IF a man cannot refrain from being a mean man from any higher motives, let him avoid it so that he may have the satisfaction of respecting himself. Why will he compel himself to see the image of a mean man every time he looks into the glass. He that cannot respect himself had "better be a dog and bay at the moon." Let the reader look into the glass and tell us what he thinks of the one who looks at him there. "True dignity resides with him alone Who, in the silent hour of sober thought, A GENEROUS MAN. How like a May morning is the face of a generous man. It is pleasant to meet him and to deal with him. He feels that he is favored when he is permitted to do you a favor. You say he is frequently imposed upon. No, your mistaken-it is the narrow and niggardly man that is imposed upon. He that skins others is regarded as a proper subject to be skinned. Whatever can be twisted out of such a dry stick is regarded as clear gain; and wherever the unprincipled can get him into the vice they will file him. But the generous man is always safe in the hands of those whose hearts his generosity has warmed towards himself. His generosity takes from them the strongest motive to dishonesty and gives the strongest impulse to faithfulness. God bless the generous man, and make their number a thousand fold more than it is in the land. BEAUTIFUL LEGENDS. As our American Indians are a highly imaginative peoplc, few nations are possessed of more beautiful legends. The stars they believe to be spirits of the dead, and the rainbow they regard as a beautiful spirit which follows the sun. In some tribes they affirm that the Aurora Borealis or Northern lights, is the dance of the dead, in which however only the spirits of great warriors and mighty medicine men can participate. The milky-way they believe to be the path of souls leading to the spirit land. They say the seven stars are so many Indians which have been translated to heaven in a dance. The stars in Charles Wain, are so many men hunting a bear-they begin the chase in the spring and continue in it all summer; by fall they have wounded it, and its blood turns the leaves of the forest red; by winter they have killed it, and its rich white fat makes the snow, which being melted by the warmth of the summer makes the sap of the trees. SIN. Every time you sin, it is as if a serpent were born that will afterwards be in your path to alarm and wound you. The word of God has said, "Be sure your sin will find you out." We must "eat the fruit of our own doings." If we do well, the fruit will be sweet; if we do evil, the fruit will be bitter. Retribution is as sure as recompense; and as the righteous shall reap the fruit of their own doings, so the wicked shall be beset with their own ways and be filled with their own devices. Every sin is a drop of sorrow-another stick on the pile of eternal burnings. Is this verse true: You say that is true. The men of grace have found, Celestial fruits on earthly ground, The men of sin have found On earth the seeds of wo; "EVEN THE DEATH OF THE CROSS." Death by crucifixion differs from all other kinds of death, in this that in it death begins in the extremities and works in toward the vital parts. In hanging or beheading death strikes at once a vital part-the process is quick and the pain less. The peculiar position of the body on the cross is such as to place every member, muscle, joint, and vein of the body in an unnatural position, compressing and oppressing every vital organ and creating in a short time the most indescribable agony, terror and amazement. Life is choked in every current, and death bears like an incubus on every vital energy. Thus hung the dear Redeemer for three dreadful hours. Thus was the ransom paid. It was; and paid- Which bowed his blessed head, o'erwhelmed his cross, Hell howled; and Heaven that hour let fall a tear: Heaven wept that men might smile! Heaven bled that men might never die. A DIRGE. Blessed is the turf, serenely blessed, Where throbbing hearts may sink to rest, Where life's long journey turns to sleep, A little sod, a few sad flowers, 1857.] The Solemn Changes of Life. 145 THE SOLEMN CHANGES OF LIFE. BY THE EDITOR. THERE are some natural and unavoidable changes in the life of every individual which are very solemn. Such, for instance, are those from childhood to youth- from youth to manhood-from manhood to middle life-from middle life to old age-and from old age into the grave. It is not, however, of these that we wish to write; for these are inevitable, and there is no release in this war. The wise will prepare to meet them as they come. There are besides these, other solemn changes in life over which a wise control may be exercised, and which are fortunate or unfortunate, according as proper wisdom and foresight are exercised in making them. It is true that each change in life is followed with more or less consequences, but there are changes, the consequences of which, are so peculiarly important as to deserve the careful attention of all who would be wise, and who would not make life a path of thorns and death a bed of sorrows. Let us call the attention of the reader to a few of these changes, each of which he has made or is likely to make. The first is the choice of a trade, profession, or pursuit in life. There is a period in the life of each individual when he is obliged to "settle down" in life; and this settling down is generally for life, as it is not quite convenient ever to change trade, profession, &c., after one has once selected one, and become qualified for it. It is evident to any one who is in the least accustomed to observation that we are variously constituted, and adapted in talent and disposition for different callings and pursuits. The happiness and success of each one in any particular calling will greatly depend upon his having selected that for which he is adapted. There have been cases where, either by caprice or by the too arbitrary influence of parents or guardians, persons have been placed into business, trades, or callings for which they had neither talent nor disposition. The consequence has been that they appeared all their lifetime awkward, unhappy and unsuccessful. The particular calling which we pursue necessarily, must employ a great part of our time, thoughts and talents; and this will make it evident that our business pursuits are intimately connected with our happiness. What can be more cheerless than the idea of spending the most of our thoughts and the most earnest portion of our life, upon a business for which we are not designed, in which we are not successful, and for which we have no disposition. All our labors, too, in this world ought to have a constant reference