SERMON FOR YOUNG WIVES.

BY AN OLD HOUSEKEEPER.

My sermon is a very practical and a very brief one, and can be read without much fatigue either to soul or body.

Take care of your health. Do not do every thing on wash-day yourself, if your husband is about and has a kind heart. Ask him to help you in filling the tubs, and procuring rinsing water, and in hanging out the clothes-line, and fixing on the clothes. He will do it, if you will only ask him in a kind tone. Be careful not to get your feet and your dress wet, and then have a bad cold or a bad toothache to pay for your imprudence. Be careful not to cook too much. For your breakfast it is not necessary to have pies, and cakes, and sauces, and gravies, and forty other things. Simple, good bread and butter, with a little plain sauce, and a clear cup of tea or coffee, will, in ordinary cases, do very well. Here are a few sharp words from one who knows all about the subject, and it will do yourself good to read them carefully. "I verily believe it is the trimmings of our meals-the non-essentials rather than the essentials-that consume the great bulk of the time of our females. Cooking there must indeed be; boiling, baking, stewing, roasting, etc.; but these processes need not be so conducted as to absorb all our time. There is no more need of cooking every thing new for each meal than there is of washing clothes every day; not a whit. Nor is there any necessity for having half a dozen courses of food at the same meal. One course is enough, and one cooked dish is enough-for prince or peasant-at one meal. The preparation of meat, and potatoes, and turnips, and pudding, and pie, and fruits, to succeed each other as so many different courses, with their accompaniments-pickles, sauces, gravies, etc. to say nothing of any hot drinks to accompany them, a species of tyranny imposed by fashion, to which no housekeeper ought ever to be compelled to submit. It may be difficult for her to oppose the current; but it is for her life, and the life of her husband and children to do so.

"I tremble when I think how woman's time-one of the most precious gifts of God-is frittered away in pampering the wants and administering to the pleasures of the mere physical nature of man. She must toil twelve, fifteen, or eighteen hours a day in attending to his apartments, his clothes, his stomach, etc., and wear herself out in this way, and leave the marks of this wear and tear in the constitution of her children; and to her daughters the same legacy which she received from her mother-the permission to wear herself out in the same manner. And the worst of all is-I repeat the sentiment-woman neither knows nor feels her degradation. Nay, she often glories in it. This is, in fact, the worst feature of slavery; it obliterates the very relish of liberty, and makes the slave embrace her chains. Especially is this so with the slavery of our lusts, and passions, and propensities, and appetites. Woman not only toils on, the willing slave of an arbitrary fashion, that demands her to surrender her whole nature-bodily, mental, and moral-to the din of plates, and pots, and kettles, but she is often proud of these employments, and seeks her reputation in them. She vainly seems to suppose that to prepare fashionable compounds in the most fashionable style, and to set an immense variety of her fashionable compounds on the same table, is to act up to the highest dignity of her nature. I do not mean that she ever asserts this, in so many words; but she does so

in her actions and actions, according to the old maxim, speak louder than words."

Practice neatness at home. If every thing in the cupboard is upside down, pieces of bread, and bits of meat, and half-filled saucers scattered here and there on the shelves, depend on it your husband will not think too highly of you for them. Dirt and carelessness are miserable things. They have no comfort in themselves, and, of course, can not give comfort to any body. If you have a large amount of work on hand, and always on hand, do be neat, even if the work must go undone. Rents in your dress, knots in your hair, and holes in your stockings are inexcusable. Have all such things fixed up. Nothing will add to the happiness of the family more than clean, tidy rooms and neat, though coarse and darned, garments.

