"Of course we all went in our chari- compared with the Saviour, in his celeots, otherwise called "baby-carriages" brated statue of la Piéta, which repreor Jin riki sha, carrying in our pockets sents her mourning with her dead son knives, forks, and spoons, as we did not in her lap, he replied: "Do you not expect to be able to make much head- know that chaste women remain fresher way with chop sticks. The reception than those who are not so? But yet was nominally to the bride and groom, more; if such youthful bloom is thus but the go-between occupied the seat of naturally retained in her, we must behonor. He is indeed an important per- lieve that the divine power came also to sonage, a sine qua non of every Japanese her aid, so that the maidenliness and marriage. The other guests were all imperishable purity of the mother of assembled and seated in regular order God might appear to all the world." before we arrived, and while we were taking off our wraps in an ante-room they were no doubt wondering what kind of an appearance the foreigners would make. We did not keep them long in suspense. On entering we should have fallen, or rather gracefully descended on our hands and knees and then have put our heads down as if about to improvise a summersault, but as this would have been rather awkward we contented ourselves with very low bows. The room was very prettily gotten up, the soft thick Japanese mats were covered with a fine scarlet cloth, and each guest sat or rather kneeled on a square cushion. Above the sliding partitions were hung Indian-ink drawings, at present very fashionable among the Japanese, while at the lower end of the room were tall screens ornamented in the same way and arranged so that the servants could pass between them as through a door. As soon as we were seated tea and cake was passed, and as we were foreigners we were not compelled to sit on our heels, otherwise I should not have been alive to write this. As it was, our feet took care of themselves as best they could with grace and comfort, something not so very easy to do as any one may know by trying for four hours to sit on the floor and put his feet anywhere but in front of him." THE face is the mirror of the soul. Its peace and purity are reflected on it. The pictures in the so-called rogues' galleries all reveal the criminal in their features. Purity of heart and life keep the feelings and tastes youthful and write their smiles on the countenance. When Michel Angelo was asked why he made the Virgin Mary look so young WE advise all the readers of the GUARDIAN to cultivate a sound taste for reading. Not a passionate, insatiable fondness for "dime novels," and the miserable stuff of the story papers. In this age of schools and cheap books, young people who cannot enjoy themselves in reading ought to be ashamed of themselves. We have met persons claiming to be intelligent, who could not read one hour with comfort, or if they did read, it was the intoxicating stuff of sensational writers of fiction, or literary mush. The pleasures of useful reading are of the most refined and refining kind. Thomas Jefferson, after filling the most honorable offices of the nation, called political honors" splendid torments." In the height of his political glory, when American Minister at Paris, and when idolized as a statesman and a scholar by France no less than by America, he wrote: "I had rather be shut up in a very modest cottage, with my books, my family and a few old friends, dining on simple bacon, and letting the world roll on as it liked, than to occupy the most splendid post that any human power can give." SPEAKING of Jefferson reminds us of his decalogue for practical life. With one serious defect, it has no rule for religion-its rules are good. 1. Never put off till to morrow what you can do to-day. 2. Never trouble another for what you can do yourself. 3. Never spend your money before you have it. 4. Never buy what you do not need because it is cheap; it will be dear to you. 5. Pride costs us more than hunger, thirst or cold. 6. We never repent of having eaten too little. 7. Nothing is troublesome that we do willingly. 8. How much pain the evils have cost us that have never happened. 9. Take things always by their smooth handle. 10. When angry count ten before you speak; if very angry, a hundred. The good gain wisdom by increasing years. The young increase in strength of body and in intelligence. The older may lose in comeliness of face. The skin less fair and smooth, the voice less clear and ringing. Yet withal, the ripeness of sanctified years brings beauty and strength of character. An exchange says: "In no way is the story of Stanley, the explorer, more succinctly and impressively told than in two pictures of him published in Harper's Bazaar-the one taken just before he started for Africa; the other on his return. The first picture is that of a full-faced, brighteyed, dark-haired, easy-going Bohemian. There is little of character in it, little indication of thought or of experience. The second is that of an earnest, thoughtful, care-worn man, with deep-set eyes, and iron-gray hair. The lines of his countenance tell of his maturing and refining through experiences of trial and suffering and profound emotion. The first face is the fairer; but the second is the handsomer. The difference is much the same as that between a wax figure and a bronze image. The one has at the best only a surface show. The other is clearly pure metal through and through. The attractions of the one would be gone if the fire touched it. The attractions of the other are a result of the furnace glow. Nor is this an exceptional illustration. The truest beauty of the human face is ever not in the red and white of a fair complexion; but in the lines of character which