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A Family Companion, Devoted to Literature, Miscellany, News, Agriculture, Markets &c Vol. X. WEDNESDAY MORNING, JULY 29, 1874. No. 30. THE HERALI IS PUBLISRED) EVERY WEDNESDAY xORINING, AA Newberr'y C. Ret BY TH OS, F. GRENUKMR Editor and Proprietor. Terim, sgz~o Per ifnnuns. Invaialy inl Advauce. n- The papr is stopped at the expiraionf 1 time for w ihit is paid. o- 'The X mark denote$ expiration of sub (From the WecDuffle Journal.] EVENING. ZY IMWTOX ]A3DOJ PH FIXMING, M. D. There is a Sabbath in each day-The hour .Baz,wftn sndown and dark when the fierce * AU7. - Subdoed, fades into ovlines.; And peace, and oathers in her countenance In deep repose-& fair delight and charm of Cederastin beauty; and a dream Of~~metiugyet beyond, more lovely still, ft 1-o aam depths of peace; and shadowy hints Of rest"mnor glorions pest the Amethyst qnk topx n6,a tos,t Yosemite Yales, jIhS?ile fowever tViards the setting sun. Thereis a brbatb and meaning and a soul in tL---w stilorious eTenings of the earth, And b~yeig5in the twilight del tbs -Of their repose, of an Apocalpse fjoy, ad hints,of the Forever's calm; - And the dim cypherings of a prophecy - htFaith is reading Dneath the drifting str Of Hope, that pass forever through our skies * - From out the depths of all redeeming Love That all this wear'y. toiling scene of life, Mie to the day that's past, may end in -peace That there are glorious regions, et Im. serene, Away beyond the fiery Judgment DAy. Towards the setting aun of God's eternal wrath, Where &ll the weary worlds may yet find rest. True as the dvinguiother"s last fond look sacred to business, had even seen such lesser dealings as the loan of money on good watches, cas.hmere shawls, and diamonds of gE?nteel distress. Two or three mortgs~ges was not likely to bring any trouble some generosity into her household, and had offered himself to her, and had been accepted. And now, though both their economical souls revolted against it, custom decreed a wedding of some sort, and a honeymoon trip somewhere, and they had decided to do it as cheaply as possible. For this brief time Mr. Van Nott must leave his business and his house, and it was upon the eve of his departure that he held the above conversation with his old servant standing with his portman teau in his hand, and regarding her gravely. "Yes, yes," he said, "I presume it is all safe enough. And I'll speak to the night-watchman, and give him a dollar to take a particular look at this house. Well, good-by, Maggie, make things as neat as possible, for if they look dirty my wife may think the furniture old, and want something new for the par lor." And Mr. Van Nott departed. "Yes, yes," said old Maggie, "no doubt she'll have fine, extravagant ways. Poor master! What a pity he should marry, after all-brt old fools are the worst fools. A young thing of eight and forty, too, when he has a sensible servant, sixty last January, that knows what belongs to good housekeepings. If he wanted to marry why didn't he ask me? Id not have gone gallivant ing and spending. Ah, well. he'll suffer, not I!" And Maggie trotted away to begin her sweeping and dusting. She had said truly that there was no fear born with her, but as the night drew on she began to feel somewhat lonely. Her master's presence was strangely missed out of the great house, and there was something ghostly in the look of his empty chair when she peeped into the little back office. "If I was superstitious," she said to herself, "I should think some thing dreadful was going to happen I feel chilly up and down my back, and keep thinking of funerals. I'll make myself a cup of tea, and see if I can't get over it." And accordingly old Mae 'e shu Ser~sel int he snug te en, and lighting two candles, drew a pot of the strongest -young hyson, and putting her feet close to the cook ing stove, began to feel much more comfortable. The old clock ticked sway on the mantel, the hands pointing to half past-eight. "I'm going to bed at nine," said Maggie. "Irve worked well to-day. Much thanks Ill get for it, I doubt. Hark ! What's that ?" It was a sound outside the door, -a slow, solemn grating of wheels. Then feet trod the pavement and the bell rang faintly. -"A carriage !" cried Maggie; "has hchanged his mind and brought h. home at once? But that can't be, i's not married yet." And tak ing e of the candles she trotted to t .r,but not before the bell had g again. " o's at ?" she cried, holding the d :r sightly ajar. "A s ger," said a voice,'' "one who has mething particular to sato y .' "You'll\h'ave to wait for to-mor row," saig Maggie. "You can't come in to-night." "My good 'woman," said the stranger, "you are Margaret Black?" "That'smyn e. 'Mr. Van N'ott's housekeeper for twenty years ?" "Yes." "My good woman, if you are at tached to your m4tek, I have very bad news for you."\ "Gracious Lord !" cried Maggie, but did not open the door much wider-only enough to thrust her head out. "Don't scare, me, mis ter. What is it ?" " "The worst you can think of," taid'the man. "Mr. VaANott trav eled on the-railroa There has been an accident." "Preserve us !" cried Maggie, let ting the door fall back, "anud him go his way to his wedding.