Be economical. Perhaps your husband complains occasionally about family expenditures. Fault-finding is hard, I know; but, then, who is to blame? Is it not possible, at least, that you have gone a little too far? Look about and see. How many dresses have you? Just enough for comfort, or one for every week or month in the year? Some people are everlastingly poor-by which I mean, that, live where or long as they may, they spend every cent that is earned. Impose a little self-denial, and thus remove a few, at least, of the chances of future poverty and want. There were a great many snares for femalesyears ago, as Cowper, I think, says. Here are his words: "We sacrifice to dress, till household joys And comfort cease. Dress drains our cellar dry And keeps our larder lean; puts out our fires, And introduces hunger, frost, and woe, Where peace and hospitality might reign." But there are as many, if not more, snares now than then. A thousand dollars is no harder to be drawn from one's purse than a hundred, when the desire to spend once gets into the soul, and the money goes, one knows not where nor how, when a leak is once started.

Love to labor. I do not intend contradicting my first precept; but I mean to urge the necessity of doing all the work about the house that you can do in compatibility and with justice to your health. Some young wives lose their health by doing nothing. They sit up by the fireplace with nothing in their hands, and nothing in their heads, and soon get to think they are appointed unto death. And when any such feeling gets hold of a person, there is a fair chance to introduce disease; and then come suffering and misery to complete the picture. Gentility is a bane to thousands-at least false ideas of gentility-for these ideas lead to the belief that none but servants can cook a piece of meat, bake bread, and wash dishes; whereas, the facts in the case are, that these very things, properly attended to by the wife, are the surest preservatives of health. It is hard, uninterrupted work that kills off so many. For this there is no necessity, as intimated by me in the beginning.

But, to redeem my promise of perspicuity and brevity, I must stop here. I hope some time again to sit down and have a kind of familiar, general conversation with young wives; for I was once young myself, and have seen many a year in the parlor and kitchen, and will be glad to give items of experience, and specially so if I think I can in any way profit my younger and less experienced sisters. I hope, however, to be guilty of no intrusion on the rights and feelings of others; and if I am stopped in my career, I shall neither make any threats, nor feel hurt by what is deemed best for all parties concerned.

TRANQUILLITY IN DEATH.

THE last year of the life of Jean Paul Richter, a most amiable German author, was occupied with a work on the immortality of the soul. It was to be called "Selina." His sight failed him in the midst of his labors, and five chapters only were written. As his end drew near, he became very anxious to complete the work, as a philosophical demonstration of the reality of a future life that would be a consolation to the friends he was about to leave behind; but the privilege was denied him. Some weeks before his death he became totally blind, and the darkness that fell upon him was at last so intense, that not a single ray, however feeble, penetrated the gloom. He lost even the power of distinguishing day from night. In this state he was yet able to solace himself with music and the society of his friends; his malady not confining him to his bed. On the day of his decease, he had been spending some hours as usual in his study, when he observed that it was "time to go to rest;" thinking, perhaps, that evening had already arrived, although it was only noon.

He was then wheeled into his sleeping apartment, and all was arranged as if for the night; a small table near his bed, with a glass of water, and his two watches-a common one and a repeater. His wife now brought him a wreath of flowers that a lady had sent him; for every one wished to add some charm to his last days. As he touched them carefully-for he could neither see nor smell them-he seemed to rejoice in the images of flowers in his mind, for he said to Caroline, "My beautiful flowers-my lovely flowers."

His friends sat around the bed, but as he imagined it was night they conversed no longer. He arranged his arms as if preparing for repose, which was to him to be the repose of death; and soon sank into a tranquil sleep. Deep silence pervaded the apartment. Caroline, his wife, sat at the head of the bed, with her eyes immovably fixed on the face of her beloved husband.

About six o'clock the physician entered. Richter yet appeared to sleep. His features became every moment holier, his brow more heavenly, but it was cold as marble to the touch; and although the tears of his wife fell upon his cheek, he remained immovable. At length his respiration became less regular, but his features always calmer, more heavenly. A slight convulsion passed over his face; the physician cried out, "That is death "-and all was quiet. The spirit had fled.

"Life's labor done, as sinks the clay

Light from its load the spirit flies,
While heaven and earth combine to say-
How blest the righteous when he dies!"

A MOTHER'S TEARS.

