Religious Department.

Know,

Without or star, or angel, for their guide,
Who worship God shall find him. Humble love,
And not proud reason, keeps the door of heaven;
Love finds admission where proud science fails.
-Young's Night Thoughts.

SUNBEAMS.

BY BELLA C. BARROWS.

Ir's the sunbeams, not the shadows, That remind me of those friends Whom I hope to meet in heaven, Where the sunlight never ends.

Shall I tell you when the memory
Of the dear ones gone before"
Comes on rays of God's own sunshine,
Arching sorrow's dark gulf o'er?
It is when the morning sunbeams
Chase the shadows from the earth,
And the whole creation waketh
To a new and glorious birth-
It is when the ardent sunbeams
Kiss the dew from lily leaves,
As a mother tear-drops kisses
From her little one who grieves-

It is when the dancing sunbeams
Play upon the quiet stream
That, unconscious, smiles in answer,
Like an infant in its dream!-

It is when the mellow sunbeams
Fall athwart the woodland shade,
And the birds list to the echo

Which their own sweet notes have made

It is when the golden sunbeams
Richly paint the western sky,
And the changing tints of cloud-land
Quickly burn, then quickly die-

It is when the fading sunbeams
Mark the hour of closing day,
And the shadows, dark and darker,
Fall upon my lonely way-
That the thoughts of those I cherish,
And whose absence I deplore,
Come into my soul like sunlight,
And I see the clouds no more.

FAITH IN GOD; OR, CULTIVATION OF THE HEART.

BY A. A. G.

THE most beautiful of all truths, the great and crowning truth of all truths, is that there is a God, a God whose power and love perfectly adapt him to man. Man is a needy being, and God alone can meet his need. In other words, God is exactly what every man wants. It is of more importance to have a clear perception of this truth than to see and clearly apprehend all other truths. Indeed, it underlies all others, and all others will, one day, sink into insignificance before it. Art and science may make it their boast that they can raise man to a great height, that they can develop and cultivate, to a wonderful degree, his intellectual nature, and so they can. But when art has done all it can, when science has done all it can, man still has nothing worth possessing if he has not a God of power and love to meet his highest need. A human

being divorced by his own willfulness from God, and trying to take the long and perilous journey from the cradle to the grave, without Him, is one of the most pitiful of objects. A human being trying to remodel and reconstruct himself and bring himself up from a wreck to a perfect man; a rational, intelligent existence trying to make headway in this world, and hoping to keep clear of rocks and quicksands, and make a prosperous voyage, and sail safely and triumphantly into port, simply by the use of his own powers, and without faith in God, shows most amazing folly.

But it seems to be a great, and not fully answered, question in these days, what it is that God does for a man, and how much he does for him, and what is really the result of his faith in God?

If faith in God brings nothing whatever to needy men, then it is only a fanciful idea, a chimera, a delusion, a something to talk about and write about, if we choose, but of no earthly use to anybody. We, however, are of those who believe that faith in God brings something to the needy, and that its results are glorious and everlasting. We believe that, in answer to this faith, God walks with man, walks by his side, and works in him and for him most powerfully and wonderfully. And therefore we would say to every man: Have faith in God. But let us not for a moment dream that because we have faith in God, we may leave God to do everything for us while we do nothing for ourselves.

No. God works for no man who can, and yet will not, work for himself. This is freely admitted by everybody to a certain extent. It is acknowledged that God does not give to any one the luxuries, or even the necessary things of life, such as shelter, food, and raiment, unless he works for them. If a man, grown weary and impatient of toil, should conclude to spend the rest of his days in idleness and case, and live by faith in God, he would probably have pretty poor living, and a pretty sore experience of poverty. Comfortable homes, fine palaces, fine equipages, rare gardens, and rich fields, all things that men desire and enjoy, come only through toil, and not God's toil, but man's toil. What people want in this world, they must work for. They must enter heartily and energetically into some field of labor, and work in it patiently and perseveringly if they want what nothing but money can buy. This is God's law. Toil and the fruits of toil are inseparably connected, and it is only those who help themselves whose faith in God as a helper is worth anything. Probably no one will say that this is unsound doctrine. No man in his right mind expects ease or even ordinary comforts, however great may be his faith in God, without working for it. And human, as well as divine, effort is necessary in education, whether of the head or the heart. Let a man pray: "Oh, God, make me a scholar. Revea! unto me all the beauties and mysteries of art and science, and teach me all languages, and spare me the

