&In fantilg
"ONLY A YEAR AGO."
One year ago—a ringing voice,
A clear blue eye,
And clustering curls of sunny hair,
Too fair to die.
Only a year—no voice, no smile,
No glance of eye,
No clustering curls of golden hair,
Fair but to die.
One year ago—what loves, what setemes
!Car:into lii e t,. ,
What - joyd(is hopes ,' what high 'resebres,
What generous strife!
' " ri,`. 7 • .
The silent pt6tuie on fbe wall,
The burial hthibe, , " •
Of all that beauty, life, and joy,
la t eynatin alone
Owil„Tovtr;—,Slie,y,etpr-one little year,- ,
And so'raueh gone
And yet the even flow of life
Moses palmly on. - ••
4;. .
The •grnve , grows green, the flowers bloom fair,
Above that head;
No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray
Sayae ;
No pause' or hush . of merry birds
That sing above
Tells us how coldly sleeps below
,The i form w.elove,
Where heist thou been this year, beloved ?
Whitt/40.0.000. keen.?
What yisions, fair, what glorious lifp
heist - 66u bebat
The veil! the 1 (61 t so thin, so strong-!
.113 and theel; .
The mystic,. veil! when shall it fall,
• That we may .see
Not "dead, not sleeping, not even gone ;
But present. still,
And waiting for the coming hour
• • Of Clod's sweet will.
Lord of the living and the dead.
Our Saviour dear,
We lay in silence at thy feet
This sad, sad year
,[From the Little Corporal.]
• -• '`'LOU'' MISTAKE:
Lou Parker had an unfortunate window,
at school, looking out at the broad, sunshi
ny country; at the woods, with their rust
ling billowy tops and the purple dark ,
depths ; at the little "run," that had green,
buttercup starred, pepperminted banks, at
first, and after a while broadened - into the
bright creek ; at Aunty Rool's orchard, and
the old "spring lane," where the yellow but
terflies loved to hover upon the thistles.
Lou wasn't one of "The Girls." Nobody
always wanted a desk right by hers. No
body held long, delicious, confidential talk
with her at recess. Nobody spent sly hours
in school with her, making paper envelopes,
and trimming them daintily-.with-gilt pap - er -
begged at the stores down town. She hadn't
any beautiful, perforated paper mementoes
in her "History," and not a single tender
verse, scrawled long-tailed letters, at the
back of her "Reader,' and signed "Ever."
She didn't- wear cunning, little aprons,
with bibs • 'she hadn't any -coral necklace,
with a gold locket, nor a cornelian ring.
The teacher didn't like her much, either..
He always said "You, I mean," when he
spoke to her. He never called her Lou, not
even Miss Parker.
When they all gathered. sociably around
one desk; to sing "Willie on the Dark Blue
Sea," in the cool, fresh, morning hour, be
fore school began, nobody ever said,-"Come,
Lou Parker, we must have, you." Bat Lou
didn't care much. She had a kind of dog
ged disdain for them all.
It was rather hard, when she wrote a
beautiful composition, to be told, right be
fore the .whole school, that it was "copied ;
meanly, unscrupulously copied ;" just be
cause there happened to be a miserable lit
tle poem, that had -the same name, in the
Dollar Times. Lou hadn't seen the poem,
didn't know there was such a thing in the
world; and had pored over and scribbled at
her precious- composition two long; feverish
hours in•her own little, low room at home,
in among the old trunks and band-boxes
and piles
,of bedclothes and the children's
trundle , bedri:- But nobody would -believe
that, of course, and Lou hadn't the courage
to - tell it; and `so she\ only,stammered out,
in one great,'Tassionate sob, "r didn't!" and
then her homely, bony, little face grew hot,
and she ;trembled from head to foot, and
sank down in her seat and was disgraced.
Poor Lou! But that happened long ago,
when she first came to school.;
.
Lou was lazy. She - knew that, but she
meant to stddy, some time. Aivay off in some
enchanted time, she liked to think of herself
a great, honored woman, quemling it over the
whole world. How, Lou didn't exactly
know. Perhaps she'd be an authoress,
perhaps an actress, or a lecturer, and wear
her hair parted at the side, and speak
at Washington, before the President and all
the - Congressmen. Perhaps. she'd go to Eng
land, and be introduced to Victoria, and be
come an intimate friend of hers. She often
cried, when she saw herself behind every
body in school, and maybe would have mag
nificent lessons for a day or two; but by
and. by-the old habit of thinking all manner
or- fantastic thoughts, even with her
lessou before her eyes, crept upon her like a
delicious stupor, and the laziness folded it
self about-her, harder to break out of than
bands of iron.