THERE is a touching sweetness in a mother's tears, when they fall upon the face of her dying babe, which no eye can behold without imbibing its influence. Upon such hallowed ground the foot of profanity dares not approach. Infidelity itself is silent, and forbears its scoffings. And here woman displays not her weakness, but her strength; it is that strength of attachment which can never, to its full intensity, be realized. It is perennial, dependent upon no climate, no changes; but, alike in storm and sunshine, it knows no shadow of turning. A father, when he sees his child going down to the dark valley, will weep when the shadow of death has fully come over him; and as the last parting knell falls on his ear, he may say, "I will go down to the grave of

37

my son mourning." But the hurry of business draws him away; the tear is wiped from his eye; and if, when he turns from his fireside, the vacancy in the family circle reminds him of his loss, the succeeding day blunts the poignancy of his grief, till, at length, it finds no permanent seat in his breast. Not so with her who has nourished the tender blossom. It lives in the heart where it was first intwined, in the dreaming hours of night. She sees its playful mirth, or hears its plaintive cries; she seeks it in the morning, and goes to the grave to weep there.

"For the sunshine of her dwelling,

For her gushing music fled;

O! the tears are ever welling,
Welling from their fountain-head.
Weeping, weeping, ever weeping-
Weeping for her early dead!"

"Good-night!"

GOOD-NIGHT.

In that expression of kindness how sweet and soothing a sentiment is conveyed! The toils of the day are over, the fervent heat of noon is past, the maddening pursuit after gain is suspended, and mankind seek in the arms of sleep a temporary asylum from care of mind and enervation of body. Even from guilt beneficent nature withholds not the solace of repose, and passing through the "ivory gate of dreams" the days of youth, of happiness, of innocence in shadowy glory flit before the soul. Insupportable, indeed, would be the heavy tribulation which, on our pilgrimage through life, we must endure, were it not for those intermittent seasons of rest, which it is alike the privilege of the houseless wanderer and the palaced lord to enjoy. And night, gentle night, is the tender nurse that woos the toilexhausted frame to steep its cares in forgetfulness. The wise provisions of nature indicate the season for repose; and her beneficent laws are reverenced and obeyed by all save the being for whose comfort and happiness they were chiefly promulgated. When the sun withdraws from the heavens, and the earth is shrouded in darkness, the labors of insect industry cease; the flowers closing their petals, defend from the chilling dews of evening, and that sweet watchman of the grove, the nightingale, thrills forth in varied cadences the parting song, “GoodNight." Cynthia, and her glittering train of stars, robed in the grandeur of eternal light, come forth and hover above the earth and its children like fair and holy spirits keeping vigils over mortal sleepers, and preserving them from the influence of the powers of darkness.

THY WILL BE DONE.

BY GEORGE P. MORRIS.

SEARCHER of hearts! from mine erase
All thoughts that should not be,
And in its deep recesses trace
My gratitude to thee!

Hearer of prayer! O guide aright

Each word and deed of mine;
Life's battle teach me how to fight,
And be the victory thine.
Giver of all! for every good

In the Redeemer came:
For shelter, raiment, and for food,
I thank thee in his name.
Father, and Son, and Holy Ghost!
Thou glorious Three in One!
Thou knowest best what I need most,
And let thy will be done.

Lem Books.

DEATH-BED SCENES; or, Dying with or without Religion. Designed to Illustrate the Truth and Power of Christianity. Edited by Davis W. Clark, D. D. New York: Lane & Scott. 1851. This compilation, the author informs us in the preface, owes its origin to a season of calamity. During the prevalence of cholera, some two or three years ago in New York city, Dr. Clark was called upon to witness many death-bed scenes. His own health at the time was too much impaired to allow of any severe literary pursuit. Under these circumstances the work was suggested to his mind, and most of the materials were likewise collected. The work of revision and arrangement was attended to subsequently. From a close examination of the work, we are satisfied that it is superior to any thing of its kind now before the public. Every thing of an extraneous character has been carefully excluded; and while, in almost every instance, a view of the character of each individual mentioned is given, that view has been only as something preparatory to the delineation of the closing scene. The Christian, especially, will find this a most interesting and valuable work.