trouble of study"-let him offer such a prayer, and the sum of his learning and the amount of his education would soon be told. But let him ask God to bless his efforts and to help him grow in that patience and perseverance so necessary to the pursuit of all knowledge, and let him have faith that God will answer, and he will then see exactly when and where faith in God comes in to help a man. He will see how beautifully and perfectly this faith chimes with human effort.

Now, in nothing is human effort so much needed as in the education of the heart, and it is the duty of all who want to be made better, not only to believe in God, but to work with him in the greatest of all labor, the cultivation of the heart. Here, as in all other things to. be gained, faith in God will avail nothing if a man does not use all possible means for the cultivation of the heart, and reach out eager hands after all helps, and open his eyes wide, that he may see whatever tends to pull him down or raise him up. And yet it is taught by many, in these last days (we hope they are the last days of ignorance and folly), that men may see anything but themselves, that they must not know their own mental and moral constitution, that if they want to grow better, in other words, want to "grow in grace," all they have to do is to have faith in the God of all grace. But if men knowingly and willingly reject any knowledge that would help to make them better, we can not see how they can consistently ask God to make them better, or how they can expect Him to do it, any more than they can expect Him, without their own effort, to build their houses for them, and lay out the grounds, and cultivate the choice flowers, and rich fruits. God helps men, not by doing for them what they can do for themselves, but by directing them to all the help that is within their reach. And here Phrenology comes in with a strong helping hand, commissioned by God to show men their mental and moral constitutions, that they may know what dangers lie within themselves, and also what helps are hidden in their own being. But too many of them lift up holy hands, and exclaim: Away with that dangerous ology, Phrenology!" They cry out : "Educate the heart; that's the grand secret; educate the heart, and the head will take care of itself." "Educate the heart!" Why, this is precisely what Phrenology aims to do. But it knows very well that the head is next-door neighbor to the heart, and a very influential neighbor too. Once make the head what it ought to be, get every faculty into its proper place, and get all the faculties to work harmoniously, and there will be no discord between the head and the heart, but both will blend and send sweet music up to God.

The full development and perfect harmony of the whole being is the aim of Phrenology. To bring man into harmony with himself and with God is its blessed work. And in all this work, the phrenologist has faith in God. The science of Phrenology, to which he gives his

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life, is too often denounced, but he toils on, and while he toils, has faith in God.

Men and women of the nineteenth century should all work together to advance this great science, this science which, more than any other, educates the heart. And we believeyes, we have faith in God that the day is not far distant when Phrenology will be everywhere recognized as one of the greatest and best educators of the race.

LIVING FOR A PURPOSE.

HAS there ever come floating over your soul in the solemn midnight, or in the hush of solitude, a still, soft echo chanting these words, "For what are you living?" Have not its weird tones followed you to the crowded street?-have they not rang out in the evening bell?-the fearful storm? The voice of the winds has borne them to you; the gushing of the waters as they rush onward to old Ocean, has joined in the murmur, "For what are you living?" And what was your soul's reply to the gentle voice? Was it like the calm music that the sweet-toned harp gives forth to the hand of the musician? or were the strings mute and broken? Do not bid this voice be silent, but think of it-listen to its murmur, and remember that on the answer it receives hangs your future destiny-yes, your future destiny; for if your purpose is high and noble, your life will be noble; also, if your purpose is aimless and low, then your life will be likewise, and you will sink into the grave, "unwept, unhonored, and unsung."