\ He's badi? hurt then ?"\ "He's-dead," said the man. "iDead, and we've brought him home." Maggie sat ,down on a chair and began to cry. "We've done what y'e could," said the man. "The lady he Yas to mar ry and her friends will be down to~ morrow. Meanwhile my instrue tions are that you shall watch with him, and allow no strangers to en ter the house. There are valuables here, i'm told, and Mr. Van 19ott's lawer must take possession o them,. and seal them up before strangershbavejiecess to the rooms." "Oh. .1 dear, dear," cried old Mag gie. " T'hat it should come to this. Yes, TU watch alone. I'm not afrad, but-oh, dear 1". T hen shze shrank back and let two men car~ry a horrible cofzn intc the parlor. I' They came out with their hats off, and the other man held his also in his band. "I regret to leave you all alone in the house," he said. "I don't mind that," said old Mag gie, "but it's terrible, terrible." "If you'd like me to stay," said the man. "No," said Mag.-ie. "I've no fear i of living or dead folk. You can I go." Then she locked the door and I went into the parlor, aild putting f the candle on the mantel, looked at t the coffin through her tears. "He was good enough to me," E she said; "poor Mr. Archibald! And < this comes of wanting to marry at ( this time of life, and gallivanting on railroads. I wonder whether he is changed much. I'll take a look," and Maggie crossed the room and I lifted the lid over the face of the enclosed body. "I'll take a look," she said to her self again. "I'm not afraid of dead folks." f In a minute more Maggie drop ped the lid again, and retreated, shaking from hlead to foot. She had seen within the coffin a face with its eyes shut, and with ban dages about the head, and the ghast ly features of a clown in a circus, mi nus the red mouth. But it was a living face,well chalk ed, and not her master's and Mag gie knew at once that she had been well humbugged-that the story of her master's death was a lie, and that a burglar lay within the coffin, ready d to spring upon and bind her, or per haps murder her at any minute. She could of course open the door and try to escape; but the accom plices of the man were doubtless outside. It was a long distance to the nearest house, and even if they 9 did not kill her, they would execute S their purpose and rob the place be fore she returned. "Master looks natural," said Mag gie aloud, and tried to. collect her thoughts. Mr. Van Nott's revolvers were in the next room, she knew, loaded, six shots in each. Maggie could usenisols. She had,. aimed at troublesome cats with great success more than once. If she could se cure these she felt safe. -"Poor, dear master," she sobbed, and edged toward the back room. "Poor, dear master;" she lifted the desk-lid. She had them safe. She glided back to the front par lor and sat down on a chair. Shea turned up her sleeves and grasped a pistol in each hand, and watched the coffin-lid quietly. In half an hour the lid stirred. A cautiouse hand crept up the side. A wiry eye peeped out. It fell upon the armed figure and closed again. "You'd better," said Maggie to1 herself. Again the head lifted up. This time Maggie sprang to her feet. "You are fixed quite handy," she* said coolly. "No need of laying you out if I fire, and I can aim first-rate, especially when I'm afraid of ghosts', as I am now.'' . The head bobbed down again. Maggie re-seated herself. She knew this could not last long-that there must be a conflict before long. It was as she supposed. A moment more and the coffn was empty, and a ferocious young fellowv sat on its edge, and thus addressed her: "We meant to do it all quiet," he said, "and I don't want to frighten old women. Just put them down." "I am not frightened," said Mag gie. "I am coming to take them things away from you," said the man. "Come," said Maggie. He advanced one step. She took aim, and he dodged, but a bullet went through his left arm, and it dropped by his side. Furious with pain, he dashed to ward her. She fired again, and this time wounded him in the right shoulder. Faint, and quite helpless, he staggered against the wall. "There, you've done it, old wo man," he said. "Open the door and let me out. My game is up." "Mine isn't," said old Maggie. "Get back into your coffn iagain, or this time I'll shoot you through the1 heart." The burglar looked piteously at her, but he saw no mercy in her face. He went back to the coffn and lay down in it. Blood dropped fromn his wounds, and he was grow ing pale. Maggie did not want to ee him die before her eyes, but she d not dare go for aid. To leave th house before daybreak would be to imeet this man's companions, and3 risk her own life. There was no thing for it but to play the surgeon herself, and in a little while she had'stopped the blood and saved the burglar's life. More than this 1she brought him a cup of tea, and fed him with it as if he had been a baby. Nothing, however, could in I duc her to let him out of his coffn;| About one or two o'clock she Eeard steps outside, and -knew that bhe other burglars were near, but ier%tout heart never quailed. She rusted in the bars and bolts, and ,hey did not betray her. The daylight found her sitting luietly beside her wounded burglar, ind the milkman, bright and early, was the ambassador who summoned he officers of justice. When the bridal party returned 1ext day the house was neat and idy, and Maggie, in her best alpaca, old the news in laconic fashion. 