disclose the improved struggles of a soul within. The face is the reflex of character. While character is unformed, the face is incomplete. Every step of progress in character leaves its impress on the countenance an impress which cannot be counterfeited, which can come only through progress. In the soldier's uniform there is one thing that cannot be bought. It is the 'service chevron,'- Bears the record "Something done;" A DISTINGUISHED author says:"Gluttony kills more than the sword." It seems an extravagant saying. For the sword sometimes slays its hundreds of thousands in a year. During centuries past, there has not been a day when it was sheathed over the whole earth. Some nations or tribes, among civilized or savage people, are all the while killing each other. Still it is true beyond a question, that gluttony is more destructive than the sword. In the United States drunkenness is said to kill 60,000 people every year. And eating too much, and unhealthy food, kills a still larger number. Diseases of the heart, liver, lungs, and stomach, are started or aggravated by it. A farmer in the prime of life, complaining of dyspepsia, lately confessed to us that he must eat a lot of cakes, custards or pies every night before retiring. A few years ago we chided a lady for eating four and five hard-boiled eggs at a meal. She laughed at our warning as she pointed to her red cheeks and robust body. For the past year she has suffered much from dyspepsia, a torpid liver, and violent cramps. Sooner or later the penalty will surely come. Besides injuring the body and shortening the life, it blunts the mind. No danger that a gormandizing youth will grow too much into brains; his development will rather be in the direction of the stomach. Plutarch says his countrymen, "the Bootians," were remarkable for their stupidity, because they ate too much." The Infancy of Jesus. BY REV. D. Y. HEISLER. (The Epiphany.) Sages from the Orient far Gazing on the azure dome, Saw a strange-a wond'rous star, Luring them away from home; For it spake of One who came To fulfill the hopes of old, What the Seers in vision claim, What the prophets had foretold. In the clear nocturnal sky Still they saw the triple star, Shining in its sphere so high, Shining near and shining far; Dreams of ancient voices came Floating on the mid-night air, Kindling in their hearts a flame Pure and lofty-bright and fair! Hast'ning they the mystic three- Came the Orient sons of Shem! Joyous, bright the magi came, Came, in eager haste, to seek— Vexed, alarmed, the tyrant king, To allay his doubts and fears; Where Messiah should be born; "Here," say they-" in Judah-land, Blessed now-tho' erst forlorn!" Then the despot, greatly ired, Called the magi whom he feared, Earnestly of them inquired When the mystic star appeared; "Go," saith he, "to Bethlehem, Seek the wond'rous child and bring Word to me in haste again I, too, would adore the King!" When his wish the magi heard, Hastily they sped their way; Fairly now the house within, Offer they to Christ, their King! Once their willing service done, Service rendered to their Lord, Homeward haste they, and anon God doth kindly aid afford; Warns them Herod not to seeHomeward go another way; Heeding, they the tyrant flee, Glad the voice of God obey! Grateful for this help divine, They with joy their steps retrace; Still the mystic star doth shine, Shines effulgent in its place; Guided by His light serene, Err they not, nor aimless roam ; Fended 'neath the radiant sheen, They in safety reach their home. (The Flight into Egypt.) Rapture reigned in Judah then, Joy the heaving bosom thrilled; For the cherished hope of men, For the promise was fulfilled; Yet the welkin, dank and dark, Presaged trouble, presaged pain, And the prudent eye could mark Wrath-clouds gathering o'er the plain. Scarce the Magi yet had gone, Lo, an angel from above Comes to Joseph—sad and loneIn a dream, with words of love, Saying, "Rise, and take the childChild so tender, dear to theeWith His mother, meek and mild, To the land of Egypt flee! "There remain till thee I bring Word of comfort, word of joy; For the bloody tyrant-king Seeks the infant to destroy." Quickly going thence, he took Mary with the babe Divine; Glad, the tyrant's realm forsook, Safety sought in foreign clime. Stayed he in that land remote, Sheltered by the arm divine, Until God in judgment smote Herod of the scheme malign; That the mystic word of old Might receive its sense anon"Out of Egypt have I called, Called my well-beloved Son." Safe, protected were the three, Aided still by might divine; From the dread of tyrants free, Exiled, they do not repine. Tyrants new the sceptre bore, Evils feared he, serious, grave, Sheltered and from danger free. In a city small and mean, Dwelt they-dwelt the sacred three; Prophets saw their home should be ; In fulfillment now is seen; Word in darkness veiled before"He shall be a Nazarene." O the bliss-the rapture sweet In God's love we share a part! Up to London. BY EDWIN A. GERNANT. faction which a moonlight visit to the "Then go, and muse with deepest awe Who would not wander 'neath the moon But I confess a lingering, undefined pen- Our English cousins are proverbially conservative, and generally content to do as did their fathers before them. This characteristic often begets stubbornness. For example, the trains on their railways, are as regards comfort much inferior to our own. They are wholly lacking in those conveniences which in this country render long journeys comparatively pleasant. But you cannot easily induce the average Englishman to believe this. John Bull cannot imagine brother Jonathan's inventions superior to his own; still less will he adopt them. Quite recently our Pullman Palace coaches have been attached to a We left Melrose at about