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T. D. MARTIN, Editor.
VOL \\XV.~\ew Series, Vol. H.
TBC E: **. IWJt AS*
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Christian Index.
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THE BIBLE STYLE OF PREACHING
In Ilev. William Arthur’s ‘Tongue of
Fire,’ just published, we find some fine
thoughts on the Bible style of preaching,
which we transfer to our columns:
Where the notion that talent employed
in Christian teaching ought to lie within a
limited and humble range, without any
high flights, an} r deep soundings, any
glowing language, any metaphorical illus
tration, or any masculine argument, can
have originated, one would bo at a loss to
learn were the Bible alone—Old Testament
and New—the source of _our in forma turn.
There we see the power of the Holy Spirit,
not allying itself with one order of mind, or
with one stamp of composition, tamed
down to a standard of properness, conse
crated by the aesthetics of some small and
proper men, but using every faculty that
God ever gave to the human soul —every
faculty of thought, illustration and speech,
hallowing by its fire all genius, all life anti
all nature, touching every thing and illu
minating every thing; so that there is not
one scene of domestic life, and not one ob
ject of God’s outer world, to which the
tongue of the Psalmist or Prophet, or the
Great Teacher himself, has not given a
voice, and made it speak to ns in sacred
poetry. From the grass beneath the mow
er’s scythe, or the lily that a child has
plucked—from the bridegroom’s beaming
taco, or the nursing mother’s bosom—up
t.o the lightning, the sun, and the stars,
every thing is hallowed by a ray'from the
Bible, and is hung round by its sacred as
sociations.
Wo cannot but believe that this is the
intentional model, and that men of all or
ders, with talent of every possible shade,
are meant to be employed in God’s holy
ministry; and that, therefore, any narrow
er view, founded either upon the ideal of
some prominent example in one class of
preaching, on the taste of a given age, or
on any notion whatever of classic style and
propriety, is but an invention to cramp and
trammel that which mast everlastingly be
free—the utterance of men who come to
speak to ns of all things infinite.
On the other hand, that which now a
days is called intcllectnalism does not ap
pear to lie so much in the possession and
exercise of superior powers, as in the art
of casting common things in elaborate
moulds, and robing every familiar truth,
which, in a plain garb, all would recognize
as an old friend, in such array that those
who do not. look closely may take it for a
distinguished stranger. It is true, that
thoughts which outgrow the ordinary sta
ture will naturally drape themselves no
bly; but all haze or extravagance in the
style of wise men, will be in spite of them
selves. They will ever use their best en
deavors, first to clear their ideaß in their
own minds, and then to render them clear
toothers. Often they will expend much
labor in reducing what gushed from their
pregnant thoughts from its original splen
dor to something more simple and perspic
uous, something, perhaps, less calculated
to dazzle but more calculated to enlighten.
Some intellects are among ordinary ones
what a hot house is in a garden—a special
shrine which receives the beams of heaven
through a medium of crystal, into an at
mosphere of high tern per at a re, within
which bloom fruits and flowers that would
not grow in the ordinary ground—fruits
and flowers from brighter lands, and wond
rous in our eyes, which, however, though
at first nursed there, may, in time, be na- j
tnralized, and become familiar beauties in j
the homestead of thousands. It is mani- !
festly the will of Providence to create such
intellects, and even had we not the Bible
to throw light on his designs, it would cer
tainly seem violently improbable that he
tll)f (£l)ristian Jnbcx
should create them only to fringe with
flowers the world’s broad and downward
‘way. 6<>mc- men always treat richness of
style as if it were the result of effort; just
as if deal which owes its cdor to art, were
to say to mahogany, or maple, or rosewood,
“What labor it must have been to produce
all these shadings.” No labor whatever ;
it is all in the grain.
THE POWER OF CONSCIENCE.
In a sermon by the lamented Dr. Mason
oo the character of Judas as shown in. his
—, rrnTTn-r-r ~rmr iirnnrcrj Trtr'Tf .TCI tTITTaOi low -
ing passage:
“These hearts ol ours my brethren, are
very ingenious in covering over 6in. Never
are <>ur wits so sharp, as when our trans
gressions are to be excused. But ob ! let
us learn from the case before us, that all
the wretched meshes in which wc may en
tangle conscience, will sooner or later
break away, as a thread of tow, when it
touches the lire. God regulates the move
ments of conscience, and God allows of no
apology for sin. He can forgive it; he can
blot it out as a cloud; he can bury it in the
depths of the sea; he can carry it away so
that no more mention need he made of it;
but he never no, never can excuse it. And
the man who is in the habit of apologizing
for sin and soothing himself with the
thought that, he cannot well avoid what he
is doing—and that what, lie cannot well
avoid doing, he cannot be very guilty, in
doing —may liy sure that the time is com
ing, when conscience shall awake; and
cause the earth seemingly to ring again, as
though the footsteps of the avenger were
approaching, and make him start and
quake, as it peoples the scene around him
with the ghosts and images of his iniqui
ties.
