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THE ADVANCE, FEm\j ABY 28, 1862. TO Kunnx. fortliu IIV T. «. More prccloaf than tin- bright v*t P»r • weotor than tin* rt»tM\ Which on thy fi»n«hfwl ' O keep It there ttml It «hatl bo Thy watchword »nd thy guide ; 'Twill pro«p<»r. krrp and nholter the« Through lift 1 what else b«tld<t, Tkcn guard It woll. 'twill prov« to thee A trfanon rarv and pure. Through life and death, 'twill comfort be, A ftolat'c ever aura Then wt<<»p no mor« though all teoin gone. All whom thy hoart laid dear ; Soon shall a hrlphtor morning dawn, And a fond tru« friend thy pathway choor. Kdward*, Feb. *l, 18IW. ~~ ROSS LEAVES. (Wrlttoii for thu Advance] The sea sang on its old wild melody, while I waudered along its sandy beach, wondering what could be the burden of its ceaseless song. It spoke to me of fairy bowers 'neath the dark blue waters, till I almost longed to roHtn through the sparkling caves and trend the coral halls. Again -it sung a wild dirgo like strain, and I wept for joys now gone. There on the stranded shore I listened to that low mournful moaning of the waves and it seemed to mo to be the last sad requiem sounded o'er my early hopes. Can any word be sadder than Unit of orphan! alone in the world win* I. No father's hand to guide me, m» mother's smile to cheer me on through life, IK it wonder then that my soul answered the wail of the senior that memory came hu k like a fairy-winged angel touching and bright- ening with her magic wand the dreams of by-gone days. Of crimson and gold wete the clouds* in heaven's dome, and gazing down like M'raph forms on the beauteouH earth l>eneath, calmed my throbbing heart. Pimter before my eyes came the scenes of the far distant past, ami my childhood's home 1 beheld once more. I seenmd to hear the waving and rustling of snowy pinions and knew that starry eyes wore searching my very heart. I saw again the loved of other days, when I with them in the happiness of our childish sports eh used away the golden hours of pleasure. Again, in all its regal beauty did the old and ancient forest stand before my gaze. Methiuks I can now hear the wild birds pouring forth his song, with untutored sweetness in Home shadowy glen. Where the beauti- ful arbor in days gone by was but a bro- ken column around which the ivy green was clinging. \Changed! all changed\ the waves sang. I law rapidly did these pictures pass before miae eyes, while still the sea ut- tered its strange music and the words now borne to my earn were \such is life! oh! such is life.' 1 Yes 'tis so changing and failing away before my gaze but thou oh sea! art changeless since the day that the stars first sang together, hast thou been the same. I wandered on, yet with a feeling of calm content with my Lot in my heart, which had IKJCII lulled to rest by the plaintive music of the *av««. DOHA. HUKliaTT. But we pass to the one great lesson taught in the scene l»efore us—it is hu- mility, and humility also as the condition of spirtual growth and an element of strength. Friends, it Ua lesson which we need to learn, ahd the necessity is just in propor- tion to the prevalence of its opposition, i. e., \rrtrerence.Q That this is come to bo a characteristic of our age and land es- pecially, needs no proof. There is a gen- eral restlessness under the proper restraint of law, a wide spread disregard of holy and noble and venerable things, an al- most universal broaking up of the old checks and safeguards of society. We are carrying our splendid theory of self- government to a degree of independence which amounts almost to licentiousness. We are unwilling to confess an al'solute authority anywhere, and set up entiiely our own account. Amid our proud achievements, amid the magnificent suc- cesses that culminate in this wonderful prosperity, we practically deny the min- istries that an; addiesscd to the more abiding wants of the soul. We imagine that lawlessness is freedom. We have let the common and giant and pernicious error somehow get a widespread domin- ion, that subserviency to religious observ ances and a subdued reveronce for sacred things are only tokens of weakness —that religion is something tor the feeble hand and slumbering form, rather than the vi- tal energy of the manliest action and the glory of the truest heroism. We forget that religion has had its noldimt as well as its devotees, and that the bravery that unsheathed its dripping sword in the strife for mortal glory, has faded out be- fore the nobler courage that has borne all things for the sake of Christ. This ir- reverence is, indeed, a sad characteristic of our times, an almost universal ma- laria. < In almost every home tho reins of pa- rental authority are slackened. It would be hard perhaps to find a well regulated household, where a father's word calmly but firmly spoken, is obeyed and must IM); where a mother's love does not often overcome hfc sense of justice; where the respect for maturer . age and wisdom is taught, which grows at last into the firm allegiance to great principles, and