There was once a man whose chief aim from boyhood had been to gain riches. For these he sacrificed love, friendship-everything; but when his object was accomplished, and he could count his millions, life became a dreary blank to the miser. In the darkness of night he fancied he saw gaunt forms of men dividing his gold among themselves; and by day the weird face of starvation looked upon him from every side, for he would rather starve than part with the smallest fraction of his hoarded treasure. Do you wonder that he determined to die? Softly he crept from his gloomy cellar, and clutching his idol, bent his steps toward the river. The flowers looked up as he passed, and the sunbeams smiled sweetly, but he saw them not, and shuddered as the winds murmured, fancying that robbers lay concealed amid the trees.

Now he stands by the rushing, shivering river; one moment more, and the fate of the miser will be sealed forever; but suddenly he pauses, for there before him a woman kneels praying for one penny to buy bread for her children. With a half whisper that he would never need it again," he fills her scrawny hand with money-for the first time in his life gives to the poor-and the woman, little dreaming that she has done an angel's work, prays with uplifted hands that God will bless her preserver.

It is a strange position for the miser, and

with streaming eyes he turns from the dark water. His icy heart is melted, and while he returns along the winding path, the recording angel writes in the book of life,

LIVING FOR A NEW PURPOSE !" With the simple words, "Living for a Purpose," how many a heart-history passes before us! grand lives that cause our souls to burn with enthusiasm. You all know them; they are like brilliant stars upon which you love to gaze and wonder. Yet, amid them all, there shines one Star-the Star of Bethlehem-guiding our weary souls to Jesus, enveloping His life, His purpose, with a shining halo. Is there one that can not admire His character? Is there one that can not love Him who breathed out His life upon the cross? Oh, wondrous life! Oh, mysterious death!

And now by the memory of the Savior's suffering; by the memory of the glorious purposes for which he lived; by the memory of His death and resurrection, let us decide upon our purpose in life. With His example before us, our aim can not but be noble.

Let us clasp His outstretched hand,
Looking forward to the land
Where the sunbeams ever quiver,
And there singeth many a river

BY FREDERIC W. SAWYER.

WE learn from nature that everything in her economy is formed upon the principle of variety and change; that nothing, except the great laws by which matter and mind are governed, is unchangeably fixed. Nature has its successive seasons and its alternations in eyerything, from wet to dry, from heat to cold, from light to darkness. All the vegetable creation has its alternations, its budding, its blossoming, its fruit season, and its apparent decay, again to revive, and bud, and blossom as before. All the animal kingdom has its alternations, more or less mysterious and strange, always changing, never at rest. There is nothing in nature that seems calculated for, or destined to, an unalterable state of repose. So far from that, everything seems predisposed to change. Such is peculiarly the condition of man. A state of rest with him is a state of death. As long as life is in him, there is continual alternation. Man is a harp of a thousand strings;" and perhaps throughout his whole life those finely toned chords are never tasked twice precisely alike. The changes in nature

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keep her bosom always warm and bursting with blessings; and to the never-ending changes of the human mechanism we are indebted for its keeping in tune so long. He who attempts to hold his arm, or even his finger, in one posi tion for any length of time, will soon learn that continued change is the law of nature.

Everything in nature requires, at stated periods, a certain degree of repose. This is as apparent in the economy of the vegetable as in the animal kingdom. From the tenderest shrub to the mightiest oak, each has its season, when, as it were, the tide of life ceases, and seems for a while to slumber. Everything liv ing has its point beyond which its powers can not be taxed with impunity.

Those who give themselves up to one pursuit, either of body or mind, wear out much sooner than those whose pursuits task every day, more or less, all their faculties. The same system of alternations is required to keep the mind healthy as to keep the body so; in fact, they are so intimately connected that the one can not be diseased and the other not sympathize with it. Man needs at times to be gay as well as grave, and sometimes to be sad as well as joyous. The mind is as capable of stagnation as a pool of water. It gathers noxious vapors as truly as does the air. It needs, as they do, its correctives. The mind is always active, whether sleeping [?] or waking; but it can not always be intent on the same subject. When jaded over the pages of Euclid, it finds relaxation in Plutarch, Livy, or Hume; and when spent on history, replenishes its wasted strength in perusing the pages of the poet or the romancer. Each change tasks new powers and new susceptibilities, and gives the others opportunity to rest.

