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tion would disappear, and effort merge in the most delightful of all exertions of power.

also go on for eternity? I can see no reason in the world for this notion that God feels for those who fall even more One point strikes me in the original | love than for those who rise; and Christ's paper by which these criticisms are sug- assertion that there is more joy in heaven gested, as inconsistent with what is, I over one sinner that repenteth, than over believe, the perfectly sound doctrine of ninety and nine just persons who need no moral continuity between this life and the repentance, tends just the other way. next. It is assumed, as everybody seems The reason for the joy is the wonder of to assume nowadays, that even a down- the escape, - the wonder that one who ward path must end in an upward path had thrown away a great deal of his own sooner or later. Speaking of the result power to approach God, should yet rightly of temptation, the "little Pilgrim" in use what remains to him, and reverse the effect asks one who knows more of the current of his own actions. This is wonnext world than herself, whether those derful enough to create joy in heaven. who fall through temptation will eventu- But surely every downward step renders ally win the day? and the reply is, "They the chance of re-ascending less than bewill win the day in the end, but sometimes, fore, and the presumption that a re-ascent when it was being lost, I have seen in his may in time become simply impossible, face a something, I cannot tell-more and even dreadful, to the character emlove than before. Something that seemed barked in the downward path, greater. I to say, My child, my child; would that I cannot but think that the law of continuity could do it for thee, my child!"" And points to a time at which, for believers in so, too, I find another powerful and spir- God, the character which steadily imitual writer, Mrs. Oliphant, in her literary proves will be placed beyond temptation, history of England between 1790 and because within the overpowering influence 1825, saying of Cowper's evangelical of God's love; while the character which teachers, "It did not occur to them that steadily degrades, may reach a point at God's loving and large comprehension of which the mere thought of God is a our confused ways and works must be thought not simply of misery, but of infinot less, but infinitely more indulgent nite repulsion.

than that of any man." Why infinitely
more indulgent? Infinitely more
and just, no doubt; infinitely more appre-
ciative of the force of temptation, and of
all genuine efforts to resist it; but why
infinitely more indulgent, by which, I sup-
pose, is meant, more disposed to pass
soft judgments, rather than severe? It
seems to me that sticking to the law of
moral continuity, as the only principle by
which we can safely judge of the progress
or regress of human character, it is sim-
ply impossible to suppose that indulgent
judgments are always the righteous ones,
or that any one who is losing way now,
must necessarily "win in the end." A
man who yields to temptation which he
might resist, is diminishing his chance of
resisting in future, is postponing every
time he does so the time at which a vision
of the divine righteousness, such as love
alone could give, might down upon him.
The tendency of the present day to as
sume that God must prevail over all real
evil in the end, seems to me to imply that
he must conquer it all in the beginning,
which we know that, as a matter of fact,
he does not. If he allows true evil at all,
- especially if he allows it to go on be-
coming deeper and deeper evil, in time,
what guarantee have we that it may not

From Temple Bar.

A LA MODE IN 1800.

AT the beginning of this century ladies took kindly to turbans surmounted with ostrich feathers and bodies literally with out a waist, the girdle coming directly under the arms. Lord Winchester told the late Charles Mayne Young that, years ago, at a large party at Lady Her.ford's a lady of high fashion entered the room in the latest cut from Paris, the gown being rather high in front and extraordinarily low at the back, so as to expose the blade bones. Unlike our ancestors, the Saxons, who for centuries retained one fashion, our fashions change almost as constantly as the weather, and as milliners

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even in France - have not the faculty of invention, we find ourselves copying the left-off garments of a past generation. "There is nothing new but the forgotten." What, for instance, can be more absurd than much of the fashion of the present day? Take a queen's drawing-room or a levee. See that titled lady with tall plumes bobbing up and down like a magnified ostrich. What possible connection can

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From Chambers' Journal. ICE-MAKING IN INDIA.