a holy regard for sacred things. So almost anywhere we see an absence of respect forage. The old man whose face furrowed with the lesson of a grand experience; who stands in a holy soli- tude, in the margin of this life, looking out into that other, whence the old voices come sweeter and clearer every day; whose gradual descent to the last sleep, which wakes on an everlasting morning, is like tho sinking of the sum- mer sun, that (lings its gentle radiance back upon the earth, and on the clouds that blush as they receive the euainoring kiss, tho old man is sought no longer as an oracle of wisdom; no longer cherished as^a blessing left us from the past. And yet what sight more beautiful, more touching than the old age of a true life; the hand tremulous from labor in the cause of righteousness*; the step feeble from its long walking upon errands of mercy; the silver crown, the feeble type of that angelic cornet, that waits the other side. What more instructive than the long life-lesson of that old age? the successive experience crystalizing, one by one, into the rich wisdom that lifts up the world, yet kept forever as memories dear and precious; first the form of a. mother, from whose lips trem- bled a music since unknown; then per- haps the image of the first old love at school, ripening perchance into a less ro- mantic but tender reality ; then the bright dreams that filled the future with visions of power and glory; then the hard yet noble offices of maturity, bequeathing each a needed lesson, and bringing eath a holy responsibility, till the thought of, departure to a changeless home is wel- come to the weary spirit. , And yet, how seldom does old age stand to us in this holy light! 'There is no surer prophecy of the decay of a na- tion's power and glory, 1 says Burke, 'than a decline of reverence for old age.'— Write out that truth, as one of the max- ims that shall give the new natural life that is toconle to us for this home of trav ail, a fadeless dominion and splendid im- mortality. Naturally enough this irrev- erence—this license in the house grows into the spirit that scoffs at the Sabbath, that denies the worth of duty, that will accept no law but the feeble whisper of an unenlightened conscience,—readily enough this disrespect for age grows into the spirit that will hear to no divine au- thority, that uenies the need of all reli- gious instructions. Again: it is this irrevwence that ripens into revolutions. It is this very spirit that struck down your holy flag and trampled it in the duet. This gigantic rebellion that shakes the pillars of our national glory, riots in an arrogant dis- regard of the al>solute law of human right, in a careless defiance of the ada- mantine principles of justice, and honor, and liberty; in a haughty indifference to the changeless law of Almighty Uod, who has made humanity everywhere in his own image!—the black mmi ami the white, the servant and the master. Be- hold how this irreverence has prepared nml is meeting an awful retribution. The hard leason of humility here as nlways must be learned. The absolute law comes out in its glory, even tho' it wade through clouds of fire and seas of blood. On southern aoil to-day the slave is freer than his master, and the old flag onc« more unfurled, thank 'God, and waving with added glory on the shores of poor ruined Carolina, is, I believe the inevita- ble manifesto of a complete emancipa- tion. We have, only to fear that it will come too soon, before the nation, or the slave is ready for the solemn hour. My friends, to counterbalance and check this irreverence, the general and careless Fourth of July independence, that saddens many a home, and corrupts society, and scoffs, at religion, and is fast undermining the very structure of our national prosperity,—surely we need to learn the lesson of humility. We need surely to understand that all spheres of existence arc governed by laws as abso- lute and certain as the decrees of destiny. Against these eternal regulations we war in vain. The history of all large life, and all great achievements is tho record of humility, aye, of even servitude to these vast laws. ObeiUenee^ a word now little understood is the grandest condi- tion of the soul; the only certain guar- antee Of its ultimate success. The inon- archs of the race arc ever the humble searchers and inculcators of principles that exist from everlasting to everlasting. The wisest philosopher is he who sits as a learner at the feet of absolute truth.