LADIES' BOOK OF ANECDOTES AND SKETCHES OF CHARACTER. By Rev. Daniel Smith. New York: Lane & Scott. 1851.This volume, like the above, is a compilation; and the work of compiling has been executed with excellent taste. It is a neat 18mo. of four hundred and fifty pages, and retails for fifty cents. Our lady readers, we doubt not, will find this a very agreeable and profitable companion. It can be taken up at almost any time, and, though but two or three minutes can be spared, yet in that time the mind can add to its information and its pleasures. Such books as these should be in every family, not as ornaments, but as friends, who will economize all the loose minutes and hours that many of us too frequently permit to pass unheeded and unimproved.

AN AMERICAN DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. By Noah Webster, LL. D. Springfield, Mass.: G. & C. Merriam. 1851.-The Messrs. Merriam deserve great credit for their labor in bringing before the public the unabridged Diction ary of Noah Webster. To us the work is an absolute necessity; and the attempt which was recently made by some interested parties in New York to depreciate Webster as a lexicographer we consider despicable. What if a man's orthography is not exactly faultless? Was Johnson or Walker each in his day a specimen of innocence in spelling? No man of this or any age, past or to come, can produce a work without having some point on which carpers can rest and pule. The thing is impossible. Dr. Webster's Unabridged Dictionary is, to clergymen and literary men, a treasure, destitute of which the most serious embarrassments must be experienced. It is now offered at so low a price that no one need be without it. Let those who would possess themselves of an invaluable reference-book, buy Webster's Unabridged Dictionary of the English Language.

THE POCKET DIARY FOR 1852, New York, Lane & Scott, is a miniature volume of very great utility to ministers, literary men, merchants-in fact, almost every class of community. It contains a counting-house almanac, the most prominent statistics of the Church, daily memoranda-half a page for every day in the year, minister's memoranda, including blanks for official statistics and subscriptions to periodicals, a cash account of twelve pages, and, finally, twelve pages for memoranda of a general character.

HUNGARY AND Kossuth; or, an American Exposition of the late Hungarian Revolution. By Rev. B. F. Tefft. Philadel phia: John Ball.-In the absence of any remarks of our own, we give the closing words of a review of our work found in the New York Commercial Advertiser: "Dr. Tefft, in the preparation of his volume, has had the advantage of intimate conference with intelligent Hungarian refugees, who have communicated to him much valuable topographical information, and whose views of the whole subject appear to have agreed very closely with those put forth in the volume. We know of no work that supplies so full a picture of Hungary as it is, as well as it has been. The volume supplies pleasant as well as instructive reading."

Periodicals.

THE ECLECTIC REVIEW OF FOREIGN LITERATURE, W. H. Bidwell, Editor, New York, is furnished monthly to readers at five dollars per year. Each number contains one hundred and forty-four pages, and is embellished with a first-class mezzotint engraving, illustrative of some historical or other important subject. The selections in this magazine are made with fine taste; and the visits of no monthly are prized higher by us than those of the Eclectic. The editor, Mr. Bidwell, is a gentleman every way adapted to the post occupied by him.

BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURG MAGAZINE, republished by Leonard Scott & Co., New York, can be had at twenty-five cents per number, or three dollars per year. Separate from its occasional novelettes and its politics, the reading matter of this magazine is of a high order, and usually interesting and instructive.

HUNT'S MERCHANT'S MAGAZINE AND COMMERCIAL REVIEW, conducted by Freeman Hunt, New York, contains an amount of domestic and foreign mercantile intelligence which is embraced in no similar publication in the United States. This Magazine was established in the year 1826, and its prospect for future fame and usefulness is as flattering now as at any previous date of its existence.

