-drcps
allgotround me and warmed Jim, mad
,told,me.to make, myself at home with:
diem. And. I stayed there, I. > don*
know how long, and thought I was at
home, till one day, when I was near
one end of the lake, a whole party of
us ran out together to see what was
going on just below in a little brook,
where we heard some frolic and.laugh
inv. I never got back again. I wish I
was back now," said little Drop, all in a
quiver; so he couldn't go on for a time.
I waited for him to come round
again, and then said gently : "Never
mind, little Drop, you came from
heaven ; you've had a hard time, but
cheer up, you are with a friend now,
and very comfortable. Cheer up, and
tell me what„happened'l6"yOu." ' '
"0, I never can tell all. I hurried
on with the rest. We kept rattling
nonsense, and dodging the little fishes
to let 'ern go by. One time, I re
member, a lot of us ran into a hole
under a big house, and we were lost
in the dark and noise—we whirled
round and got so dizzy in the dark.
But we slipped out the first crack we
could find, all in a foam. I never
shall forget how I felt !"
" That was a mill," said I. "You
helped turn a wheel, and did good
work in the dark."
" Did I ? Well, I suppose yon know,
for you are a man. But 'I don't like
to Work in the' dark I"
" 'Nor I," said I. '"
but go on."
And Drop told me a long, a long
story, about a big dam he fell over,
rather than be caught in another mill;
about a big river - he came to, at last,
and hOW a steamboat hit him and
knocked' him under ; about a big cake
of mud that fell on' him and dirtied
him 'all through, as he was trying to
rest/near the shore; about a great city
he went by in the night, and saw the
lamps ; about a monstrous catfish that
swallowed:him and let him out again
at his gills ; a long, long story, too
long to tell. But, by-and-by, he got to
the ocean, and he thought that was his
home, for it was so big, and grand,
and still. He used to go down where
it was very dark and cold, till he was
almost frozen, and then he would
hurry up to get warm in the sunshine.
Said, he: " One day,ns I was warm
ing myself in the sum. I fell asleep, 'or
something, I don't know, just what,
only I feltas if I was all fainting away
and falling to' pieces ;' . l was- so warm,
and weak, and willing; aadt the sun
was so bright !"
:You was dying, wasn't you?"
said I.
," I don't kndw what you call it, but
I was happy," said Drop, " and the
next I knew, I was high up again,
white as snow, and sailing, in the sun
shine, and determined to stay there
always."
Well, why didn't you ?"
"I couldn't. I never can stay any
where. I haven't got any home. I
wish I had. I wish I was there, or in
the lake again."
I comforted Drop, and waited a
moment for him to get his little voice
steady, and then he went on :
" One night I felt a little chilly, as
I was sailing in the moonlight, and
became Drop again. 0, dear 1 here I
go,'.said I, ',now what's a coming ?'
Down, down I fell, and struck against
a twig of a tree, and, hung on a second,
then slipped along underneath it to a
leaf, to try and climb down softly to
'the ground And not get hurt. But the
leaf bent over, and let me slip off, and
'down I,came into this little cup where
lam sitting now! Can you tell me,
sir, the way back home ? Can I stay
here ? ..Can I,stay anywhere ?"
"Little Drop," said I, "we can't any
of ifs keep still. We have no home.
,We all go, to heaven
,to, rest, and
come to earth, to work. We all keep
moving, and, so must you, But take,
it easy, now, for we can't do anything
to-night.
And as I put out my, lamp, Drop
shut his ,eye, and I took up the flowers
gently,,to,Tut them in the window , to
giye them fresh 4r. Drop peeped ont„
of i his half,open eye and saw the moon,
and smiled, but selpt again right away.
The next morning slept late,
When I got , up, the ; sun was shining,
full on my wilting flowers, and Drop
was gone. ,l know,where he has gone
to. I, am almost sure I saw him at the ,
top °fit rainbow in the east, that very
evening. If %wasn't he, 'twas a twin
brother of his. But, wherever he may
be, he won't stay there long. The
winds, him round till, it's time
for, another tumble, then down he'll
come, I dont know just where; but, if
he gets into a river, he'll go to the
ocean again, and fall in love with the
sun again, and go up.
And so the ocean keeps the clouds
full, and'the clotids keep the rivers full,
and the rivers keep the ocean full, .and
the sun them a',ll at work. What
a master 'the sun is, to be 'sure! He
makes the
,grasS grow, and=
The rest next, time.—Thos. K.
Beecher ; in The Little ethporal.