'Frightened !" she said, in an iwer to the sympathetic ejaculations )f her new mistress. "Frightened! )h, no! Fear wasn't born in me." altUaueo11. HOW TO iE HANDSOME. Most people like to be handsome. obody denies the great power any >erson may have who has a good ace, and who attracts you by good ooks, even before a word has been poken. And we see all sorts of evices in men and women to im >rove their good looks-paints and rashes, and all kinds of cosmetics, acluding a plentiful annointing with dirty lpir oil. Now, not every one can have good eatures. They are as God made hem; but almost any one can look vell, especially with good health. t is hard to give rules in a very hort space, but in brief these will 0. Keep clean-wash freely and uni ersally with cold water. All the kin wants is leave to act freely, and will take care of itself. Its thou ands of air holes must not be plug ed up. Eat regularly and simply. The tomach can no more work all the [me, night and day, than a horse; ; must have regular work and regu Lr rest. Good teeth are a help to good )oks. Brush them with a soft rush, especially at night. Go to ed with teeth clean. Of course, to ave white teeth, it is needful to let >r the teeth should be very simple. cids may whiten the teeth, but bey take off the enamel or injure Sleep in a cool room, in pure air. ro one can have a clean skin who reathes bad air. But more than 1, in order to look well-wake up e mind and soul. When the mind is awake, the dull, leepy look passes away from the yes. I donotknow that the brain ei 'ands, but it seems to. Think, read -not trashy novels, but books that ave something in them. Talk with eople who know something ; hear ~cures and learn by them. This is one of the effects of good reaching. A man thinks and orks, and tells us the result. And we listen, and hear, and under tand, the mind and soul are work d. If the spiritual nature is roused, so much the better. We ave seen a plain face really glori ed by the love of God, and man rhich shone through it. Let us yow handsome. Men say they an't aiford books, and sometimes hey don't even pay for their news >aper. In that case, it does them ittle good-they must feel so mean chile reading it. But men can af ord what they really choose. If althe money spent in self-indul gence, in hurtful indulgenee, were pent in books, and self-improve nent, we could see a change. Men vould grow handsome, and women, oo. The soul would shine out rough the eyes. We were not neant to be mere animals. Let us ave books and read them, and ser nons, and heed them. (Health Reformer. OHARAcTE.-We may judge a man's haracter by what he lo,-e-what leases him. If a person .manifests elight in low, sordid objects, the ulgar song and debasing language, n the misfortunes of his fellows or mimals, we may at once determine he complexion of his character. )n the contrary, if he loves purity, ruth, modesty-if virtuous pur ~uits engage his heart and draw >ut his affections-we are satisfied hat he is an upright man.- When e see a young man fond of fine ~lothes and Jnaking a fop of him ,elf, it is a sure sign that he thinks ,he world consists of outside show md ostentation, and he is certain o make an unstable man, without ue affection or friendship, fond >f change and excitement and wearying of those objects and pur uits, which for a time, give him pleasure. He who saddens at thought of dleness cannot be idle, and he's awake who thinks himself asleep. - rnats. BOOKLESS HOUSES. We form judgments of men from little things about their houses, of which the owners perhaps never think. Flowers about a rich man's house may signify that he has re fined neigbbors, and does what he sees them do. But men are not accustomed to buy books unless they want them. I on visiting the dwelling of a man of slender means, we find that he contents himself with cheap carpets and very plain furniture, in order that he may pur chase books, he rises at once in our esteem. Books are not made for furniture, but there is nothing that so beautifully furnishes a house. The plainest row of books is more significant of refinemert than the most elaborately carved side-board. Give us a house farnished with books rather than furniture. Both, if you can; but books at any rate. To spend several days in a friend's house, and hunger for something to read, while you are treading on costly carpets, and sitting on lux urious chairs, and sleeping upon down, is as if one were bribing your body for the sake of cheating your mind. Books are the windows through which the soul looks out. A house without them is like a room without windows. N6 man has a right to bring up his children without sur rounding them with books, if he has the means to buy them. It is a wrong to his family. Children learn