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LITTLE BY LITTLE
BY RICBARD COB
PLittle by little," a child did say,
As it passed its time in quiet play ;
And straightway in my mini! :vas wrought
The germ of many a simple thought. .
-Little by little the grass doth
,Covering all the earth below ;
Little by little the root we sec
Climbing up to the full-grown tree 1 ;
Little by little the cloudleta *am
The thunder-clod of the mighty ;
Little by little the feathery snow
pilpth up mountain-heigh!.s below ;
Little by little the drops of ra.i,a
Fall on mountain, vale and Main,
Till the madd'aing torrents „onward rush
Like a strong warhorse wi,etory flush.
bittle by little the patient ant
Layeth up food for her future I.•.•rmt, ;
Little by little the busy bee
Sippeth up sweets from tree to tree,
Till the tables of the rjch man groan
With Pie luscious fruit of the honcy.comb.
Little : by little in God's great plan
"The child is father of the man ;'.'
Little by little the daritne,ss
From the curtained folds of the Eastern skies,
At the slow approach of the burning sun ;
Little by little freedom's won,
And the night of error giyeth way
To the full glad
_light of the perfect day;
Little by little the heart is warmed ;
Little by little friendship's 'formed ;
Little by little the seeds of grace
.cw i t n ,the 'human heart apace, • .
:Till the angels sing with joy aboie
O'er a soul made free ,hy re,deem,ing love ;
."Little- by little" is my t theme ;
Little by little ends ,the ,d,r,ea,m
Which arose in..my.mind on, a,summer's 7 day
From the carclesi Words al,clrild at play ,
HAIINTEb H EARTH STONE
"All houses wherein then -have lived and died
Are haunted houses."
-,"Do I believe in haunted. houses 2-" said
,the aged woman, - speaking rather 'to herself
than to the . fair sweet grand-phild, who nes-
Aled at her feet and looked up so earnestly in
to the wrinkled face. "Yes, indeed do.— •
There's not a house in this whole village, nor
for miles around, but that to Ape Is ( haunted,
—none, though, so much as • "Haunt
ed," continued she speaking •so slowly that
a solernn emphasis seemed ,to xest .on each
letter, yes, yes, there are such things as haun
ted Spotti." then ehe dropped her knit
ting, 'took ,off her glasses, wiped her eyes,
and legtlttg.back' in ber - arm chair, seemed
l i m a t in
. 0, sad yet holy ;communion with : the
:moiler ; passage .of ' : •
It was a dark, stormy, winter's night. - The
wind howled fiercely around the old farm
house, dOfting-the snow high the window
fastening ,it4oAe rough I panels the
doors; sifting it through the
,creyices,of the
mossy roof, and heaping ; it
; up ,ii l ,s4e giants,
graves•all along tha pathway :throughout the
garden. Bat in-doorsall was !bright, and of
. a summer warmth. _ The huge hack-log had
been dragged in ere twilight,
.and was now
slowly dropping wh i pping into coals : ; the flames
, from Abe I lighter wood, which every few min
utes was cast on with so free a hand, blazed
high and ruddy, and cast a geniallight and
glare in the darkest corner, and scintillated
ins. 2 ins. 3 ins.
- 25 37A 50
on the time darkened eelling like polar
es on the midnight sky., •
It *as one of those bitter nights that make
the hearth -stone the bonniest spot on all the
earth,—a 'night' 'when the sheltered lift pp
their hearts, in thanksgiving, when the home
less bowl in supplication ; a night when the
children kneel before the fire and read bright
prophecies in the living coals ; when the
aged draw their chairs yet nearer to the blaze
and , warm their shivering. memories ; a night
when all turn their. backs to the' darkness,
their faces to the light.
It was a night to make ghost stories relish
well—'do grandmother tell one.?
The head of the young girl rested on the
knees of the old lady, and, as the latter lost
the thread of her dream and looked down,
she ponld gee an enthusiastic eagerness pic
tured in the bright hlye eyes, a longing for
some tale of romance, that dropping into her
heart, should vivify its .dormant passipns.—
She hesitated a few moments, and then ten
derly carressing the'one lone pet of her bo
som, she said : "I will tell you a story about
a haunted hearth-stone; and Lizzie, it will
be no tale of fiction. The plot is drawn
from the living memories, the scene is laid—
here; here." But her tremulous voice now
quivered with added notes, and after a mo
ment's stern, but useless effort at self-control,
it bursi into sobs so loud and wild that they
rivalled the cries of the winter wind. .