to God and the future life. He, no doubt, designs us all to act some part in the glorious and complicated scheme of his providence, but if we fail in seeing the beck of His hand, and thus fail to find our post, it is evident that our whole life will be a struggle against the current; and a constant scene of entanglements and collision! How dreadful is this. Is not, then, this one of the solemn changes of life-one fraught with long and important consequences, and should it not be made with much earnestness and prayer. And in making the selection the question ought not so much to be, in which calling can I make the most money or live in the greatest ease? but it ought to be, how shall I best answer the design for which God has given me being in the world. How little, however, do many think and pray, before they put their foot forward upon the race of life; and how bitter often is the cup of their folly to them when it is too late to be delivered from drinking it. The fool shall smart, and mourn at the last! Another and a still more solemn and important change is that by which we pass from single life into the relations of family. The selection of, and union with, a companion is evidently the most solemn act of life. Next to an union with Christ through regeneration, is this union in the holy state of matrimony. By this union our union with Christ is illustrated: (Eph. 5,) it must, therefore, evidently be analagous to it in its mystical nature, importance and solemnity. This change affects life, not in its bustle and onward noise, but in its calmest and holiest retreat. The family is the sanctum sanctorum of life; if the hand of desecration invade us there, there is on earth, no retreat that can shelter us from the shafts of ill. A curse here is generic indeed; it mingles its bitter waters with every cup of joy, and throws its dreadful night-shade over everything that is tender and lovely in life. The influence which this change has upon all after life is so easily deduced from the nature of the many tender relations which it involves, and is so easily seen by constant observation, that it is strange its importance is not more solemnly felt. To mention no others, it is sufficient to show the recklessness with which this relation is entered into, to mention that the consideration of religion or no religion in the choice of a companion, is often treated with utter indifference! While other points of congeniality, such as disposition and education, are carefully considered, this deepest of all grounds of congeniality is entirely overlooked. But what do I want with a bosom friend that can go with me into the gardens of refined sentimental taste, and walk with me through every lane of science, if I must leave him behind when I go into the holy communion of religion? When my spirit is most earnest, when my wants are most deep, when my penitential heart is most sweetly subdued, and when my joys are brightest and holiest-then I must leave behind me that only friend on earth in whose heart I expect to find a pulse of sympathy, and an echo to the song of my pilgrimage, be it sad or joyful. Oh how well and how truly does God say, "Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness? and what concord hath Christ with Belial? or what part hath he that believeth with an infidel?" Well does he call it unequal; and well does he call it yoking. That it is the oppression of a yoke, the groans which are heard, and the gallings which are felt under it, abundantly testify. Here then are two solemn changes which may both, as yet, be before you, dear reader. Let us ask you to consider well their important connection with your whole life in this world, and also with your eternal history in the future life. Let not an idle, isolated circumstance, or a gush of feeling, determine a matter, for which God has given you a 1857.] A Letter from Rome. 147 nobler and a holier guide. It is for your life; therefore do it, feeling as earnestly as you desire to feel when you die or stand before God in judgment, for on both these solemn events your present step will have an incalculable influence. A LETTER FROM ROME. ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND OF THE GUARDIAN. DEAR PHILIP-I received your and Mr. Harbaugh's letter a few weeks ago. That I was very glad to receive it and read it you may well know. It is not often that you write to the city to which Paul wrote his epistle to the Romans. I reached here on the 16th of December. I met a young Pole on the way who has been my companion a good deal ever since. I rented a room for one month for about $7.75. It is well furnished, well carpeted, three tables, two large bureaus, and a bed large enough for an ordinary family. In Germany they make a man sleep stretched in a narrow trough not much broader than his body, packed steaming under feathers during the hottest weather in summer. Here beds are generally large enough for parents and three or four children. The fleas made war on me for awhile, but lately they left me in mercy, perhaps. In the evenings I generally had a small fire made on the hearth. Although the weather is not like our American winters, the evenings are mostly damp and cool. There has been no snow here. Once or twice the ground was frozen. The people here live differently from what they do with us. Very few persons board in the hotels. Even those who have rooms there board elsewhere. They have Cafes, or large coffee rooms, where every body gets breakfast; that is, bread and butter and coffee. There the people meet to read the news and chat. Certain hours of the day they are crowded, for they are a general meeting-place for acquaintances, and to make acquaintances. From 6 to 8 in the evening the rooms are black with tobacco smoke. There is very little liquor drank here. Less than at any place I have been. Have seen no drunken man in Rome yet. The dinners people get at the Trattoria, or eating houses. Most persons take them in the evening, but whenever I can, I take mine as I did at home. A cup of coffee and a few pieces of bread after that will make up our supper. My breakfast generally costs me about five or six cents, dinner about twenty-five cents, sometimes I drink coffee and eat bread several times during the day. Living is cheap here. But if I had gone to a hotel it would have cost me about twice as much. I find that the climate here agrees very well with me. With the exception of a severe cold, I have been very well. The weather often reminds me of our late fall weather when it is not cold enough for a stove, and too cold without one. I have made many pleasant acquaintances here form all parts of the world. There are many Americans here who |