to read by being in the pres ence of books. The love of knowl edge comes with reading, and grows upon it. And the love of knowledge in a young mind is almost a warrant against the inferior excitement of passions and vice. Let us pity those poor rich men who live barrenly in great bookless houses. Let us congratulate the poor that, in our day, books are so cheap that a man may every year add a hundred volumes to his libra ry for the price of what his tobacco and beer would cost him. Among the earliest ambitions to be excited in clerks, workmen, journeymen and, indeeti, among all that are struggni in the race of life-is that of owning and constantly add ing to a library of good books. A little library growing larger every year, is an honorable part of a young man's history. It is a man's duty to have books. A library is not a luxury, but one of the necessities of life. BnotrxL Exm.c.-The follow ing waif, afloat on the sea of read ing, we clip from an exchange. We do not know its paternity but it con tains some wholesome truths, beau tifully set forth: Men seldom think of the great event of death until the sha low falls across their own path hiding forever from their eyes the traces of theloved ones whose living smiles were the sunlight of their exist ence. Death is the great antago nist of life, and the cold thought of the tomb isithe skeleton of all feasts. We do not want to go through the dark valley, although its passage may lead to paradise; and, with Charles Lamb, we do not want to lie down in the muddy grave, even with kings and princes for our bed fellows. But the flat of nature is inexorable. There is no appeal or relief from the great law which dooms us to dust. We flourish and we fade as the leaves of the forest, and the flower that blooms and withers in a day has not a frailer hold upon life than the mightiest monarch that ever shook the earth with his footsteps. Generations of men appear and vanish as the grass, and the countless multitude that throngs the world to-day will to-mor row disappear as the footsteps on the shore. .In the beautiful drama of Ion, the instinct of immorality, so eloquent ly uttered by the death-devoted Greek, finds a deep response in ev ery thoughtful soul. When about to yield his young existence as a sacrifice to fate his beloved Cle manthe asks if they shall not meet again, to which he replies: "I have asked that dreadful question of the hills that look eternal-of the clear streams that flows forever-of the stars, among whose fields of azure my raised spirit hath walked in glory. All were dumb. But while I gaze upon thy living face, I feel that there is something in the love that mantles through its beauty that cannot wholly perish. We shall meet again, Clemanthe." To make a dog add, multiply, or subtract, tie up one of his paws and he will put down three and carry one. Our thoughts are epochs in our lives ; all else is but as a journal of the winds that blow while we are hee-Thoneau. FEMALE PIETY. The gem of all others which en circles the coronet of a lady's char acter, is unaffected piety. Natur may lavish much upon her perso -the enchantment of the counte nance, the gracefulness of her main or the strength of her intellect, ye her loveliness is uncrowned unti piety throws around the whole thi sweetness and power of its charmi -she then becomes unearthly iz her temper-unearthly in her de sires and associations. The spel' which bound her affections to thingi below is broken, and she mounts ox the silent wings of her fancy anc hope to the habitation of God wher( it will be her delight to hold com. munion with the spirits that hav been ransomed from the thraldom of earth, and wreathed with a gar land of glory. Her beauty may throw her magi. cal charm over many princes, and conquerors may bow with admira tion at the shrine of her riches the sons of science and poetry may embalm her memory in history and song-yet piety must be her orna ment, her pearl. Her name must be written in the "Book of Life,' that when mountains fade away, and every memento of earthly great ness is lost in the general wreck ol nature, it may remain and swell the list of that mighty throng which have been clothed with the mantle of righteousness, a4-1 their voices attuned to the melody of heaven. With such a treasure, every lofty gratification on earth may be pur. chased; friendship will be doubly sweet; and their character will pos sess aprice far above rubies; life will be but a pleasant visit to earth, and death the entrance upon a joyful and perpetual home. And when the notes of the last trump shall be heard, and sleeping millions awake to judgment, its possessor shall be presented faultless before the throne of God with exceeding joy. "KEE Hmf DowN."