The young girl seemed not much frighten.
ed, and spake no soothing words, but only
clasped the hand she had taken as she asked
the story, with a tighter grasp. The paro;-
yam did not continue long ; but as it passed
away, she rose, and turning her tremblipg
steps toward the dark, cold bedroom, 4nd go
ing in, closed the door, and Was absent a long
while. The tears streamed. Jlown Lizzie's
cheeks when left alone, and it was evident
that the aged relative had some secret sorrow,
oVer'which she mourned intensely. When
she returned and again seated 4erpplf in her
usual chair, only drawing it a little closer to
the fire, there was such a calm, beautiful,
spiritual look, expressed .upon her counte
nance that you could not but fancy she had
conversed with angels. Without any allu
sion to the past, without any preface she be
gan, after a silence of perhaps half an hoar,
the prornisad story.- Handed down to me, it
reads like this :
It was a night much like this; forty or
more winters have passed since its winds
blew and its sposv drifted, since j,ts ceid pal
sied and its ,darkness frightened. Beside
the same hearth etone,—the same pniy that
it was not worn so smopth, for the house
then had tested but thirty instead of as now
seventy and odd winters,—an aged man and
his wire sat before the blazing fireAtFiving to
while away the long evening hours. There
was not then, as now, daily
,mails coming
into our little village, freighted with news in
every shape. The press did p,ot teem, as
now, with magazines and hooks; it was rare
to see a newspaper in this old kitchen, and
rarer any violtime save •T : HE ONE. The old
man had studied that some time, and careful
ly replaced it,—the Bible did not then as
now, grow dusty .while other books were
•thumbed to pieces. ikle had eaten his apples,
drunk his .eider,, and ,crac,ked some walnuts
for .his wife, ,whose teeth were sounder than
his own; and now sat close as he could draw
himsel t f to the flames without scorphin t g his
homespun garments, nodding good-bye ,to the
sky-bound sparks. The pld daily had rolled
up her knitting, and,
.w,ith her broken furk,—
in those days .they Ami not beard of ruit-picks;
—with her two tined fork which had lost one
of its, members, sat digging out, with a pa
tience worthy of the gold miners of these
times, the rich sweet kernels.
suddertly, she
,dropped toth Sock and n,ut,
and in another instant
_EAarted : to her feet, her
pae•falling from her dap and threatening
.41Payagtease spot on the well scoured,floor.
.Hastening to ter husband, she shook his
shoulders, saying, 'Wake
,up quick, and
.ten.' Half-frightened, he jumped, and came
near setting his stockinged ,feet upon living
coals; but his watchful wife, drawing ,him
off the .hearth,, whispered, a little wildly,
&Listen, now I 'don't you hear it SHear
what l'-saidhe, still half asleep. Why, the
soundhke a childcrying. ;here, ,there, now
: it goes again. Do,&ro to the door.' The old
man, now fully roused, stood with his heed
to his ear, the right one,—the left
,had been
deaf for many a year. It's ,;he wind, *Wei'
don't you know it .1 ,It'A a ,fashion ,it ha t s
when it is Co-Id.'
.qt wasn't the wind; paid she, .solemnly,
with a little nery.qus,agitation yet : visible in
her face. c,f ; know'thecry. of ;be
. w,ind; it
never maires.a.Nund like that. 'There, and
she clung to him, ,quivering, like a dead leaf;
gdon' i t yqu ;bear ,it ge,cettainly did hear
_something that sounded like the cry of a
child ; and now it did not die away, as it had
when his wife had noticed it, with a single
sob, but lengthened into screams. But. how
HENTINO-DQN, MAY 'l6, '1855.
