"Simon Peter, lovest thou me ?" his answer was, "Yea, Lord." His Master replied, "Feed my sheep." He repeated the question, and the answer was repeated. It was asked a third time, and Peter's full heart was touched; his strong Friendship and Benevolence and Approbativeness were awakened as well as his faith when he responded with emotion, "Lord, thou knowest all things-thou knowest that I love thee!" The Master answered, "Feed my lambs." Such a colloquy would have been impossible with the Apostle Paul.

When Peter saw his Master walking on the sea, he was the only one who cried out, "Bid me that I come to thee." This was eminently characteristic of him. It showed his faith, his enthusiasm, his affection, and his impulsiveness; and when his large Cautiousness became excited by the novel dangers of the scene; when his reason began to teach him that he was walking on an unnatural foundation; when he began to consider the perilous condition in which he was placed, his faith wavered and he began to sink, and his impulsive, affectionate, confiding faith, as well as his fear, were instantly expressed—“ Lord, save, or I perish !”

When the Master suggested that his disciples would leave him, Peter spoke up bravely and yet impulsively, “Though all forsake thee, yet will I not." When enemies offered bold and manly opposition, Peter could draw the sword and defend the cause at the expense of the ears of the high-priest's servant; he was ready to battle for his Master.

On the Mount of Transfiguration, Peter, James, and John being present, Peter's affectionate heart began to glow; his brave and enthusiastic spirit burst forth and said, "Lord, it is good for us to be here. If thou wilt, let us make here three tabernacles-one for thee, one for Moses, and one for Elias."

At the trial of Christ, before his crucifixion, a maid of the high-priest came to Peter and said," And thou also wast with Jesus of Nazareth;" and he denied it, saying, "I know not, neither understand I what thou sayest;" and a second maid saw him, and began to say to them that stood by, "This is one of them!" And he denied it again. This was done, not so much from a want of integrity, but through excessive Approbativeness, and that kind of gallantry for woman that can not bear to have her ridicule and laugh at him. Millions of followers of Christ have denied him in various ways from excited Approbativeness, who, like Peter, have gone out and "wept bitterly" when the excitement of that feeling had subsided, and when Conscientiousness and Veneration and Benevolence had an opportunity of coming into action. There is no feeling which it is so exceedingly difficult to withstand as that of mortified Approbativeness. Shame, of all the emotions, unless it be remorse, cuts the deepest. Had Peter been endowed with larger Self-Esteem and less Approbativeness, he would not have denied his Lord, nor would his Lord have prophesied such a result. Peter has been made the subject of ungenerous

comment for many centuries; but we can well understand how, without any serious moral obliquity, even a strong, bold, courageous man like Peter, when assailed on this tender point of Approbativeness, could break down and for the moment even deny his Master. We should try to avoid doing the same thing; but if we chance to fail in our faith and courage at the trying moment, let us remember that the Apostle" went out and wept bitterly." And if we deny our Lord as did Peter, let us at least have the grace to repent of it as earnestly and as quickly.

A CONVENTION OF THE FACULTIES.*

BY S. T. SPEAR, D.D.

THE several faculties which constitute the grandeur and glory of our spiritual humanity as so many distinct and separate persons, held a convention. Each of these mysterious persons made a formal statement of his exploits in the kingdom of mind. I saw them, and heard them, and took brief notes of what they said.

Perception through the bodily senses-a solid and matter-of-fact-looking character thus opened the conference: "My office is to make men acquainted with the outward world. I am a sentinel posted on the watch-tower of material nature. By me the eye sees, the ear hears, and the hand touches. I rock the cradle of the first human thoughts. With me begins all knowledge. All the physical sciences come to me for all their facts and observations. In my own sphere I am supreme; and whoever disputes my authority in that sphere is simply a fool, with whom it will be a waste of words to hold any argument."

"Yes," said Consciousness. a much more delicate and ethereal personage, now becoming the speaker" this is indeed your work; but let me tell you that I have an eye that you have not. If you see matter, I see mind. I am a soul seer; and but for me men would know nothing about themselves. What they call mental science is simply the inscription of my pen. By me the soul works in an atmosphere of pure light, and bathes itself in the limpid stream of self-knowledge. I am the sun of the interior world, and shed my beams on all its parts.”