DUTCHMAN'S TEMPERANCE LEC
" shall tell, you how it vas. I put
mine hand on mine head, and there was,
von baba.. Then I,put mine hand ,
on , mine pody, and there vounnoder,
There veuvery much pains in all mine
pody. Theul put mine hand in mine
pocket, and .there vos , noting. So I
fined s mit de temperance. < Now there
vos no "rove pain in mine head. The
paintain mine pody v,as all gone Away.
put mine han&in mine pocket, and
there WEI' twenty : doilars. ,So I, shall.
shtay mit4le tompeThuise
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY. AUGUST .2, 1866.
THE UNCUT DIAMOND.
On a voyage homeward from India,
a child was found playing in the cabin
with what appeared to be pebbles.
On being asked where she got them,
she replied, "From father's little box.".
A closer examination proved that the
supposed pebbles were uncut dia
monds of great value. Diamonds in
the rough do not make a very attrac
tive appearance. They do not sparkle,
and yet they have great value.
Has not the reader seen some uncut
diamondslamong his acquaintances ?
There is Mr. X. His hand, When
you take abnost as hed'ai-the
hoof of, the oxen who. are. his com
panions through so many working
days of the year. His boots are very
heavy, and have encrusted on, them
specimens of the different soils on his
farm and the vicinity. A wag once
suggested, when a professor of agricul
tural chemistry sent to that part of the
country for specimens of soil for
analysis, that Mr. X.'s boots:should be
sent to the professor. His movements
are by no means characterized by
grace, and in general his appearance
is somewhat removed from the orna
.mental.
TURF.
And yet, if there was a poor man or
woman in the township'in trouble, Mi.
X. seemed to ' have an infitinctive
knowledge of it; and the heavy boots
might be seen stumbling along toward
the scene of trouble, bearing along a
somewhat. uncouth body, but within, it
as warm a heart as ever beat in ..a
human bosom. His visits were always
Welcome. They were never visits of
ceremony and mere verbal condolence.
On a certain occasion, owing to the
state a the country, there was a falling
off in the receipts of the Missionary
Society, and there was danger that the
schools for heathen children would be
disbanded, and some of the mission
aries recalled. A collector called en
Mr. X. It was not necessary that be
should state the facts of the case. " I
have been expecting you for some
time," saidiMr. X. '" This thing ought
to be attended to. I have been cast
ing: about to• see what I can do. I
haw-finally concluded that I could
part with.that cow yonder, and I sold
her. I expect the man who bought
her to bring ,the, money and:take: her
away to-day. As soon as- I get the
money,- you can have it)'
"How much shall I put you down
for'?" said the collector.
"I sold the cow, for forty dollars."
" How much of it goes to the
cause?"
" How 'much? why, all, of it."
" Can you conveniently spare it
all?"
"No ; but that's not the question.
The cow belongs to the Lord, and I
think he wants the money she will
bring. My convenience has nothing
to do with it. I don't hold thap we
are to put the Lord off with the odds
and ends of things, and serve him only
when it is perfectly convenient for us
to do so—when we have nothing else
to do."
The children were very fond of
visiting Mr. X. In haying tirne r ehen
school was out, there would be a rush
toward Mr. X.'s meadow; and when the
cart, loaded with hay, was:,slowly
drawn by the oxen toward the barn, a
half dozen young heads might be seen
emerging from the hay on the ; top of
the load, like the heads of birdsin the,
nest.
Winter evenings ; parties of children
would assemble at his kitchen fire
side, and they were quite as much in
terested in his kind words and, 14torres
as,,in the great, red apples with which
they were treated. _
A great many other facts might be,
stated, all going, to:show that Mr. X.
was a diamond: in the rough. A child
once said of him, " When Mr. X. gees
to heaven, he will leave his boots and,
everything behind him, and iwill
be handsome ; then." Children speak
the truth quite as often as grown per
sons. -
LIFE TOO SHORT FOR STRIFE
Charles Dickens relates the follow
ing of Douglas Jerrold
Of his generosity I had a proof
.within these two or three years; which
it saddens me to think of now. There
had been estrangement bOtween
not on any personal subject, and. not
involving any angry words—and a
good many months had passed without
my ever seeing him in, the street, when
it fell out that we dined, each with his
own separate party, in the Stranger's
Room of,the Club. Our chairs were
almost back to back, and I took mine
after he was seated at the dinner, (I ant'
sorry to remember,) and did not look
that way. Before we had sat, 'long,
he openly wheeled 4 his chair round,
stretched out both hands in an engag
ing manner, s and said' aloud, with a
bright and loving face, that I can see,
as I Write,to you :
"
''Let us, be friends . again? A life r
snot long enough for this I'
"Jerrold wy l s, not a Christian, but
his conduct in this case was wolthY
the Christian character. On a dying
bed, how insignificant will* - appear
many things about which we contend
in bitterness and wrath? Life is so
short, its, inevitable, sorrows so many,
its responsibilities so vast 'and soleinn,
;that there is, indeed, no time to spare
in bruising and mangling one , another.