SO it wasn't strange that, one day, the
teacher said to her, "You may take your
books and go home. We can't hope for you
any longer, and we don't want any drones
in solio61." -
;ton . quietly, gathered up her books and
ivallaid out. She didn't care for the school,
nor for the teacher; but how could she go
homd-to her dear, trustful , mother, and tell
her that bey, daughter was disgraced ? Row
—Mrs. H. B. Stowe
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 1867.
could she ever meet her father, and the
boys, there in the humble, plodding, little
home, where they all looked up to her so,
and were so sure she was going to be an
honor to them all, some day ? Such a misera
ble, heartless, good-for-nothingshe had been,
and now they would all know it. And Lou
thought, as she walked towards home, of
her mother's hard, work-scarred bands, and
her pale face, and her slow steps; and re
membered how she always said, " Never
mind the work, dear. You brought your
books home, you know. I'll call Robbie
down stairs, and you can go up there and be
by yourself"- Ruch she studied up there by
herself! She only dreamed over ber books,
and how she despised herself for it, now ! It
seemed to her that she couldnever go home,
and . yet she , had gone hundreds of Uncles,
when she was meaner than'now.,
There was a little, old 'honse on •her way
home, that bad once been a butcher's shop;
but a little vest-maker lived there then, and
had scrubbed and whitewashed, and nailed
boards over, chinks, and papered the walls
with coarse, clean paper, till it was quite
comfortable. -She was a round-fae,ed, rosy,
simple-hearted girl, and Loa liked her. She
always had a little bunch' of flowers, in: a
glass upon 'the window -sill, beside her, and'
her calico Sleeves vikvs had - a rim'of daintY
white; shading ber firm, round wri4ts. She
had to cook and I '3ol:and sleep, in .the little
room where she , worked, but back, of that
there was another little, wee room, , kept
daintily clean, though the floor was bare,
and it had one plump, white bed in it.' and
a cunning little'stand, and a cage' of birds
They often chatied touether she and Lou,
by the little front window, while she, stitch-;
ed ; but Lou never went in.
There was always a tall boy, either walk
ing monotonously out of one 'room into the
other,' or sitting by the wall with hi
weak, sallow hands clasuiiial and
ing nervously over his hrg kqeesi`and
sad eyes looking forever at the floor, while
his lips utteped voiceless words to k lottself.
Lou never asked any questions aboulhim,
and she always had a vague feeling that her
presence in. the room where he was might
be an intrusion. Her friend was very loving
to him, calling him Johnny; and often,
when he was walking so perseveringly, and
yet so wearily, she would lay one cool, 'firm
hand upon his forehead, and the other upon
his arm, and say, tenderly and decidedly,
"Come, Johnny, you have walked too long.
I wish you would rest yourself—for me,
Johnny." And he always obeyed her.
Loa's heart was very full, that day, whet
she came to the little window where the
brisk hands: and the rim of dainty white
glanced back and forth ; but the little vest
maker wanted to talk, so she called out mer
rily, " Stop Lou!" Bat her face grew lov
ing and anxious as a mother's, in a minute,
when she saw how the great tears blurred
Lou's eyes, and her bands trembled in their
clasp over her books.
"Are you sick, Lou ?" she asked.
"No, 0 no,"__so_bbed Lou, bowing her
head upon the sill ; " it's worse than that.
I wouldn't care for that."
Her old calico sunbonnet was pushed in a
heap back upon her shoulders,
and the lit
tle vest-maker gently stroked her straight,
brown hair. Somehow her hands had
learned to be so firm and motherly, their
toueh made Lou feel like telling her trouble
to her.
" I'm so lazy, 'Ruth," she said, "and I
can't help it. I'm too lazy to try to help it.
And I'd be ashamed to tell you how great
and wise I've always meant to be, some time,
and what splendid things I've meant to do.
But I've never yet done one good thing in
the world. I don't even help mother wash
the dishes, when she's sick and tired. She
always tells me not to' mind them.' She'd
offer herself up for the sake of my being
somebody, some time—l mean somebody
great; and I do believe I'd let her, I'm
such a mean, selfish creature. Now I've got
to go home and tell how mean I've been,
and never hope for me any more."