"Very true," responded Memory, seeming to be loaded with an immense budget of something."Yet bear in mind that I am the keeper of knowledge. I am the historian and antiquarian of the soul. I tread the walks of the mysterious past, and connect that past with the present. All that man acquires he trusts to my care, and I keep it safely for his future use. Without me there could be no education, no mental progress, and no well-taught experience."

Intuition next came forward, having an eye blazing with the very whitest light, and thus addressed the conference: "Wait a moment!

Published in The Independent, after the manner of "A Debate in Crania," published in Our Annual for 1865.

I have not yet spoken. I have a sharper eye than all of you-I am absolute sight. All primitive ideas and necessary principles are mine. I am, after all, the ultimate authority. I hold no disputes, and I hear none. When I speak, all men believe. My opinions are laws. I depend on nothing but myself. All absolute certainties must have my indorsement."

"All right, so far!" said Reason, bearing the distinctive marks of being a hard worker. Yet argument is mine, syllogism is my formula; conclusions are my creations, and premises my instruments. I pass from the known to the unknown, using the former to find the latter. The Websters, the Bacons, and the Newtons of the race are my pupils. Even common people can do nothing without me. Having an end, I plan the means. Seeing an event, I find the When anything is to be proved, my services are always in demand."

cause.

Imagination had been patiently waiting her turn; and now it came. Before uttering a word, she spread her plumes and scented the air with fragrance. Her shining countenance, her long and flowing robes, her graceful attitude, at once fixed all eyes and opened all ears. Thus she proceeded: "I am the creative faculty, reconstructing the relations of thought, gathering nectar from every flower, culling all the beauties that exist in the garden of nature, and so combining them as to delight the children of men. At my touch the passions burn. The Cowpers and the Miltons were taught in my school. The diction of the orator is the charm I have lent him. A common object in my hands shines like a gem. I know where men keep their hearts, and how to reach them. Reason, until warmed by my inspiration, is cold, passionless, and unimpressive."

And who is that grave, sedate, dignified, and imposing character, that followed the Imagination with the measured and awful tread of moral truth? Hear him: "I am Conscience. That is my name. I am the sense of right and wrong in human action. I enact and publish laws for the government of men. Of their duties, I judge. I am the great comforter of the good, and the unpitying tormentor of the bad. My smile is peace, and my frown is woe. Those who dispute my authority do so at their peril. Those who keep my laws are safe. Both the happiness and the virtue of the world depend on my sway. The God who made me,

made a monarch."

At length a character, seemingly little else but bone and muscle, marched forward, and, mounting the rostrum, gave utterance to the following words: "I am the Will-the free, the sovereign, the choosing power. When I tell the hand to move, it moves. When I bid the reason to think, it thinks. I am the commander-in-chief of all these forces. Purposes and decisions are mine. Ends adopted and plans pursued are my choice. I say Yes and I say No. Energy is simply the steadiness of my hand. But for me these other speakers would be a mere mechanism of rigid and inelastic fate. Philosophers have long disputed

whether I am a free man or a slave; yet I have always assumed my own freedom. If there be any chains binding me, I never felt them."

Just at this point there was a general and sudden rush, as of a vast crowd in violent motion-a sort of universal buzz, that seemed for the moment very seriously to mar the good order of the conference. Here we are!" shouted the Feelings, all appearing anxious to be heard at once. "Yes, here we are -all the Desires, all the Propensities, all the Emotions, and all the Affections, that figure so largely in the history of earth. True, we do not think as does the reason, or choose as does the will; yet we are the steam-power of humanity, both heating and moving its thoughts and furnishing the ultimate seat of all its joys and sorrows. We form the impulsive electricity of human life. We sing all the tunes of that life. We magnetize souls. We constitute alike the attractions and repulsions of men. We have been known by different names, and felt in every heart, ever since God made man of

the dust of the earth. We shine in the eye, and we blush on the cheek, and weep in the falling tear. We paint the purest characters of time, and adorn with our own grace all that is human. We can make a hell or a heaven in any bosom."