— The genius of discovery is only the pa- tient will to labor, the utter allegiance to unknown laws that lead the humble fol- lower from the visible to the invisible. It matters little of what the chain is wrought that binds it to that weary but- still noble servitude. Whether it be a silver band woven of star light, and making the wan lens of its splendid pris- on. Orion, in his massive mail, and the celestial Virgin Who feels no thrill of passion, but severely watches even more, or whether some magnificent conception leads it out to battle with stormy seas, still its triumph is the fruition of humili- ty. The opulent power that rules whole generations is the strength that comes from t/beditme. t - Brcthcm, I know no complete rebuke of all arrogance, no more decisive chiding of all thoughtless indepe recollection that the gr< ulence, than the at men of the : believer* and past have been reverertf humble worshipers—not believers of hu- man dogmas, nor worshipers perhaps at the gilded shrine of earthly cathedrals, but men who confessed a power higher than themselves—some absolute law which demanded allegiance. As some- body has said, 'When we look up to the first ranks of genius, to Socrates ,and Plato, to Bacon ami Leibnitz,-and New- ton and Webster, we find that they are men who bow before the infinite sancti- ties which their souls discern. All this tends*to the illustration of the truth so broadly stated in the text, that a satisfying religious faith, that spiritual j>ower, that the real strength and beauty of life^ can only come from the humble reception of the teaching of Jesus of Nazareth. If his own word is true, he represents the absolute, the true, the eter- nal in spiritual things. The gospel is not an outworn tradition, but abides 'the same yesterday, to-day, and forever.' 'Whence, 1 says Dr. Walker, * this modern conceit that we are growing BO wise and good as to be in danger of outgrowing Christianity V Friends, we cannot out- grow Christianity if it thus represents the absoluteness of truth and righteous- ness and spiritual beauty. There it stands from age to age, its symbol a rough cross. It pleads for no logical, arguments to support it, for it rests on fact*. It askB for no mortal patronage. It seeks for its own sake, no alliance with earthly influence or splendor, for it is conscious, as truth if ever conscious, of its inherent power and its inalienable supremacy. Do not suppose a moment that Christi- anity comes into the world with an apology on its lips and asking permis- sion to remain. It comes by the ordering of God. It demands a welcome because the Infinite Father would have his chil- dren share its blessings. Its own serene existence amid, convulsions that have shaken and transformed the earth; the fidelty and morality that have lifted the lowly Cavalry to a more than Alpine al- titude of glory, these seal the divine mission of the Nazareth. Not only creat- ing, but revealing the profoundest spir- itual laws, he stands before every age, saying calmly and confidently, '/ am the truth and the life.' Ah, friends, to day, in the plentitude of our strength, furnished with the means that supply all physical wants, our fami- ly circle still unbroken, wo ignore the ministry of the Redeemer. But to-day passes away with all its power and opu- lent prosperity. To-morrow^comes with It* part, the hour fellowship with us, Some season one of hi? b us than the sorrow, or it« message to de- mortal may resist. Surely ;s when we long to feel the •SUB ; when if he goes not alone into the darkness, •epsdown upon us, when assurances is »iore to conclusion of phil- osophy, sweet*\f Hr awecter tian the world's choicst n<jjhiien<:e. \AA. US confess >]L W orth of Cnristiani ty. Let us revertiag coming down out of heaven to fill Ua earth wits some- thing of that cele*Li glory. Let us welcome it humbly *^ a message of di- vine love, and Teal,* that thf truest majesty of mankind Ufe the dicjpleship of Christ. Follow tlu pros* tl nigh it leads thro' fearful exigences. Chain yourselves in obedience to that -to the ever-waiting needs of theVace. Let in- tellectual pridf yield to thy pleo&ngs of the heart. Sitting at the ijet o' Jesus, you shall find the answer of ever need, the assuagement of every sorrftv, the clearing up of every mystery, ad the strength that overcomes the \\»rkl.— From that prostration you shall rie, con- scious of a fellowship with thims that never change or perish. TAKE HOLD OF MY HAH1 u Takc hold of my hand,\ says lie lit- tle one, when she reaches a alipperj'pl&ce., or when something frightens her.- With the fingers clasped tightly arou,d the parent's hand, she steps cheerful y and bravely along, clinging a little closer when the way is difficult, and hf any in the beautiful strength of childisfi Taith. \Take hold of my hand,\ says thefoung convert, trembling with the ea«irne?s of liis love. Full well he knows tint, if he rely on any strength of his <>vn he will stumble and fall; but, if the Jla&ter reach forth his hand, he may walkiwith unwearied foot even on the crested wave. The waters of strife or of sorrow 'shall not overwhelm him, if he but kecj fast 'hold of the Saviour. \Take hold < ' my hand,\ falters the mother, feeling that she is all too weak for the great re >ou- herc mis- that has been assigned to her! And leaning it, how shall she fulfil it, if she have not the sustaining, constant presence of who love his people? \Take hold o hand,\ whispers the aged one, tottc sibilities that throng in her path. \V shall she learn the greatness of the sion—the importance of the field )ne my ing on through the itliadows^and snows of many yearn. As the lights of ckrth grow dimmer in the distance, and a*the darkening eye looks forward to see if he can discern the first glimmer of/^he heavenly home. th« weary pilgrim cries out, even as the child beside its *3*>tber, for the Saviour's hand. O, J«\,us! Friend and elder Brother, when the night cometh, when the feet arc weary, when f he eyes are dim, \take hold of our hand.' 1 THE PROGBESBIVE CHM8TIAW LETS. Our knowledge of Christ is sonie'wlhat like climbing one of our Welsh mo m- tains. When you are at the base you see but little, the mountain itself appear^ to be but one-hflf as high as it really i4.