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BY JAS. CLARK.
THE BLUE JUNIATA.
There rose an Indian girl,
Where sweeps the waters
Of the blue Juniata.
Swift as an antelope,
Thruu4h the forest glowing,
Loose were her jetty locks,
Sweet was the mountain song,
Of bright Alverata„
Where sweep the wate7s
Of the blue Juniata.
"Strong and true my arrows are,
In my painted quiver,
Swiftly glides my light canoe,
Down the rapid river.
" Bold was my warrior good,
The love of Alverata,
kroud waves his snowy plume,
Along the Juniata.
" Soft and low he speaks to me,
In his war whoops sounding,
WaV'es his voice and thunders loud,
From height to height resounding."
So sang the Indian girl,
Where sweeps the waters
Of the Clue Juniata.
Fleeting years have borne away,
The voice of Alvcrata,
Still swap tiro waters
Di the bloc Joniata.
LOVE IN THE BACKWOODS.
Or Jauttny Waddle's first Courtship.
"'Talk o' spress, boys, puts me in mind
o' toy voting days. I should rather
guess, I was in for 'em some, myself,
•This was said by an old man whom
we will introduce as Mr. James Wad-
tile, or rather as 'old Jim Waddle.' Er
erybody, except the render, knows bins
anti his penchant for yarn spinning. It
is the evening of a military training
day. There are a goodly number, after
the company is dismissed from duty,'
who are lounging around, and all now
gather around the aforesaid Jim, to hear
hi:. Yarn to which he has already begun
the prelude, and only awaits somebody
to urge him to go on.—l-le then inquired
what they would have—'One of his
hunting or one of his courting spreesl'
The b'hoys unanimously demanded the
latter. Then, after requesting that
none of them should laugh till he got
through, with .a few preparatory hems
and an assumption of a comically grave
face, he commenced, (I wish 1 could re
port in his inimitable language, verbat
im et literatim.)
'When I war a boy, you know, dad
dy moved front W irginny to Kaintuck.
I'd been born and fotched up on the
fronteers, and Kaintuck was a perfect
paradise for me to hunt Bars and Ingins
in. But I forgot—you want a court
in' story. Well, although I was always
cuttin up some deviltry among the boys
yet, somehow I
was u little shy and
skeery among the gals. I liked the
critter prodigiously, but about the only
war I could manage to show it, was by
castin sheep eyes in abundance at 'em.
We had meetins as well as well as fro!.
ics.—Sometimes, while the preacher
was preochin tender heartedness, broth
erly kindness and love I was'nt thinkin
o' nothm else. I used to set what I
could look the gals in the face, and then
gaze at some party one, till she'd blush
as red as a pepper pot. Then I felt so
queer about the gizzard, and wished an
earthquake to throw me right in her lap.
1 wns in love, but could'at tell who 1 lov
Thar was Peggy Masonhammer,
mity tine gal, even in her tow linen frock,
her cheeks war as full as a Chinn pig's,
and as red as a turkey gobbler's; and
then Char was Sally Perkins, with he glo
riously striped home-made cotton frock,
besides, her hair and eyes warns black
as ink; and then thar was dimple-cheek
ed, blue eye'd Lotto Smith who always
toted her shoes and stockings in her
hands till she got in sight o' the mecum'
house. Well, o' these three I could'nt
tell for my life which I liked the best—
sometimes one and sometimes another
—but always the last one 1 looked at.
'But when Squire Crumpton come to
our diggins his two gals tuck the shine
°lithe rest on 'em, specially the oldest
one, Betsey. I silent attempt to de.
scribe her—but when I tell you she had
a calico frock with yellow flowers as big
as your hand—brass ear bobs, besides
half a dozen strans o' beeds as large as
the end o' your little finger, you may
think she was a charmer—l did anyhow.
Of all the magnum bonum charmers [
everseed, she — was the magnum bonutn
- est ! And so all the young fellows said
t.u. When I fuss seed her it was at
.deacon Snook's meetin. I fastened my
eyes on her till her's met mine—she
looked steadtastly—then smiled a char
,ming smile, and blushed and looked
down. Lordy, thar was a flutterin then
equal to a sawmill, 'tween my two jack
et pockets' I felt I was a goner. From
that hour I was too big fur my breeches
and on Sunday's I borrowed dad's
breeches he'd bin married in before the
revolutionary war, and come ofl at the
knees, but as he war tall and I warnt,
they come below mine three or four in
ches. Agin the next ineetin I was pre
pared to cut a big stiff; sister Sal star
ched and ironed my new fine shirt as
nice and slick as a sheet of new tin.