The man ‘who rejects Christ now, and
treats him with scorn, and instead of for
saking his sin, extenuates and apologizes
for them, may bo sure that if not before,
he will be startled by the trumpet peal of
judgment; and then all his sophistry “will
leave him, and all his apologies will vanish
and as the great white throne is set, and
*thc judge descends, there will be a cry of
agony, ‘This is Jesus whom 1 crucified ;
hide me from the presence of the Lamb.’
It is perfectly idle for any man to say all
. this is fable, for every tyian knows better.
As no one can be found who is not a sub
ject of compunctions of conscience, there
is no one who does not carry within him a
prophet which portends precisely such an
issue. There is a process continually go
ing on of retribution—of reward for right
and punishment for wrong—showing ns
what kind of a government is that of God,
under which we live; and however desper
ate a man’s struggles with himself may be,
ho cannot get entirely rid of this process.
There is a tribunal set up every day in the
human bosom, and a judge there, and sen
tence pronounced there; aye, more than
this, carried into effect there. But then,
when you come to analyze the nature of
these inflictions, you find that they consist
in dread, and therefore no man can get rid
of the evidence ot a dreadful scene in the
future. The certainty of the fact itself,
then, of which wc speak, no man who
reads all the workings of his own mind can
doubt. If you ask when, where, how, I
give you but the same answer which our
Savior gave to a similar question, proposed
by his disciples, when he had predicted
terrible judgments: ‘Wheresovcr the body
is, there will the eagles bo gathered to
gether.’ Wherever there is prey, there
is a bird of prey. Vengeance follows the
sinner as by a kind of instinct. lie may
cross the oceau, ascend the mountain, dive
into the cavern, but he can never hide him
self from conscience, which, like the eagle
hovering over the prey, is ready at any
moment to pounce upon his victim. The
commission of sin seems to produce the
bird of prey. No sooner is the act [per
formed, but the fatal flap of his wing is
heard. And who, in view of this fact, can
doubt that every subject of unrepented sin
must sooner or later fall nndera ministry of
vengeance, whose terrors are prefigured in
the painful premonitions already felt?
Who can escape? Who can evade the
scrutiny which must be carried on, and
sentence which must be passed in the sol
itudes of every human heart? Sometime or
other, antitypes to these convictions must
come. Man must reach the substance of
these dreadful symbols, enter upon the in
heritance, of which he has already the
earnest.’’
A WARNING.
A few weeks since, in the course of con
versation with an eminent broker, who
has been over forty years acquainted with
the leading moneyed men of the country,
we asked if lie ever knew a schemer, who
acquired money or position by fraud, to
continue successful through life, and leave
a fortune at death. We walked together
about three minutes in silence, when he
replied, ‘■'•not one 7” I have seen men, he
said, “become rich as if by magic, and af
terwards reach a high position in public
estimation, not only for honor and enter
prise, but even for piety, when some small
circumstances, of no apparent importance,
has led to investigations which resulted
in disgrace and ruin.”
On Saturday we again conversed with
him upon the same subject, and he stated
that since our last interview he had ex
tended his inquiries among a large circle
Penfield, Georgia, Thursday. September 4, 1850.
of acquaintances, and with one solitary
exception, and that doubtful, their experi
ence was to the same effect as his own. —
He then gave a brief outline of several
small and big schemers and their tools,
their rise and fall. Suicide, murder, ar
son, and perjury,* lie said were common
crimes, with many of those who “made
haste to be rich,” regardless of the means;
and he added, there are not a “few men,
who may be Tseen on Change every day,
ignorantly striving for their own destruc
tion, He condiMkd that fortunes acunired
wnrtoufn onesTy, generally overwhelmed
their possessors with infamy.— Boston At
las.