It is to meet the wants of beings thus constituted that we are given a taste for amusements -those that are corporeal, to task otherwise unemployed and dormant powers of the body, and thus make us healthier; those that are intellectual, to task otherwise unemployed and dormant powers of the mind, and thus improve, strengthen, and regenerate it; those that are social, to task otherwise unemployed and dormant sensibilities of the heart, and thus make it warmer and more alive to generous impres sions. In a word, we are given a taste for amusements, and we are given capacities to amuse, that we may gratify the one and use the others for the improvement of our health generally, both of body, mind, and heart; and if we do not gain those advantages from them, we pervert them, just as much as we do the fruits of the earth when we overload our stomachs with them, or distill from them noxious liquors to injure and destroy us; and the amusements are no more in fault in the one case than the fruits in the other. In both cases, the fault is in the abuse, not in the use, of them.

A MAN of genius is inexhaustible only in proportion as he is always nourishing his genius. Both in mind and body, when nourishment ceases, vitality fails.-Bulwer.

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RETROSPECT.

BY MRS. HELEN RICH.

You will think of this, my darling
In some evening yet to be,
How the charmed hours in blessing
Brought sweet love to you and me;
How reclining so before me,

Reading in mine eyes the sign
Of the peace and joy thy spirit

Saw reflected fair from thine;
Of the pure and perfect passion
Making beautiful the earth,
Of the tender silence breathing

Unto each the other's worth;
All the bliss of touch and presence,
Memory of our cherished past,
Glory of the Sometime Coming,

All too glad, too bright to last-
You will say, in some sad hour,

(With a sigh of wild unrest,) "If she could but kneel beside me, With her head upon my breast; If her eyes and lips together

Could say Darling, I could go
Nobly armed for life's stern conflicts,
Bravely meeting joy or woe."

You will close those eyes in dreaming,
That have lit the world for me,
And in poet fancy's seeming
My poor beauty thrill to see
What was gracious lingering over
The unlovely, vailed, and dim,
As a manly, gentle lover

Prays his fate to think of him.
Oh, beloved one! more precious

To this woman's heart than life,

I have given thee a safeguard

From the world of sin and strife.

Like a mantle, I have folded

My true love about thy heart; That shall bless and shield and save thee, If together-or apart.

CANTON, N. Y.

THE MURDER OF THE INNOCENTS.

BY CRAYON BLANC.

Ir a man keep his eyes and ears open in a city like New York, he is pretty sure to see something to grumble at; at least, that is our experience. Now, there is great philosophy in holding one's tongue sometimes; but there are also times when it becomes a duty to speak out. And this is one of the exceptional times.

The other day, happening in at one of our gigantic temples of the beau monde, where money and health and common-sense are thoughtlessly sacrificed to the relentless Moloch of "being in the latest fashion," we saw two ladies giving orders for a complete wardrobe of the richest material and most expensive manufacture. Now, if it had been for their own behoof and benefit, we should not have ventured a remonstrance. They were probably quite able to take care of themselves; and if they chose to commit "satin suicide," we knew of nobody who had the least disposition to interfere. But the victim was a beautiful, rose-cheeked, dimple-chinned baby, who sat on the counter, and was bribed into a reluctant good behavior by a paper of pink and yellow candies judiciously administered at brief intervals by "aunty," while "mamma”

gave directions about the number of tucks and the rows of Valenciennes insertion, and the pattern of the embroidery on the little frocks and skirts.

"Let the dresses all be low-necked, of course," went on the lady; "his shoulders are so beautiful, and I always like to see them uncovered, summer or winter!"

Poor baby! it had evidently had a hard time under the hands of the modiste! The little scarlet lip was yet quivering, and the tears still hung, wet and sparkling, on the eyelashes! Evidently it didn't relish being fashionable. It clutched fiercely at the shell of lace and embroidery that was being "tried on" upon its downy head, and pushed the officious shopwoman away with all the might of its small energy.

