PENCILED PASSAGES.

FROM VARIOUS AUTHORS.

FEW men were more diligent in the collection of books than ROBERT SOUTHEY, and certainly very few made better use of them. He was a most voracious reader, and has left on record his opinion, written when he had nearly reached the verge of his earthly existence, of

THE INSIGNIFICANCE OF WORLDLY

KNOWLEDGE.

After all, knowledge is not the first thing needful. Provided we can get contentedly through the world and to heaven at last, the sum of knowledge we may collect on the way is more infinitely insignificant than I like to acknowledge in my own heart.

will preach the truth as it is in Jesus, not with faltering tongue and averted eye, as if the mind blushed at its own credulity; not distilling it into an essence so subtle, and so speedily decomposed that a chemical analysis alone can detect the faint odor which tells it has been there, but who will preach it apostle-wise, that is, "first of all," at once a principle shrined in the heart and a motive mighty in the life, the source of all morals and the inspiration of all charity, the sanctifier of every relationship, and the sweetener of every toil. Give us these men! men of dauntless courage, from whom God-fear has banished man-fear, who will stand unblanched before the pride of birth, and the pride of rank, and the pride of office, and the pride of intellect, and the pride of money, and will rebuke their conventional hypocrisies, and demolish their false confidences, and sweep away their refuges of lies. Give us these men! men of tenderest sympathy, who dare despise none, however vile and crafty, because the "one blood" appeals for relationship in its sluggish or feverish flowwho deal not in fierce reproofs nor haughty bearing, because their own evils have just been brought out of prison-by whom the sleeper will not be harshly chided, and who will mourn over the wanderer, "my brother! ah! my brother!" Give us these men! men of zeal untiring, whose hearts of constancy quail not,

accessible to all, and of which none can obtain too much :

Of the knowledge which we acquire under the tuition of the Comforter, and of that knowledge which God himself is the subject, it is impossible to possess too much. And such is the knowledge of the glorified. God himself is known. Not comprehended, but apprehended: much of his procedure understood, none of his perfections misunderstood. The plan of redemption is made plain, and the grace of Immanuel is made so manifest that it will be almost a regret of the glorified that it was not sooner realized; that they did not trust his tenderness more, and resort to his atonement more habitually and more joyfully. And the mystery of Providence is made plain; and, like

one who has been conducted through a tangled forest

by some skillful guide, and who at last, emerging from the thicket, and looking down from some lofty eminence on the leafy wilderness, concedes his conductor's skill; so, escaped from the thicket of this world's toils and trials, and looking down from the hills of iminortality on the way by which the Lord has led us, that road which we often thought so roundabout, and often felt so rugged-how affecting and surprising to see that it was the only right way- the only way that would have brought us thither!

THE PREACHER FOR THE TIMES. THE REV. W. MORLEY PUNSHON is an eloquent and exceedingly popular young minister, rivaling in power, but not in eccentricity, the noted Spurgeon. In a lecture before the Young Men's Christian Association in London, which has been recently published, we find this passage:

One great want of the times is a commanding ministry, a ministry of a piety at once sober and earnest, and of mightiest moral power. Give us theso men, full of faith and of the Holy Ghost, who will proclaim old truths with new energy, not cumbering them with massive drapery, nor hiding them neath piles of rubbish. Give us these men! men of sound speech, who

timid men blush, and cautious men deprecate, and wicked men revile-who, though atrophy wastes the world, and paralysis has settled on the Church, amid hazard and hardship are valiant for the truth,

SEY.

And think

What others only dream about, and do What others did but think, and glory in What others dared but do.

CHILDREN OF THE POOR. THERE is a vein of bitterness running through the sweet poetry of GERALD MASIt had its origin in his own early experience. The son of poor parents, he was obliged, when only eight years of age, to toil in a factory for bread. He speaks feelingly, and gives a sketch of his own early life when he tells us that

The child comes into the world, a new coin, with the stamp of God upon it. In like manner as the Jews sweat down sovereigns by hustling them in a bag to get gold dust out of them, so is the poor man's child hustled and sweated down in this bag of society to get wealth out of it; and even as the impress of the queen is effaced by the Jewish process, so is the image of God worn from head and brow, and day by day the child recedes devil-ward. I look back now with wonder, not that few escape, but that any escape at all to win nobler growth for their humanity.