-When a poor man attempts to rise-attempt to show that there is no monopoly oi genius, and that God hat~h given a* free and noble a soul to the lowly as to the great-he is only opposed by the class above him, but envy. and scorn are but too often his portior among his fellows. They do noi like to see themselves outstripped by one whom they have reckod ed no better than th.emselves, and instead of encouraging, they damp his ardor, and grieve is heart with sneers and cold, becausE envious, counsel. The next class above him love not to see a man who has naught to boast of but a noble soul, no treasures save thosE of mind, presuming to take his place among them, and there is one universal shout of "Keep him down !" This upward struggle which the poverty-struck genius has to endure-this struggle against prejudice and misrepresentation and want-has daunted many a mind, and discouraged many a breast, and has kept many a man formed to be a light to the world in poverty and darkness to the end of his days. Because of this, many a noble spirit has concealed its own flame of brightness, many noble and freE man, of whom the world was not worthy, have gone down to the grave with all the wisdom of the ouls untold-'have died, and made no sign.' Tnn.AsUESs n HxvN.-We read of a philosopher, who, passing through a mart filled with articles of taste and luxury, made himseli quite happy with his simple yel sage reflection: "How many thingE there are here, that I do not want!' Now, this is just the reflection witi which the earnest -believer passes happily through the world. It is richly furnished with what are call ed good things. It has spots of honor and powei to tempt the restless aspiringi of ambition of every grade. I1 has gold and gems, houses and and lands, for the covetous os tentatious. It has innumerable bowers of taste and luxury, wherE self-indulgence may revel But thE Christians whose piety is deep toned, and whose spiritual concep tions are clear, looks over the world and exclaims, "How much there ii here, that I do not want ! I have what is far better. My treasure ii in heaven."-Dr. Tyng. People are not always acquainted with the great danger in whici newspaper men are placed. It wai only the other day that an edito2 of a journal in France committed suicide and left the following state ment, which told his sufferings bu too plainly : "I was bored and ] have killed myself. Let no one bE accused of my death. Do not lool for my head forlI have hiddeni1 -myself in order nah to be recog nized." TIE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. - All agree that bome happiness - is mainly dependent on the char aeter and conduct oi the woman who is the wife and the mother. If she be patient, unselfish, loving, and true, she can alleviate the dis b tresseq and heightel the joys of 1 the household, past all calculation. If these characteristics be wanting j in her, no skill on the part of the other members of the family, no comforts which wealth purchases, can make the household a happy family. The wife is the pivot on which all turns. These admitted facts ought to make every husband and child do every possible thing to sweeten the temper ofthe wife and mother, to relieve her as far as practicable of the burdens which press her, to remove all obstacles from her way, and surround her with an atmos phere sweet, wholesome and ex hilarating. When we men and boys have done all we can for her who is wife and mother, her lot is f hard one. Coarse natures un dervalue woman hood, and its great privations and sufferings. Coarse men and boys think that they have the bard side of life, while "the women," which means wife, mother, and sister, are only re cipients of the results of the labors of "the men," which means these great husbands, fathers, and bro thers. It is time for us to learn better. Let Young America know that his sisters can do much better with out him than he ban withoub them, although each sex is necessary to the completion of the other. Men are much more helpless beings than women. It is the women who make the atmosphere of bome. But they are very depend eut on the men. A good husband helps a good woman to be a good wife. A bad husband may cause a good woman to become a bad wife. If a sister disturbs her bro ther's, life may it not be because he has embittered hers? We steep bitter herbs in a fountain, and then complain that waters thereof are not sweet. Think oftwoman's lot. She has to endure all things and keep.astill. Reflect upon what a drunkard's wife must endure. She has to at tend to all domestic duties, and live without the support and love of her husband. In addition, she must bear the mortification which falls to the lot of one whose mate is the slave of a besotting vice. Then she is in constant trepida tion lest her husband commit some disgraceful' and destructive crime while he is in a state of inebriation. She knows that he cannot succeed in business, and cannot rise in his profession as a drunkard, cannot be trusted, however honest his na ture. She knows that it is a down bill course. It may be slower or faster, but it is a constant descent. She must increase her exertions to make and to save, as he increas ingly squanders. Amid all self-sacrifice, and most strenuous effort to keep the fami ly together, and to maintain det eency of appearance, she knows that all her ingenuities, sacrifice, painstakings, must go without the reward of appreciation. It is al ways well for a man to set for him self the rule of doing right, be cause it is right, and without re gard to any rewards