THE TEMPLAR'S MAGAZINE, for November, J. Wadsworth, Editor, Cincinnati, contains the usual amount of interesting temperance reading. The typography is commendable.

THE SOUTHERN LADY'S COMPANION, for November, Rev. M. M. Henkle, Editor, Nashville, is a fair number. Many of the articles are written with ability and vigor.

THE MOTHER'S ASSISTANT, YOUNG LADY'S FRIEND, AND FAMILY MANUAL, for November, published at Boston, is em bellished with a neat engraving, entitled "The Sale of the Pet Lamb." The literary department, as usual, displays taste.

MONTHLY LITerary MiscellANY, for November. Published by Beecher & Quinby: Detroit.-The typography of this journal is not so neat, perhaps, as it might be; but the literary character of the work is highly creditable.

Rev. D. S. King,

GUIDE TO HOLINESS, for November. Editor. Boston.-The articles of this number are of that elevating, Christianizing character so much sought after by the man whose mind is ever fixed on things heavenly. We commend the "Guide" to the attention of our readers. It is full of the spirit of holy instruction.

SPIRIT OF THE LAKES, AND BOATMEN'S REPORTER. Pub. lished at Cleveland.-This work is published quarterly for the benefit of those who spend their lives upon the waters. It is a good periodical, and deserves success.

THE TEMPLE, devoted to Masonry, Literature, and Science. B. Parke & C. E. Blumenthall, Editors: Carlisle, Penn.—This is a neatly printed periodical. Masons will find it to contain many articles which give very valuable information. The October number is embellished with a beautiful engraving on stone.

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.-We would once more invite the attention of the reader to this excellent weekly. Its columns are invariably filled with the most sterling and interesting reading, both in prose and poetry. The latest numbers do not fall in value behind those that preceded them.

THE ECLECTIC, edited by Charles P. Isley, and published by Edwin Plummer, Portland, Me., continues to maintain its high reputation, both as a literary and general newspaper. We know of no other weekly which we prefer before this.

THE KNICKERBOCKER, edited by Lewis G. Clark, Samuel Hueston, Publisher, New York, has reduced its price from five to three dollars. This must add largely to the already very wide circulation of this magazine throughout the United States. We see nothing to prevent it.

THE FLOWER-BASKET, edited by Rev. J. Buchanan, Pittsburg, Penn., and devoted to literature, art, and news, is a fine monthly for youth, and which we can most unhesitatingly commend to the patronage of the public. Price-one dollar for eighteen months' subscription.

Lewspapers.

WHEN Summerfield was on his death-bed, he exclaimed, "O, if I might be raised again, how could I preach! I could preach as I have never preached before-I have had a look into eternity." Deal gently with those who stray. Draw them back by love and persuasion. A kiss is worth a thousand kicks. A kind word is more valuable to the lost than a mine of gold. Think of this, and be on your guard, ye who would chase to the grave an erring brother.

"If we are to live after death, why don't we have some certain knowledge of it?" said a skeptic to a clergyman. "Why didn't you have some certain knowledge of this world before you came into it?" was the caustic reply.

Lord Bacon beautifully said: "If a man be gracious to strangers, it shows he is a citizen of the world, and that his heart is no island, cut off from other lands, but a continent that joins them.

Unjust riches curse the owner in getting, in keeping, and transmitting. They curse his children in their father's memory.

A Chinese convert being asked, "Who is the children's friend?" replied, "Their parents are their friends, their teachers are their friends, God the Father is their friend, but I think that Jesus Christ is their best friend."

A lie may stagger through existence as a blackguard edges his way, by dint of bullying, through a crowd; but the truth, however abused for a time, will triumph, and live forever.

A firm faith is the best divinity, a good life the best philosophy, a clear conscience the best law, honesty the best policy, and temperance the best medicine.

Man is not at home here, and not by chance does he go about here in the shabby coat of a poor pilgrim.