Now, what was the use of all that nonsense? A baby is pretty enough at any time, according to our standard of beauty, without a flimsy garniture of lace and ribbon and French work, at so many dollars per yard! We should as soon think of attempting to ornament a fresh crimson rose, or of "dressing up" a diamond! Children have a royal right to enjoy themselves. Surely it is time enough to trammel and distort them with fashionable follies when they become "young gentlemen" and "young ladies." Let them roll in the grass, and pull double handfuls of buttercups and cloverheads, and throw their tiny arms, round and white as carved pearl, into the sunshiny air just as much as they like! These breezes are so many draughts of fresh life-sunburn is healthy!

It seems to us a very King-Herod-like business to initiate babies of six months and a year old into the murderous observances of fashion -to dress them so richly that they are not to be allowed to move for fear of spoiling their fineries to leave their little shoulders and knees bare to winter winds and raw air, "because it looks so sweet." If mothers will persist in this course, they must leave off wondering why the little victims cry and fret incessantly they must not be astonished at pale cheeks and fading eyes. And when “ the baby" has become only a word to be spoken with tears, and the waxen eyelids are closed forever, they must not blame prudence-only their own infatuated folly!

THE QUEEN'S ENGLISH.-The following purports to be a copy of a letter written by a fashionable young English lady while visiting Paris during the Paris Exhibition. In versatility it could hardly be equaled by any specimen of "young American" epistolary writing. The national idioms and slang phrases are decidedly refreshing. Altogether, it is an insight of English social life which a thousand madeto-order novels would not furnish.

PARIS, ST. CRISPIN. "MY DEAREST BEATRICE: We arrived here on Monday all serene, our scheme having been well carried out. Paris is awfully jolly. The scarcity of lodgings is all bosh. It is out of my power to give you a graphic description of the Exposition, which is something marvelous

and a decided success. Our country is not well represented in pictures, few being noteworthy. How idiotic not to have sent better! However, our prestige in water-colors is sustained. The pet utterance, They do these things better in France,' frequently crops up with us, but is not applicable to artistic matters. The French landscapes are less effective than ours, and their portraits are not so realistic. Such lots of lovely china, for which you know my weakness! On my return I am going in for Wedgwood, although my taste will be pooh-poohed. On leaving the Palatial labyrinth' the first day we were completely sold. It was indeed hard lines, for not a cab was to be found, and we had to trudge in the rain and through the mud for miles. What a sell it was! How I longed for our little trap! We pounced upon our new curate in the act of scrutinizing the copes, chasubles, and church ornaments. Notwithstanding his antecedents and reticence, his proclivities are obvious-not that there is anything yet abnormal in his proceedings. Bythe-way, ritual is not likely to be stamped out. Think of our traveling with the Crofts on their wedding tour! They were spooning awfully. How strange that a fast girl should marry such a muff! It seems she has made a mull of it. They were great fun. We fell in also with the Gordon girls with their aunt, in splendid getups; their bonnets were stunning. A man of the party was sweet upon Clara. What gushing girls they are! We have almost done Paris already; for the governor, who knows a thing or two, has a specialty for lionizing. He has many a good dodge, and has forked out well; so we have enjoyed ourselves immensely, and are indeed intensely happy. We are not due till Saturday week, but he has elected to return, via Dover, sooner; so we may put in an appearance on the Friday. We spied poor Benson one day at a distance, looking seedy. He has long been going to the bad, and I fear has come to grief. Short dresses are now an institution. Thanks many for your sensational letter. Your affectionate

ZILLAH.

YOUNG AUTHOR'S SOLILOQUY.
To write, or not to write? that is the question,
Whether 'tis better for a man to endure
The slang and croakings of unfeeling critics,
Or to pass through life in dark obscurity,
And by being naught, shun them.