DESTRUCTION OF TREES.

THERE are, among the readers of THE NATIONAL, not a few to whom the subjoined extract from an article in a late number of the North American Review will convey a rebuke for the past, and possibly a lesson to be remembered in the future:

If anything could provoke a saint to wrath it is the frequent destruction of fine trees on the most frivolous pretenses. Here a majestic elm is sacrificed because the

like the Dutch deputies, who would never allow Marlborough to venture anything, and by their excessive caution prevented many a victory from being won. Truly, in looking round the Church of Christ, a man might sometimes think that God's kingdom had come and God's will was being done on earth, so small is the zeal that some believers show.

THE LITTLE COFFIN.

MRS. BOSTWICK's touching lines have been copied frequently. Those who have met with them before will not object to see them again, and if they are not familiar to all our readers, they ought to be:

"Twas a tiny, rosewood thing,
Ebon bound and glittering
With its stars of silver white,
Silver tablet, blank and bright,
Downy pillowed, satin lined,
That I, loitering, chanced to find
"Mid the dust, and scent, and gloom
Of the undertaker's room,
Waiting, empty-ah! for whom?

Ah! what love-watched cradle bed
Keeps to-night the nestling head,
Or on what soft, pillowing breast
Is the cherub form at rest,
That ere long, with darkened eye,
Sleeping to no lullaby,
Whitely robed, and still, and cold,
Pale flowers slipping from its bold,
Shall this dainty couch infold?

Ah! what bitter tears shall stain
All this satin sheet like rain,
And what towering hopes be hid
'Neath this tiny coffin lid,
Scarcely large enough to bear
Little words that must be there;
Little words, cut deep and true,
Bleeding mothers' hearts anew-
Sweet, pet name, and "AGED TWO!"

O! can sorrow's hovering plume
Round our pathway cast a gloom,
Chill and darksome as the shade
By an infant's coffin made!
From our arms an angel flies,
And our startled, dazzled eyes,
Weeping round its vacant place,
Cannot rise its path to trace,
Cannot see the angel face!

SOLICITUDE FOR CHILDREN.

DR. STORK, in his "Home Scenes; or, Christ in the Family," has some beautiful thoughts on a duty of the Church which cannot be too frequently or too impressively inculcated:

Even in what are called the dark ages, the time of monkish austerity and priestly sway, we see glimpses of tender solicitude for childhood. In the Gothic Cathedral, that embodiment of the middle ages, the Holy Mother and her Divine child beam upon the worshiper from illuminated missals and painted windows. There by the altar stands the baptismal font; and the child of the poorest peasant is recognized as a lamb of the Good Shepherd, and received into his fold.

What would childhood have been in the dark ages without the church? What other power could have stood between innocence and its tempter and destroy. er? Who would have withstood Herod, if the mother heart of Christianity had withheld its guardianship?

Christianity is still the guardian of childhood, for Herod still lives. His spirit is still the spirit of the world-of the world's passion and its policy. What multiform evils are all around to blight the innocence and purity of the young! What evils surround their path! What serpents are ever gliding among the very flowers of their spring! The child ever needs protection; Herod ever in some form rages; Christianity, like a mighty maternal heart, needs ever to keep its watch.

UNPROFITABLE MIXTURES.

Or all compounds the religious novel is surely the strangest. It is an attempt to make the devil do the Lord's business-a yoking of Apollyon to the car of Salvation. Indeed, any incongruous mixture is apt to produce disgust in well-regulated mindsmental nausea we might call it—as is well set forth by a cotemporary critic:

We cannot bear those effeminative practitioners who try to make physic pleasant-spoiling an agreeable vehicle without improving the nasty stuff which it is intended to disguise. We dislike a black draught in a glass of champagne, or powders with ale, or cod-liver oil in sherry-ugh! the thought is wry faces and nausca; and we believe that we are not singular. Does the man live who could contemplate, unmoved, the process of mixing jalap in stout? By analogy, therefore, we object to all the attempts to render philosophy palatable by combining it with fictitious biography. It will not go down; one element must suffer by the process: the philosophy, if strong, absorbs all the interest of the narrative, and the characters become mere mouthpieces of opposite opinions, like the opponent and respondent in an old scholastic exercise; or the fiction, if agreeable, spoils the philosophy, and we forget all about the argument on the subjectivity of Space and Time, in our pleasant recollection of that pretty little love scene between the professor and the parson's daughter.

