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of the impenitent and unbelieving throughout the ages of an unending future.

In the present life we are subject to many changes. By proper exertions and a reformation of life, we may improve our circumstances. From a course of sin and vanity we may turn to righteousness and serious thought. From a state of misery we may be changed to a state of happiness. Such changes indeed frequently take place. In most cases, however, they take place in early life, or before its decline under the pressure of old age. The sooner we turn our attention to wisdom's path the better. "Youth is the time to serve the Lord." If that period be passed by without a radical change for the better the prospects for future happiness and usefulness can by no means be flattering. Hence that deep anxiety felt by parents and others for the young. They are well aware of the fact that sin opens many enticing ways to the view of the young and inexperienced. They know full well, too, that many a promising youth has been enticed thither, whose steps have been retraced. With them it is an established theory, that if the morning of life be spent in profligacy and sin, the evening of it is most likely to bring with it despondency and despair.

Finally, dear reader, will you once more with me direct your thoughts to the momentous problem of your existence. You look on the past and exclaim, in the language of another, Man is but of yesterday. But I ask you to look into the future! Will he die to-morrow? He may. He may pass away in an hour. Yet shall he live. The separation of soul and body will not destroy the one nor the other. Death will separate them only to be reunited for ever in a more full and complete form of existence. You shall pass through death and the grave, but not cease to exist. Your exit from the present world to that of spirits will leave you in possession of all your mental and spiritual faculties. It will not change your character, whether good or bad, but your state. In that change a state of probation will cease, and that of destiny commence. What will that state of destiny be? It is now hid from your view by that mysterious curtain which hides the future from the present. For this reason you may, like crowds of others, give yourself but little trouble in reference to it. Yet come it will. Its realities will overtake you, it may be, suddenly and unexpectedly. In the midst of life, in a moment you may sink into the arms of death. What will be thy destiny? What your future history? "Whither wilt thou go?"

KINDNESS.

As stars upon the tranquil sea,
In mimic glory shine,

So words of kindness in the heart
Reflect the source divine;

Oh then be kind, whoe'er thou art,
That breathest mortal breath,
And it shall brighten all thy life,
And sweeten even death.

THIRTY-FIVE.

66 THE YEARS OF A MAN'S LIFE ARE THREE SCORE AND TEN."

BY N. P. WILLIS.

Oh, weary heart! thou art half way home!
We stand on life's meridian height-
As far from childhood's morning come,
As to the grave's forgetful night.
Give Youth and Hope a parting tear-
Youth started with us at the prow-
Hope promised but to bring us here,

And Reason takes the guidance now:
One backward look-the last-the last-
One silent tear-for Youth is past!

Who goes with Hope and Passion back?
Who comes with me and Memory on?
Oh, lonely looks the downward track-
Joy's music hushed-Hope's roses gone!
To pleasure and her giddy troupe

Farewell without a sigh or tear!
But hearts give way and spirits droop,
To think that love may leave us here?
Have we no charm when Youth is flown-
Midway to death left sad and lone?

Yet, stay! as 'twere a twilight star

That sends its thread across the wave,

I see a brightening light from far

Steal down a path beyond the grave!
And now, bless God! its golden line

Comes o'er and lights my shadowy way,
And shows the dear hand clasped in mine!
But, list! what those sweet voices say:
The better land's in sight,
And by its chastening light

All Love from Life's midway is driven,

Save her whose clasped hand will bring thee on to Heaven.

A SISTER'S LOVE.

MORE Constant than the evening star,

Which mildly beams above;

Than diadem-0, dearer far,

A sister's gentle love!

Brighter than dew-drops on the rose,
Than Nature's smile more gay;

A living fount which ever flows,
Steeped in love's purest ray.

Gem of the heart!-life's gift divine,
Bequeathed us from above;
Glad offering of affection's shrine-
A sister's holy love!

HUMBUG OF HUMBUG.

BY THE EDITOR.

THE readers of The Guardian, we can easily imagine, were astonished when they opened the September number and saw there, among the "book notices," a favorable and most flattering notice of the "musicbook" edited by "Profs. Johnston and Frost," the heroes of the "musical conventions" in Pennsylvania; especially will they be surprised to hear the Editor praising these musical men in the highest terms, as not "selfishly retaining" their great musical wisdom, "but like true scientific philanthropists," scattering their rich sentiments abroad to "make us a nation of the most perfect singers upon which the sun ever shone!" The reader will remember that only a short time ago the same Guardian contained a long article entitled "Humbug Turned Pious," in which the Editor gave his opinion, and the documents, to show that said "musical conventions" were a humbug; and that the object of them evidently was not so much to give instruction to the choirs, as to get them together at the close, in a vast concert of one hundred singers," to draw a large audience at a quarter a piece, which would richly pay for all the trouble! It was shown that these "conventions" begin piously in the churches and end in some hall, with a mixture of the most silly songs, "to show the difference" between social and profane music, but in reality to draw the young and foolish to the festival which the church was thus made to prepare and baptize as holy.

66

Now the Editor of The Guardian had no such high notion of these "scientific philanthropists," as to believe that Pennsylvania would be benefited by a "Keystone Collection" of music from them; and hence when the music-book was offered him gratis, with the request to notice, by the publishers, Murray, Young & Co., he declined to do so, stating that for the sake of the publishers he did not wish to notice it unfavorably. The chief member of the firm immediately appreciated the reply and laid the book away.

