wipe away the tears ever called up anew by the words associated with all these sorrowful circumstances.

After the clergyman commenced his duties, habitual respect dammed up the stream of talk; but during the long drive to the grave, and at the grave itself, Mrs. Titmouse found herself refreshed enough to recommence the story of her woes. She was glad, at any rate, she said, that the old folks had such decent funerals. She didn't believe they would have had better at "the east," though all their people were so forehanded; and she would never forget Mr. C.'s kindness in getting them graves dug, and would pay him out of the very first spinning money she got. As for her husband, she insisted he was so shiftless, that there never would have been any graves dug if they had waited for him. To be sure, he said his back was lame, but it wasn't so lame but what he could sit on the counter at the store, playing checkers with that loafer, Levi Cram, until sun-down, never thinking of what was to be done.

At the grave the complaint took the form of more vehement lamentation. All the while they were lowering the body, Mrs. Titmouse stood looking in and wringing her hands. "Oh, my poor old father and mother! I'm sorry enough that ever I asked ye to come away from your comfortable home, out here into the Michigan to die, away from every body! Not but what it's a good place to live and die in, and I'm sure I'm under an everlastin' compliment to the neighbors for their kindness, and particularly Mr. C., for having the graves dug, and lending us his wagon; and if our pigs turn out any thing, which I'm afraid they won't, I shall certainly send Mr. C. one, besides paying him in money. Or if the pigs shouldn't do well, perhaps the chickens will. Any how, I'll find something, for I'm under

an everlastin' compliment; and hope when any of you gets into trouble, you'll find them that's able and willin' to help ye, though I wouldn't adv se any one to bring their old father and mother out here, for though it's a good country enough for them that's strong and hearty, it ain't no place for old folks."

This is but a trifling specimen of Mrs. Titmouse's griefprompted oration; for pen and ink are too slow to give any idea of all that she managed to enunciate while the mould was filling in. Her talking was so proverbial in the whole neighborhood, that a reprobate fellow in telling the particulars of a fit of illness, which had brought him to the verge of the grave, added: "But after all, the Lord was very good to me; for he never let old Mother Titmouse come near me, or I shouldn't have sot here this day."

After our experience and observation, we cannot recommend the emigration of people advanced in years, though we are far from predicting for them the fate of Mrs. Titmouse's parents. Under the most favorable circumstances, there are many priva tions to be undergone in a new country; and though the disorders which belong to a luxuriant soil in the first stages of its cultivation, are not generally fatal to the young and robust, the constitution of the aged lacks stamina to rally after the first attack But to those who do go, we can promise hospitality unequalled in the richest dwellings of the old world The ready hand, the hearty greeting, the offered bed, the bounteous table, the best seat at the fire, await the traveller who comes to the country with the intention to settle. Those who fly to the prairies in pursuit of a new pleasure, may sometimes meet the cold shoulder—indeed, some have made complaints of that sort; but our knowledge of western people assures us that if the other

side could be heard, there would be good reason--either of haughty pride in the visiter, or sad deficiency or unhappiness in the house to account for any such departure from the universal rule.

The very privations and difficulties of a new country lead to a kindness which is founded upon the keenest sympathy. Prosperity is but too apt to make us selfish and exacting, while it increases our wants, and leaves us little to spare. But when we have ourselves felt the needs, which we observe in the newcomer-when we have felt the heart-sickness which grows out of fatigue-strangeness-remembrance of home, and uncertainty as to the future-all referring, not to mere luxuries and superfluities, but to the first requisites of comfort, or even of existence, the heart yearns with a fraternal tenderness toward him who is treading in the steps we have but just quitted, and we are willing to make the toils and sacrifices through which we have passed available in smoothing the way for another.

SAINTS OF OUR DAY.

THE disadvantageous position into which circumstances fruitful of good to a certain point, have helped to push our clergy, deprives society in a great measure of the benefit of their example, since their position differs so entirely from that of the rest of the world, that nobody ever thinks of them as affording precedents for other men's lives and doings. Every other man but the clergyman has such a career of prosperity opened to him, in politics, commerce, the mechanic arts, law, or medicine, that for a man of talents to decide on consecrating himself to the work of the ministry, is equivalent to a vow of poverty. The ministry is the only calling among us in which the greatest gifts and the most severe labors, except under the most rare and fortunate circumstances, bring only a meagre livelihood and no hope of provision for a surviving family. Thus excluded from competition and success, in the grand pursuit which maddens the world. all about him, who ever thinks of the clergyman as an example? Esteem and honor he has, no doubt, and abundant outward respect; but he is looked upon as a man apart, and supposed to be really more in sympathy with the women who form the larger portion of his congregation, and take generally some slight share in its duties, than with the men who can scarcely afford time and attention for one service on Sunday, let the sermon have

cost ever so much time and thought, prayer and anxiety. This being the case, the form of sainthood perhaps more needed among us than any other, is a manifest superiority to the cor ruption of riches, and a determination, known and read of all men, to consecrate the fruits of industry and blessing to the Lord who permits their in-gathering. The triumph of the rich man over his riches is a great victory, now and here. Garlands and civic crowns might well be adjudged to such a hero. He must be no devotee to poverty, no despiser of the thrift, the enterprise and the glorious success of our conventional life; but one who, having entered largely into trade, and fully succeeded, learns to make his gains the fuel of that holy fire which alone has power to consume all selfishness in the career of charity.

Such a man, if we have rightly read various notices of his character and actions, was the late Amos Lawrence, whom we cannot forbear to mention when we think of some of the saintly lives lately closed among us. Known alike as the head of one of the most distinguished commercial houses in the United States, and as the most liberal dispenser of charity in the most beneficent city in the world, we cannot but feel that he is indeed an example of the virtue we most need. Nowhere is the influence of wealth likely to be worse than where its duties are so little determined by established requirements, or hereditary obligations, and where every man is the exclusive controller of his own possessions. Over all the temptations besetting the wealthy class in our country, Amos Lawrence must be confessed to have obtained a complete victory. He began as a poor boy; he made his fortune by hard work; he grew up under the spur of emulation; he dealt in a community where a moderate generosity would have conciliated the entire respect of the public;