not reasons for virtue, but take it to your heart as a bride. Ask no man to prove to you the laws of virtue, but look and see how sovereign they are. Wait not to reason it out. That may take a lifetime, and leave you still in doubt. You cannot afford to wait, it was never meant you should wait for that. Turn yourself to the sun, an be warmed; turn yourself to your God and be fathered. Do good, and find the truest good. Take a stand upon the right, because it is the everlasting rock. Believe in goodness, for so only can you have it. Be not doubtful, but believing. -Unitarian Review.

UNIVERSALISM THE LANGUAGE OF THE HUMAN HEART.

Universalism accomplished through Jesus Christ, as a result, is what the unperverted human heart naturally desires and expects. This is made evident by the testimony of Rev. Albert Barnes, who says: "It need not be denied that there is a feeling in our nature which prompts us to desire the salvation of all men.'

And faith in this grand result, so worthy of God, is the spontaneous development of the unsophisticated mind. It lies upon the very surface of simple hearted childhood. So is it a thing "hidden from the wise and prudent, and revealed unto babes." To childhood, God appears as a Father who can by no possibility lose sight of its welfare. To it, a Father who can make his children happy through discipline, rill; while the Father who can and will not, is cruel. Such is the sweet consciousness of childhood, until the light of its simple faith is eclipsed by monstrous dogmas;-such is the home feeling of the heart till led off into the bewildering mazes of scholastic theology,-mazes in which men, their struggle with simple consciousness

not yet given over, are pressed to exclaim, "all is dark, dark, dark, and I cannot disguise it."

And why not? For even men, when they speak in the simplicity of their hearts, do interjectionally exclaim, "God cannot create immortal beings in his own image to punish them forever." The anecdote of the little boy may therefore answer for the boy older grown. "A boy in the street hearing one of his playfellows say that God would burn wicked children forever, appealed to his Orthodox mother to know if it was so. The mother hesitating, as well she might, the boy added as if to help her out, " Did not God make little children?" "Certainly, my dear," she replied. "Well, then," rejoined the boy, thoughtfully, calming his features," it is not likely that he will burn them up."

Such is the heart of childhood. To it, in its simplicity, an infinite Father who should punish his children forever were worse than the child he punishes, and especially when that Father at the first threw his child under temptation, with a full foreknowledge of the consequences. To be sure, that transparency of the child's mind which glasses so glorious a sentiment, is likely to be early blurred under blighting influence of the theological world around it. And rarely have we experienced a more severe heart-ache, than when we have seen the light of simple faith going out upon its tender heart as the dark shadows of a terrible theology have been settling down upon it.

Men never talk, act and feel with such simplicity and naturalness as when they go down into sympathy, rapport, if you please, with child. hood. Then their artificial livery is thrown off, that they may approach nearer to the child, and consequently, nearer to God. Hence the mother

never gets so near to heaven as when she reconnoitres it from the cradle she rocks, through the sweet babe that slumbers therein. Then she sees the angels through one she calls an angel, and hopes will yet be an angel. Hopes! nay, in spite of any theology, believes! Do you tell her that God very likely will punish the holy thing she cherishes, forever! That it is but a candidate for endless misery! You tell it all greatly in vain. Not so does she read the hand writing of God upon her babe's heart -that hand writing which, though blind to you and me, mothers can easily read, as its characters take distinctness under the glass of their love. She prays right through your theology, nor once fears that her child shall be lost forever in consequence of living to the years of accountability through God's answer to her prayer, that prayer which, born of no popular theology, comes up from those profound depths of soul which are undisturbed by any winds of doctrine which whip its surface, comes up from the heart's core, indicating the germ of hope for all, by Heaven's own hand implanted there,--comes up-bursts up through the superincumbent crust of stratified dogmas like lava fires from the depths of the earth.

Or is that mother consciously dying with her pale and slender hand upon her babe's heart? Then, as she commits it to God's keeping, all dark theology is dissipated, as clouds, from the heavens, and she accepts the assurance that her orphan, however evil shall be its earthly future, will finally come to her in the skies. Such is the feeling of the Christian soul, when the heart withdraws itself from the gloom of dogmas and stirs up its own original fires of hope and trust. It will have the way of its dead

shining, while it cherishes their miniatures, raises marble to their memory, chisels their epitaphs, and plants flowers upon their graves. Not indeed that the heart, in passing fearful crises, renounces any old dogmatic faith. It may only contrive, like Byron's Judges of King George, to get its dear ones into heaven in spite of it. For what it deems must be true, it can find conclusive evidence in the upward roll of a dying eye, the motion of the lips as if in prayer, or the doubtful pressure of the hand that might have meant salvation;--and so its despair brightens into hopefulness. So the dead and the creed are both saved; the former by a necessity of consciousness, and the latter by a necessity of prejudice.

And now, what does all this indicate but a deep subsoil of hope in the human soul, which is legitimate and nurturing receptacle of our most excellent and precious faith. It seems to me it can indicate nothing else. It does indicate that. So is our faith "founded upon a rock."

REV. M. J. STEERE.

