SLUMBER FAIRIES, |
Up the side of the trundle-bed
Softly they go,
And over the pillow with gentle tread
They come to the golden baby-head;
Under his lashes ke tries to peep,
Jut before he knows he is fast asleep.
~Isn't it so?
For they bind the baby with fairy charms,
Wonders to tell;
They loose the clasp of the dimpled arms,
And smooth his fornhead with sofe, small
palms,
And draw their cloaks o'er hisdrowsy ears,
Till a fairy music is all he hears,
Pleasing him well,
They shade his eyes with a little dream
Where did it grow ?
It grew by the side of a fairy stream,
‘Where Baby wandereth now, I deem,
With the Slumber Fairies to guide his feet.
Good-night,dear laddie ! your rest bo sweet!
Mamma must go.
TN TH II.
ASTRANGE CHARACTER,
One evening, during the progress of
the war of the Revolution in America,
an old woman, living in the suburbs of
Portsmouth, England, was summoned
to her door by a knock, and, on open-
ing it, found herself confronted with
an old man, poorly dressed, with a bun-
dle in his hand, such as travelers of his
class frequently carried on their pedest-
rian tours.
“Madam,” he said, respectfully, “can
I get to lodge here to-night?”
“It aren’t my business to take lodg-
ers,” replied the mistress of the house,
scanning the applicant closely by the
light she held in her hand.
“I spose not, madam—but I'm a
poor man, and want shelter some-
where, ”’
“Well, why don’t you go to an inn?
there's plenty of them in the town.”’
“Just because I'm poor, and can’t
afford to pey as much as they'd ask.
1've got a little money, only a little,
and I want to make it goasfaras I
an. I'm willing to pay you what's
reasonable; and then 1'd save some-
thing, I'm thinking.”
“Who are you? where do you be-
long? and what’s your business?"
“i'm called John the Painter, and
that explains my business, and I belong
anywhere where I happen to be. If
you're not satisfied with this answer,
why, good night to you, and I'll trudge
on to try my chance somewhere else.”
The old woman, who was poor her-
self, and lived alone, in a small, crazy,
old house, thought she might as well
gather in a few pennies, by keeping
the traveler, as to let some of her
neighbors do it; and so, after a little
reflection, she replied:
“] s'pose 1 can keep you, if as you
say, you'll pay me what’s reasonable—
for, like you, I'm poor, too, and can’t
afford to do it for nothing. Come mm
and sit down-—you look tired. I s'pose
you want supper?”
“Yes, if you please,” said John the
Painter, as he walked in and took a
seat near the fire, upon which he fixed
+
he carelessly threw his hat and bundle
down beside him,
For the half hour that the mistress
of the house was busied in preparing
his supper, the traveler seemed deeply
scarcely once took his eyes from the
fire, or changed At first
the old woman glanced at him fartive-
ly, with an air of ordinary curiosity,
and occasionally ventured some com-
mon-place remark: but finding he
made no reply, took no notice of her
presence, and even seemed not to hear
her, she became bolder in hér manner,
and two or three times stopped near
him, staring directly into his face
He appeared to be between sixty and
seventy years of age, had gray hair, a
stern, pinched face, a large nose, thin,
cotnpressed lips, and cold, staring eyes,
the expression of which was far from
pleasing, and which was not redeemed
by angthing else in his countenance,
In fact he seemed like a man not at
peace with himself or the world, and
who was either then brooding over
gome committed crime or some con-
templated revenge.
“There, sir, your supper’s ready, if
you want it,”” at length spoke the mis-
tress, in a half querulous tone, ae if of-
fended that none of her previous re-
marks had been noticed.
The strange traveler took no heed,
but still sat staring at the fire,
#1 say your supper’s ready, man;
and, if you want it hot, you'd better
eat it before it gets cold; for I'll not
warn it again, this blessed nigh’, for
you nor nobody else!” cried the host-
ess, in an angry tone.
Still no movement-—no response—no
immdication that her unmusical voice
was not yet heard,
“1 say!’ she half screamed in his
ear, at the same time taking hold of his
arm rather rudely. :
Like a ball he sprung from his seat
and confronted her, his eyes looking
wild and wicked,
“Good Lord, man, don’t scare a
body 80!” exclaimed the woman, tak.
ing two or three quick, backward steps,
and turning pale with fright. “I'm
only trying to make you understand
your supper’s ready.”