Let . not the sun go doWn on your
Nffer close your ey,a to sleep
with a heart angry toward your bro
-
ther and fellow-sufferer. See him and
be reconciled to him if you can. If
you cannot see him, write to him. If
he is a true man and a Qh.ristian, he
will listen. If lac' is no, you 1011
have done right, aild you> ;soul will: be
bright with the sulshine Of Heaven."
I AM THE FAMILY CAT.
I can fold up my nlaws
In my soft velvet paws,
And purr in the sun
the short day isadone—,
t, _War I AZ:the
I can doze by the hour
Winking and blinking
Thiough sunshine and shower—
For I am the family cat.
From the gooseberry bush,
Or where bright currants blush,
I may suddenly spring
For a bird on the wing,
Or dart up a tree,
If a brown nest I see,
And select a choice morsel
For dinner or tea,
And no one to blame me,
Berate me or shame me—
' For lam the the family cat
In the cold winter night,
When:the ground is all white,
Alol.the icicles shine
In along silver line,
• 'I stay not to shiver '
In the moonbeams's pale quiver,
' But curl up in the house,
AsMing as a mouse,
And play Jacky,Horner,
In the cosiest corner,
Breaking nobody's lairs
With my chin onMy paws, . . •
Aslepp with one and awake with the, other,
For pats front= he cliiTdien, kind' words from
the mother, • • •• ••
For I am the family cat.
SINGULAR, LIBERALITY.
Mr. Beecher, in a sermon on " Con
science," published in the Independent,
narrates the following instance of the
liberality of a conscientious man, which
we think unparalleled
Not long ago a. gentleman who was
engaged in the oil business had made
some twelve or fifteen thousand dol-
lars, and he concluded that he bad
made en:ough--extraordinau ,as it
may seem l—and that he would wind
up affairs encl. - come home. Ido
not believe one of you would have
dope it. Fifteen thousand 44:111ars
Why, that is just enough to bait the
trap of mammon! Well, he wound
Up his affairs, and was on the point of
leaving, when he was met by a young
man of his acquaintance (I believe
they both reside in New York) who
had invested six thousand dollars, all
he had, in an experimental well, and
had been ,boring and boring until he had
given out in discouragement. And
coming to this man, he said, "I shall
lose six thousand dollars if I am
obliged to give up my interest in that
well," and begged him to take it off
his hands.
" I am selling out,- and not taking
on," says the man.
But the the young man pleaded with
him, and out of personal kindness he.
said, "Very well, I will take it."
In two days they struck a vein in
this well, and it was an immensely
fruitful well ; and he sold his share for
two hundred thousand dollars. The
young man was present when the
check was drawn on New York for
the amount, and he felt like death,
and mourned, and said, "It was al-
ways my luck ; I am always a little
too late."
And the man said, " You may take
ten thousand of it, if you
The young man thought he was
jesting; but he assured him that he
was not, and said, " I will make it
twenty thousand, if it will do you any
good. 'Or," said he,
"I will make
it fifty thousand. Well," said he,.
" take the whole of it ; I do not want
it. Give me the six thousand, and
you may have the advantage of the
good luck."
, And so he gave the young man the
two hundred thousand. All of you
that would have done that, may rise.
An ordinary man would have said
to himself, " This was a bona fide trans
action. Pbought an - interest in that
well of this young man, and paid him
for it, and the good fortune was mine ;
and here is the two hundred thousand
dollars, and it is equitably mine—
every way mine."
But this man said, to himself, doubt
less, " Here is this young man ; he has
life before him, and I am advanced in
years, and he has but six thousand
dollars, and I am rich, and I do not
need this two hundred thousand as
much as he does. Besides, if he had
any idea that the well was so valuable,
he would not have sold it to me as he
did."
Ile put himself in the young man's
place, and something said to him, "It
is better to be generous. • You will
derive more comfort from the con
sciousness of having anted generously,
tlian you 'would from the two hun
dred thousnd dollars, if you should
keep`it?' ' -
Some of his friends said to him,
Yon were a fool; you might have
given him twenty thousand dollars,
and he would have been satisfied.
•Why did you not divide with him, in
stead. of giving him the whole ?"