The shirt had the finest-hind of flax
linen in the bosom and collar, but the
invisible part of it was coarse tow, with
a hem that would cable a steamboat.—
Now while Sal was smoothin the wrin
kles near the hem, with an iron just hot•
from the fire, down stairs tumbled one
o' the tarnel brats, knock in the breath
It war Saturday night, and she war
the only one up, and run to it in course,
but afore it come tu, the iron had very
decidedly made its mark, that is, burnt
two holes in the extremity of my linen. ,
Next mornin I put it on ns it was,
then the first regular far o' shoes I ev
er had. I was seventeen jist that Sun
day mornin, and in my Sunday riggin,
felt myself a man, and resolved if Bet
sey Crumpton was at the meeting to
show it. Well, she was titer, and I ax't
fur her company and got it. Walkin
by her side I felt light ns nothm, I
skeerely techt the ground I walla on.
But I shunt tell you the fine things I
thought. and said to her on the way,
and more after we got hum. (Oh, yes,
do, said several voices.) No you'll have
null' without that—you're to skim the
cream o' the story yet.
She kept me up late, say two o'clock,
and spite o' the novelty (it bein the fust
time) 1 got sleepy. Now the Squire
had just come to the parts, and put up
a one story, roomed log cabin, and the
whole family, 'cept some of the young
'tins slept below. I was a leetie bash
ful about guine to bed thar, but 1 was
three miles from home, and it was rain
in like blazes, I had to do it, and with
out exposin the blanks in my linen, 1
resolved to be up afore anything else
in the mornin on the same account and
This was the last I knowed till wa
kened by the hounds, (half a dozen of
which slept tinder the bed,) a pull'n the
kivers ofl'n me. Holy Moses ! the sun
was two hours high—breakfast on the
table, and me in bed. Just as I was
guine to spring out, in pops the old
'omen, with a plate of venison. • It was
dog days, you know and she cookt in the
shanty. I possmned till she went out
again, then lookt for my trousers—thar
they wet., in the jaws of the pup at the
foot of the bed I I made a mighty lunge
over the footboard to regain them ; but
horrors!—me head ' down and my
heels up! What's the matter thinks I—
but it flasht across me in a minit, that
the hole in my linen was over the post
—and a tall post to I I kicked and
floundered, and floundered but all to no
purpose-1 coot l'nt get down-1 stiaird
ed to break the hem, but it was all no go
Just now all the hounds ccmmenced
Yellin' so furiously that the old 'Oman
acid both gals run in to see what was up,
and when they seed it was me, they run
out again—one begun to holler for the
Squire, while tothers through the cracks
battled with fisbin poles the cussed
!mounds that war wullin me.—Oh, I
thought of Absolem, and every body
else that ever did hang, but he did'nt
hang with the wrong end up and that
was a consolation I had'nt ! I'd cussed
my fate like Balam, but I remembered I
belonged to meetin', and it was agin the
rules. I did howsumever, think some
mighty hard words, if I did'nt speak
'em ! But all that did'nt do any good.
I could'nt make nothin' by pnllin down' ,
ards, so I thought ird clime up the post
and unloose myself that way. I had
nearly succeeded, when one o' the un
mannerly pups attacked me in the rear,
and loosin my holt I fell in a knot—de
cidedly peelin, ofrmy linen—the buttons
busted off, and I come out full length on
the floor, in precisely the same state of
fix Job said he came into the world.
The next minit I was under the bed,
where the everlnstin' pups had dragged
my trousers. I cur em off, but every
time I put one leg partly on, the eternal
whelps would pull the tether off. I wor
ried this way sometime, when a puncheon
gave way, and I fell through into a
trough of soap under the house! Gosh !
I thought I was in the pit that's bottom
less ! I sprung for my life, but in doing
this, I threw myself in the face and stom
ach of Squire Crumpton, who was cum
min' on the run, 'spectin' the inguns
was mussacreein' the whole fancily. The
collision threw him down the hill ; I fol
lowed suit, heels over head, to the bot
tom. Here 1 recovered my understan
ding, and without apologies, or even a
word, I struck a bee line for home, jist as
I was, in all my native purity, at a speed
that split the wind, my toenails striking
lire out'r the; flints at every jump !