GOD THE GIVER.

THE Ettrick Shepherd's doxology may appropriately close the chapter for the present month:

Blessed be thy name forever,

Thou of life the guide and giver,
Thou canst guard the creatures sleeping,
Heal the heart long broke with weeping.
God of stillness and of motion,
God of desert and of ocean,
Of the mountain, rock, and river-
Blessed be thy name forever.

Thou who slumberest not, nor sleepest,
Bless'd are they thou kindly keepest;
God of evening's parting ray,

Of midnight's gloom, and dawning day,
That rises from the azure sea,
Like breathings of eternity;
God of life! that fade shall never,
Blessed be thy name forever!

EDITORIAL NOTES AND GLEANINGS.

WILLIAM L. MARCY.-By the public press of every political creed, the name of this eminent statesman, now that he has passed away, is mentioned with respect; and well-deserved tributes are paid to his memory. Even those who

most bitterly opposed him while living are among the foremost, now that he is dead, to do justice to his character as a man, and to his abilities as a statesman.

He was born on the 12th of December, 1786, and died at Ballston Spa, on the 4th of July, 1857. He was a student of Brown University, where he graduated in 1808. In the war of 1812 he volunteered as a lieutenant of light infantry, and it was his company which had the good fortune to capture the first flag won by the land forces in that war. Among the civil offices held by him were those of Recorder of the City of Troy; Comptroller of the State of New York; Justice of the Supreme Court of this State; United States senator; Governor of New York, to which office he was three times elected; Secretary of War during President Polk's administration; and Secretary of State during that of President Pierce. In all these positions he displayed talents of a high order, and by the faithful discharge of every duty he has left a name that will ever rank highly among those of America's greatest states

men.

BROTHER CROAKER.-The Congregationalist, one of the best religious papers on our exchange list, paints the portrait of this well-known brother in colors so life-like that we recognized him at the first glance. We knew him very well in former years. He was not a Calvinist then, but it seems that he has been a diligent student since he found a home within that ecclesiastical inclosure. We trust he is predestinated to stay there until his course is finished. "Brother Croaker is a brother whom, having once seen, you will be apt to remember. His bodily presence affects your nerves like a raw, drizzly day in November. The forehead is low and aslant; the eyes, closely fitted in near the narrow bridge of the nose, remind you of the expression of a Jewish clothesdealer's. The mouth is compressed into the firmness and rigidity of the lock-jaw; there is about its lines a downright, no-use to-talk' expression, which keeps you off at a respectful distance. The moment your eye falls on his face, the idea of looking to it for sympathy strikes you as having something fantastic in its absurdity; you would as soon expect sympathy from the cold grave-stone of a pawnbroker.

"Brother Croaker's spiritual part fully sustains the impression made by his physiognomy. His mission' in the world is evidently to keep his neighbors all right; and for himself-that is his own business. His evidences of personal acceptance with God resolve themselves all into one brief sentence, he is orthodox. It is true, you never meet him at evening prayer-meetIngs. He lives too far off, and his health is rather feeble, (though on Lyceum lecture nights, he thanks the Lord, he is somewhat stronger,) and, moreover, Mrs. Croaker dislikes to be left alone. He wishes the meetings were better attended, and wonders that brethren living near the church don't more of them 'turn out.'