Is it possible that all these multiform wonders are brought together in one soul? Is each single man such a stupendous picture-gallery of marvels? Lives there in every human breast such a vast empire of powers? Is this indeed the man whom we see walking the streets-so God-like in his nature, so glorious when morally erect, and so fully showing his original stateliness even when lying in the dust? What guests, then, did earth receive when human souls came here to dwell? What a wealth of being moves with this revolving globe! What a wealth of being death is transmitting to some other sphere! Humanity is surely no cheap article to be pitched into a gutter, and left there to rot. Its powers are imperial and immortal. It took a God to make a man. Millions of material suns are not equal to one soul. The universe of souls is immeasurably grander than the universe of matter. The ruin of a soul is the greatest evil imaginable. A chaos of matter would be a sorry sight, but " a chaos of the soul is a sorrier spectacle than a chaos of worlds."

[So each and all the faculties of the mind

THIS portrait of the composer Verdi represents an excellent organization temperamentally. There are marks of physical strength and endurance here which few modern musicians can boast. The base of the brain is broad and prominent, the nose plump and large, and the whole mass of the face wide, compact, and strong. The brain is wide in the region of the temples, showing large Tune, Constructiveness, Ideality; Form and the perceptive faculties generally are largely developed, while it may be safely inferred that the back-head is well rounded, giving warmth of social feeling and much passionate impulse. His intellect adapts him to appreciate details, relations, to collect information and retain it. He has a good degree of descriptive or graphic

ability, which coupled with his strong imagination enables him to depict in romantic phrase those phases of life which as a sympathetic member of society he is disposed to admire. He is ardent and aspirational, fond of popular applause and appreciative of worldly reputation. He lives a physical, earthly life in the main, is not much worked on or influenced by religious or spiritual considerations. He is firm and determined in his purposes, rather independent in action, yet desirous of the favor of society and friends. He en joys deeply the surprise and admiration produced by the production of a brilliant musical work, and at the same time expects such expressions of approval. Criticism and depreciation deeply wound him, but do not disturb his confidence in himself. He aims to serve and please the world, and at the same time would have the world respect and honor him.

Guiseppe Verdi, the great Italian composer, was born on the 9th of October, 1814, in the small village of Roncole, where his father kept an inn. He received his first musical instruction from the organ-player of the church of his native village. He went to Milan in 1833, and there took lessons of Lavigna, the leader of the theater "La Scala." In 1839 his first opera was brought on the stage, with a very favorable result; it was "Oberto di San Bonifacio." The next, "Giorno di Regno," did not please the public; but his "Nabucco" carried his fame far beyond Italy, into all civilized countries. Then followed, in 1844, "Lombardi" and "Ernani," with even greater success than the others.

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Verdi composed new operas in rapid succession, as "Il due Foscari," 1845; "Jeanne D'Arc," "Alzira," 1846; "Attila," 1847; and subsequently, Macbeth," "I Masnadieri," "The Corsair," "Battle of Legnago," "Louise Miller," "Stiffelia," "Rigoletto," "Il Trovatore," "La Traviata." In 1845 he brought out "Sicilian Vespers." Later appeared

Aroldo," "Simon Boccanegra," "Un Ballo in Maschera," and "Lear." His last work is "Don Carlos," which has recently been performed with great pomp at Paris, and has received the attention of all the first Continental theaters. Verdi is a modern composer in the fullest sense of the word. His music is lively, sparkling, melodiously sweet, and appeals fully to the senses, but he lacks the depth and sublimity of the great old masters. His music

is of that light, sparkling character which is adapted to represent on the operatic stage the sprightlier phases of fashionable gaiety, and for that reason is among the most popular music in common use. The operas "Rigoletto," "Il Trovatore," "La Traviata," "Un Ballo in Maschera," are frequently produced in the music halls of Europe and America, and always command large audiences.

Our Social Relations.

Domestic happiness, thou only bliss

Of paradise that has survived the fall!
Thou art the nurse of virtue. In thine arma
She smiles, appearing as In truth she is,
Heav'n-born, and destined to the skies again.—Cowper,

SPIRIT GREETINGS.

BY SARAH E. DONMALL.

AT nine o clock, remember, the hour at eventide,
When, though unseen, I'm standing in spirit by thy side,
One hand upon thy shoulder, one clasped within thy own,
Then, dearest love, remember the hour you're not alone.