The stranger glared at her for a mo-
ment, then at the table, and then seem.
ed to comprehend the true facts,
“Oh! ah! yes!” he replied, with a
grim smile. *‘I beg your pardonl— it’s
likely you've spoke to me beforel”
“It's like I have, a half a-dozen
his position.
times, just as 1 might have talked to a
post!”
“Yes, madam, 1 see—I thank you-—I
beg your pardon! I was busy thinking,
and forget where 1 was.”
He then took his seat at the fable,
and, while eating his supper, tried to
make amends for his former impolite
abstraction, by making himself as
agreeable as possible, He succeeded so
well in his efforts to please, that the
mistress of the house became quite
charmed with his conversation, and be-
gan to think he might possibly be an
angel in disguise—or, in other words,
a rich and eccentric old gentleman,
whom good fortune had thrown in her
way for a futuere husband or possible
legacy.
But these bright hopes did not have
a long duration—for scarcely had the
stranger finished his meal, than he sud-
denly grew cold, taciturn and abstract-
ed, and presently asked to be shown to
his bed. If he slept soundly, the mis-
tress of the house did not—for after the
dispelling of the bright fancy of future
wealth, she began to fear that the
stranger might take a notion to shorten
her life before morning, and so lay
awake and listened, and trembled at
every unusual sound.
The night, however, passed off with-
out any disturbance; and at daylight
the old man rose and went out, leaving
his bundle behind. Scarcely was he
out of sight before the curiogity of his
hostess set her at work to see if she
could gather any new facts,
If he had left a trunk, instead of a
bundle, she would probably have found
away to open and rummage it; but as it
was, she had only to untie an old, dirty
bandkerchief; and there, betore her
eyes, lay a shirt, a pair of stockings,
and a tin box—a curious looking tin
box—for which, unfortunately for her
ease of mind, she could not imagine
any wie. She held it up, turned it
over, shook and tried her best to
see into it, and conjecture for what
purpose it was made; but not being
able to do this, she at length resigned
it with a sigh, rolled it up as she
found it, tied up the bundle,
and went about her own business,
it,
John the Painter came back {o a late
and then seltled with the
curious widow for all he had of her, at
the time remarking that he
might possibly remain in town another
night, in which case he hoped he would
be permitted to return and pass another
night under her hospitable roof,
same
To this she now readily gave consent,
again thinking him a
consequence,
He then inquired where he could
find a tinman; and receiving the proper
direction to one, he bade her good-bye
and started off, this time taking his
bundie with him
man of some
Toward evening, however, he came
back, and said he had concluded to
stay another night in town, and wanted
supper, which the widow
pared for him,
Again pre-
He ate this meal in silénce, and soon
after made some excuse
He
hours; and
£0 20 oul.
was abent some
when he
two or three
returned he re
ported that there was quite a large fire,
which he understood to be in
government buildings that he feared
would be consumed,
SOT0e
‘But blessed are the poor!’ he added,
with a strange kind of a laugh,
afterwards recalled;
hey have nothing to lose.”
which
hostess “for
fis
He then went to bed, and appeared
to rest well through the night: but
rose at the first streak of day, paid his
reckoning, and took his departure,
saying he should not return.
On going out, an hour or two later,
the wiulow was surprised to see the us.
ually quiet town of Portsmouth in
great commotion—groups collected
here and there, as if discussing some
remarkable event—and mounted men,
both military and eivil, dashing hither
and yon, all seeming hurried and anx-
fous. On every blank wall, too, there
was a flaming placard, announcing the
startling fact that = hundred thousand
pounds worth of naval stores had been
destroyed by incendiarism, that secret
emissaries of the enemy were supposed
to be in their midst, offering large re-
wards for the arrest and conviction of
the guilty, and ordering all citizens to
report to the nearest magistrate the
names of all strangers who had lodged
in town during the last three days, and
more especially the last night.
As soon as the widow fairly under.
stood this matter, she hastened to give
in the nawe of Jobn the Painter, with
a description of his person, manner,
conversation, and withal, his curious
tin box and visit to the tinman, The
latter was immediately sent for, and
deposed that he had made a curious
affair, the use of which he did not
know,
All this fully fixed suspicion upon
the eccentric old man; and as it was
supposed he had been dispatched from
town to some distant point by relays of
horses, horsemen were sent off in every
direction in hot pursuit, with orders to
arrest every meunted person they
might find,
Somewhere about mid-day John the
Painter was overtaken, on the regular
London road, by one of these mounted
parties, who stopped and inquired if
any one had passed him on horsebsck
that morning.