there be between feathers and a woman's | conduct you down-stairs." Said Miss
head? Had nature deemed feathers most Biffin, "I am very sorry, but I have not
suitable, we should have had them instead got any arms." "Bless me, ma'am !" ob-
of hair. Are feathers a mark of civiliza-served the astonished attendant, "then I
tion? We have somewhere read that must trouble you to walk out, as we are
where they are most to be found as an closing the house." "I really cannot
adornment, there is the least refinement. oblige you," rejoined the lady, "for I do
His gracious and excellent Majesty Mo- not happen to have any legs."
nomotapa, "Brother to the Sun, distant
cousin to the Moon, and King of the
Twenty-Four Umbrellas," sticks feathers
on his head. That may be a feather in
his cap, but we thought we were a trifle
in advance of King Monomotapa. We
say nothing of the cruelty and wanton LET me allude to an industry peculiar
destruction which ornamental feathers to the cold weather, which, except in small
entail. See that other fair lady with eight stations distant from the rail, is fast dying
yards of elegant superfluity behind her out, and that is the manufacture of ice.
called a train. The windows are partly When I came out in 1853 Calcutta, Ma-
open at St. James's Palace, and a light dras, and Bombay were wholly dependent
wind laughs among the gauze and the on American ice, supplied by the Tudor
trimmings, which, at a recent presenta Ice Company, and retailed at two annas
tion, in spite of attendant officials, soared the ser; that is two pounds of ice brought
somewhat higher than the lady's head, from America was sold in India for 3d.!
increasing the fluttering in the lady's The mofussil (up country) was entirely
heart. She kneels, she bows, the throne dependent on artificial ice, which could
is passed. She would retire with the only be made where the cold weather was
grace of a D'Egville, or a Vestris, but the really felt; in all other parts we were
lively drapery has so deftly entwined it- obliged to cool our drinks with saltpetre
self round her fair form that she is in and sal ammoniac, or, during the hot
danger, like the old lord at the coronation, winds, by placing the bottles before the
of showing a clean pair of heels at the khus-khus tatties, or swinging them in a
foot of her Majesty. There will be some basket covered with wet straw. By these
beyond the courtly circle that laugh, like appliances we could cool our drinks down
the naughty little boys when Queen Anne to 65° Fahr.; or by carrying on the cool-
went in state to St. Paul's in a sedan- ing with fresh supplies of salts, we could
chair, who in order that the fringe of roy even freeze water. But the process was
alty might not be curtailed, had her train tedious and expensive. Science came to
held up on sticks behind her. Truly the our aid; and sulphuric ether and ammo-
world is more than half governed by niac machines came gradually into vogue,
humbug. If a lady's train is an incum- and latterly Carré's wonderful pneumatic
brance, even on state occasions, what can machine, which I have seen produce ice
we say to the present fashion which pre-in two minutes in a temperature of 95°.
scribes it for daily use? That is not
reckoned a particularly wise bird whose
"eyes are always inclined to its tail," and
if the goddess of wisdom goes forth we
do not suppose that she would drag half
a dozen yards of superfine silk in the
mire, or relieve the careless citizen of the
sweepings of his shop, or create eddies
of dust as she walked. What pleasure
can there be in looping up or in throwing
over the arm these impedimenta during a
brisk waltz, or when elbowing one's way
at the Academy on a sultry afternoon?
And then, a country stile; "over the brink
of it, picture it, think of it!" The lady
would be more helpless than the hapless
Miss Biffin who was once forgotten at a
theatre. The box-keeper said, "Allow
me, madame, to offer you my arm and to

With these great appliances, block-ice is now available in districts where it could not formerly be had at from one and onehalf to two annas per ser. To return to the old process-it depended entirely on the production of cold by evaporation, as also on sufficient cold weather and the presence of the dry west wind; the east wind being absolutely fatal to the production of ice. The essentials for the process are: 1. Exposed and treeless ice-fields, which are partitioned off into four to five feet squares, in which two to three inches of straw are laid down. 2. Myriads of flat, porous earthen saucers, six to eight inches in diameter. 3. An unlimited supply of water. 4. An army of coolies and water-carriers. 5. The ice-pit. This, the most important adjunct in the process, is

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very carefully constructed; a great pit is | Dante has been translated by Dr. Fordug, and in it rests a huge timber cone, the space between it and the sides of the pit being rammed with charcoal, chaff, or straw, as non-conductors of heat; the cone itself is lined thickly with coarse felt or blankets, and then a layer of matting; over all a straw hut, with very thick roof and walls and a very small entrance, is constructed. Now for the process. Whenever the outside thermometer reads 42°, then ice can be manufactured by evaporation. Half an inch of water is poured, over night, into the saucers by bheesties (water-carriers); then at 2 A.M., a great drum is beaten at the pit to summon the coolies, who assemble in hundreds, each armed with a scoop, with which the ice is skilfully turned out of the saucer into an attendant vessel, and well rammed into it. When full it is taken to the pit, emptied there, and again rammed down. Thus all the ice has a chance of consolidating by regelation; and in good season thousands of pounds' weight of ice may be stored, according to pit-room available.