THE COURTESIES OF LIFE
Under this head- the Philadelphia In
quirer has some judicious suggestions. If
we look to men of success in any avoca
tion of life, we find that, with few excep
tions, they have been persons of courteous
deportment and'generous impulses. We
extract a few passages worthy of atten
tion, especially by the young:
“A bland polished gentleman,
Polite and kind to all.” •
“We have more than once alluded to the
beauty of courtesy in the ordinary transac
tion of life. The subject is an important
one, although iL may not seem so to the
hasty ahd incdmideratC. Many a man has’
lost a fortune in consequence of the want
of a little courtesy. Amenity of manner
and propriety of language should be con
stantly cultivated. They possess a magic
and charm that are admirably calculated
to Boothe and conciliate. It is almosf im
possible to conceive how, at times, a kind
word or gentle look touches the heart. The
effect, although instantaneous, lives and
lingers for years. There are many little
.land comparatively insignificant acts, that
nevertheless develope character and exer
cise influence. If, therefore, courtesy be
constantly adhered to and carefully prac
ticed, the effect cannot but be great. And
if it be as regularly violated and neglected,
the evil influence must be pernicious.
The little courtesies of life cost nothing,
and yet their value can scarcely be over
estimated. Amenity of manner has a pow
er that is felt more or less in every walk
or sphere. It imparts an additional luster
to beauty, while it roba deformity of much
of its repulsion. Who, indeed, cannot
point out some forcible illustration?
There are a thousand nameless little
sayings and doings, which serve to sweet
en the pathway of life, and impart to the
social circle a degree of refinement and
dejight that, to be appreciated, must be
enjoyed. By courtesy of manner wo do
not mean a constant effort to be dignified
and precise, or a rigid adherence to certain
rules and formalities. Far from it. The
heart should speak on such occasions, and
the genial sympathy should bo distinct and
apparent. An act of courtesy is never out
of place. In high life or in low, it is like
a beam of sunshine in the social world,
which it at once softens and brightens. It
may bo recognized in the beggar as well
as the king. The proprietor cannot be too
kind or considerate to those in his employ.
All should be treated not only as human
beings with human sympathies, but as sen
sible, and susceptible, and as capable, as
well of understanding an act of rudeness, as
of appreciating one of kindness and good
will.
There is enough rudeness and asperity
among mankind, the natural results of dif
ference of views, collisions ot trade, and
clashings of interest. Let us, then, when
ever we can, adopt the gentle and the
generous policy, the refined and the con
siderate, and thus afford pleasure, by the
exercise of the many little courtesies
which all have more or loss at their com
mand, but which too many noglect to em
ploy in their intercourse with their fellow
creatures.”
MISSIONARY EFEORT IN TURKEY-
The Rev. Dr. Hamlin, President of the
Bcbek College, Constantinople, having
lately arrived in England, the Earl of
Shaftesbury, who takes a lively and most
intelligent interest in the propagation of a
pure faith amongst the corrupt churches
of the East, kindly invited a large party
of gentlemen, chiefly connected with the
Turkish Mission Aid Society, to an evening
conversazione, at his house, 24 Grosvenor
square, on Tuesday, the 10th mst., to hear
the important facts which Dr. Hamlin was
prepared to communicate. His lordship
having introduced Dr. Hamlin, and offer
ed a few remarks with reference to the in
teresting missionary work in which he had
been so many years engaged, Dr. Hamlin
made the following statement to the as
sembly.
He remarked that the variety of races
and religions in the Ottoman empire, was
a fact which mnst always govern mission
ary effort. Aside from the Mussulman
races, we find the Armenian, Jewish,
Greek, Slavic, and Albanian races, and
the Roumans of Moldavia and Wal
lachia. The latter four, although distinct
in nationality and language, belong to
the Greek Church. The American Board
has found its most prosperous field of mis
sions among the Armenians; and it was
remarked as an interesting fact, that the
British and Foreign Bible Society had pre
pared the way for this mission by various
editions of the Armenian Scriptures, freely
circulated among the people; and that
THE TRUTH LOVE.
from the commencement, England
andjrXmeriea have been connected in this
goop work.
T|o Armenians, having a distinct lan
guage, a marked nationality, and an inde
perfout Church, and numbering two or
threp millions, are scattered throughout
the empire. They are a sober, industrious,
enterprising people, and have great stabil -
ity ifnd strength of character.
ics
■ Protestant Armenians, ac-
obtained to many Turkish
minffs, and in various places Jisissul mans
havi been awakened to examine the Scrip
turep and have been led to renounce, in
som| cae&s, the Mohammedan faith.—
London Christian Times.