“Nol a soul,” replied the old man.
“How long have you been on this
road?"
“Since daylight. Why?”
“There was a great destruction of
naval stores in Portsmouth last night,
the work of some infernal incendiary,
and we want to catch the villain,”
“Well, do you s’pose he fled on
horseback?" said the old man, with a
peculiar twinkle of his eyes,
“Undoubtedly.”
“Well, he didn’t—he went on foot.”
“Ia! how do you know?”
“Because I know the man who
it.”
“Who is he? Where is
manded the leader excitedly,
“He’s called John the Painter, and
he’s here, I'm the man.”
“Take care how you jest, old fellow!”
returned the other warmingly; ‘‘it
might get you into trouble,”
“If you can’t understand plain Eng-
lish, you're as big a fool as your royal
master is a knave!” said the old man,
with an angry sneer. “I tell you I'm
the man that did it—and I'm the man
that glories in it—and if you don’t
believe me, ride on and hunt till you get
sense!”
The horsemen now thought the old
man was orazy; but, after what he
had said, they concluded to arrest him
and take him back to Portsmouth,
They did so, and there he was con-
fronted with the old woman and the
tinman, both of whom identified him
as the mysterious stranger they had de.
scribed.
He was then asked to make a
fession and his name accomplices,
“I never had any accomplices,’ said
the old man, indignantly. “What I
did, I did alone, and I glory in it. 1
once lived peaceably and happily in the
quiet little town of Amboy, State of
New Jersey, far away over the great
waters; and I'd been living peaceable
did
he?’ de-
COn~
there to-day, if the minions of King
had left me alone; but they
came there, and insulted and abused
me, and burned down my dwelling,
and cast me adrift to shift for myself—
and then I took a solemn oath I'd be
revenged, It was my first intention to
kill your vile king; and I'd have done
it, only for Mr. Deané our secret minis-
ter at Paris who convinced me
wrong lo Anointed;
and 80, as the next best thing, I deter-
to burn as much of the king's
property direct
George
iL was
slay the Lord's
mined
uid, 1]
from Paris here, and you know what
I got here, and thal's
as I co came
I've done since
enough. I know you'll hang me for it
~but I don’t care for that,
poor, friendless, old man, made sick of
life by your accursed deeds; and now,
that I've got my revenge, I don't care
how soon 1 die
They sent the old man, under guard,
to London, where he underwent a close
I'h a
He
first statement;
no new facts were elictad,
to his
Own
fried,
we bi11"
strictly adhered
and mainly on his evidence, or
confession he convicted,
ty
Was
sentenced, and hanged.
We have only to add
oing may be relied or
! t
HEenNC
thal Lhe
as strictly
*
——— a
Gathering Money,
During their
bard, Langtry and Irving gathered in
Mrs, Langtry's
SLED, 0005,
American tours Bern
total earnings were Mme,
)
Bernbard’s are stated to have been
£390,000 for twenty-six weeks, an aver.
of $2,145 for 181 performances,
Mr. Irving's are given as $405,004,
an average of $2 242. When Rachael
appeared thirty-eight times in New
York and Boston, in 1855, the total re.
ceipts were 620.242 francs, Mr. Ii.
ving's greatest success was, perhaps,
in Boston. In one week he played
there to 27,000 hearers—something
which he never did before, The weeks
receipts were $24,087,
i AM w—-
age
i
Cure “Crazes.'
About ten years ago the blood cure
started, and for a time every one
troubled with weak lungs became a
convert, that is, in our large cities,
Then eame the mud bath, People
flocked tow certain Spa in Germany to
try the virtues of a sticky black mud,
which was said to cure rheumatism,
To bathe in it meant simply to be
buried in it up to the chin for an hour
or two, and then to spend several hours
in a tub of water getting rid of the
reminiscence, The blue glass cure will
be recollected by all, The sun bath
cure, the fish oil cure for consumption,
the simple diet cure, the celery cure
for nervousness, and many others,
started out as crazes but their best
points have fonnd their way into the
array of orthodox remedies,
Books, like friends, should be few and
well chosen,
To be proud of learning is the great.
est ignorance,
Good, the more communicated, more
abundant grows,
To know how to wait is the great se-
eret of success,
Few men have virtue to withstand
the highest bidder.