Ruth left the window a minute, to smooth
Johnny's hair back from his forehead. It
was a broad, white forehead, and she looked :
•
up to it lovingly when she touched it. Then
Johnny went on walking and she'eame back
to Lou. She was no wonderful, wise wo
man, with her head full of " creeds" and
";theories,'.'_ so she only asked Lou a little,
sisterly, girlish~ question. •
" What did you ever mean to be, Lou?"
It had never entered her head to " be "
anything. She had just " been" what was
given her to be, honestly and cheerfully and
hopefully.-
" 0," -answered Lou, tapping her German
grammar with her fingers, and smiling in a
hali'zashamed way, " I don't know, exactly:
Only.l was always so bright about learning
things when I, was little, and I've always
read so much, and I learn so quick when I
do study, that our folks all think there's
something in me ; and I guess there is, only
I'm so lazy, that whatever gift or capability
there is in me won't do me any good. I
wish you'd tell me about yourself, Ruth."
So Ruth did. She hadn't any girl but Lon
to tell things to, and it is natural for girls
to like to "tell" somebOdy, no matter how
wise and womanly they are. She didn't
think of conparing herself with Lou. She
didn't try to " analyze " her, and never
thought of giving her
_advice. For her it
wa: . only a loving, trustful confidential, lit
tle talk.
" I haven't any chance to be lazy," she
said. "Johnny and I are all alone in the
world. I wish you could have seen how we
used to live, Lou. Not that it was at .all
splendid, but we 'bad a little house all our
own, with grape vines and fruit-trees and
flowers, that father planted before he died.
We had hard work to get along, to be snrs,
just mother and I and Johnny; but thenit
was home there.
"Mother always wanted Johnny to be a
preacher, and he wanted to be one, too ;
and you should have seen how he studied,
and k0gyy 2 hp ... 521:44 between times, in order
to get an education, and keep mother and
me comfortable, too. We had an uncle that
wanted to help us, only he wouldn't as long
as Johnny meant to . be a preacher, for he
hated preachers. And we couldn't give
that up, you know—we'd rather die first.
So Johnny worked and studied himself sick.
It was a long, fearful fever, Lou, and he isn't
over it yet. It was his delicate brain the
fever hurt most—our poor; beautiful Johnny.
Then mother died, and I had to give up the
house, and the garden, and the dear, old,
blossomy front yard, and all ; and Johnny
was sent to an asylum. He was there a
long time, and at last they sent him to me,
cured, they said; but it's as yOu. see, and I
Mean to 'keep him with me, now. Ire's
more like himself with, me than anywhere
else, and I'm a great, deal hap Pier takipg
care of him. I'm. a real good nurse, and,
don't you :see.? • I keep .his little• room in
there just as fresh and bright as they do at
the' asylum. We go to the woods, an d . gather
flowers and leaves, .to M 4.6 wreaths to, hang,
up in there till it's perfectly beautiful ; and
Johnny enjoys it so, when it's all done. I
can see.that he's getting better every day
.and, 0, I am an glad! Such a very deep,
perfect gladness it is, that I don't feel a bit
like clapping my hands and singing over
it."
Somehow, being with. the earnest, heart
whole little vest-maker, was like being out
in a clear, fresh, bracing air: 'She didn't
parade the sorrow of her life - before you; and
yet she must have known rnuch of it; and
bOrne it bravely. Lou 'never had many
friends. She was, too shy . and awkward
with most people, for them to like her ; so
it, was not strange that the new things that
came to her now had never been suggested.
before.
" Why, Rn.th,"..‘she said, looking at' her'
friend almost - Teverently, "I've, all my life
been in. a mikake. wanted'io be great,
not for the sake of: greatness, • but just for
the hornageit brings. You're great without.
knowing it.; I• do believe, , after all, it's only
in being goal" -
Her friend opened Wide her clear, Sunny
, .
brown eyes, when Lou said that.
"Only to be good,!" she said, Seriously,
" I think it's hard to be good, the hardest
thing in the world."
Yes, that was true. Lou gloomily con
fessed it to herself. It meant a whole life
of bitter struggling, and earnest, loving, un
selfish work. But she said,
" Well, Ruth, tell me what to 'do next."
. Ruth laughed a pleasant, little laugh.