— Confined in a little valley, you discoker scarcely anything but the rippling brooks as they descend into the stream, at base of the mountain. Climb rising knoll, and the valley length and widens beneath your feet, higher, and higher still, till you st upon the summit of one of the g roots that start out as spurs from sides of the mountain, you see the coi try for s«iue four or five miles arou! and you are delighted with the widen; prospect. But go onward, and onwtf n 1 and how the scene enlarges, till at |si| when you arc on the summit and east, west, north and south you «!<£\ most all England lying before you. t \ n der is a forest in some distant couThe perhaps two hundred miles away/ 01011 * yonder the sea, and there a sh^j river and the v smoking chimnies*.\ manufacturing town, or there the MM oV the ships in some well-known rf 1 * All these things please and deligl^ j^ and you say \I would not have iniwere that so much could l»e seen at thif 1 \* ar tion.\ Now, the Christian life ijL^^* same order. When we first bj Christ we see but little of hi higher We climb, the more we] of his excellences and his bcaui who has ever gained the read? t< has ever known all the fulnfight for it, heights, and depths and ley breadths of the love of CM \ passeth knowledge? Paul, now grown old, sitting, grey-haired, shivering in a dungeon in Home—he could say with greater power than ever, \I know whom I have believed,\—for each experience had been like the climbing of a hill, each trial had been like the ascending to an- other summit, and his death seemed like the gain of the Tery tops of the moun- tain, from which he could see the whole of the faithfulness and the love of Him to whom he had committed his soul. C. II. BPURGRON. M0W1Y-H0W TO KEEP IT. The way to keep money is to earn it fairly and honestly. Money so obtained is pretty certain to abide with its pos- sesor. But money that is inherited, or in any way comes without a fair and just equivalent, is almost as certain to go as it came. The young man who begins by saving a few shillings, and thriftily in creases his store—every coin being a rep- resentative of good solid work, honestly and manfully done—stands a better chance to spend the last half hjmr of his life in affluence and comfort than he who, in his haste to be rich, obtainB money by dashing speculations, or the devious means which abound in the foggy region lying l>etwecn fair dealings and actual fraud. Among the wisest and most thrifty men of wealth, the current pro- verb is, 'Money goes as it comes.' Let tlie young make a note of this, and see that their money comes fairly, that it may long abide with them. Goon SKNHE—It is related that an Athe- nian, who was hesitating whether to j^ive his daughter to a man of worth with a small fortune, or to a rich inan, who had no other recommendation, went to con- sult Themistock'H on the subject. The philosopher, in the spirit of true wisdom, said, \ I would l>estow my daughter upon a man without money, rather upon money without a man.'' Marriage for money sel- dom conduct's to social comfort and hap- piness, and often results in the utter de- struction of domestic peace, in crimina- tion, coldness and estrangement. And yet the love of money is seldom manifest in greater strength than in the formation of those life-long alliances, where the par- tics bind themselves to \ take each other for better or for worse,\ and give their mutual pledge to stand by and aid each other amid all the storms and privations and perils of life. Those parents who an; chiefly anxious to have their daughters marry a fortune, who value money more than character, integrity, enterprise and correct habits, will, in most cases, lament their shortsightedness, infatuation and folly. There is happiness in • a cottage where virtue, intelligence and kindness dwell. A palace will not yield it in the absence of the*?. IN TFIK TWINKLING OF AN KYK.—One moment the sick-room, the scaffold, the stake; the next the paradisial glory.— One moment the sob of parting anguish ; the next, the deep swell of the angel's song. Never think, reader, that the dear ones you have seen die had far to go to meat God after they parted from you. Never think, parents, who have seen your children die, that after they left you they had to traverse a dark, solitary way, along which you would have liked—if it had been possible—to lead them bj the hand, and bear them company till they come into the presence of God. You did *), if you stood by them till the last breath was drawn. You did bear them company into God's very presence, if you only stayed beside them till they died. The moment they left you, they were with Him. The slight pressure of the cold fingers lingered with you yet, but the little child was with his Saviour.