Children are living jewels dropped
unstrained from heaven,
To read without reflecting is like eat.
ing without digesting.
Chastity, once lost, cannot be recall.
ed; it goes only once,
By general mistake, ill-nature as often
passes for wit as cunning does for wis.
dox.
Myde Park.
—— np —————
It is the unféftunate Charles the
First that the English people have to
thank for the opening of Hyde Park to
the public. During his reign the gentry
of the neighboring country used to try
the speed of their horses in friendly
races beneath its spreading trees, wit-
nessed by the pleasure-loving Lon-
doners, who cheered each his favorite,
and drank to his success in draughts of
new milk carried around and sold by
pretty milkmaids, crying, ‘New milk
of a red cow!” just#s they continued
to ery a century after at Milk Fair in
St. James’ Park. Not only did the
simple London folk come to wilness
these sports, but the king and his
nobles were animated spectators; for
we read of fair and noble dames betting
“scarlet silk stockings and scented
Spanish gloves’ with the gallants of
the court, often giving odds of twenty
to thirty for or against some particular
steed,
At one of those racing bouts old
Aubrey tells us that Charles the First
gave a mortal affront to one Henry
Martin, M. P. for the of
Berks. Martin, it appears, was a rough
fellow, and several complaints had
been made to the king respecting his
rudeness, It so happened that Martin
was present in the park when the king
was going to witness the sports, and
secing him, Charles said aloud, so that
all could hear, “Let that ugly rascal
begone out of the park.” The royal
mandate the **ugly
rascal” had terrible revenge when, a
few years later, he put Bis name next
to Cromwell's upon Charles’ death
warrant. On that omivous day Martin,
sitting beside Cromwell, Ygave his vote
very merrily, and was a great sport,”
whilst the Roundhead leader besmeared
Martins face with ink, a joke which
the jolly member for Berks immediately
the. jaws of
50 say the
county
was obeyed, but
retaliated by punching
Oliver—at least
historians of the times,
From time to time during each suc-
ceeding reign Hyde Park was the play-
ground of the people.
dances, plays and races were lustily
enjoyed by the good citizens of London,
no matter how much discord and strife
General
Routs, revels,
shook the country or
diers
engaged her sol-
foreign wars, In
i 3 3 i | TL
it has been greatly reduced
in home and
later years
in area, always, however, against the
sturdy protest of the people. In 1825
a strip of ground at Hyde Park corner
was cut off from the park and added to
the grounds of Apsley House, the resi.
dence of the Duke of Wellington, who
at that time was by no means popular;
that
archical
and mighty power, even in mon-
England, *‘the people,” ex-
¥ i .
pressed in pretly strong language their
opinions respecting thix excroachinent
upon their ancient rights and privileges,
jut they gamed more than
{ they lost, for the locality had long been
{the resort of
They =i
after all
idlers and wvagabonds,
asserted their right to
Fed
IK
> lant
ofrespondent
' Saturday, and
| more
in Calas
Andi An
WwW
at Bale,
in Lond
n_aon Ui
ier,
new Nice
otherwise we should have been
i 1 a half
At first, 1 thought of taking the
route, but the fare being
two hundred francs more than
on any other route, I chose the St
Gothard route, as being the newest and
most picturesque, and within an hour
of the swiftness of the other route,
which was worth saving two hundred
francs. 1 think, speaking from exper-
jence, I would advise every one to
select the St. Gothard route, one way,
at least, and never to take the Nice
route, unless compelled to pass by
Nice, as no time is saved by it, and it is
less picturesque than any other route,
whilst costing 200 francs more than the
other routes. 1 must also warn trayel-
ers against taking a bed in one of the
sleeping-cars that are now added to
every railway train in Europe You
may, perhaps, think they are like
American sleeping-cars, but they are
pot. By night and by day they resem.
ble church pews in the Protestant
churches of England, with the parti.
tion walls carried up to the roof, giv-
ing you a stifling, suffocating feeling,
quite unbearable at times. The beds
are placed one above Lhe other, in
ship's berth fashion. I would not have
one of these beds if given to me, for,
not only are they uncomfortable in
every way, but you run the risk of
eatching all kinds of illnesses, as there
is no time given to their cleaning and
airing between each journey. They
are roughly swept and dusted, but that
isall. I know what 1 say, for 1 saw
this done all along the route, though
several sick persons had occupied the
beds. The Nice route train, also,
which goes direct to Rome from Calais,
arrives in Rome at three o'clock and
leaves again at five, there being but
one train a week; t here is not a change
of cars at either end of the route. For
a party of three, the coupe beds are
better on the European railroads for
night traveling, but as they cannot be
transformed into ordinary seats, they
are useless on long journeys, compris.