"Why, Lou," she said, " if I were you, I'd.
just go.home and tell my mother all about
it, just as you've told me ; and then I'd go
to work and help her wash dishes, and cook,
and bake, and do all the homely things
about the housework, even if I didn't like
it. That'll give you a relish for your books,
when you've got a minute to spare to them;
and I wouldn't think about being anything
but a good, tune woman. What if there is
something fine and bright in you, if you only
had the„esieriry to cultivate it? That's no
sign yOu're to be Anybody celebrated
. and
looked.up to allover the world. It's just a
blessing given to Lou Parker, for Lou Par
ker to make the most of, whether anybody
ever knows it or not."
She hadn't meant to preach Lou such a
sermon, but she did it, cheerily and honest
ly.
Ought I tell how Lou's. loving mother,
who had believed and hoped such great
things for her so long, forgave her,•and
hoped betterthings for her, when Lou told
her of bar disgrace and: her new resolves
Rae ally lazy, dreamy; little castle-builder
seen the wrong in Lou's life ?
,or have I told
it vaguely, as Lou thought her thoughts ?
JEld AND THE POCKET-BOOK.
" Jem, I dropped my pocket-book some
where out here. Have you seen it?" asked
a farrier one day of a boy who was hoeing
potatoes for him in a field.
" No, sir," said Jelin, " I
. have not."
" Well, suppose you help. me to find it.
You look along that side of the field toward
the gate, while I look on this," rejoined Mr.
Beers, pointing in the direction shown.
" Yes, sir," said Jem, cheerfully, and drop
ping his hoe in the furrow, he started along
the edge of the field, carefully lOoking for
the lost pocket-book.
When he reached.. the gate,..he found the
farmer.there before him,
with the pocket
book in his hand. Jem looked pleased, and
said : " You have found it, sir ?"
" Yes," replied the farmer, " I have, and
I guess you knew very well where it was.
I,found it right beside your dinner kettle,
under the grass, where, I suppose, you left
Jem felt the color rise to his temples, and
anger burned in his heart; but the latter he
kept down, for he was a Christian boy, and
quietly answered : " I know nothing about
your pocket-book, sir. I cannot tell how it
came to be near my dinner kettle."
" You are very innocent, I dare say," re
joined the farmer, with a sneer, " but facts
don't favor that opinion. I don't want sus
picious boys about my place, so you may
quit as soon as you like."
Poor Jem was dumb with surprise and
sorrow. Taking up his dinner kettle, he
left.the field, and went directly home to his
mother. Ho told her the story of his mis
fortune, and closed by saying, " You believe
me, mother, don't you ?"
" I do, my son," she replied; " I don't
believe you would either lie or steal for the
best filled pocket-book in the world."
Jem was comforted. His mother had faith
in his word, and a voice whispered, "Jesus
knows." His own heart, too, freed him.
Though suspected of lying and dishonesty,
he was at peace, because he knew the sus
picion to.be unjust.
The farmer, believing that Jem had hid
thepocket-book, told the story to his
friends. Some believed it ; but man" shook
their leads and said, "It caul he: Jem has
waYti "been' a'iru th ful aria honest bqy"
Jem felt sad to know that any thought
him guilty. But he told the story over and
over to his heavenly Father, and was com
forted. Jesus made him strong to bear this
sore trial. After a few days a gentleman
sent for Jem and offered to hire him. Jem
asked if he knew about the pocket-book.
" Yes," said he, " I know more than you
do about it ; for I saw your dog with a book
in his mouth going toward your dinner ket
tle. I supposed you had sent him to do it,
until I beard this morning from Farmer
Beers that you were suspected of hiding it
yourself."
Thus the mystery was solved. Gem's dog
had found and hid the pocket-book. The
boy's honor was now clear. He had:a bet
ter place than before, and his heart was as
happy as the love of Jesus could make it.
Happy Jem I He lived to be a very use
ful man, the trusted clerk of his employer,
the support of his mother, and an honor to
the church of God. Suppose he had 'been
guilty Pf hiding the pocket-book, and lying
about It would not the gory of his life have
been a very different one ? You know it
Learn,, therefore,. to - ,be ,true,
honest,,patierrt arid good has Jein Was. Ypur
life will then be happy, honorable and nae
ful.
CLEANLINESS 'AN THE
JAPANESE.
Beautiful as. Simoda seemed, the chances
, .
were, judging from our Chinese experience,
that it-would prove a very sepulchre of a
city,--full of all uncleanness,—upon a closer
inspection.