THEFARMER’S DAUGHTER IN THE OUT
* ’ SKIRTS.
I 8hied, a traveller, sick and
and at a small village in
a place where noneof the
gospel ever been
quently the town was given
f, and Deism and Universal
lily powerful.
•found himself unable to go
he- next day requested his
id so the minister to come
aaojpray witi) him. There was none, the
landlord said; ‘tliers never had been one.
Waik there 6ny one,'asked the apparently
dyhfg stranger, who was in the habit of
prater, and would talk to him of Golk-aud
religion.. None were*, known of in'the
town, till fiiuilly a member of tbo family
recounted that a tWnier’s daughter in the
oute|wtß of the lowrhad~ collected a few
children every Sunday, and she sometimes*
prayed with them. The farmer and his
infidels; but their daughter had
in some way been led to her Saviour, and
now in her turn, was endeavoring to make
known his excellence to others. She con
versed and prayed with the stranger,
whom a few days found much better. He
left the town, and went on his way rejoic
ing in his recovered health.
But a sense of the wickedness of their
little town, and of its great need of some
religioiis influence, awoke in a few hearts
a desire for a change. Four persons met
together and though but one of them a
professor of religion, and she a female, yet,
out of their desire for something better,
gradually grew a religious meeting. Be
fore long the missionary society had its
representative there; a pastor was settled,
and a church formed; the one who prayed
with the stranger, became the pastor’s wife
—and now a weak but growing church is
firmly established shedding light and beau
ty over all those hill-tops.
That church, and the moral chango in
that town appear, under the guidance of
God’s providence and Spirit, to be wholly
owing to the influence of that single wo
man.
STRANGENESS OF DEATH.
Angels have no death to undergo; there
is no such fear of unnatural violence be
tween them and their final destiny. It is
for man, and for aught that appears, it is
for man alone, to watch from the other
side of the material panorama that sur
rounds him, the great and amazing reali
ties with which he has everlastingly to do
—it is for him, so locked in an imprison
ment of clay, and with no other loop-holes
of communication between himself and all
that surrounds him, than the eye and the
oar—it is for him to light up in his bosom
a lively and realizing sense of the things
that eye hath never seen, and ear hath
never heard. It is for man, and perhaps
for man alone, to travel in thought over
the ruins of a mighty desolation, and be
yond the wreck of that present world by
which he is encompassed, to conceive that
future world on which he is to expatiate
forever. But a harder achievement, per
haps, than any—it is for inan, in the ex
ercise of faith, to observe the most appal
ling of all contemplations, the decay and
dissolution of himself; to think ol the time
when his now animated frame-work, eve
ry part of which is so sensitive and dear
to him, shall fall to pieces, when the vi
ta! warmth by which it is so thoroughly
pervaded shall take itsde parture, and leave
to coldness and abandonment all that is
visible of this moving and acting, and
thinking creature—when those limbs, with
which he now steps so firmly; and that
countenance out of which he looks so grace
fully, and that tongue with which he now
speaks so eloquently; when that whole
body, for the interest and provision of
which he now labors so strenuously, as if
indeed, it were immortal—when all these
shall be reduced to a mass of putrefaction,
and at length crumble, with the coffin that
encloses them, into dust? Why, my
brethren, to a being in the full conscious
ness and possession of its living energies,
there is something, if I may be allowed
the expression, so foreign and so unnatural
in death, that we ought not to wonder if
it scare away the mind from that ethereal
region of existence to which it is hasten
ing'. Angels have no such transition of
horror and mystery to undergo. There is
no screen of darkness interposed between
thetn--and--the portion of their futurity,
however distant; and it is for man only to
drive a bridge across that barrier which
looks so impenetrable, nr so to surmount
the power of vision, as to carry bis aspir
ings over the summits of all that revela
tion has made known to him.— Dr. Chal
mers.
I AM DISCOURAGED.
Faint not beneath the heat and burning
of the day, for the wise man says :—“lf
thou faint, in the day of adversity, thy
strength is small.” Rise, look up ! The
clouds are dark, blit behind them
many star; the clouds will all disan
pear. “The darkest day will pass away.