To read; to write;
Ay, more; for by that life we ever bring
The head-ache, the heart-ache, and other aches
That active men incur. 'Tis indeed very hard
To think of such a course. To read; to write;
To write! perchance succeed. Ay, there's the rub;
For if one fails in this, when once begun,
The world will madly cry aloud
In mockery. That's the reason
An author's life seems so forbidding;
For who would bear the editor's dissent,
The printer's errors, discouraging advice,
The replies of opponents, slander of men,
The publisher's delay, and other ills
That must be borne in the world of letters,
When he himself might destroy his pen,
And thus his pleasure gain? Who would bear reproofs
To groan and work under a weary life,

But that the hope of some good yet to come,
When many articles have been written,
To solace his last days and bring him peace;
And makes us rather bear the ills that are,
Than leave forever the world of letters?
Thus public gaze makes cowards of us all,
And thus native desire of elevation
Is intermingled with fears of failure,
And worthy literary achievements
Which might have rendered the world much better
Are lost in oblivion.
C. T. LEONARD.

WE DO NOT KNOW.

BY FRANCES L. KEELER

WE do not know, when the rose is fair,
That a hidden worm lies sleeping
Beneath the folds of beauty, where
Decay is surely creeping.

We do not know that sunniest smiles
Are masks for hearts all broken;
Lips tell not where the life-grief lies-
Deep sorrow is unspoken.

We do not know how many lives,

Lured downward by temptation, Might be reclaimed by winning words, And saved from degradation.

We do not know, when the thin lip curls,
How much the soul is yearning
For sympathy from some true life,
Where love is brightly burning.

Nor do we know what woes have rent
The hearts we deem unriven;

So let us do what good we can,
And leave the rest with Heaven.

SELF-CULTURE.

BY MRS, JOSEPH B. LYMAN.

NOTH WITHSTANDING the number of colleges and academies in our country, and the facilities afforded our youth by common schools for acquiring at small cost a good education, yet there are a large number of aspiring young men and women who, by the force of adverse fortune, must, to a great extent, educate themselves. Many there are who claim that selfeducation is, after all, nobler and finer in its results than academic culture. Whether or not this be true, one thing is certain: college education does not create brain power. That is born with man. There are many instances of splendid men in American history who have submitted to established courses of academic culture, as well as of those who have fought their own way up to greatness.

George Washington and Abraham Lincoln wrote their names deeper in the hearts of their countrymen and higher on the arch of history than any other men in the Western World, but they as students never saw the inside of a college. Benjamin Franklin, our greatest philosopher and savant, graduated in a printingoffice. Patrick Henry-God only knows the source of his glorious powers-but no alma mater save great Nature lays claim to him. Horace Greeley owes nothing to Cicero or Virgil, to Plato or Aristotle, for his eminence at the head of journalism in this country. And so we might swell the list with many a noble name from our roll of great men, who may thank God and themselves for the positions they have won.

But, on the other hand, there are brilliant testimonials to the advantages of classic culture. Jonathan Edwards, Daniel Webster, Edward Everett, Rufus Choate, William Prescott, and the bright array of men eminent in science and scholarship, who stand at the head of our colleges and universities, the Sillimans, Woolseys, Henrys, and their compeers, show, by both what they are and what they

teach, what prescribed courses of study can do to discipline and polish the human intellect, to aid in the investigation of the mysteries of nature, and bring to bear on the great questions of the present age all the learning and wisdom of the past.

The object of this paper, however, is not to discuss the comparative merits of the two systems, but to throw out some hints for the guidance of those who have no one to direct them in courses of study and thought. Many young aspirants for liberal learning, who have the rudiments and something more of a good education, long to drink deeper at the fountain of knowledge; to become acquainted with the mysteries of science; to understand the profounder truths of philosophy, and develop the resources of their own intellectual and moral natures. They are willing to study, and the world is full of books; but where and how shall they begin? What clew shall guide them through the labyrinthine mazes of libraries to the fountains of truth at their center?