it may secure or may miss; yet God has so made us that we desire our virtues to be ~appreciated. Every husband knows how he is sustained and cheered in his work by the reflection that his wife appreciates all his labor in behalf of herself and the family. Women seem to need love's appreciation more than men do. It is only the worst portion oftheir sex to whom admiration seems more desirable than love. The world may be ig norant of what a good wife is do ing. if her husband only knows it, and admires it, and praises her for it, she is content. How long she will work at a pair of slippers, or a smoking-jacket, or a foot-rest, feeding her heart on the delightful expectation of seeing the gratifi c ation of her husband when he discovers what she has been doing for him. A drunkard's wife has none of this. He is growing more and more besotted. Less and less he perceives the beauty of her tcharacter and behavior, as his sen sibilities become blunter and blun ter; what is it to him how things are about his house, if he be not able to see what is visible or hear -what is said ?-Rev. Dr. Deems, in " Young America." I ---i4cunryth---sa- oc tor ti eonry 8o ther populaton whil to evaer a1nodte polation, whl n rnce ad E ngraad%ther a ante uma to avere.2000. PROVERBS AND MOTTOES OF SHAKEPEARE. There is no virtue like necessity. Courage mounteth with ocea sion. He tires betime, that spurs too fast betimes. Small showers last long, but sudden storms are sh:rt. With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder. Though death be poor it ends a mortal woe. The ripest fruit falls first. Out of this metal danger, we pluck the flower safely. No word like "pardon" for kings mouths so meet. Tell truth and shame the devil. Uneasy lies the bead that wears a crown. A man dies but once, we owe God a death. He that dies this year is quie for the next. The first bringer of unwelcome news bath but a loosing o'ffice Grief is proud and makes his owner stoop. When law can do no right, let it be lawful that law bar no wrong. Oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes ill deeds done. Most any subject is the fattest for soil to weeds. Wise hearing or ignorant carri age is caught, as men take dis eases, one of another; therefore let men take heed of their compa ny. How ill white - hairs become -a fool and jester. Nick eustoms court'sey to great kings. It is a great sin to swear into a sin, but greater to keep a sinful oath. The thief doth for each bush take for an officer. The bird that bath been limed in a bush, with trembling wings misdoubteth every bush. Small herbs have grace, great weeds grow aspace. Two may keep counsel, putting one away. What must be shall be. He that is robbed, not wanting what is stolen, let him notcknoe it, and he is not robbed at all. GooD MaNEBs.-Everyhousehold should cultivate good manners. They are indispensable even to the young. A churlish, rude deport ment bsekalow, unfeelingmind; no position, wealth or education, can make amends for it. Goodman ners are attractive and winning: they should be carefully .observed in every family circle. Parents should never indulge, themselves, in careless manner or coarca Ian guage, much less to their chrildren or domestics. The feelings ofi those in inferior stations should be regarded as well as those of the highest. The smile, the pleasant tone, and the courteous bow, is quite as highly appreciated at home as abroad. If we wish a free and easy code of manners, we must cultivate them at home, by being courteous and polite to those who surround us, and we will not only add to the bappinsa of those we love, but be at ease in society. Teach your children that good breeding includes civ Ility to all-t h at a well-bred child is immediately singled out by an observing eye, regardless of dress or family position. A frank and modest deportment wins con fidence and friends, and by kind and delicate attention to the frailer sex and chivalrous protection to the helpless, we add luster and greatness to our character. Lo!4emXN roB AFFEeTIoN.-LOVe is the deepest attribute of humanity; the desire for its kindly ministeringa is stronger than any other desire we know. Said Charlotte Broit once, and very truly: "However old, humble, desolate, or afflicted we may be, so long as our hearts possess the feeblest spark of life, they preserve also, shivering near that pale ember, a starved, ghostly longing for appre ciatien and affection. To this at tenuated spectre perkj.z a crumb is not thrown once a year; but when ahungered and athirst to famine when all humanity has forgotten the dying tenant of a decaying house-divine mercy remembers the mourner, and a shower of manna falls for lips that earthly nutriment is to pass no more. Biblical prom ises, heard first in health, but then unheeded, come whispering to the couch of sickness; it is said that a pitying God watehes what all man kind have forsaken ; the tender compassion of Jesus is felt and re lied on; and the-fading eye, gazing beyond time, sees a home, a friend, a refuge, in eternity. D)oalars and sense do notk neoe wilyntravel +ogeher. 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