Cheer up, desponding heart! Take cour
age? Strive to improve thy condition
but if thou canst not, learn to endure with
patience and fortitude thy hard lot. .Re
pine not, for it will only make thee more
wretched. What if the road of poverty
and foil is hard to travel ? What if the
way be dark ?—what if the thorns and bri
ars lacerate thy unprotected limbs?—what
if the flints wound thy wjeary feet? —what,
if the sun beats on tby head ? —what if thy
bones ache?—what if hunger gnaws
Gird tin the trusty feitlwand
contentment, an<Fpress on#tfrd v still in
ward to thy journeys’ end. And there
a home awaits thee—a home for which
thou mightest well afford to endure all
trouble, all pains and sorrows—a home
where thou shaft not experience sickness
or sorrow or death —a home, where the
Lord of glory reigns, where Christ island
all of the redeemed—a home of happiness
inexpressible, music divine, where myriads
of angels, with their myriads of harps all
tuned in unison, are singing praise to the
Lamb. Weary pilgrim, faint not, if the
way be dark; the journey is short, and at
the end, if thou be not found wanting,
thou will; receive, thy reward—a crown of
glory in the roalms above! ■ : v - = :
THE LAST ONE REMEMBERED
It is a mark of grace, that tho believer,
in his progress heaven-ward, grows more
and more alive to the claims of Jesus. If
you “know the love of Christ,” his is the
latest name you will desire to utter; his is
the latest thought you will desire fco form;
upon Him you will fix your last look on
earth; upon Him your first in heaven. —
When memory is oblivious of all other
objects —when all that attracted the natur
al eye is wrapped in tho mists of death—
when ,the tongue is cleaving to the roof of
our mouth and speech is gone, and sight
is gone, and hearing gone, and tho right
hand lying powerless by our side, has lost
its cunning; Jesus ! then may we remem
ber Thee ! If the shadows of death are to
be thrown in deepest darkness ou the val
ley, when we are passing along it to glo
ry, may it be ours to die like that saint,
beside whoso bed, wife and children once
stood, weeping over tho wreck of faded
faculties, and a blank departed memory.
One has asked him, “Father, do you re
member me ?” and received rio answer;
and another and another, but still no an
swer. And then, all making way for the
venerable companion of a long and weary
pilgrimage—the tender partner of many a
past joy and sorrow—his wife draws near.
She bends over him, and as her tears fall
thick upon his face, 6he cries, “Do you re
member me?” A stare —but it is vacant:.
There is no soul in that filmy eye; and the
seal of death lies upon those lips. The sun
is down, and life’s brief twilight is darken
ing fast into a starless night. At this mo
ment one calm enough to remember how
the love of Christ’s spouse “is strong as
death” —a love that many “waters cannot
quench” —stooped to his car, and said,
“Doyou remember Jesus Christ?” The
word was no sooner uttered than it seem
ed to recall the spirit, hovering for a mo
ment, ere it took wing to heaven. Touch
ed as by an electric influence, tho heart
beats once more to the name of Jesus; the
features, fixed in death, relax; tho counte
nance dark in death, flashes up like the
last gleam of day; and with a smile in
which the soul passed away to glory, he
replied, “Remember Jesus Christ ! dear
Jesus Christ! he is all my salvation, and
all my desire.” — Guthrie.
MARY AND THE OLD WOMAN.
A happy, bright little girl is Mary Par
sous, and I believe it is because she is al
ways trying to do someone a kindness.—
I went one day to see a poor woman eigh
ty-six year old, who lives by herself in a
dark basement-room, and who depends en
tirely upon charity for her support. .On
my return, I was relating an account of
my visit to Mary’s mother. The little
girl listened with great interest, and then
said, “Oh, mother please let me carry her
over some breakfast and dinner every day;
we have so much left, much more than she
could eat.” The child had the matter so
much at heart that her mother consented;
and now you can see this little girl, after
breakfast and after dinner each day, filling
a basket with good and wholesome food
for old Mrs. Gordon. Many a fine apple,
peach, plumb, and pear, are slipped into
the basket to refresh the poor woman’s fee
ble appetite.
No matter how eager her little sisters
are for Mary to play with them, no mat
ter how hot the sun, or how heavily the
rain pours down, little Mary never gets
tired, and never forgets to provide the
breakfast and dinner for the poor woman.
Sometimes she takes the Bible and reads
J. T. BLAIN, Printer.
her some beautiful chapters, for tho poor
woman is almost blind, and it comforts
her much to hear the blessed word of life.