The first conquest to be made is the mastery of language. By this we mean the accurate knowledge of the signification of words, and the ability to use them correctly. The study of Latin and Greek in our schools and colleges is designed to meet this prime demand; but those who have not the time or the means to spend in such long and laborious courses may by the diligent study of two or three books know more of their native English than do the majority of graduates from colleges. In Webster's Unabridged Dictionary may be found the derivation of words so far as scholars can give it, and their various significations. In Crabbe's Synonyms, a book which every student of style and language, unversed in the ancient tongues, will find invalable, the different shades of words of nearly the same meaning are given, with examples showing their proper use. With these two, and Roget's Thesaurus of English words and phrases, classified and arranged so as to facilitate the expression of ideas, one may acquire as good a knowlege of English as will be of practical utility. All the valuable works of antiquity are translated into our language, and though many felicities of style are necessarily lost in the transition, the intrinsic thought is preserved, so that what is really of most worth in ancient writings, we may enjoy without spending years in the study of dead languages. The habit of knowing with exactness the meaning, the correct spelling and pronunciation of the words we use in ordinary conversation is one of the most important we can acquire. Let the student, then, when he sits down to read or write, have the first of these books, certainly, and all of them if he can, at his elbow, and turn their leaves again and again till the full meaning of the author he reads stands distinctly out in the words he uses, or the written page expresses perfectly the thought he wishes to utter. This course, diligently pursued, will, in a short time, give him clearness of ideas and facility in expressing them. We think in words, and

thoughts which we can not embody in words are practically useless to ourselves, and certainly to everybody else.

But to what department of knowledge shall the anguided student turn?-where shall he begin to quench his thirst? Pleni sunt omnes libri-full are all the books. Let him begin at the bottom of the ladder and climb upward, round by round, making every step sure as he goes. Reading, writing, grammar, arithmetic, geography lie at the foundation of common school education, and most everybody is supposed to understand these. But take the first one-reading. What constitutes a good reader? Is it the knowledge of the meaning of the words on a page and the ability to call ¦ them over in succession without hesitation? Take any company you please, of people commonly well educated, and call upon some one to read aloud Dickens' speech, for instance, at the Delmonico dinner, for the entertainment of the rest;-how few will be found willing to respond! And yet is there any excuse for inability to comply with such a request?

So with arithmetic. How many go through the arithmetic and into algebra and geometry who are yet puzzled to apply the simple rule of three in cases that come up in every-day life, and are totally unable to calculate interest, either simple or compound. And you shall find those who have passed through Pope's Essay on Man, Cowper's Task, and Milton's Paradise Lost, who can not, or do not, utter three sentences in common unstudied conversation without murdering Lindley Murray in the most savage manner. So in geography. Ask the young person who has finished Mitchel the direction and extent of the principal mountain chains in the world, and the natural effects springing therefrom, how few will answer intelligently!

But to go back to reading. How shall one cultivate himself in this high art? for such most assuredly it is. In the first place he must perfectly grasp the idea of the writer, and in the next, by his tones and emphasis, properly in- | terpret it to his hearers. This accomplishment can be acquired only by practice. Select a fine passage from some author, and read it again and again aloud, giving each word such intonation and emphasis as brings most meaning from the whole passage. If it is descriptive, the picture must be vivid and complete in your own mind before you can fully paint it in the minds of your hearers. One passage of Shakspeare or Milton, or the sublime parts of the Bible, studied in this manner, will do more to make one a good reader than a whole book carelessly read through aloud.

The same system may be pursued with regard to writing. It is a reproach and stigma to any one in this country to be obliged to make “his + mark,” and yet for all practical purposes how many can do no more! Look at a great many of the letters addressed to editors and public men. Though the contents of most of them may be guessed at, yet it is impossible in many instances to decipher the signature

id post-office address, and how many miskes arise in consequence! If penmanship is egible, it might as well be in Sanscrit or Heew as in English. It is a reproach and a disonor to a person to write a careless, scrawly and, though many of the literary men of the ›untry, and the journalists with Horace Greey at their head, should be guilty of it. The andwriting of an individual is in his absence hat dress and manners are to the same person then present; non-essential, to be sure, in ome respects, but vastly significant, and by no neans to be disregarded. Let the student culivate a round, clear, open hand, legible at east, and beautiful if he can. With the same patient painstaking, let the other branches of common school education be gone over, makng haste slowly, doing nothing mechanically or carelessly, and the habits thus formed of thorough culture will be found of inestimable value in later studies.