But now what will the reader think when he is told that only a few days after this offer of the book, and the refusal to notice it, The Guar dian appeared with a most enthusiastic notice of the book and its authors! It was foisted into The Guardian without the Editor's knowledge and consent-and the page which contained it never came under the eyes of the Editor in the proof. This is not all; before ever the Editor saw The Guardian bound and finished, part of the same notice appeared in The Saturday Evening Express, quoted as The Guardian's recommendation of the book! That is not all; on the first day of September, the very day on which The Guardian is published, the same notice was already printed, together with its quotation from The Express, on separate slips and pasted on the inside of the cover of the note-book as The Guardian's recommendation of it, and thus sent out with the book! In less than five days after the Editor had declined to notice the book, he was forced to praise it in The Guardian, in The Express, and in the book itself, in the book store, and wherever the

book may go. Verily, if the first noticed by The Guardian was a humbug, then is the second one growing out of it, greater and meaner and less pious than the first.

In this way was the Editor made to contradict himself, and lay himself open to the charge of singular and criminal inconsistency. We were not at all surprised to be written to by a young friend in reference to that notice, as follows:

"When I read said notice I could not help but think of 'Humbug Become Pious,' and of the minister who refused-and nobly too-to publish from his pulpit the announcement for the great 'musical convention.' The thoughts which rushed upon my mind were very strange. 'What!' I thought by myself, 'is it possible that the Editor of The Guardian can have changed his mind so radically that he now puffs the very men whom he formerly denounced as humbugs.''

There is nothing we endeavor more carefully to avoid than inconsistency. We were deeply grieved by the unfortunate occurrence, and desire the false impression to be corrected. Now, therefore, to all whom these presents may come, the Editor of The Guardian sends greeting: and he disowns the recommendation given of the book in toto-he protests against being forced to say what he does not wish to say-and asks that if any one wishes to buy said note-book, he do it, like General Jackson, "on his own responsibility," and not from any recommendation purporting to be from The Guardian, whether it be written, printed, pasted, preached, prayed or sung.

CURIOUS HISTORICAL FACT.

The wife of the celebrated Lord Clarendon, the author of the History of the Rebellion, was a Welsh pot-girl, who being extremely poor in her own country, journeyed to London to better her fortune, and became a servant to a brewer. While she was in this humble capacity, the wife of her master died, and he happening to fix his affections on her she became his wife. Himself dying soon after, left her heir to his property, which is said to have amounted to between £20,000 and £30,000. Amongst those who frequented the tap at the brewery was a Mr. Hyde, then a poor barrister, who conceived the project of forming a matrimonial alliance with her. He succeeded, and soon led the brewer's widow to the altar. Mr. Hyde being endowed with great talent, and now at the command of a large fortune, quickly rose in his profession, becoming head of the Chancery bench, and was afterwards the celebrated Hyde, Earl of Clarendon. The eldest daughter, the offspring of this union, won the heart of James, Duke of York, and was married to him. Charles II. sent immediately for his brother, and having first plied him with some very sharp raillery on the subject, finished by saying, "Jamas as you have brewn, so you must drink," and forthwith commanded that the marriage should be legally ratified and promulgated. Upon the death of Charles, James the II. mounted the throne, but a premature death frustrated this enviable consummation in the person of his amiable duchess. Her daughters, however, were Queen Mary, the wife of William III., and Queen Anne, both grandchildren of the ci devant pot-girl from Wales, and wearing in succession the crown of England.

EARLY AUTUMN.

BY THE EDITOR.

"Ah, me!

How pining Memory flies into the past,
And lives in the departed scene-so fond,
She cannot taste the pleasures of to-day!
Then were we children, and in hours like this
None were more happy. It is now the time
When slumber seems to hover on the air,
O'er all the veil of Indian Summer floats,
Blue, thin, and silent, lovely as a dream."

T. B. READ.

THE early Autumn is always a time of peculiar interest on the farm and in the neighborhood; and it lives in one's associations in a peculiarly pleasant way. The heat and heavy labors of summer are now past, and the spirit, braced by a firmer air, revives into a steady flow of life, which finds great congeniality in the sober scenes that now surround it. It is not late enough yet for the lonely and sad; it is the time for the earnest, hopeful and pleasant. Whether in business or in pleasure, this is the season when men have most heart to undertake, and dare, and do.

The last field is seeded. The early grain is already up. How prettily it grows in rows, and how green it looks when viewed toward the sun in the fresh morning, or in the calm evening.

The orchard still waits to be attended to. Some trees have been stript, but the winter apples are untouched. It is now high time to gather them in. A bag is taken and an apple put into one corner, round which the strings are tied, and this is thrown around the neck. The mouth of the bag is now distended and kept open by a stick pointed at each end and made to span its mouth. Thus it is easy to pick the apples into the bag. Only the best are taken; the rest are shaken to the ground and afterwards gathered and turned into cider.

Hark! how the press groans as the solid apples press into its fearful jaws, as if eager to be devoured. O, be merciful to the swarming bees! Spare them in throwing back the ground apples. Let a boy stand there with an elder bush, and swing it kindly over the trough. Poor, innocent, busy little bees, they have come thither not to molest you, but drawn by that strong instinct of labor which makes them so useful to man. Say not impatiently, "Let them stay away;" you would not say so to your infant creeping under the feet of your horses. They know not their danger. God has given them no wisdom for self-protection, but only the instinct to love sweets for themselves and for man; but to you he has given eyes to see their danger and a heart that ought not wantonly to suffer you to tread on a worm. Therefore, be ye merciful and spare the bees.

The cider-press is a delightful place on a moonlight evening. The neighbor boys gather. Some one has just finished grinding his apples,

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