," Because," be said, "when you are
gOing to do a good deekit is better to
do a big one." '
I wish that -man might settle in
Brooklyn, and have a large family I
lie might have kept all, or nearly
all; of the money; and he would have
been' juitified' by law, and 'by cus-
torn, and. by the judgment of good
men and Christians, and everybody
would have said, "He acted rightly
enough ;" but when it is known that,
instead of keeping the money, or any
part of it, he handed it all over to the
youn.g man, no one can help feeling,
" There is something beautiful and
noble in that. There was in that
-man's moral nature something_ juster
and more generous than we should
have had."
A THRILLING INCIDENT.
• Returning from , m visit to - New
Orleans, we were 4 tunate enough to
secure a r passage in a steamboat with
but few passengers. Among the ladies,
one especially intetested us. She was
the widow of a wealthy planter, and
was returning with only one child to
her father's home. Her devotion to the
child was very touching, and the eyes
of her old black nurse would fill with
tears as she besought her mistress "not
to love that boy too mach, or the Lord
would take him away from her."
We passed through the canal at
Louisville, and stopped for a few min
utes at the wharf, when the nurse,
wishing to see thenity, walked out on
the guard ar the 'back of the boat,
where, by a sudden effort, the child
sprang from her arms into the terrible
current that swept. toward, the Falls,
and disappeared immediately. The
ow:AL:Ilion which:ensued attracted the
attention of a gentleman who' was in
the front part of the boat, quietly read
ing. Rising hastily, he asked for scinie
article the child'had worn. The-nurse
handed him a tiny apron she had torn
off in her efforts to retain the child in
her arms. Turning to a splendid New
foundland dog that was eagerly watch
ing his countenance, he pointed first to
the apron, and. then to the , spot where
the child bad gone under.
In an instant the noble dog leaped
into the rushing water, and , he also
soon disappeared. By this time `the
excitement was intense, and some per
sons on shore supposing.the dog was
lost,As well as the child, procured a
boat and started off in search of the
body., Just, at this moment the; dog
was seen far away with something in
mouth.his Bravely he struggled with
waves ; but it was evident his
strength was falling, and more than
one breast gave a sigh of relief as the
boat reached him, and it was an
nounced that he had saved the child,
and it was still alive. They were
brought to the shore _ —,thedog and the
child. Giving a,single glance to satisfy
herself that the child was really living;
the young mother rushed forward, and
sinking beside the dog, threw her arms
around his neck 'and burst into tears.
Not many could view the sight un
moved, and as she caressed-and-kissed
his shaggy head, she looked up to its
owner and said : "0, sir, I must have
this dog 1 lam rich ; tke all I have,
anything, but give me my child's pre
server 1" The gentleman smiled, and
patting his dog's head, said : lam
glad fie has been of service to you;
but nothing could induce me to part
with him."
CARDINAL WOLSEY.
I suppose that most of my Teaders
know something of English: history..
If you have studied it with any de
gree of attention, you. will probably
remember the name of Cardinal Wol-
sey. We will give a sketch of his
life, for memories are sometimes trea
cherous, and you may have forgotten
what you have read about him.
Thomas Wolsey was born at Ips
wich, a pleasant town in. Suffolk, near
the junction of the rivers Orwell and
Gripping, Some say that he was thfk
son of a private gentleman; but the
most generally received ppinipn is,
that he was the son of
. a -butcher.
However this may be, it is pretty cer
tain that his 'parents were both able
and willing to give him es,' good educa
tion. After some preliminary instriic
tion, he was sent to Magdalen'College,
Oxford, ~where it .would appear he
must have worked hard; for we find
that, by the time he was, fifteen years
of age, he had taken a degree, being
called " the boy, bachelor, because of
his youth.
He had the art of making friends
wherever he went; and this was prob
ably due as much to his winning and
pleasing manners, for which' be was
noted in early life, as to his great
natural ability and his keen judg
ment. There is some truth, yen see,
in the proverb, "Manners make the
man." I am sorry to tell you, how
ever, that, notwithstanding his great
talents, his conduct, was not always
good ; and even after he was settled in
Iymington,in Somersetshire, he was
out, in the stocks for some -Misde
meanor.
In those days the clergy could fill
any secular office in the State • and
we find that soon after Wolsey became
chaplain to King Henry VII., he was
employed on an embassy that required'
much tact and dispatch. He managed',
the affair cleverly; for he had been to
.13'russels, transacted what he was com.
Missioned 'to do, and was back' again
in London before the king knew that
he had set out.