it could •E)1,411(1 so near, or whence camel was
q mysteor; fOr the, house stood then far away
from any oti;er hpuse; it was a Child's,' pry,
that was, cartain. , ,
{l'll go and see,' said he, summoning Our
age"to his somewhat faint healt, and he 'turn
ed to the door. His wife followed closg, and
fast on his steps. As he withdrew the little
slip of wood that fastened the latch—there
"wasn't then a bolt or lock in the town;—:-and
opened the door, a I:l4indle so it. t leeiri94thopgh
of what it.was.hard to guess, ,fell into the
room with a. heavy, lifeless sound. The
wind New a white sheet over it ere they
could again fasten the latch. Half. horror,
half wondestruck, they dragged the parse
blanket to the hearth, and prirolling it, dis
covered a woman and obild • the latter strug
gling to free itself from . its many wrappers,
and soreammg with all its might ; the for
mer`raotionless as a corpse with lips as ashy
and cheelcs as spoken. 4 half hour's charity
to the babe, who seemed to have seen at welye
month, completely revived it ; and it lay - on
its pillow with its little white feet stretched
to the fire, as happy as love could hayerliade
it, cooing as sweetly as though nestling on a
mother's warm bosom: But it --took longer
to bring back a phlse to its pale prote4or ;
and many times did the good. Samarit;Ms
turn from her, leaving the sheet drawn over
her as we cover a corpse. But a . sigh,'scifaint
that it seemed a dying breath, at length en
eburutge4 them ; 4114 they applies} re t st9ratlyes
until soisfieci, she would yet liye,
put it was many a weaty day err she
could leaye her bed i when at last she stole
front l i t, an 4 - 6:4t. up in the old lady's rocker,
and lulled her baby with old Bongs, she peem
pd to her watchers more like a spirit. than a
sick, sad stranger, put gradually, through
their tender nursing, she recovered strength
and not only tended her child,, but ass4ted
the old lady in may of her domestic dtif f ies.
But she said very little—less than tliei could
have wished for in their hearts they lodged
to know her story. They knew she was a
sinner,—knew it by the meek penitent way
in which she hung her head when they read
the Bible, at morn and night; knew it by the
stained face she raised to . them after . each
prayer. pat they loved her all the•more, or
rather w.e,rp all the kinder to her. And,
though she Teyiyed memories that it was ag
ony to bear, they folded her to affec : -
tions ps they would their own lost lamb*, had
she no,t gone ere they could reach her. The
winter passed, and still the _stranger pngered,
filling with her little onea small place in the
house but a large one in each aged heart.—
One bright golden spring Trip,
.after.assist
ing in the morning as had become her habit,
she went into the bedroom with her babe,
and soon reappeared wrapped in the same
coarse garment's they had Worn on that frosty
night Pf their arriyal.
"Give her one kiss, grandma, and you,
-grandpa," said she, holding the child first:to
one, and then 1 , 9 t i he other's wrinkled kces.;
'and now, 'father, mother,—do let * . krt,e,call
you .so this cncel give the,nnw,cdcAed mother
one, and we will go, and wherever go!
Will pray for you, and she shall be' taug*t
to ;" and she rushed wildly to the, door.-7
They stopped her, caughther child, and plea
ded witli her to stay. ',Be to us still What
yonha,ve been g,3 Fong, our daughter, and . do
not take from us . our ,darling baby; we shott . l4
die without
4-real drops gathered on the still pale brow.,
while t&tzrs rushed down her cheeks, and'hei
lips quivered with a fearful agony . She
wrung her hands,. she beat - her tleart, siae
lashed her I,imbs--..ahe seemed Like one who
is half mad—'qiye me tlie,child one moment/
she exclaimed, and clasping it wildly to her
bosom . , she bathed its smiling face, Iv . ith
,drops wrung from its keenest woe, she .14.s§-
e4t passionately, and ,held ,it ,out,to them.
i lisoth stretched their hands, and the little one,
with an equal love, gaye to the one its right"
and to the other its left hand, and,uphelcl
between. them, crowed and creamed ,in
. tiaby
glee.
'She is the child ,of s k ill,' said the Anther,
with a solemnity tat awed, for a moment,
the carol of her baby ; 'the child of sin, but
herself pure and holy as the offspring rtfr.ra
wedded tie. Will yqu keekher so if I
her here If she goes with rhe, she will
,not Jong be
,an angGl a trnless, indeed,
God takes ber; would he had taken her mo
ther when she was as youngl . she stays
with yhu she ,may ever i be pile. Will yqu
keep ,her 3 And she screamed the ,words Into
their ,cares, as thonßh .4e ,wgild A l Ve,l:ll4cie
their inmost nerses awaken.
'We will, we said they.; .'and ,ato,re,;
we will keep you, too. Stay with .us—stay,
yqu .to us a daughter--replace the
,one ;we thaye lost, we will .be your parents.
It shall be home to us four. 'I cannot,' said
she, wildly. 'Your daughter was a stainless
girl. lam dyed in sin !' and she shook with
agony.