ten o'clock few trains on the main lines-merely in the evening. Had time not seemed as an experiment. In one respect only so precious it would have been well did these foreign railways impress me worth our while to spend the night favorably. In what may be termed the at the Abbey Hotel. Our window technicalities of the system they employ opened upon the church-yard. Here better and purer English. They have graves old and new dispute their narrow lines of "rail-ways," not of railroads; limits. Rich and poor, noble and com- passengers wait, and trains stop, at mon dust rest side by side. Thus time "stations" instead of depots; you travel at last sets all things even. Man, how-not in cars but in "carriages;" you forever, still seeks to perpetuate earthly ward your "luggage," and leave your distinctions. On a somewhat pretentious baggage in America. tombstone the friend of a dead Melrosian had caused Mister to be carved. But he had evidently not enjoyed this honor whilst in the flesh, for some of the gentry, jealous of their prerogative, had chipped away the of fending title. The lingering twilight afforded us something akin to the satis A ride of nearly three hundred miles by night, with a drowsy young couple and sleeping child, as our only companions, and our train thundered into the Great Midland Station. At length we are in "Lunnen-town" of nursery rhyme recollection. Working our way through an interminable array of coach men, until we reach the one corresponding to the number on the tin tab handed us by an accommodating official at the doorway, we for the first time take seats in a hansom cab. This is a truly London institution. The driver is behind us on an elevated seat in the open air. Nor does he leave his lofty station when at our journey's end. The cab itself is an easy-running, two-wheeled, indescribable arrangement, with breasthigh doors in front, solid sides, and over-hanging top. Comfortable and amply large for two persons, however oddly they may strike one at first, these "hansoms" soon seem just the thing. London is a world in itself. Its pulsations are instinct with the life of every people and clime. Through its generally narrow, noisy, crooked, and crowded thoroughfares, the tumultuous throng rolls along-nearly five million souls. No wonder that the Thames disaster is so soon forgotten. It is but a drop in the sea of this ever-changing humanity. Public opinion may for a season demand thorough and searching inquiry into the cause of the collision, and, not resting content when it has fixed the blame, may go farther and insist upon greater security and more careful navigation, but the ebb and flow of London's life is in no wise affected thereby. The great city has no time for mourning. It dare not even stop to think. You expect to find London under a cloud. You have heard so much of its eternal fog, its "funeral dirge in vapor," that you begin to speculate upon the tolerableness of existence whilst beneath its enveloping pall. Anything short of this is disappointing, agreeably so. I was prepared for the worst, and imagined Pittsburghian gloom, only a denser and danker. But I found all brightness and smiles, skies almost cloudless; in short I saw nothing of a London fog, not at least until several months later upon our return from the continent. Then too the great city suffered by comparison with the other more beautiful European capitals. As yet, however, these were unknown, and although I could only take a peep at its moving throngs, its labyrinthine network of streets, and its striking alternations of riches and poverty, of happiness and gloom, this proved quite enough for enjoyment, recalling historical associations well-nigh forgotten. Did I not know that of all European cities none is as familiar to American readers as this same English capital, I would be strongly tempted to review my experiences in this modern Babel, drawing fresh and personal inspiration from the shades of Westminster, and in the clustered turrets of the Tower finding the glory and blood of England's tempestuous morning. Above every point St. Paul's, with its huge dun cupola," piercing through the sea-coal canopy, stands as a fitting temple of that faith which survives all ages, "shines beyond the tomb and strengthens us with the energy of a life which expands itself into eternity." It is a question whether London can in any sense be called beautiful. Handsome boulevards there are none. The streets are irregular, with no attempt at uniformity. Some of them change their name at almost every square. The most celebrated buildings are badly situated, aesthetically considered. The new Palace of Westminster, better known as the Houses of Parliament, is built along the banks of the muddy Thames and ye noble Lords breathe the foul vapors constantly arising from its surface. Of this great British capitol I may be permitted to write at greater length. With reference to it an English author remarks: "We have at least one building of which we may indeed be proud." In the same strain the " Times" continues: "A structure destined to receive the great powers of the State, and to endure, in all human probability, as long as England is the seat of freedom and power. The towers of this enormous building are crowned by majestic symbols of the British monarchy-its walls are girt with the heraldic insigna of a long race of Kings-its chambers glow with all the associations of chivalry, of religion, and of justice; and the Palace of Westminster will, ere long, comprise, as in one perfect whole, the staple memorials of our national history and the living history of our political strength." It occupies eight acres of ground and has a river frontage of nine hundred feet. Its style is Gothic, picturesque in realization and elaborate in detail. No |