But b'hoys, I never went within a quar-
HUNTINGDON, PA., TUESDAY, MAY 15, 1849:
ter of a mile of Squire Crumpton's after- ! From the N. Y. Spirit of the Times.
wards—nor did I ever cast sheep's eyes A Sermon "as is” a Sermon.
Mr. spirit :—The following article was me
at Betty again, let 'lone gallantin' her
home. ied from some old writings brought to this
country some forty years since, and your con-
The Order of Jesuits., tributor, who had never seen or known of its
Before the order ofJesuits had existed being in print, thinks it may be of interest to
an hundred years, it filled the whole' your readers, as it is too good to be lost, par
world with memorials of great things ticularly in these days of Bpiritnal temperance,
done and suffered for the faith. No re-
and will go to prove that, at that time, temper
ligious community could produce a list ante had its able advocates.
of men so variously distinguished; none
The Rev. Dr. Dodd lived within a few
!idles of Cambridge, (England,) and had offen
had extended its operation over so vast
a space, yet in none had there ever been
several students by preaching a sermon en
such perfect unity of feeling and action. emperance. One slay some of them mcf him;
There was no region of the globe, no they said one to another :
walk of speculative or active life, in
Here's Father Dodd—he shall preach us a
which Jesuits were not to be found. sernion. „
Accosting him with, Your ser
They guided the councils of Kings. Your
deciphered Latin inscriptions,—
They observed the motions of Jupiter's ,
satelites. They published whole libra
ries, casuistry, history, treaties on op
tics, Altaic odes, editions of the fathers, ,
madrigals, catechisms and lampoons.
The liberal education of youth passed
almost entirely into their hands, and was
conducted with conspicuous ability.—
They appear to have discovered the pre-
cisc point to which intellectual culture
can be carried without risk of intellect-
! nal emancipation. Enmity itself was
compelled to own that in the art of man- ,
aging and forming the tender mind they
had no equals. Meanwhile they assid
ously and successfully cultivated the
eloquence of the pulpit. With still grea
ter assiduity and still greater success,
they applied themselves to the ministry
of the confessional. Throughout Cath
olie Europe, the secrets of every gover
ment, and almost every funnily, were
in their keeping. They glided from ,
one protestant country to another, un
innumerable disguises, as gay cav
ns simple rustics, as Puritan
preachers. They wandered to coun
tries which neither mercantile avidity
nor liberal curiosity find ever impelled
nny stranger to explore. They were to I
be found in the garb of Mandrins, so-:
perintending the observatory of Pekin.
They were to be found spade in hand,
teaching the rudiments of agriculture
' to the savages of Paraguay. Yet what-
ever might be their residence. whataver
their employment, their spirits was the
same, entire devotion to the cormnou
cause, implicit obedience to the central
authority. None of them had chosen,'
his dwelling place or his ndvocation for
himself. Whether the Jesuits should
live under the artic circle or under the
equator, whether he should pass his life
in arranging gems and collating manu
scripts at the Vatican, or in persuading
naked barbarians in the Southern Hem
ispheres not to eat each other were mat
. ters which he left with profound sub
mission to the decision of others: If he
was wanted at Liina; lie was on the At.
lantic in the next fleet. If he was Want-,
ed at Bagdad, he was toiling through
the desert with the next caravan. If
his ministry was needed in some coun
try where his life was more insecure
than that of the wolf--where it was a
crime to harbor him, where the heads
Lind quarters of his brethren, fixed in
public places, showed him what he had
to expect--he went without remonstrance
or hesitation to his doom. Nor is this
heroic spirit extinct. When in' our
own time a new and terrible pestilence
passed round the globe ; when in sonic
' great cities fear had disolved all the ties
which hold society together ; when the
secular clergy had deserted their flocks;
when medical succor was not to be pur
chnsed by gold; when the strongest
natural affections had yielded to the
love of life, even when the Jesuit was
found by the pallet which bishops and
curate physician and nurse, Father and
Mother had deserted, leaning over in
fected lips to catch the faintest accents
of confession, and holding up to the last
before the expiring penitent the image
' of the expiring Redeemer.—iirCauley's
History of England,
ATANNERS.-1 make it a point of mor
ality never to find fault with another for
his manners; they play be awkward or
graceful, blunt or polite, polished or rus
tic, I care not what they are, if the man
means well and acts from honest inten
tions without eccentricity or affectation.