And so did those she spoke to l and tears as
'hot as those that had scalded her face, now
11.Ooded theirs. A while_theyyvept cill:ll4gh
their hearts would break; then gathered cqini 7
ness, and, while the old: lady cloyed the two
hands of the 'Magdalen', the' old man placed
his hand upon her head and spalse,:
'Our daughter fled from . us while in the
beauty of her girlhood—fled with a stranger,
who wooed her by false words to a fearful
sin. The child of cur Told age, it almost
broke our hearts . , and we came here, far away
from the haunts of early years, to spend the
remainder of our days in a struggle to forget.
We cannot forget, but we long since forgive;
aye, before we heard she was dead. We
have learned to be happy, even with the
mernory of trial ever before us. But we miss
the hopes that were born with her, and we
Would cherish you and your babe as we
should her and here, bad she come back ere
she repented, as, they told us, and died.'
The, old man's voice was hushed, There
was no sounds but that of sobs, save when
the babe cooed its.little love son. A cry
of agony burst from the white lips of the
stranger,' as loosening the hands that held
her, she fell at the feet of those who had been
so true,—:a cry, and then words.
'Father f mother ! she did not die,—she
lives ! Tarr} she—your Lizzie—your lost,
found child!'
Let the curtain drop. it is a scene too
holy for any but the light of God arid
402!
'Yes,' said the old grandmother. 'it was
their long-lost ; and as they thought, dead
She herself 4a4 forged the story Qf
1 her ;death, to secure herself in the sin she had
learned IQ love. And, when, after years of
wretchedness and pilule, she became herself,
she felt upon her breast the to:uchpf
pure and she beCame.herself
again, and felt how much, how deeply she
had sinned; and she longed to have her babe
nurtured as she had been. It was long ere
she could.escape from her sinful associates ;
but she at /ength succeeded and reached, as
I have told you, her father's house. She
meant to conoeal herself till they were asleep
and then leave the babe and go away ; for
she had no hope they would cherish her
again—foE ; g, she was very vile. But the
cold was so intense she are not leave the
child, but was forced to keep it totter breast;
,and wpFp. ,aild wearied with her long and te
dious; fit i rpgee with the drifts, at length be
came benumbed, and could no longer still
the cries of her little one; and thus was
,brought back to love, to home, to Christ, by
the voice of the angel on her heart.'
The old lady, ceased her story, and there
was no word spoken for along while. Then
the young maiden. broke it, saying, 'And
I,vbat became of them all.
The two aged parents lived near a score of
years, happy in the love of their restored
child, and in the caresses and tender care of
her little one. - They lie buried in the old
church yard. The grandchild lived to be a
blessing to her mother for five-and-twenty
years; then passed-away, leaving a little one
to make good her place. IV,lotherlesS 'ere it
had seen the face of her whogaye ,it birth, it
was fatherless ere the year was out.' Ano
:ther long-pause.
'Yes ; it is a haunted hearthstone, this.-
4ged /Christians, that beautiful young
ruother, that noble father--they haunted it ;
Ao‘t as did gh.usts of olden times, making it a
,Nveired spot for ; the heart, but with such 491 , y
memories that the hour spent in communion
with them seems like a visit in the better
'& earth are ever ,haunted, :oat few
like this, have angels for their guests.
The aniversary of that bleak winter's
night, came round. The fire burned as
brightly as before, the room was as warm and
rosy ; but the young girl kneeled now before
the fire. There was -no lap for her to rest
her head upon—the old arm chair was empty.
The hearthstone was haunted : by another
spirit—a snit that had sinned , su f fered, and
been forgiven.
An Experimen,t in. Deep Digging.
Last sprieg we took a corner
had
an old
garden spot, which, though it had always
been liberally manured and plowed as well
as such a piece of ground could be, and to
put it in a condition for fruit trees, we gave
a good dressing of
,manure, and a thorough
_spading .to .the Lull depth of an unworn spade,
the longest we could find in the market- :In
this spading operation, we often came in
,contact with . a subsoil so stiff that it offered
,resistance to the spade ; stiAl ,the
.spade was put in at the coat ,of roach
cal e,zertion. -The ,old And parße were
laid in the botto,m,rif the.trench, and the het
erogenous and apparently sterile materia,l,on
which it had reposed, were placed upon the
surface. This new earth, upon much of
which the sun had never shone, and the dew
had never-fertilized, was, in due time, plan
ted with garden vegetables—not, however,
in expectation of much crop, for the very
surface gave almost positive assurance that
such things would never grow there. They
were sol,yp and planted to furnish a motive
for a Foitinped. tillage through the season,
and in adlition, the ground was planted out
with dwarf Pear trees. The season in our
region, as in many other f!eptipnt; of the
country wac; one of distressing drouth—but
very little rain from May to October—and,
in conseqilence, the ground on this patch
was probably- oftener and more thorokhly
hoed than it would have been, had the dews
and rains fulfilled their labors as usual.