We found nothing of this sort. It was
like a Shaker village for neatness. The
streets were broad enough for barriages, if
tbere had, been any, straight, regular, some
of them paved with bobble-stones, well swept,
and well watered. The tradesmen's stalls
were clean, the stores were clean, the tem
ples were clean, the people were clean. In
the houses the resemblance to the Shaker
dwellings was increased by the. absence of
paint, and by the plainness of the furniture.
..Every housekeeper knows that it is easy to
keep painted woodwork clean, but it requires
something like an enthusiasm of neatness to
make unpainted wood shine as it shone in
these Simoda houses. The very sunlight,
as it comes in through the, windows of
translucent paper, has a white look, with all
the glare and color taken out of it. The
line matting on the floors, soft and thick,
sometimes in two or three layers, seemed
too nice to step upon. And indeed it is as
much a matter of course to remove the shoes
or sandals before treading on it, as with us
to remove one's hat before entering a draw
ing-room. This matting seemed to be the.
chief furniture of the houses. You may sit
on it by day, and sleep on it at night. And
you may make of your house one room or
many by the adjustment of movable screens
and partitions. Sometimes the walla will
be papered with colorless wall-paper of some
pretty pattern. '
- — Perhaps Simoda was a model village. I
do not know how it may be in Jeddo, that
exceeding great city; but I do not believe
that it begins to be so dirty as the great
city where this magazine is edited. Hako
dadi was the only other Japanese town that
I saw, and though larger than Simoda, it
seemed almost as clean. The streets were
broader, but they were well swept and
paved and watered. The houses were older,
and a little dingy, by reason of their age,
and their exposure to the weather, but they
were still remarkable for their nice order
and their neatness. As for the temples, it
was really delightful to be in them. In Si
moda, I remember, we strolled into one
which seemed at first quite vacant. We
wandered about among the grave-stones
of the court, and under the high carved
gateway, where the sweet-toned bell was
hanging, and on into the large room where
the altar was, and where the gold-fish were
swimming in their stone basin, and where
the drums and images and money-boxes
were, and found no one. Meantime, the au
tumnal breeze, that rustled the leaves on
the hillsides almost within reach, was so
pleasant, and the thick matting on the floor
so soft and clean, and the light which came
through the paper windows so white and
mild, that it seemed a most fit place, if not
to worship in, at least to sleep in. Appa
rently, so thought the worthy Bonze in
charge, whom we at last discovered stretch
ed at full length behind the altar, and 'gen
tly snoring in his dreams. It was a temple,
if not of godliness, then certainly of cleanli-
ness, which is said to be the next best
thing.
There is the same enthusiasm manifested
in the personal cleanliness of the people.
Perhaps no Japanese institution is so char
acteristic, so popular, so indispensable as the
bathing-house. Everybody patronizes it,
and that not occasionally , bat constantly,
and not at home only, but they also carry
it abroad. In this respect at least, they
change their sky bat not their mind when
they cross the seas. I remember that when
the first Japanese embassy arrived at Wash
ington, the great unwashed among the poli
ticians there were in amazement, as at some
new thing under the sun. " They wash
themselves," exclaimed astonished corres
pondents and reporters IV the newspapers;_
" they bathe all over every day,—two or
three times a day." When had the hotels
of the federal metropolis received such droll,
such eccentric guests ! One wonders what
was the embassy's criticism. on some of our
public men and public places; and what
they would have said if they could have put
up (as possibly may have been their evil
fate) at Martin Chuzzlewit's tavern, where
" a man as warn't thirsty might drink, afore
breakfast, all the water you've got , to wash
in, and arterwards eat the towel."
The Japanese are a handsome, dignified,
strong looking people. Constant cleanliness
and constant exposure to the open air, and
constant freedom from the restraint of in
convenient clothing, make-them erect, ro
bust, and muscular. Indeed, I used to look
with admiration at the laborers, for exam_
pie. in the stone-quarries near Hakodadi,
and wonder how their mighty limbs could
grow so great without the animal food which
Buddhism prohibits. In the city streets
and on the country roads, one meets bright
eyes and ruddy countenances. The folks
look as if they had blood in them and life in
them. They are active and industrious—
perhaps not less industrious than the Chi.
nese—and that is saying a great deal, for
the Chinese are the most industrious of all
peoples; but in the activity of the Japanese
is somehow an elasticity and vivacity
which I could not discover in the patient,
drudging, machine-like industry of China.