With face and eyes uplifted, I'm gazing into thine,
To read thy heart's emotion that Love reveals to mine;
To watch cach thought and feeling that o'er thy features

play,

And see thee sweetly smiling, as thou dost smile alway. You'll know just when I'm coming; for all the dark and gloom

Will vanish in a twinkling from out your lonely room;
And if you'll listen, darling, across the fallow lea
You'll hear the spirit's greetings of hope and love to
thee.

Then through the open casement, and through the open door,

The silent, shimmering moonbeams will play upon the floor;

And all the stars of heaven will brighter, brighter seem, And you perchance will think it a sweet delicious dream.

But, ah! this life is real; as you and I both know: We can not chain the spirit here in this stern world below:

But like the wind that bloweth o'er flowery mead and dell,

It cometh and it goeth-but how, we can not tell.

Oh! holy the communion when soul to soul is drawn,
In silence, like the shadows that fall upon the lawn;
And sweet as dewy fragrance that scents the evening air,
And pure the spirit greetings, as holy angels are.

MRS. DAFFERTY was not born low down, where women are born, but high up, where ladies are born. Her father belonged to the very top layer of society, and was known as a tip-top gentleman; for as soon as he entered on the business of life he began to make money, and made it faster than lightning can leap from one cloud to another. Fortune, who seems to have likes and dislikes, favoring some and frowning on others, called Mr. Cluff her well-beloved son, and poured her treasures into his lap. What wonder was it, then, that Alice Cluff had more suitors at her feet than she could manage? And what wonder was it that Mr. Dafferty, son of an unsuccessful

father, and grandson of a still more unsuccessful grandfather, pressed his suit with more earnestness than all the rest, knowing, as he did, that marrying rich is the easiest way in the world to get rich.

To say that Mr. Dafferty saw no charms in Miss Alice, and sought her only for the pile of rocks that was to be hers, would, however, be uncharitable. And yet to say that he was ambitious to marry poor would be very untruthful; for he thought that a good wife, with riches thrown in, was a very desirable possession for a man.

With this conviction, he placed himself in the forefront of the line of lovers, and wooed and won and married Miss Alice.

And no man could have desired a more beautiful bride than she was on her wedding evening, as she passed down the aisle of the crowded church, and no bride could have been more quiet in the consciousness of beauty. Neither did any one in the well-packed church fail to receive the impression that a beautiful bride always makes.

"Our city has lost its belle, and the young men will have dull times now," said one. "Mrs. Trevalle will have a chance at last to push her plain-looking daughters forward," said another. " They won't look quite so homely as they have when Alice Cluff is fairly gone."

And another said—and she was a lady who prided herself upon being able to read character-"There is nothing plain or coarse about Miss Alice-now Mrs. Dafferty; she is the very soul of refinement and elegance, and well she may be, for not even the shadow of poverty has ever passed over her. She knows nothing whatever of the coarse associations of the poor."

Probably no one appreciated the "refinement and elegance" of Alice more than did Mr. Dafferty, and he left the church a proud as well as a happy man.

The home he had prepared for her was a home of luxury. Everything was in harmony with the "refinement and elegance" of the bride, and "the shadow of poverty" seemed farther removed than ever. Their married life, so pleasantly begun, moved pleasantly on. The years, one after another, came and went, but brought nothing and left nothing but prosperity.

Ten years had gone, and Alice Dafferty was neither a widow nor the wife of a poor man, but the petted wife of rich Judge Dafferty, for everything he had touched had turned to gold. She was ten years older than she was the night she passed out of the church, the admiration of all beholders; but she was only slightly changed, for the troubles and struggles that scar and mar so many she had known nothing of, as she had lived in all the ease and comfort that money brings.

'What do you know of the world, Alice?" said her husband, one wild night of winter, as she sat in her velvet chair by the register, with her velvet

slippered feet held out to receive the hot air. "What do I know of the world?" answered Mrs. Dafferty. "Well, I know it's not so bad a world as some would like to make it. Come, if you'll look like yourself, and not like grave Judge Dafferty, I'll sing you that song:

This world is not so bad a world
As some would like to make it;
But whether good, or whether bad,
Depends on how we take it.'"