We now speak of the result. Our Pear
trees (some twenty) on this patch, not only
lived but made a desireable growth; and as
for the vegetables—Melons, Cucumbers, To
matoes, 4c., to the end of the catalogue
--they gave us a crop supeTior to any we
had raised for years.
From this operation we infer, in the first
place, that deep and thorough tillage, and
frequent stiring of the earth, are good pre
ven'tives of the effect of &with. The deep
er and better pulverized the soil, the greater
its power of absorption ; consequently when
ever there is much moisture in the atmos
pime, such lands are certain to attract their
full share Of it is'so', also, wi t th the, veg
etable-nourishing gaSses which the air from
time to time contains, Such lands also suf
fer less in rainy seasons from ecessive mois
ture, for the same R9alit t ps which enable
them to absorb when * therP . P a scarcity, ena
'hle.them to tlit'ow ofi when there is a super
abundance.
In the second place, deep and thorough
tiliage proves, 'to us, conclusively that the
prodiiefive ppWerp of earth are not always
as nearly exhausted as many strive to-ima
gine, bnt that the vile skinning, skimming
system—the plowing three, four and five in
ches deep—is what induces the sterility
which so many lament. Any clayey soil—
and they are among the best for many purpo
ses--- may be made as barren as the desert
of Sahara by such a system. Plow shallow
and the earth under the furrow will lose the
influence of the two essentials of fertility,
sunshine and air ? and will, of course, become
cold, compact, and ,harrep. 4opta tyill avoid
such earth; or, if they rrigre an effort to
penetrate it, it will be like attempting to ex
tend themselves into a rock 1.9 meat the in
vigorating influence of an iceberg.
In tree-culture—especially in growing
fruit trees—even a tolerable degree of suc
cess cannot be realized unless shallow stiring
of the earth is given up and the earth stirred
deep. Trees may, as we have seen, some
times live in such shallow soils, but they
will be stinted, sickly, and produce but ordi
nary fruit; but it is more often the case they
die in the egort .to live, and then coMes the
bitter denunciations on the nurserymanwho
F . earect ti em,
,the adverse climate, and some
times the i lo,c4lity, and even the soil v"vhich,
under fa,vorable culture, would be just the
thing for them, is blamed for the lack of
those qualities which man in his indolence,
or grasping after 'present gain, has taken
from BACON.—Horticulturist.
,The Spirit of 7,ove,
"Charity (or love) never faileth,"—l Cor-,
xiii. 8.
Beyond all question, it is the unalterable
constitution of nature that there is efficacy,
I divine, unspeakable efficacy, in love. The
exhibition of kindness has the polypi to bring
Oren the irrational animal jrito subsection.
1 .B:how kindness to a dov, and'ke will remem- ;
ber it; he will be grateful; he wall infallibly
return love fol. love. Show kindness to a li
on, and you can lead him by the ,inane ; you
can thrust your head into his mouth; you
:can melt the untamed ferocity of his
; heart into an affection stronger than death.
:no lo klou s vast, unbounded creation, there
• : 4 e
is not a living and sentient being, from the
least to the largest, not one, not even the out
cast and degraded serpent, that is insensible
to acts
; of kindness. If love, such as our
blessed Saviour manifested, could be intro?
duced into the world, and exert its appropri
ate dominion, it would restore a slate of
things far more cheering ; far
; brighter than
the fabulous age of gold ; it would annihilate
every sting; it would pluck every poisonous
tooth ; it would hush every discordant voice.
Even the inanimate creation is not insensi
ble to this
_divine influence. The bud and
sower and fruit put forth most abundantly
and beautifully, where the hand of kindness
is extended for their culture. And if this
; blessed influence should extend itself over
the
; earth, a moral Parden pf E Eden
: would ex
jst in Ayer . ). land ; instead of the thorn arid
brier ; would spring ,up the fir-tree and the
myrtle.; the desert would : blossom, and the
solitary place be made glad .—[Upham
Oa" The best thing to give your enemy is
forgiveness; to your opponent, tolerance; to
a friend, your heart; to your child, a good
example; to a ,father, deference; to your
mother,•conduct that will make her proud of
h3r son ; to yourself, respect ; and to all men,
charity.
VOL. 10, NO, 48.
The Wifes Influence.