While the student is polishing these foundation stones, he may at the same time enter upon higher courses of acquisition. The broad fields of literature, science, philosophy lie invitingly open. But let him remember

"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring;" which translated into prose means simply this: a half truth is dangerous. If you lay hold upon truth, study it in all its relations, not in a part of them only; know all about it that can be known; master it; make it your own. Such knowledge only will make one truly wise. Such knowlege never puffs up. For instance, you take up a history of England and read it through. Unless at the close of the book you can give some of the lessons which that history teaches, what good will it do you to have read it, even though you may be able to repeat the names of every English sovereign, from Egbert down, with the principal events occurring in each reign. Such knowledge by itself is valueless. History is philosophy teaching by example; not a mere list of names and dates. The time of Richard Cœur de Lion, for instance, will take you into the Crusades. Do not pass on into the next reign without finding out all you can about the Crusades, their origin, their history, their effect upon Europe and the East. So the reign of Henry the Eighth will bring you to the era of the Reformation. You must go over into Spanish, German, Swedish history to get anything like a full knowledge of English affairs at this time. The relations of the European states are so intermingled that a knowledge of the history of one will lead you to an acquaintance more or less intimate with all the rest. Be engaged a year, two years, five years in such a course of historical reading, but be thorough if it takes a lifetime. A little garden patch well cultivated will yield more in fruitage and in satisfaction than an acre carelessly tilled. The great fault with many students in college and out is that they take education as they do the measles or the whooping-cough. It comes but once in a lifetime, and is something to be got

ten through with. Better be "in glory and in joy behind the plow upon the mountain side," better be breaking rocks upon the turnpike, than wasting time in such profitless, mechanical study. Not the number of books one has read, or the years spent in reading them, but the manner in which they have been read, the valuable lessons learned from them, the intellectual power acquired in their mastery is the true test of scholarship.

There are a couple of errors into which the self-educated are prone to run, and with a brief mention of them we close this article. First: Those who have picked up their information in an irregular way, finding themselves by the natural force and strength of their minds superior to college-educated men, are prone to underrate regular systems of culture. This is unfair. Benjamin Franklin, it is true, graduated in a printing-office; but if his education had been thorough, he would have left a still deeper mark upon his generation. His political writings would have been profound as well as witty, and he would have been the Goethe of his generation. Second: The self-educated are apt to overrate, or at least to overstate, modern achievement. It is true that the Greeks had no printing-press, nor the locomotive, and the Roman supremacy in arms was won without gunpowder; but in poetry, in art, in oratory, in philosophy, in jurisprudence, in pure mathematics, in theology there has been no essential progress since the time of Christ. No military leader ever surpassed Julius Caesar; no lawgiver was ever equal to Moses; no modern poet can outsing the

"Blind old bard of Scio's rocky isle."

The modern intellect, baptized by Christianity and guided by the genius of Francis Bacon, has turned itself upon the philosophy of uses, and the whole brood of modern sciences has been called into being. But these practical knowledges evince no greater exertion of faculty, and were produced by no finer thinking than illuminate the pages of Plato and glow in the utterances of Demosthenes; so that while we feel a natural pride in the achievements of modern philosophy, we should say with the poet-laureate of England,

"Ancient founts of inspiration
Well through all my fancy yet."

WAR vs. NON-RESISTANCE. DURING the progress of the war the Shaker societies passed through a peculiar experience. Those of them loca ed in the State of Kentucky (Pleasant Hill and South Union) were for years in the power of the Union and Rebel armies alternately. And, although they fed the hungry, and clothed the naked, and nursed the sick of both the contending forces, thus "giving aid and comfort to enemies," yet the officers of either army restrained, as far as possible, the depredations of the rank and file.

They suffered and lost immensely in person and property, but not unto death, or entire destruction of the temporal or community organization.

The frequent communications to the more favorably situated societies of the East, graphically detailing the scenes through which they were constantly passing, ex