"The whole matter of collections and contributions is an eye-sore to him. He would about as willingly

have a loaded revolver thrust at him, as a contribution box. Collections, he thinks, come too often. Once in six months is enough in all reason. Charity begins at home. There are too many societies, doing nothing but paying fat salaries to treasurers and secretaries out of the hard work of God's people. It's all folly to be squandering precious money on so many wild schemes to civilize Patagonians and Kamschatkans. The missionary collector, calling at Brother Croaker's door, has a task about as agreeable as wrenching a bone from a hungry mastiff. If the example of good deacon A., who gives away half his income, is commended to him, he thinks it impertinence. He always thought the deacon had a soft spot in his head; and he is growing sure of it now; for a fool and his money are soon parted.'

·

"As to family worship-he expects the minister, whenever he calls at the house, (and woe to him if that is not often,) to pray with them all; but for himself, hə feels inadequate, though he does muster courage to speak, when, in a town meeting, Young America threatens to vote away money and raise his taxes.

"Pressing personal religion home on the souls of his children he finds embarrassing, and never attempts it. It is true, they are all growing up without God in the world, but he comforts himself by charging all that over to the account of Divine Sovereignty.

"Brother Croaker has one favorite hobby, namely, ecclesiastical litigation. A council called by the Church, especially in any embarrassing case, is a perfect Godsend to him. It is really wonderful to see how readily he contrives to excuse himself from Mrs. Croaker, and how heroically his feeble health rallies for the great occasion. Let the council hold one session, or a dozen, in the morning, or till midnight, in fair weather or foul, Brother Croaker is sure to appear, leaning eagerly forward, with his elbows on the back of the scat before him, his projected chin on his open palms, and his gray eyes, that so often are drowsy in Church, as restless as those of grimalkin with a mouse in full view.

"We have already intimated that he atones for any harmless little peculiarities, by the rich savor of his orthodoxy. He knows the five points of Calvinism as he knows his five fingers, and keeps vigilant watch over the faith once delivered to the saints. But es pecially he maintains a sharp look out for the minister. If ever that hapless personage lets slip a word about the innocence of childhood, or the amiability of the hue and cry of heresy, and the poor pastor begins worldly men, Brother Croaker is after him at once with to doubt his own identity, on waking up some morning to find himself a full-blooded Unitarian, if not a Parkerite, a ravening wolf in sheep's clothing. If it should so happen that the pastor's orthodoxy is established and unassailable, Brother Croaker ånds, in the matter and manner of his sermons, prolific themes for comment. His most comprehensive remark, and most convenient, as saving the trouble of specification, is, that there's nothing in the sermons anyhow; all froth.'

"He groans with unction over the departure of good Mr. P., the last pastor, and would give the world if only he could return; albeit a little inquiry of Mr. P. will reveal to you that he reckoned Brother Croaker the sorest affliction ever visited upon him.

"He begins shortly to intermingle forebodings with his criticisms, like the few low thunder-peals before a storm. Matters cannot go on long at this rate; that's clear. Everything is going to ruin, and if nobody else but him has discovered it, nobody else looks far enough ahead. Our estimable brother has a memory wondrously retentive of all tart remarks on the minister, by whomsoever dropped. He does for the parish the same service which that pan which receives all drippings of sour, curdled milk does for the dairy. He understood Squire A., who professes to be one of the pastor's best friends, to say that he did not think the last sermon he listened to was quite clear on election, and Dr. B. was lately heard complaining that Homeopathy was too much in favor at the parsonage; and Mrs. C. says she will keep her feathers if the minister does preach that the fashion of this world passeth away. With these and like weighty evidences that a crisis is approaching, Brother Croaker proceeds to worry the pastor into asking a dismission, by which everybody else in the parish is surprised and grieved; but nobody more so than Squire A., Dr. B., and Mrs. C.

"Brother Croaker is ready to acknowledge, in general terms, that he is a miserable sinner, that he was shapen in iniquity and in sin did his mother conceive him; but call his attention to any special and favorite

BOOTS AND WHITE CHOKERS.-Dr. Bethune, in an address to theological students at Rochester, said, that when he was young no preacher ever went into the pulpit in boots, but always wore shoes; and he believed there was as much of comfort as custom in it. No one can preach well in tight boots. He inveighed against the "white choker" as unclassical and indefensible. The writers on ancient customs tell us nothing about bandages for the throat, and in early days none but slaves and felons wore the "halter." There is no reason, therefore, why the clergy should garrote themselves in these days.