When Henry VIII. came to the.
throne, Wolsey'n rise was 'even more
rapid than -before; and so necessary
was he to the young king, that soon
the, reins of Oovernment fell almost
entirely into his hands. Instead; how-
ever, of using his great influence for
good, helent • himself to the vices and
follies of his master, that he might the
more easily retain the power he had
obtained; ; for, as is often thecase, the
more he had, the more he wished to
have. "Increase of appetite had grown
by what it fed on.' The magnifi
cence of his house and the dress of his
attendants were in keeping with his
own extravagant and gorgeous attire,
Few could vie with him, and scarcely
royalty itself. His household was usu.
ally composed of five hundred people,
among ,who_m might be found earls,
kmightsvamiesquires: Rebuilt a palace
at Hampton Court, and made a pres
ent of it the ling.'. But Wolsey
had tO learn, from 'bitter experience,
the truth -of that passage of Holy
Writ, "Put not your trust in princes.
His insolence and ambition raised him
up many enemies. When at the zenith
of his power and grandeur, the king
caused him to be
,arrested on some
frivolous pretext, and he was at once
deprived of all his wealth. For a
little time, it is said,, he was almost in
want of ordinary comforts. His un
worthy friends forsook him ; but, to
their honor, be it spi:?ken, his domestics
showed great attention to their fallen
Master. ,
In the followingyear 1530, the ca
pricious king 'reinstated ' him in some
of hid honor* but the return of pros
perity did-. not last long. In the
autumn or the same year, when, not
having learned wisdom by the past,
he was making magnificent prepara
tions for his installation in the see of
York, he was again arrested, and this
time on the charge of treason. On
his way to London, to be tried, he was
seized with that illness which termi
nated his life. As he entered the
monastery at Leicester, where he died,
he said, "Father.abbot, I am come to
lay my bones amongst you." And so
it proved; for in three days his rest
less, active spirit had passed away—
not without a strong suspicion that ht.
had taken poison to prevent hiquAf
from falling into the hands of thoSe
Who had deterthined to accomplish his
ruin. Shortly before his death he gave
utterance to these memorable words:
"Had I but served My God as* dil4ently
as I have served my king; HeAvould nst
have given me over in my gray hairs."
It has been said, :" The ill- that men
do lives after them, the good is oft in
terred with their bones." But in the
case of Cardinal Wolsey, some of the
good has outlived, its author. With
all his faults, he was a munificent and
consistent patron oflearning. To him
Oxford is indebted for her Christ-
ChurCh College, at that time called
the Cardinal's. He also founded the
school of which we spoke just now,
and which, for a time, was said to
rival both Eton and Winchester. The
Latin rules were drawl up by . Wolsey
hiinself, and are still preserved. Judg
ing by the gateway, the building must
have been a fine one in its day.—
Early Days.
LORD CRAVEN.
Lord Craven lived in London when
the last great plague raged. His house
was in that part of the town called
Craven building; On that sad calam
ity growing epidemic, his lordship, to
avoid the danger r resolyed to retire to
his seat in the country. His coach and
six were accordingly at the door, the
baggage put up, and all things in
readiness for the journey; As he was
walking through the hall, with his
hat on, his cane under his arm, and
putting on his gloves, in order to step
into his carriage, he overheard his
negro (who served: him_as a:postillion)
saying, to another servant . : 'I sup
pose by my lord's quitting London to
I avoid the plague t that his God lives in
the ,country and not in the town I"
The poor negro said this in the sim
plicity of his heart, as really believ
ing in a plurality of gods: The speech,
however, struck Lord Craven very
sensibly, and made him pause. "My
God," thought he, " lives everywhere,
and can preserve me in town as well
as in the country • I'll e'en stay where
I am. The ignorance of that negro
has preached a useful sermon to me;
Lord, pardon, that unbelief and that
distrust of thy providence which made
me think of running away from thy
hand !" He immediately ordered the
horses to be taken from the coach, and
the baggage to be bought in. He con
tinued in London, was =remarkably
useful among his sick neighbors, and
never caught the infection.
Truth •
an eternal element It is
an 'essence of divinity. Man roust
grasp this essence ; he must press it to
his soul; it 4 ratist be his spiritual life,
all his thoughts and. ;actions. Truth
must ever- be with him, continually
abiding with him. Only in this way
can he be natural. Only so can he re
semble the Redeemer. To be unlike
God is to.be unnatural. 'Tistrue, op
. . ,A
posites exist. Light has its shade, co.
is opposed to heat, hate is antagonist ic
to love. 'Truth itself is opposed by
error. But with one'path, one genuirle
cotuse i remains for him to follow. n
is .the path of right, of truth, of justice ,
of love, and of uniwerving fidelity to
hod. Only so can the soul live out
its - noblest attributes, and harrnonio
with the purposes of the Creator.
Moralpuritylify us f ° l
. can one qua
this mission.
TRUTH.