All men have not the advantage of
"good society," as it is called, to school
themselves in all its fantastic rules and
ceremonies, and if there is any standard
of manners, it is one founded in reason
and good sense, and not upon these arti
ficial regulations. Manners, like conver
sation, should be extemporaneous, and
not studied. I always suspect a man,
who meets me with the same perpetual
smile on his face, the same congeeing of
the body, and the snow premeditated
shake of the hand. Give'me the--it may
be rough—grip of theitand, the careless
nod of recognition, At d when occasion
requires, the homely but welcome salu
tation, "How are you, my old friendl"
Sirs ! yours, gentlemen !" replied the Doc
They said," We have a favor to ask of you,
which rux al be granted."
The divine asked what it was?
" To preach a sermon," was the reply.
" Well," said he " appoint the time and place
and I will."
The time the present, the place that hollow
tree," (pointing to it,) said the students.
'Ti , s an imposition!" said the Doctor—
" there ought to be consideration before preach
"If you refuse," responded they, 66 we will
put you into the tree !" •
Whereupon the Doctor did as desired; asked
of them his text 1
c‘ Malt !" said they.
The reverend gentleman commenced
Let me crave your attention, my beloved !
I am a little man, come at a short warning, to
preach a short sermon, upon a short subject, to
a thin congregation, in an unworthy pulpit.—
Beloved! my text is « Malt." I cannot divide
it into syllables, it being but a monosyllable,
therefore I tnust divide it into letters, which I
find in my text to be fotir-31.,e-v-r. M, my
beloved, isallegorieal—L,is literal
, is thean:i'lral..
ist. The moral teacheth such as you drunk
ards good manners; therefore M, my masters
—A, all of you—L, leave otf—T, tippling.
2d. The allegorical is, when one thing is spo
ken and another meant, the thing spoken is
" malt," the thing meant the oil of malt, which
you rustics make M, your masters—A, your
apparel—L, your liberty—T, your trusts.
3d. The theological is according to the effects
it works, which are two kinds—the first is this
world; the second is the world to come. The
fleets it works in this world are, in some, If,
murder—in others, A, adultery—in al, L. loose
ii,ss of life—and pareiculorly iu .curio, T, trea
,:on. In the world to come, the effects of it
are : Jl, misery—A, anguish—L, lamentation
—T, torment—and thus much for my text,
infer Ist : As a Wont at exhortation; M, my
masters—A, all of you—L, leave otlL—T, tip
: A word for conviction : I%r, masters—A,
all of you—L, look for—T, torment.
ld : A word for caution, take this ; A drunk
ard is the annoyance of modesty--the spoiler of
civility; the destroyer of reason; the brewer's
agent; ale wife's benefactor; the wife's sor
row; his children's trouble; his neighbor's
scoff; a walking swill-tub ; a picture of a beast;
a monster of a man."
The " young 'uns," it is supposed, left."
Envy is the only vice which can be practiced
at all times and in all pieces, the only passion
whirls can never lie quiet for want of excite
ment. It is impossible to mention a man whom
any advantageous distinction has made eminent
but some secret malice wilt burst out. The
frequency of envy makes it solamiliar that it
escapes our notice, nor do we reflect on its tur
pitude or malignity until we happen to feel its
effects. When he that has given no provocation
to malice but by attempting to excel in some
useful end, is pursued by multitudes whom he
never saw with the least personal resentment;
when he sees. clamor let loose upon hint as a
pnblic enemy and incited by every stratagem of
calumny; when he hears of the misfortune of
his family or the follies of his youth exposed to
the world and every failure of conduct aggrava
ted or ridiculed, we then learn to abhor and de
spise those artifices at which he only before
longed, and discovers hots , much the happiness
of life is increased by its eradication from the
SUICIDE,-The following is an anecdote of
Dr. Johnson :
Boswell once asked Johnston if there was no
possible circumstance under which suicide
cc No," - was the reply.
" says Boswell, "suppose a man had
been guilty of some fraud that he was equally
certain would be found out I"
" Why, then," says Johnson, "in that case
let him go to some country where he is not
known, and not to the devil where ho is
The following sign adorns a black
smith shop not more than fifty miles fron
A DAM BIG HE BLACKSMITH.
It should read: Adam Bighe, Black
IVIIAT IS L 114;?