ren and hours ear.
about
ing several days and several nights,
Taking Care of New Dresses,
There 18 an old proverb that says a
lady is always to be known by her boots
and gloves, Quite as crucial a test is
the faculty of taking good care of her
costumes, and one that quite as dis-
tinetly marks the well-bred lady. Any
one can buy an elegant wardrobe if she
have money enough, but to take the
requisite care to keep it fresh and dain-
ty requires something more than a
check-book., Of keeping nice dresses,
a lady writes :
“Each dress should have its own
wrap or cover to keep it from chafing
or fading. Take fine, lirm cotton cloth,
something over a yard wide, cut it into
squares, then hem and wash the squares,
They should be fine take no room and
weigh little ; firm, to keep away from
dust : hemmed, that you may keep the
same side next the silk, and washed,
to do away with the bleaching chem-
icals, which are lable to change the
color of the silk, Fold the bottom of
the train back and forth in about
eighteen or twenty-three inch folds so
as to fit the box you have for it, The
bottom now being all together you will
cover it with a small cloth or towel to
keep +the rubbing
against the cleaner parts of the robe;
dusty train from
roll the whole dress loosely to the size
and shape of the box, lay it upon the
white cloth and fold the corners of the
same over the top of the packa e and
place it in the box. Now loosen the
roll and adjust it to its space so as to
favor any delicate or easily crushed
portion of the dress—as Medici collars,
flower garniture, embroidery, ete.—re-
lieving crowded places and distributing
the thick to the thin spots. When you
come to use the robe shake it out and
you will find it in good condition. The
fold of a dress or shawl will often work
up between the trays of boxes and by
motion of cars, wagons, etc., get chafed
into holes. To avoid this, pin the cloth
over it so it cannot jut over the box,
To pack laces, fold them in blue tissue
paper or soft linen, because white paper
contains bleaching acids and discolors
and decays the ribbon or lace, The
same is true of white shoes and gloves,
and especially of silver ornaments, The
latter, tho
their
ugh worn every evening, re-
tain purity and brilliancy for
kept closely in blue tistue
Shoes and slippers should never
without a cloth or
paper bet wean them,
tnret her
togeiher
as the sole of one
upper of the other, Put one
, turn it over, and then add the
Olid Pablie Funclionaries,
Fifty vears ago Jfmes Lawrenson of
Maryland received an appointment to a
$400 clerkship in the post office depart -
ment, Washington, He celebrated the
centenial of his service by taking
a balf-holiday from his desk in the dead
letier fh
+ LHS
semi
v £1
81
e and receiving
rat i
Conga.
¥ #
jor of being
in Washington.
olde Lt
journalist
He is still in goo 1
health and able regn-
larly to perform the duties of his office,
although the disciplineisa little relaxed
in his favor.
William T. Barry was postmaster-
general when Lawrenson came in, and
Andrew Jackson was President. Before
Barry's time the post office department
was considered merely a bureau, as the
agricultural department and govern
ment printing office are now, but Jack.
son invited him to a seat in the cabinet,
in defiance of precedent, and against
the protests of John C. Calhoun, who
wis secretary of state and a. great
stickler for etiquette. The only autho-
rity the postmaster general has for a
geal in the executive chamber is Andrew
Jackson's invitation to Barry. Seventy
clerks did the post office department
business in those days, and three men
were assigned to the mail morgue. It
requires over one hundred now to open,
read, return, or destroy the dead letters
that come in at the rate of two million
A year,
Uncle Jimmy Marr, the venerable
chief clerk of the first assistant post.
master<general, ante-dates Lawrenson’s
service by three years, having been ap-
pointed to a clerkship on the 20th of
June, 1831. There are also several
postmasters who hold commissions lon.
ger than his, although, including his
service In the Baltimore post office,
Lawrenson helds the list of veterans
Lindley Mure, the venerable old negro
who sits at the mahogany door which
leads to the beautiful office of the seo.
retary of the navy, comes second. with
a service of 56 years, having been ap-
pointed in 1828 by Samuel Southard;
and the third on the list is the Hon,
William Hunter, second assistant secre.
tary of state. A clerkship was given to
him by Martin Van Buren in 1820 and
he has been promoted from time to time,
Holiness is the architectural plan
upon which God buildeth up his living
temples.