Sometimes Mary takes hor doll’s frocks
and sits down by her side, and sews a
while, and chats away merrily to amuse
her
“She brings a ray of sunshine in with
her every time she comes,” said the poor
woman with tears in her eyes, “which
brightens up my dark room long after she
hag gone. She is.one of-Cbrist’s own (lock,
lain sure, _ . . .
IVUrv h fin! eight” years old. SomeoP
you have perhaps thought that you were
no# old enough yet to do anything for
■'Chl'ist and his poor. Is there no poor wo
man or hungry child to whom you can take
the food which would never be missed
from your plentiful store?— Child's Pa
per.
THE DISINTERESTED BOY.
In this selfish age, wm-o all alike seem
intent, upon advancing tlnfiFwfi interests,
it is refreshing to read an ijrcwfht illus
trative of noble and disinteeftsted kind
up jjpjjjptaoeoug-Iy in a boy
ish heart.
The sun had set, and night was spread
ing its mantle over hill-top and valley, and
lonely Jjyfod and the busy village. While
the winds were beginning to sweep thro’
the trees-; lights were here and ther£ peep
ing through the windows, to tell that,
though the wind was cold and blustering
without, there might bo peace and comfort
.within.
At this hour. Mr. Bradley passed thro’
a little village among the hills, and, urg
ing his horse forward as the night became
darker, took his way through the main
road toward the next town, where he wish
ed to pass the nigh|. As he passed the
last house in the vfttege, ho thought he
heart someone call; but, supposing it
might be one boy shouting to another boy,
ho thought little of it. 110 heard tho call
again and again; at last it occurred to him
that someone might wish to speak to him,
and he stopped the pace of his horse, and
looked behind the chase to see if he could
discover who was calling. 4 .
“Stop, sir, stop !” said a little boy, who
was running with all his might to over
take him. “
Mr. Bradley stopped his horse, and a
little boy of eight or ten years came up,
panting at every breath.
“Well, my little fellow, what do you
wish for ?” said Mr. Bradley.
“You are losing your trunk, sir,” an
swered the boy, as soon as ho could speak.
“And so you have run all this way to
tell me of it, have you, my good boy ?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Bradley jumped out of his chase,
and saw that his trunk, which was strapped
underneath the carriage, was unfastened
at one end so that a sudden jolt might
havo lost.it, without knowing whore it had
gone.
“You are very kind, my little lad,” said
the gentleman, “to take all this trouble;
you have saved mo from losing my trunk,
and I am much obliged to yon; and now,
are yon tall enough to hold my horse,
whilo I fasten the trunk as it should be?”
said Mr. Bradley.
“O, yes, sir,” said the boy, stepping up
and taking hold of tho bridle. He held
the horse till Mr. Bradley was ready to
start, and then said, “Good night, sir,’’
and was stepping away.
“Stop a moment,” said Mr. Bradley,
taking a gliilling from his pocket, “hero is
a piece of money to pay you for your trou
ble, and I fool very grateful to you be
sides.”
“No, sir, thank you,” said the hoy,
casting his eye full in the gentleman’s face.
“Do you think 1 would take money for
such a thing as that.”
“Ah !” said Mr. Bradley, as he after
ward related the story, “1 saw, by his no
ble look, that he had run from half to
three-quarters of a mile for the sake of do
ing a kindness to a stranger, and not for the
hope of pay; and I could not find it in my
heart to urge him to take the money, for I
knew that tho thought of having donegood,
was a greater reward to him than money
could have been. So I hade him “good
night,” and he ran toward home, while I
gave the whip to my horse, and again rode
briskly on; but I often think of that
journey, and the noble-hearted hoy who
lived among the mountains.”
Three Rules for Borrowers. —While at
least one-half of the world live by borrow
ing, or the credit system, and while thou
sands of treatises have been made on hon
esty, and honor, and kindness, all that we
now recollect on this theme, vital so a util
itarian, and which includes them all, may
be comprised under three heads:
1. fhc Iron Rule. —Never borrow a pa
per, book, umbrella, horse or any thing
else whatever, if you can possibly do with
out it, nor then either unless with consent
of the owner.
2. The Silver Rule. —Do not nse tho ar
ticle borrowed as carefully as if it was
your own, but much more so, for it is not
your own; nor retain it beyond the time
agreed upon, without the owner’s verbal
or written consent.
3. The Golden Ride. —As soon as ever
you have done using the thing borrowed,
return it with thanks, until yon can return
the favor.
Number 30.