"You can take it' in only one way,” replied Judge Dafferty, "for your knowledge of the world is confined to its good and pleasant things."

"Of course, my grave judge, I can't have the experience of poor people, for I have never been poor, and I can assure you that I have not the slightest desire to be. It agrees with my temperament and tastes to be rich and have such a home as this. Really, I think I was never born for poverty. I am not adapted to it."

"And who do you think is 'adapted to it?” replied Mr. Dafferty. "Judging from the struggles of people with poverty, I should say there are none in the world who perceive its adaptation to themselves."

"Well, do tell me what has stirred you up, my solemn judge. What have you been por ing over in that newspaper?"

I've been poring over an article on 'The Woman Question,' as it is called."

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The Woman Question ?' Well, I suppose it says that women are angels, and that mankind ought forever to concede to them that great fact."

"No; it says that hundreds and thousands of women are dying of half-paid labor, and that ladies—ladies who know nothing of toilare not in sympathy with them. It says, too, that the labor of women, whether it be the labor of the hands or the head, will never bring a just price until justice gives every woman her rights."

"Well now, Judge Dafferty, if you haven't got hold of that newspaper-religious newspaper they call it-that publishes so many articles on women's rights! That crazy old progress man, that fanatic and reformer, has lent it to you, and the first thing I know you'll be as wild on the great question as he is. Really, I for one am tired of it. A body can hardly find a literary article in any newspaper or magazine in these days. Everything is about women! women! women! I wonder where the great question of 'Women's Rights' started ?"

"In women's wrongs, of course. No one can look deeply and candidly into this great question and not see that it has its source in wrongs."

"I'm not at all sure of that. I'm inclined to think it has its source in ambition," replied Mrs. Dafferty, dropping her embroidery and throwing herself back in her velvet chair. "The women of these days-the women, mean, not the ladies-are very ambitious to take the places of men, and I have no sym

I

pathy with them. My whole nature revolts at the idea of calling them ladies, for they have never risen above the low level of women, and they are not content with the place, assigned them in the world."

"Ah, Lady Alice Dafferty," said the judge, with a smile, “you may well be content with the place assigned you in the world, for it is a very easy place-a place where no storms and tempests come, and where you sit and breathe summer air in winter as well as in summer. The seasons and the years come and go, but bring you no discomforts, no hardships."

"Now, don't preach to me as if you were an ordained clergyman, please don't.”

"I want to bring you into sympathy with women-with toiling, suffering women—and I must talk. Women do not seek power for its own sake, or because they want the places of men. Nearly all who advocate Women's Rights' have been led, through suffering, to do it, and their own troubles have opened their hearts to the troubles of others, of those who, like themselves, need relief. A great many of them, Alice, have no rich husband for a prop, and some have no husbands at all, but are widows, with five or six children to support; and they know that the advancement of women to a higher place than they have ever yet occupied will give them new ways and means of support, and make everything they do more profitable."

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'Come, now, be amiable enough to drop that paper, and let's have a literary article from one of those magazines lying on the table."

"There is no such teacher as experience, you know, Alice," continued Judge Dafferty; "and if you had been compelled to toil and struggle, you would be in sympathy with women, with these very women whom you regard as ambitious to be in the places of men, and whom you denounce as no ladies. Yes, Lady Dafferty, you would feel the sufferings of women, if you had only suffered yourself. And you would appreciate the disadvantages under which they labor, if there had ever been in your life anything that could be called a disadvantage."

Mrs. Dafferty winced a little, and moved uneasily in her velvet chair, but replied, as if not yet convinced of women's wrongs, "What you say may possibly be true, but you know there is a very great difference between women and ladies"

"Yes, I know it, and I know, too, that ladies often fail to be womanly. Now, I want my wife to be a true woman as well as a true lady, and I want her to be in womanly sym

pathy with all women who are tasked and tried, and who sigh and cry for the just reward of labor. You may depend upon it, Alice, that 'Women's Rights,' about which there is so much noise in the world, and women's wrongs are closely connected."

Judge Dafferty said no more, but, while Lady Dafferty sat thinking, took up his dropped newspaper, and was soon lost in the study of" The Woman Question."