"Is there one tool in the whole kit of them that our master, Mr. Teak, makes more use of than of you? And which of them can he forego less easily? (for, of course, your brother, the bradall, is with you in this plaint.) Though every tool has its special excellence, still many of those you envy might be superseded by neighbors. The ax will hew down an oak pretty nearly as well as the saw will cut it; the adze will smooth away roughnesses at least half as neatly as the plane; the knife (if our worshipful guild of carpenters did not unreasonably repudiate such an instrument) could carve a cornice better than the chisel: but nothing would compensate for your absence, no, not even your cousin the augur; for neither nail nor screw will hold after him. Be content; nay, more, be happy. Though your work seems mean and secret, though there is nothing of outward show, nothing of open praise, still, O gimlet, you are the most useful, and therefore, I need scarcely add, not the least honorable of the workman's tools. It is to your good offices that he chiefly looks for coherence without splitting; and to your quiet influences, the neatness, the solidity, the comfort of his structure may greatly be ascribed."

PHILOSOPHY IN COURT.-Mr. Boyden, a civil engineer of Boston, brought a suit in the Supreme Court of Massachusetts against the Atlantic Cotton Mills of Lawrence. Mr. Boyden had agreed to make a turbine water-wheel for the Atlantic Mills, which should save, or "ntil

QUAINT CUSTOM.-At Marseilles, in France, on Ash Wednesday, there is a ceremony called "interring the carnival." A whimsical figure is dressed up to represent the carnival, and is carried in procession to Arrieus, a small seaside village, when it is pulled to pieces. This ceremony is attended, in some way or other, by every inhabitant of Marseilles, whether gentle or simple, man or woman, boy or girl.

SINGULAR INTERMENT.-The following curious entry is in the register of Lymington Church, under the year 1736: "Samuel Baldwin, Esq., sojourner in this parish, was immersed (i. e., sunk in the sea) without the Needles sans ceremonie, May 20." This was performed in consequence of the earnest wish of the deceased on his deathbed, to disappoint his wife, who, in their matrimonial squabbles, had assured him that if she survived him, she would dance on his grave.

THE GRUMBLING GIMLET.-Here is a little fable, the moral of which will occur to those who need it, and certainly do them no harm: A gimlet grew exceedingly discontented with its vocation; it envied all the other tools, thinking scorn of its own mean duty of perpetual boring and picking holes everywhere. The saw and the ax had grand work to do; the plane got praise always; so did the chisel for its carving; and the happy hammer was always ringing

the water power; if he succeeded in saving that per centage, he was to have two thousand dollars; if not, he was to have nothing; and for every one per cent. above that, he was to receive three hundred and fifty dollars. Mr. Boyden went to work and produced a wheel which saved, as he affirmed, ninety-six per cent, The labor involved in this result may be imagined, from the fact that Mr. Boyden spent more than five thousand dollars in the mere mathematical calculations. The company had provided no sufficient means of testing the ques tion practically, and as the per centage claimed by Mr. Boyden was altogether unprecedented, they contested the claim. The case went into court. No jury could comprehend the question, and the learned bench found itself entirely at fault. The case was accordingly referred to three well-chosen parties: Judge Joel Parker, of Cambridge; Professor Benjamin Pierce, the mathematician; and James B. Francis, the agent of the united companies of Lowell, in the management of the common water power. Professor Parker furnished the law, Mr. Francis the prac tical acquaintance with hydraulics, and Professor Pierce the mathematical knowledge. That learned geometer had to dive deep and study long before the problem was settled. But settled it was at last, and in Mr. Boyden's favor, to whom the referees awarded the sum of eighteen thousand seven hundred dollars. Mr. Boyden had previously constructed turbine wheels that utilized respectively the extraor dinary amounts of eighty-nine and ninety per cent.; the last wheel, utilizing ninety-six per cent., exceeds anything of the kind that was ever made. The wheel is one hundred and four and three quarter inches in diameter.