BY URIAII 11. JUDAN
To discharge our duty to - our fellow-creatures,
and to act a proper part with firmness and con
stancy; to be true to the God whom we wor
ship, and to mankind faithful to friends, gen
crous to enemies, warm with compassion to the
distressed, and zealous for public interest and
private happiness; it is to be magnanimous
without being proud, and tunnble without being
mean ; it is to prepare for death, and murmur
not at its mandate ; to daily acknowledge grati
tude to an Almighty Power, and nightly, on
Vended knees, and with uplifted hands, to offer
up our beautiful thanks to the great Creator of
the world, for the innumerable favors we hays
rebeived, and for the boon of freedom that we
all enjoy; and ever to bear in mind that—
There is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims [bond;
And while the mouldering ashes sleep
Low in the ground.
The soul of origin divine,
God's gloriens image, freed from clay,
In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine
A star of day.
The sun is but a spark of fire,
A transient meteor in the sky;
The soul immortal as its sire,
Shall never die.
Behold yon aged man bending 'neath the
weight of years ! Stark how he still clings to I
earth, but era long mil,/ sink into the grave,
and relinquish his wealth to expecting heir 3,
who perhaps will quarrel over a division of his
substance. And how bath be lived 1 Though
" three-score and ten" his heart has never throb
bed at the tale of wo, and no " tear of pity"
hath fallen from his eye ! Look how he bends
beneath the infirmities of age as he grasps his
bags of gold. Poor, tottering man ! thy grave
will soon open to claim its "pound of flesh,"
and thy memory, unhonored, glide away from
the recollection of every knni,ve mortal!
IT'hilt is Lift? To act the part of the "Good
Samaritan" whenever sorrow displays her gmo
my flag, and wheie wretchedness waves her
rribUrnful banner. It is to dive into the depths
of dungeons-i4o plunge into' the infection of
hospitals—to remember the forgotten--to at
tend the neglected—to lighten the face over
cast with sadness—to wipe . the tears from the
Icheek of the widow—and to change the notes
of mourning into those of joy.
The Forest 'Funeral-
She was ;fair child, with masses of long black
hair lying over her pillow.—Her eye Oas dark
and piercing, and as it met mine she started
slightly, but looked upward and smil,d. I spoke
to her father, and turning to her, asked her if
she knew her condition
I know that my Redeemer livcth," said sl e
in a voice whose melody was like the sweetest
strain of the /Eolian. You may imagine that
the answer started me, and with a very few
words of the like import, I turned from her. A
half hour passed,and she spoke in that same deep,
rich, melodious voice.
"Father, I am coldtlie down beside me ;"
and the old man lay down by his dying child,
and she twined her arms around his neck, and
murmered in a dreamy voice, "deal father,
• 4 My child," said the man, "cloth the flood
seem deep to thee t"
"Nay, father, my sontis strong."
"Seest thou the thither shore 1"
,6 I see it, father, and its banks are green with
licarest thou the voice of the inhabitants 1"
I hear them, father—the voices of angels,
falling from afar in the still and solemn night
time—and they call me. Her voice too, father;
0, I heard it then."
noth she speak to thee 1"
16 She speaketh in tones most heavenly."
11 lloth she smile I"
„ An angel smile ! but a cold, calm, smile.
But lam cold—cold ! Father, there is a mist
in the room. You'll be limely. Is this death,
It is death my Mary.”
~ Thank God!"
Sabbath evening came, and a slow, sad pro
cession, wound through the forest to the little
school house. There with simple rites the
good clergyman performed his duty, and went
to the grave. The procession was short. There
were hardy men and rough, in'shooting jackets,
and sonic with rifles on their shoulders. lint
their warm hearts gave beauty to their unsha
ven faces, as they stood in reverent silence by
the grave. The river murmured and the birds
sang, and so we buried her.
THE editor of the Yankee Blade gives
the following, among other "Hints on
"Don't be surprised, if, after you
have sailed smoothly eight or ten mouths
on the voyage of matrimony, you are
suddenly overtaken by squalls."
"My dear, don't pull that pig by the
tail; you may be a hug yourself our of
"Very likely; my honey, as we are
both one flesh. , The bystanders fainted.
11_ 7 7" The Ailicuity of acquiring our language,
which a foreigner must experience, is illustra
ted by the following question : Did you ever
see a person pare an apple or a year with a pair
VOL. XIV. NO, 18
It has been remarked that the forebodings of
a guilty conscience are rarely, if ever, fully re
alized in this life. Threatenings of a guilty
mind pursue it to the last moment of earthly
existence, and still promise a fearful retribution
to be realized beyond the grave. 4 , The wick
ed travelleth with pain all his days. A dread
ful sound is in his ears. Ile knoreeth that the
day of darkness is ready at hand. Trouble and
anguish shall make him afraid."