Said the distinguished Lord Chatham to his son, "I would have inscribed on the curtains of your bed and the walls of your chamber, If you do not rise early, you can make progress in nothing. If you do not set apart your hours of reading, if you suffer yourself or any one else to break in upon them, your days will slip through your hands unprofitable and frivolous, and unenjoyed by yourself.'"

Busy not thyself in searching into other men's lives; the errors of thine own are more than thou canst answer for. It more concerns thee to mend one fault in thyself, than to find out a thousand in others.

Bishop Hacket's motto was: "Serve God, and be cheerful." Never retire at night without being wiser than when you rose in the morning, by having learned something useful during the day.

A man too busy to take care of his health is like a mechanic too busy to take care of his tools.

Never let a day pass without having made an effort to make some one happier; every such effort, whether successful or not, will increase your own happiness.

Time may bear on us like a rough-trotting horse, and our journey may have its dark nights, quagmires, and its jack-o'lanterns; but there will come a ruddy morning at last, a smoother road, and an easier gait.

By seeming to countenance Vice in others, we insensibly countenance it in ourselves, for there is a subtile and almost mysterious sophistry which she employs as her chief agent in pacifying the mutinies of conscience and seducing Reason from ber vigilance.

The sun is like God, sending abroad life, beauty, and happiness; and the stars like human souls, for all their glory comes from the sun.

Men will wrangle for religion; write for it; fight for it; die for it; any thing but live for it.

Some reputed saints that have been canonized ought to have been cannonaded; and some reputed sinners that have been cannonaded ought to have been canonized.

Sleep, the type of death, is, also, like that which it typifies; restricted to the earth, it flies from earth, and is excluded from heaven.

"How admirable," says Racine, "is the simplicity of the Evangelists! They never speak injuriously of the enemies of Jesus Christ, of his judges, nor of his executioners. They report

39

the facts without a single reflection. They comment neither on their Master's mildness when he was smitten, nor on his constaney in the hour of his ignominious death, which they, thus describe: And they crucified Jesus.""

Dr. Johnson most beautifully remarks, that "when a friend is carried to his grave, we at once find excuses for every weakness, and palliations of every fault: we recollect a thousand endearments which before glided off our minds without impression, a thousand favors unrepaid, a thousand duties unperformed, and wish, vainly wish, for his return; not so much that we may receive, as that we may bestow happiness, and recompense that kindness which before we never understood."

The tallest trees are most in the power of the winds, and ambitious men of the blasts of fortune.

The mind of a proud man is like a mushroom which starts up in a night. His business is first to forget himself and then his friends.

Imagine a railway from here to the sun. How many hours is the sun from us? Why, if we were to send a babe in an express train, going incessantly a hundred miles an hour, without making any stoppages, the babe would grow to be a boy, the boy would grow to be a man, the man would grow old and die, without seeing the sun, for it is distant more than a hundred years from us. But what is this compared to Neptune's distance? Had Adam and Eve started, by our railway, at the creation, to go from Neptune to the sun, at the rate of fifty miles per hour, they would not have got there yet; for Neptune is more than six thou. sand years from the center of our system.

It is not hasty reading, but seriously meditating upon holy and heavenly truths, that makes them prove sweet and profitable to the soul. It is not the bee's touching of the flowers that gathers honey, but her abiding for a time upon them, and drawing out the sweet. It is not he that reads most, but he that meditates most, that will prove the choicest, sweetest, wisest, and strongest Christian.

Be not ashamed to be, or to be esteemed, poor in this world; for he that hears God teaching him will find that it is the best wisdom to withdraw all our affections from secular honor and troublesome riches, and by patience, by humiliation, by suf fering scorn and contempt, and the will of God, to get the true riches.

As the rose-tree is composed of the sweetest flowers and the sharpest thorns; as the heavens are sometimes overcast, alternately tempestuous and serene; so is the life of man intermingled with hopes and fears, with joys and sorrows, pleasures and pain.