The dead weight, of whatsoever form it is,
which has rested for so many centuries
upon the crowded millions of the Chinese
Empire, and beneath which they have
grown stolid, dogged, wooden, dues not
rest upon Japan. The'se men and women
are not wooden, there is intense life in them.
They will be quick to anger, possibly, and
liable to the sway of fierce passions --but
that is better than the dull imperturbability,
the cold indifferentism, the dreadful apathy
of spiritual collapse. If they are quick to
anger, they , may be quick to friendship too.
If they • exPelled the Western nations and
the Christian religion with curses, in the
hot haste of their suspicious fury, they may
welcome -us back again with a cordiality
equally sincere.: I think they are doing so
already. Ten-years have developed in Ja
pan a kindlineSs of spirit toward the outer
world, winch a half century has not been
able to PrOduee in.Chipta.—Rev. G. B Bacon
in Bono at Home.
TI:LE HIGHLAND BOY'S 'FAITH.
A traveller in , Scotland observed some
.choice and rare plants growing on the edge
of a precipice. ' lie could not reach them,
but offered lb a little Ifighland boy a hand
spate present, if he wosild consent to be
lovvered to.. the spot by A rope round his
.waist. The boy hesitated. He looked at
'the. money, and thought of all that it would
purchase; .for his parents - were poor, and
their home had few of the - comforts of life;
but then, as he glanced at the, terrible pre
cipice, he shuddered and drew back. At
length his. eye brightenekand he said, with
decision,
" I'll go if father will hold the
rope." And he went.
-"lbis boy's trust," hays the Rev. Dr.
Wise, ",is a beautiful illustration of the faith
which saves the soul ; for as he put himself
into his father's hands to be bound with the
rope 'and loWered down the 'gorge to pluck
the coveted'flowers, so must you put your
self into Christ's hands to be pardoned."
NEVER GIVE UP.
In most eases the wise and good men will
come down, but never give up. The heroic
thing to say is this : Things are bad, but
they may be worse; and with God's blessing
I try to make thern better. • Who does not
know that by resolute adherence to this prin
ciple, many battles have been won after they
had been lost.? Don't the French say that
the English have conquered on many fields
because they did not know when they had
been beaten; in short, because they would
never give up ?
Pluck is a greet quality: Let us respect
it everywhere; at least, whenever enlisted
on the side of right. Ugly is the bull dog,
and indeed blackguard-looking; but I admire
one thing about it, it will never give up. And
splendid success has often come at length to
the man who fought on through failure, hop
ing against hope. Mr. Disraeli might well
have given up after his first speech in the
House of Commons; many men would never
have opened their lips there again. I declare
I feel something sublime in that defiant—
" The day will come when you will be glad
to hear me," when we read it by the light of
events. f course, only extraordinary suc
cess could justify the words. They might
have been the vaporing of a conceited fool.
Galileo, compelled to appear to come down,
did not give up. Still it moves. The great
Nonconformist preacher, Robert Hall, broke
down in his first attempt to preach; but he
did not give up. Mr. Tennyson might have
given up, had he been disheartened by the
sharp reviews of his earliest volume. George
Stephenson might also have given up, when
his railway and his locomotive were laughed
out of the Parliament Committee. Mr.
Thackeray might have given up, when the
publishers refused to have anything to do
with Vanity Fair.
The first articles of men who have become
most successful periodical writers, have been
consigned to the Balaam-box. Possibly this
was in some measure the cause of their suc
cess: It taught them to take more pains. It
was a taking down. It showed them that
their task was not easy; if they would suc
cced they must do their very best. And if
they had stamina to resolve that though
taken down they would not give up, the dis
appointment was an excellent discipline. I
have known students at College whose stic
vess in (tarrying off honors was unexampled ,
who in the first one or two competitions were
ignominiously beaten. Some would have
given up. They only came down; they went
at their work with a will, and never were
beaten more.—Country Parson.
JOHN Howe once observed two men in fl
violent passion. Their mutual cursing,
shock ed his religious sensibilities. Ile 100
ed at t4era, raised his hat, and said in a
solemn voice:
`':l pray God to bless you both !
This prayer so impressed the quarrelsom e
men that they ceased their strife and thank
ed Mr. Hoties'for his supplication.'