For what is our proof of immortality? Not the analogies of nature,the resurrection of nature from a winter grave or the emancipation of the butterfly; not even the testimony to the fact of risen dead; for who does not know how shadowy and unsubstantial these intellectual proofs become in unspiritual frames of mind? No: the life of the spirit is the evidence. Heaven begun is the living proof that makes the heaven to come credible. "Christ in you is the hope of glory." It is the eagle eye of faith which penetrates the grave, and sees far into the tranquil things of death. He alone can believe in immortality who feels the resurrection in him already.- Robertson.

AN EDITOR'S VACATION.

BY REV. MARY BILLINGS.

CHAPTER II,

MEELY ANN.

This lass was tall and straight as a candle. She had a good complexion, a large mouth, and a set of ivories that would have made a dentist's fortune if he could have successfully imitated them. The most remarkable features of Miss Meely Ann's make-up were her eyes, which somehow had gotten askew when they were put into their sockets. But for this defect she was as wholesome a country damsel as one often sees.

The expressed perfect "willinness to write out anything Aunt Mimy wanted her to; and jist es soon as her pau (pa) was done usin' Suke -the mule-drawin' logs to the sawmill, then she'd ride over every day for a spell.”

Mother Goslin smiled approvingly at this, her big round face looking radiant, and reminding me more than before of a September sun at its setting.

Before leaving home I put a few strings of beads and a little cheap jewelry into my valise, with an eye to winning the good graces of our red-skinned brethren on the frontier if I decided to go so far.

Happy thought? I remembered that the gentler sex from Mother Eve down to her latest descendant have been susceptible to the charms. of shining ornaments, or to the influence of the beautiful, for didn't our first mother see that the "apple was "pleasant to the eye?" I was desirous of clenching the bargain, and stepping into the bed-room produced a pair of ear-rings and a brooch, which I presented to Miss Meely Ann in due form. I made sure there would be no misunderstanding about the gift, by saying,as

I handed them to her, "There is a wedding present for you, which I hope you will wear when you are married. Mrs. Goslin tells me you are expecting to change your name before another Christmas."

To say that the damsel was pleased but faintly expresses the emotion painted upon her open countenance and visible even in her twisted vision. I was glad to see a pretty blush mantling her cheeks at my reference to her marriage, as she smilingly received the baubles. She made her acknowledgement in a sort of hybrid bow-and-courtesy; inclining her figure forward to an angle of thirty-five degrees with a dipping of her rather short skirts to the floor. Then, I felt sure-in printer's phrase--she would "stick" till the Goslin narra. tive was finished for an appreciative public.

Aunt Jemima glowed and smiled, telling her young friend "she would punch her ears with a darnin' needle and put a piece of silk thread in fust while they were sore; an' then they'd be all right for the ear-nubs afore long."

"They ain't so long and danglin' as Marier Gibbses, but theyer a heap nicer, and puttier to. You'll look like a pink in 'em Meely."

As she said this, Aunt Mimy held them up to the girl's ears, with a comical air of one taking in the situation. Both females were fully convinced of their "becominness." Little Bobby, who was setting on the door-bench, looked in from behind. his perch, a weak, pleased smile curving his thin lips.

I started to help Miss Meely mount her mule, feeling, I must confess, a little shaky about the operation, not having the same degree of confidence in these festive animals that I have in some others with the same number of legs. To my relief, Miss

Scroggins waived my politeness, and fetchin' the beast around, with-I must say as handsome a turn as ever I saw, jumped first on the bench and then vaulted into the saddle with the agility, if not the grace of a fawn. Before riding off, she remarked to Mother Goslin in confi. déntial tones-

"Huldy Bean 'll be jist green with envy over these buteful jewels." To me she said "Mr. Peacoddy, I'll be proud to do that writin'; and I'm ever so much obleeged for the lovely present."

With a good-bye to all, she went across the clearing, and into the forest-road as Uncle 'Lisha said, "at a slappin pace.'

Was it my good genius that whispered to me "Aunt Jemima would be pleased with that string of gilt beads;" her childlike, yet unselfish delight over Meely Ann's jewelry, may have led me to interrogate thus. And she was. In fact, pleased don't express her delight over the shining

"Pappy Goslin, jest you look here!" she exclaimed, holding up the string of beads with childish delight. They were duly admired by that worthy pioneer."

"Now you jest fasten this ere ketch," she said to him as she put them around her plump throat.

What if they are too short?" I thought just then, with a quake. They went round all right much to my relief; tho' not an inch to spare. Uncle 'Lisha fumbled at the clasp without succeeding in fastening them, and my services were required to perform this operation.

They really set off the buxom figure, and seemed as appropriate to her ample physique, as the large flowered gowns she wore. Her whole nature impressed me as constructed on a generous scale, largehearted, sunny tempered and kindly. Blessed Aunt Jemima!

When Bobby came in from setting his traps, his eyes caught the shine about his mother's neck. It was amusing to see the little fellow approach her sideways, shyly pointing to the new adornment of his mother.

"Yis," she responded heartily, "Mammy's got a nice present; Bobby's glad, aint he?"

"Yis'm! They're pooty. Lem'me feel on 'em Mammy.'

"So you shell, you blessed child.”. and Mother Goslin bent down as far as it was safe for one of her obesity to attempt doing, giving the lad a rousing kiss as she did so.

"He's Mammy's darlin', so he is!