The wages which sin bargains for with the sinner are life, pleasure, and profit; but the wages it pays him with are death, torment, and destruction. He that would understand the false. hoods of sin must compare its promises and its payment together. The sorrows of the wicked are as a poison to destroy; those of the saints are as a medicine tempered by God's own hand for the restoration of health.

I will answer for it, the longer you read the Bible the more you will like it; it will grow sweeter and sweeter; and the more you get into the spirit of it, the more you will get into the spirit of Christ.

The pious man and the Atheist always talk of religion-the one speaks of what he loves, and the other of what he fears. We can not easily hate the man for whom we always pray. A very small page will serve for the number of our good works, when vast volumes will not contain our evil deeds.

Let every man endeavor to make the world happy by a strict performance of his duty to God and man, and the mighty work of reformation will soon be accomplished.

What unthankfulness is it to forget our consolations, and to look only on matters of grievance; to think so much upon two or three crosses, as to forget a hundred blessings!

God draweth straight lines, but we think and call them crooked. One reason why the world is not reformed is, because every man would have others make a beginning, and never think of himself.

None have ever been so good and so great, or have raised themselves so high as to be above the reach of troubles. Our Lord was "a man of sorrows."

Editor's Cable.

FOR you, reader, as the highest blessing possible to be enjoyed in the present life, we wish good health and the smile of Heaven on all your pathway. Only those who have lost health know its value. We envy men their riches and their fame; but, however miserable our own health, we never express envy or jealousy because of the perfect health of friends and acquaintances around us. Bring a man to the borders of the tomb, and call in his kindred to see him die, how much will that dying man prefer life and health then to all the gold, and all the flattery, and all the fame of this poor world! Religion, too-God's blessing on the soul-with what indifference do multitudes treat it; and yet what man or what woman wishes to be without its comforts when other comforts fail? A man can live, in some sense, without often being concerned about his eternal welfare. He can shut out from his view the dim future, and its dim pic. tures of the destiny of the good and the bad; but when life's curtain begins to draw darkly around his prospects, and when the world and the world's scenes begin to fade, then to his heart religion is a welcome guest-then God is sought after with carefulness and tears; and happily, indeed, will it be for the poor sinner's soul, if carefulness or tears avail his peace and happiness.

Significant of the movements of the times, and as a realization of some apprehensions expressed by us months ago, we state, that the Westminster Review has at last presented itself to the public in its true character. It is now in the hands of an editor, who professes for his faith no faith, and who sees in any thing and every thing of this world as much of God as he thinks necessary for any man of decent reason and common understanding to have. This confession of principles we do not regret. Much better is it to make known one's real feelings and thoughts, than, having them pent-up, to be continually playing masked faces for the world. The religious public frequently talk and complain of the aggressions of Romanism; and it is a fear which thousands have expressed, that the time can not be far off when the fires of persecution will be kindled for the benefit of Christians. Such fear from Catholicism we think groundless. Infidelity, both of a gross and a refined nature, is more widespread than Roman Catholicism, and a fiercer battle must be fought against it by the friends of religion than will ever be required of them against any other blighting iniquity.

A letter from Clayton, Ill., lies before us, announcing the death of Mrs. Maria D. Herd, a member of the Baptist Church, but one whose labors in behalf of the Repository have not been surpassed by any one, east or west. Mrs. Herd, during the year past, under an assumed signature, has furnished our pages several very meritorious pieces of poetry. The bereaved husband thus writes: "It has always been a pleasant world to me,' was the language of my dear Maria, in speaking of the past, and while lying on her bed of death. And if, my dear brother, this world be pleas ant to the disciple of Christ, who has the promise of persecu. tions with other blessings, what will be the blessedness of that region where all the air is love? At her grave was read, from the July Repository, the article headed, What I Would Like,' by a minister in attendance, as the most appropriate thing for the occasion. Her work is done, and her reward is before her." In labor for Christ we live here; in hope of his presence in heaven we die. Not in simple poetic fervor, but in heaveninspired faith, the poet exclaimed:

"O may I triumph so,

When all my warfare's past; And dying, find my latest foe Under my feet at last!"