— Recreations of a Country Parson .—There is as much differ- ence in the tones of laughter as there is in the tones when speaking. If you ever noticed the merry, ringing laugh of the little child, and contrasted with it that of the weary-hearted, you could easily mark the difference. One is the joyous out- gushing of gladness and glee, the other the cold, hollow sound of a vacant heart. The little boy will ring out a loud, peal- ing laugh, the quiet lady the low, musical tones of a cultivated nature. The one may be beautiful for its rude simplicity, | the other for the refinement and culture [of the soul. The school-girl's gleeful shout HB all unlike the thrill of the sentimental 1 '\'**'• and the jocund doctor's chuckle dif- fers wuw v from the half-mirthful, half- demure smile of the kaid and cheerful matron. If you want to read another's heart, listen to their laugh ; it i» a more certain index of the state of the feelings than the uttered word. The calm fece may disguise the troubled soul, the merry twinkle of the eye may conceal a fretted* spirit, but the tones of the voice will be- tray the true state of the heart. CHEAT TKVTH8. PotiTENESs, says President Withe*- spoon, is real kindness, kindly expressed; an admirable definition, and so brief that all may easily remember it. Put it in practice, and all will be charmed with your manners. felooD MANNER* are the blossom of good sense, and it may be added of good feel- ing, too; for, if the law of kindness be written in the heart, it will lead to that disinterestedness in little an well as great things—that desire to oblige, and atten- tion to the gratification of others, which are the foundation of good manners. THE- practices of good men are more subject to error than their speculations. I will then honor good examples, but I will live by good precept*. FREE LIVING leads to free thinking; and free thinking to free living. is but one way of securing uni- versal equality to mankind, and that is to regard every honest employment aa honor- able, and then for every man to learn in whatsoever state he may be, therewith to be content, and to fulfill with strict fideli- ty the duties of his station, and to make every conditiou a pout of honor. BE a man in your Principles. Cherish a love for justice, truth, self-control, be- nevolence. Swerve not from the right for any present advantage. In all circum- stances show thyself a man in unflinching rectitude. •IK a bee stings you, will you go to the hive and destroy it ?—would not a thou- sand come upon you ? If you receive a trilling injury, do not go about the streets proclaiming it, and be anxious to avenge it. Let it drop. It is wisdom to say lit- tle respecting the injuries you have re- ceived. No one sees the wallet on his own back, Bays the old proverb, alluding to the fable of the traveler with two parks, the one before, stuffed with the faults of his neigh- bors, the other behind, with his own. IK two angels, jsays Newton, were sent down from heaven to execute the divine commanfl, and one was appointed to con- duct an empire, and the other to sweep a street, they would feel no inclination to change employments, for su*h is content- ment. THE principal methed for defeating er- ror and heresy, is by establishing truth. One proposes to fill a bushel with tares; now, if I can fill it finst with wheat, I may defy his attempts. I ONE cannot always be a hero, but he can always be a man. arc remains of great and good men, says Mathew Henry, which, like Elijah's mantle, ought to be gathered up and preserved by the sundvors: their say- ings,, their writings, their examples; that as their works follow them in the reward of them, they may stay behind in the benefit of them. PROFANE language is to conTersation, what ten-inch spikes would be to veneer- ing splitting, shivering and defacing it. It is in bad taste, offensive to a majority, and gratifying to none. HB is a great simpleton who imagines that the chief power of wealth is to sup- ply wants. In ninety nine cases out of a hundred, it creates more wants than it supplies. THE serious things of life are its keen- est mockeries. The things set apait for laughter, are not half so absurd as those marked out for tears. EMINENT masters, parties and sects claim truths as theirs, because they have most fully expounded them; but men never make truths ; they only recognize the value of this currency of God. They find trutha as men sometimes find bills, in the street, and only recognize Ibeyalue or that wbich other parties hare drawn. WOULD you touch a nettle without be^ ing stung by it ?-^Take hold of it stoutly. Do the same to other anoyances, and few things will ever anoy you. •c -