The life and death of many a renowned steep
tic, prove that this is no exaggeration of the
truth. The dread word.atmom, indicates the
fearful reprisals which conscience is sure to
levy upon guilt. The most successful course'
of crime is not safe from the terrific visitation
of this inward monitor. Conscience :flay sleep
during n long erinrse of crime, but she never
dies. She will gnaw again. The hour of ca
lamity, the moment of death, arms her with
If there be not, therefore, a future state of
ectribution, the last pang of human-guilt is a lie
--a lie for which the creator is responsible.—
We almost tremble at the language we hav'e
used, though it be but hypothetical ; and we fly
to the alternative in whirls alone•the mind can
rest, that God is true—that man . lives beyond
the grave, and that the soul that perseveres in
sin is hastening to ruin; which it must meet at
some point of its future existence.
Such is the teaching of human nature--such
the teaching of the Author of human nature.--
Ail the efforts of a perverse ingenuity have
never been aisle to invalidate this testimony, as
it is written upon the very frame work of the
soul of man. However, unbelief may continue
to blunt the sensibilities of the conscience, and
foe a time to :Tread a delusive calm over the
mind, by the induence of things seen and tem
oral, yet it can never change the essential na
ture or the soul. It may pervert its powers
mid bear it on to ruin, but it can never tranquil
ize its instinctive presentiment of the doom that
The institution of the Sabbath, whether re- -
garded as of human policy or divine sanction, is
one of the most beautiful and blessed inheritan
ces of man. It has 'a divinity in its adaptation
to the material necessities of the race—as a day
of rest on which to refresh and recreate the
wearied energies of the body—but its higher di
vinity lies in the divorce it brings to the spirit
froM the pursuit and care of temporal and cor
rupting things, leading it to a clearer and nearer
contemplation of God, its relations to the imma
terial, and its destiny beyond this fleeting 11th.•
Its periodical frequency grasps, the soul in firm
bonds, and hemming it round with associationi
iu 11111S011 with its acknowledged sacredness,
lies done more to discipline the mind, and purify
the licart'of society, than all the problems of
proad and shifting philosophy put together.
Like the sublime lessons of Christ, the Sab
bath contains the profoundest proofs of its origin
in the wisdom and goodness of God, in its com
mon acceptance by man, and the tininess of sat
isfaction it gives to Lis body and soul longings.
Bet vfeen nations and races who observe, and
those who do not observe the Sabbath, there is
drawn a line, on the opposite borders of which,•
alike, rest the evidences of its beauty and benefi-'
cence. On the side of the Sabbath, are civili
zation, intelligence, industry, art, science,
peace and prosperity—man elevated trnly and'
nobly in the image of 6`;1321: Oft the other'sbre;
are barbarism, ignorance, superstition, war and.
misery—man degraded in the image of God.
The Sabbath is not arbitrary or conventional.•
The more intelligently it is observed, the more
necessary, harmonious, and beautiful it appears,
and temporal economy, however great, becomes
secondary and insignificant, contrasted with its
spiritual. Let any man, let tiny philosopher
contemplate the obliteration of the Sabbath,
and see what a picture society mast" soon pre
sent. Philosophy tried the experiment once,
with one of the most intelligent and philosophic
of nations, and the result of the trial taught the
world that man cut loose from the Sabbath, was
cut loose front God. It is by the acceptance and
true appreciation of the blessings God has given
to man—and the Sabbath is as manifestly one as
is the air or light of heaven—that Mari' comes
into close and fraternal communion with God
Atheism itself, denying God, has, through its
highest apostles, eulogized the institution of
the Sabbath, and confessed tliut human wisdom'
could not conceive of a more beautiful ordina
tion. But we need not the eulogy nor the ad
missions of Atheism. As members of a Chris
tian community, we have all v•itnessed and felt.
the influence of the Sabbath; we have grown
up shaped and governed by its associations and
suipestions, until it has become interwoven
with the deepest thoughts and affections of our
It is our• especial time of forgetfulness of the'
vanities of the world, in the sublimer content- -
plations of heaven and the future.• Chilhood,•
youth, manhood, and old age alike share in its
hallowing influences, alike owe to it the . most
glowing colors of life. We pray cod the Sab
bath may come to be regarded as holy by every
human soul. Even if it be but a mutter of faith
ye a myth, it is purifying and ennobling beyond
all that human wisdom can invent to fill its
place. Let the experience of the world speak
the truth and no man shall be found to my the'
Sabbath is not a divine institution.