Philander must excuse us. We do not think any discussion on the subject of female secret-keeping would tend at all to edification. Our opinion has heretofore been, and we see no cause to change it now, that women are just as good, and generally better, at keeping secrets than men. No true wife ever thinks of disclosing the failings of her husband. With her such faults are sacred. When she even condescends to make of her nearest female relative a confidant in such matters, she forgets what is due to herself, and, with her husband's, depreciates her

own character. "The true wife's bosom," as a great man has said, "should be and is the tomb of her husband's failings, and his character in her estimation is far more valuable than even his life." True words and well spoken are these; and she who does otherwise, does that which no high-aiming, pure-bosomed female could do-she pollutes her marriage vow.

The reader will observe in the present number a slight modification on the past. Our Excelsior page has been dispensed with, and in its stead we give of other matter a full page. This change is made, however, not because we have any less opinion of the merits of our poetical correspondents, but because it is thought that poetry will read just as well in the body of the periodical as at its close. The Agents have also dispensed with the opinions of the press, heretofore given on the second and third pages of the cover, and have presented in their place notices of the more recent publications of our Church-a feature, we trust, that will give general satisfaction. Sometimes it occurs that an individual is desirous of purchasing a volume, of whose price and character he is ignorant, and is prevented simply because of a lack of information. It is to be hoped that these notices may introduce to the favor of our readers some volumes, at least, with whose particular character they have heretofore not been entirely familiar.

Our first plate-The Two Friends-is a fine line engraving, by Mr. E. Teel, of New York; the second-The Young Arithmetician in a Fix-is by F. E. Jones, Esq., of the same city, and is executed in the best mezzotint style; while the third and lastBishop Hedding-is pronounced, by competent judges, an accu rate profile and a good specimen of work in medallion. The reader can examine and criticise them at his leisure.

Our acknowledgments are hereby tendered to our correspondents for their favors so liberally bestowed of late. Our supply of matter is abundant. Several articles filed for insertion in this number are unavoidably laid over for future use. One from our own pen is waiting its turn, which will be when our friends can be somewhat accommodated. Can patience be exercised, fellow-users of the pen? We hope so. Our reprint department, for the consideration just named, is also quite abridged in this number. The reader, however, will be no loser by the excess of original matter. Some of the articles will bear read. ing more than once, and all of them, we trust, will pay at least for a single perusal. To mention articles which we deem possessed of superior merit would be savoring of invidiousness; and hence we would prefer that each one examine and think for himself.

It is not customary, so far as we know, for editors either of newspapers or periodicals to return manuscripts, and yet we have such requests made to us every few days. While we would be glad to accommodate all of our correspondents, a little reflection will show the impracticability of satisfying them in this particular. Of every article ever furnished by us to a periodical we have kept a copy at home; so that, in case of rejection or other misfortune, we could still know what we had written. Could not our friends adopt the same rule, and thus, in case of any casualty, be still possessed of a copy of their writings?

The death of Mrs. Sherwood, well known as the author of Little Henry and his Bearer, is announced in the foreign journals as having occurred at Twickenham, England, September 22d. She leaves a son, Rev. Henry Martyn Sherwood, and two daughters. Her husband, Captain Sherwood, died December 6, 1849. Mrs. Sherwood's popularity, during the later years of her life, was very considerably diminished by her tendency to the doctrines of Universalism in her writings. Her younger daughter, who is highly esteemed as a writer, is about furnishing the world with a life of her mother, when we can read and judge for ourselves respecting her teachings and her peculiarities of character.

We continue occasionally to receive anonymous communications; but we do not communicate this information because the matter troubles us seriously. We make the announcement chiefly that others may save themselves unnecessary labor. Such communications, unmutilated and unread, are carefully laid aside, and nothing but oblivion can ever come in contact or have any trouble with them. Such is our rule, and such their fate.