A woman, in many instances, has her
husband's fortune in her power; because she
may or she may not conform to his circum
stances. This is her first duty, and it ought
to be her pride. No passion for luinry or
display ought to tempt. Iter for fa' moment to
deviate in - the least degree frem. this line of
conduct. She will find her' respectob,ility in
it. Any other course is wretchedness iqpil e t
and inevitably 'l'ads to ruin. Nothing can
be more miserable than the struggle to keep
up appearances. If it could Tspoceed, it
would cost more than it is worth; as it never
can, its failure involves the deepest mortiff
cation. Some of the sublirnest exhibitions
of human virtue have been made by woman,
who have been precipitated suddenly' froni
wealth and splendor to absolute want.
Then a man's fortunes are in a manner in
the hoods of his wife, inasmuch as his own
power' of exertion depends, en her. His
moral strength is inconceivably' increased by
her sympathy, her council, her aid.
, She
can aid him immensly by relieving him of
every care which, she is capable of taking up
on herself. His own employments are usu
ally such as to require his whole mind,—
' A good wife will never suffer her husbandis
attention to be distracted - by details to which
her own time and talents are adequate. If
she be prompted by true affection and good
sense, she Will perceive when' his spirits are
borne down and overwhelmed, she, of all hu
man beingS, 'pan best minister _ . to its needs.—
For the sick soul Mier nursing is quite as sov
ereign as it is for corporeal ills. if it be
her
weary, in aasu pity it fin d s repose and
refreshment.' if it be harrassed and worn to
a morbid irritability, per 'gentle tones steal
over it with a soothing more potent than the
most exquisite music. ,if every enterprise
be dead, her patience and fortitude have the
power to rekindle'them in the heart, and he
again goes forth to renew the encounter with
the toils and troubles of life.
Black Joke.
The appended negro story, gopied from a
southern correspondent of the .goston four.
nal is not bad. •
General me his black man Sew
• -
ney, funds and permission to ge,t a quarter's
worth of Zoology at a menagerie, at the same
time hinting to him the striking affinity be
tween the ,Sima and negro races. Our sable
friend soon found himself under the canvass,
and brought to, in front of a sedate looking
baboon, Arid gyeipg'the biboquadrnped close
ly, soliloquised thus : "Folks—sure's yer
born, feet, hands, Kerr, bUd-looking cowl
tenance, just like a nigger gettin' old, I
reckon." The, as if seized with a bright,
idea, be e* . tended his hand with a genuine
southern "How dye do uncle I" The ape
clasped the negro's hand and shook it long
and cordially.
Sawriey then plied liis new acquaintance
with interrogations as to his name, age nativ
ity, and former occupation, but eliciting no
replies beyond a knowing shake of the head,
or a merry twinkling of the eye, (the ape
was probably meditating the best 'way of
twe4ing tkedarkey'A nose,) he concluded
the ape was bound to keep non -committal,
and ; looking cautiously around, chuckled,
"Ije,'he, ye too sharp for dem, old feller.—
Keep, dark—if ye' d fist spsak, one word of
English, white man would have a hoe in yer
hand in less than two minutes.)).
Prosperity and Adversity.
The virtue of prosperityis temperance ; the
virtue of adyersity is fortitudg. Prosperity
is the blessing of the Old Testament ; adver
sity is the blessing of the New, which carri
eth the greater benediction and the clearer
revelation of God's favor. Yet, even' in the
Old Testament, if you listen to David's harp,
you sballiear as many hearse-like airs as
carols; and the pencil of the Holy Ghost bath
labored more in describing the afflictions of
Job than . t)ie felicities of Solomon. Prosper
ity is not without many fears and distastes ;
and adversity is not without comforts and
hoped. We see in needleworks and embroid
eries it is more pleasing to have a lively work
upon a sad and solemn ground, than to have
a dark and melancholy work upon a light
some ground; judge therefore of the pleasure
of the heart by the pleasure of the eye.—
Certainly, virtue is Like prenjous odors, most
fragrant where they are incensed or crushed;
for prosperity doth best discover vice, bat
adversity doth best discover virtue.—[Lord
Bacon.
11:7- Say what you ill of old maids, their
love is generally more strong and sincere
than that of the young milk-and-water crea
tures, whose hearts vibrate pe4ween the joys
of wedlock and the dissipations of the ball
room. Until the young heart of women is
capable of settling firmly and exclusively on
one object, her love is like a May shower,
which makes rainbows, but fills no cisterns.
(►J These two lines looking ISO solenin ,
lust exactly fills out this column.