Yes, the woman question. And what man, or what woman, living in the light of the nineteenth century, shall dare call the woman question an inferior question?

What lady shall sit at ease in her palace, and, handling her rich embroidery with jeweled fingers, laugh at the toils of women and sncer at "The Woman Question ?"

"NO

CARDS."

BY RHO. SIGMA.

ON taking up a morning paper, the first thing I do and does not every woman the same?is to glance down the column of “Marriages" and "Deaths," to see if any whom I know have passed through either of these most momentous epochs in human life. Occasionally I meet with a familiar name. It may be that of an old schoolmate or early friend; and many a pleasant recollection prompts the tear of regret for the departed, or the hope of happiness for the wedded.

Sometimes I find recorded here the death of one whom I but lately saw in the enjoyment of health, and surrounded by everything that serves to make life desirable; or the marriage of some young couple concerning whose courtship Mrs. Croaker declared a thousand times" that it never would come to anything." But, whether these things be so or not, the perusal of this column always furnishes food for reflection. Under the head of "Deaths" we frequently find "Curiosities of Literature," which make ridiculous the sublimity of grief; and occasionally, though far too seldom, we see appended to marriage notices the words, "No Cards."

In these days, when the reign of Fashion is almost supreme, it costs somewhat of a struggle for the generality of young people to act in defiance of her laws, especially when those laws are delightfully in accord with their own wishes. Excepting that of being born, and that of dying, marriage is the most important event in life, and this fact is usually felt by those who are about to take upon themselves its vows and responsibilities. It is a popular institution, and the majority of young people desire to make their wedding as popular an occasion as all the appliances of Fashion can render it. But the majority of young people do not belong to the "highest circles," where alone the capricious queen holds undisputed sway. Let us leave her laws for those who are bound to obey them,

while we consider whether you, young clerk or book-keeper, and you, young lady, who intend to marry a book-keeper or clerk, had not better append to your marriage notice the dissyllabic conclusion, “No Cards.”

Setting aside the bare cost of the cards, which will be anywhere between fifty and three hundred dollars, according to style and quantity, look at the expense involved in a brilliant wedding and the consequent reception. Of course the time and labor spent in preparation are not taken into account, nor do I ask you to consider the sum total for the bridal tour, which, whether long or short, will be considerable. At the lowest figure, the cost is from three to five hundred dollars more than it would have been had the parties been contented with a plain ceremonial and "No Cards." To be sure, five hundred dollars isn't much when you can count your tens of thousands. But to a young couple just setting out in life it is a very considerable sum. Five years hence they can realize it better than At the end of that time many a young wife is broken down with care and toil, much of which might have been spared her had she been willing to forego a stylish wedding.

now.

"But," objects some calculating young lady, "the presents one gets more than cover the cost."

Well, admitting that they do, that is just what I don't like. I never begged in my life. No kind of honest contrivance, no manner of fashionable subterfuge, no sort of pretext however plausible, can make it respectable.

Should queen Fashion decree that I stand at the street corner with my hand outstretched and a placard on my breast, or that I send out cards, saying that at such a time I would be at home to receive anything that people had a mind to give me, I would be equally as obstinate in the latter case as in the former. Look at it which way you will, it is neither more nor less than begging. Certainly, if one fancies it, the most pleasant way is to do it elcgantly and politely. But fashionable beggary doesn't pay as well as genuine mendicancy. If you want to make it profitable, you had better procure a tattered gown and basket; and if you can hire a small baby at a reasonable price per day, you will succeed handsomely, no doubt.

But, seriously, the gifts seldom cover the expense. The actual and immediate cost may be returned threefold, but in the long run you are the loser. Suppose your wedding cost you five hundred dollars, and your gifts amount to as many thousands, how much will it cost you to live in a style corresponding with them? Book-keep-ing-ly and clerk-ing-ly speaking, when will you be able to do it? Five hundred dollars would help you materially on rent-day. Will wedding presents do this? A clerk on a salary of twelve hundred was married recently, and had ten thousand dollars' worth of presents. I wonder what he did with them? The presentation of gifts at a wedding is one of the most beautiful of all