When life's rough school is over, I'll meet him, by and by, Where graves ne'er hide our treasures-where dear ones never die. JOHN H. YATES. THE TRUTH OF TRUTHS. TRUTH is to be discovered, and Pardon to be won for every man by himself. This is evident from innumerable texts of Scripture, but chiefly from those which exhort every man to seek after Truth, and which connect knowing with doing. We are to seek after knowledge as silver, and search for her as for hid treasures; therefore, from every man she must be naturally hid, and the discovery of her is to be the reward only of personal search. The kingdom of God is as treasure hid in a field; and of those who profess to help us to seek for it, we are not to put confidence in those who say-Here is the treasure, we have found it, and have it, and will give you some of it; but to those who sayWe think that is a good place to dig, and you will dig most easily in such and such a way. Further, it has been promised that if such earnest search be made, Truth shall be discovered; as much truth, that is, as is necessary for the person seeking. These, therefore, I hold, for two fundamental principles of religion—that, without seeking, truth cannot be known at all; and that, by seeking, it may be discovered by the simplest. I say, without seeking it cannot be known at all. It can neither be declared from pulpits, nor set down in articles, nor in any wise "prepared and sold" in packages, ready for use. Truth must be ground for every man by himself, out of its husk, with such help as he can get, indeed, but not without stern labor of his own. In what science is knowledge to be had cheap? or truth to be told over a velvet cushion, in half an hour's talk every seventh day? Can you learn chemistry so?-zoology?-anatomy? and do you expect to penetrate the secret of all secrets, and to know that whose price is above rubies; and of which the depth saith, It is not in me, in so easy fashion? There are doubts in this matter which evil spirits darken with their wings, and that is true of all such doubts which we were told, long ago, they can "be ended by action alone." As surely as we live, this truth of truths can only so be discerned; to those who act on what they know, more shall be revealed; and thus, if any man will do His will, he shall know the doctrine, whether it be of God. Any man-not the man who has most means of knowing, who has the subtlest brains, or sits under the most orthodox preacher, or has his library fullest of most orthodox books-but the man who strives to know, who takes God at His word, and sets himself to dig up the heavenly mystery, roots and all, before sunset, and the night come, when no man can work. Beside such a man, God stands in more and more visible presence as he toils, and teaches him that which no preacher can teach, no earthly authority gainsay. By such a man the preacher must himself be judged. RUSKIN. TERPSICHORE IN THE FLAT CREEK QUARTERS. LISTEN when I call de figgers! Watch de music as you go! "Chassay forrard!" (Now look at 'em! some too fas' an’ some too slow!) Step out when I gibs de order; keep up eben wid de line! What's got in dem lazy niggers? Stop dat stringin' out behin'! All go forrard to de centre! Balance rown' and den go back! Keep on in de proper 'rection, right straight up an' down de crack! Moobe up sides and min' de music; listen when you hear me speak! (Jes' look at dem Pea Ridge niggers! how dey's buckin' gin de Creek!) Dat's de proper action, Sambo! Den you done de bizness right! Now show 'em how you knocked de splinters at de shuckin' t'udder night. Try to do your lebel best, an' stomp it like you use to do! Jes come down on de " Flat Creek step," an' show de Ridge a thing or two! Now look at dat limber Jonah, trying to tech de fancy fling! (Who ebber seed a yaller nigger dat could cut de “pidgin-wing!") Try dat lick again, dar, Moses; tell you what, dat's hard to beat! How kin such a little nigger handle such a pile of feet?) Swing your corners! Turn your partners! (Pears de motion's gettin' slow. What's de matter wid de music? Put some rosgum on dat bow!) Moobe up Tom! don't be so sleepy. Let 'em see what you kin do! Light off on de "gra'-vine-twis'" an' knock de "double-shuffle" too! Gosh! dat double-jinted Steben flings a hifalutin hoof! He kicks de dust clean out de planks, and jars de shingles on de roof! Steady, now, an' check de motion! Let de fiddle stop de chune! I smell de possum froo de crack, an' supper's gwine to call you soon. De white folks come it mighty handy, walzin' roun' so nice an' fine, But when you come to reg'lar dancin' niggers leabes dem way behin'! Scribner's, Jan., 1881. THE WIDOW AND HER SON Pittie olde age, within whose siver haires During my residence in the country I used frequently to attend at the old village church. Its shadowy aisles, its moldering monuments, its dark oaken paneling, all reverend with the gloom of departed years, seemed to fit it for the haunt of solemn meditation. But in this church I felt myself continually thrown back upon the world, by the frigidity and pomp of the poor worms around me. The only being that seemed thoroughly to feel the humble and prostrate piety of a true Christian was a poor decrepit old woman, bending under the weight of years and infirmities. She bore the traces of something better than abject poverty. The lingerings of decent pride were visible in her appearance. Her dress, though humble in the extreme, was scrupulously clean. Some trivial respect, too, had been awarded her, for she did not take her seat among the village poor, but sat alone on the steps of the altar. She seemed to have survived all love, all friendship, all society, and to have nothing left her but the hopes of heaven. When I saw her feebly rising and bending her aged form in prayer; habitually conning her prayer-book, which her palsied hand and failing eyes could not permit her to read, but which she evidently knew by heart; I felt persuaded that the faltering voice of that poor woman rose to heaven far before the responses of the clerk, the swell of the organ, or the chanting of the choir. I am fond of loitering about country churches; and this was so delightfully situated that it frequently attracted me. It stood on a knoll, round which a small stream made a beautiful bend, and then wound its way through a long reach of soft meadow scenery. The church was surrounded by yew trees, which seemed almost coeval with itself. Its tall Gothic spire shot up lightly from among them, with rooks and crows generally wheeling about it. I was seated there one still, |