No matter how unworthy a man may
be, he should have our sympathy if he
is suffering.
What is defeat? Nothing butleduca-
tion, nothing but the first step to some-
thing better, J
A great many people in
praise goodness, and then
have a mind to,
Moderation may be considered as a
tree, of which the root is contentment
and she fruit repose,
When the sun of virtue
blush of shame is the twilight.
that dies, all is darkness,
He that cares only for himself, has
but few pleasures, and these are gener-
ally of the lowest order,
Doctrines are of
practiced; men may
their heads full of ¢t
The real wealth o
ber of thinge which
and by which Le is ble
If you hit the ma:
little above it; even
feels the attraction
this world
as they
i0
as they are
y is * ¥
go to perdition with
use only
i iS thie num-
1d blesses,
Philanthropy, like charity
at home, Fri
thies may extend
circle,
ii
A loving act does
fiery exhortation. Wha
laikers, |
good than a
ankind needs
18 not more good ut more good
Samaritans,
idleness is the most corrupting £3
that can grow on the human mind,
Men learn to do ill by doing what is next
to it—nothing.
The man whose soul is in his work
finds his best reward in the work itself,
The joy of achievement is vastly beyond
the joy of reward.
There collection of a
affection is rather a devine uourish-
ment for a soul grow 1
than a poison {o destroy iL.
Lan nd tria
deep and true
4 * #
to BLrong
upon
He that does not know
which are of use and necessity for him
to know, is but an ign { man, what-
ever he may know bes
Consideration |
kindness and afl iy; it is
everywhere, with all, an
back a little friends!
those things
=
Colin
Curren
ialways brings
How abundant are {he men and wo-
men who crave martyrdom in
ship! How few
Ywrak is sis 1 x srvice!
themselves in the | IVRILY OL Service.
leader-
ling to honor
He who i8 ex us of Ls ignorance,
viewing it in
more wise than
cial polish
Never contradict an) y in general
society. Rarely do it ever! at home,
Nobody likes to be contradicted, even
when cotradiction is deserved.
Examine your | your mo-
tives, watch over ) conduct, and you
will not take long to learn or discover
enough to make you entertain charitable
opinions of
We uld no 1 lament that we
have grown old than t¢ husbandman,
:
v hea the bloom 13
as. weigh
=, WEIR
others,
shu
and fragram
have passed away, shou
sumer or aulume
enemy to hums
destroy y AlDeg
tues impracticab
difficuit.
As the sun does no
and incantations before rises, bul
straightway u hailed
good for ap-
but
shines forth and is
of all, so do not wait to do
plause and noise and praise,
with your own desire, and, likethe sun,
you will be loved.
The most influential man, a free
country, at least, is the man who has
the ability, as well as the courage, to
speak what he thinks when occasion
may require it.
The fortunate man, is he who, born
poor, or nobody, works gradually up to
wealth and cousideration, and having
got them dies before he finds they were
not worth so much trouble,
14 it
GO ak
vs
iid
Exclusively dwelling upon ourselves,
on our own virtues and failings and ex-
periences, weakens our power of sym-
pathy with others, while it increases
our aculeness of sensibilily as regards
self,
A man that hath no virtue in himself
ever envieth virtue in others; for men’s
minds will either feed upon their own
good or upon others’ evil; and who
wanteth the one will prey upon the
other.
The study of literature nourishes
youth, entertains old age, adorns pros-
perity, solaces adversitiy, is delightful
at home, unobstrusive abroad, deserts
us not by day or by might, in journey-
ing nor in retirement.
A great man under the shadow of
defeat is taught how precious are the
ures of adversity; and as an oak tree's
roots are daily strengthened by its sha.
dow, 80 all defeats in a good cause are
but resting places on the road to victory
at last.
Bacon says, ‘There is as much differ
ence between the counsel that a friend
iveth and that which a maa giveth
fmself as there is between the counsel
of a friend and of a flatterer, for there
is no such flatterer as 18 a man’s self,
and there is no such remedy against the
flattery of a man’s self as the liberty of
a friend.”
The majority of people are ever ready
to judge the conduct of their neighbors
oJ other words, to ‘‘cast the first
stone.'’ But we have ne
cases we might imitate those we
under like
“Judge not, that ye be not judgeal™