miggini. Parts of Petrarch and Tasso exist in Hebrew, and the "Dialoghi d'Amore" of "Leo Hebræus" (Judas Abrabanel) have been restored to the language of their author. From the French, Racine's "Esther," by Rapaport, is the chief work with which we are acquainted, though Eugène Sue's "Mysteries of Paris" and "Wandering Jew" have both reached several editions in Jewish forms. Turning to the language dearest to modern Jews of a scholarly mind, the masterpiece of German literature, Goethe's "Faust," has been translated by M. Letteris with such success that it has been said that the version in parts excels the original. "Hermann and Dorothea" has likewise been Hebraized. A work so interesting to Jews as "Nathan der Weise" has found an appropriate home among them in their sacred tongue. It is needless to remark that many works of modern Jewish writers in German, such as Zunz, Geiger, and Graetz, have spread among their Polish brethren in a Hebrew garb. But to come home to England. Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet " and "Othello now exist in the language of Shylock through the instrumentality of J. H. Salkinson, a "New Christian," who likewise rendered "Paradise Lost" accessible to those who can only read Hebrew. ONE of the most interesting facts about It is natural that a book like the "Pilmodern Jewish literature is the large num-grim's Progress," written in so Biblical a ber of works that have been translated into Hebrew within quite a recent period. It is scarcely too much to say that specimens of all the great literatures of the world now exist in modern Hebrew, which is as nearly as possible written in a purely Biblical style. The New Testament has of course been frequently translated, chiefly for conversionist purposes; but the last rendering by Professor Delitzsch, of Leipzig, now in a third edition, is a model of Hebrew and a marvel of accuracy. The Koran, too, has been partly translated, but not yet finished. The whole of the Apocrypha has been done into Hebrew by Dr. S. I. Frankel, while the voluminous works of Josephus also exist in a version by Kalman Schulmann. In Italian literature, the "Inferno" of

From The Jewish Chronicle.
HEBREW TRANSLATIONS.

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style, should go easily into the original
language of the Bible, and it is not there-
fore surprising that the Hebrew transla-
tion, prepared in Palestine Place, has
reached a third edition. We believe that
"Robinson Crusoe" now serves to de-
light the youth of Polish Jews in the only
language that they read. Of later works,
the Earl of Beaconsfield's " Alroy
issued as the feuilleton of a Hebrew peri-
odical, and is about to be published in
book form. We may add that parts of
Addison, Ossian, Gay, Young, Goldsmith,
and Pope have been rendered into He-
brew, that "God Save the Queen" exists
in three different versions, and that the
discussion scene of "Daniel Deronda "
was communicated to the Hamagid in an
an almost literal Hebrew translation.

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For EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the Living AGE will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of postage.

Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & Co.

Single Numbers of THE LIVING AGE, 18 cents.

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BUTTERCUPS.

I SIT and watch my treasure laid
Beneath the snowy hawthorn's shade,
In slumber calm and deep;
The May-day sunbeams glint between
The lattice-work of white and green,
And kiss him in his sleep.

The morning long, across the grass
I heard his little footsteps pass,

In chase of bird and bee;
The morning long, I watched him play,
Bright blossom of my life's late May,

That came from Heaven to me!
The sunbeams kiss his little face,
The grass and king cups interlace
Across his forehead white;
His tiny hands no longer hold
The buttercups of royal gold,

He plucked with such delight.

The buttercups he ran to grasp,
With hand quick-loosened from my clasp,
And pleasure-brimming eyes;
The buttercups, whose yellow dust
Has soiled his fingers, as gold must,
If held too dear a prize.

Unwitting in his baby glee,
He robbed his playmate brown, the bee,
Of food for winter hours;

He gathered blossoms in his haste,
And now the treasure runs to waste
Of those bright golden flowers.

I kneel me down beside the lad,
And something joyful, something sad,
Swells from mine inmost heart;
God gave love's blossom for love's sake,
But grief and joy must mix to make

Complete the mother's part.
And mingled tides of feeling rush
Throughout my spirit, as I brush

The gold-dust from his palm; He rests to-day within my reach, He needs no lore I cannot teach,

His sleeping face is calm.
But oh, my boy! my bonny boy!
The gold of life hath base alloy,

And stains the grasping hand;
I cleanse thy baby palm to-day,
But years may part us far away
By miles of sea and land.

And thou may'st gather in thine haste
Life's golden flow'rs, to droop and waste;
Or soil thy spirit white
With dust and dross of garish ways,
With thirst for gold, and greed of praise,
With worldly, base delight.

But soft! he wakes, my little son,
And I with mother's doubt have done.
Joy wears my baby's smile;
And well I know that God above
Will hallow son's and mother's love
Beyond earth's little while!

All The Year Round.

TO-DAY.

WHY do we tune our hearts to sorrow
When all around is bright and gay,
And let the gloom of some to-morrow
Eclipse the gladness of to-day?

When summer's sun is on us shining,
And flooding all the land with light,
Why do we waste our time repining,
That near and nearer creeps the night?

We teach ourselves with scornful sadness
That it is vain to seek for bliss-
There is no time for glee and gladness
In such a weary world as this.

The snare of doubting thoughts has caught us,
And we to grim forebodings yield,
And fail to learn the lesson taught us
By all the "lilies of the field."

They take no thought for each to-morrow,
They never dream of doubt or sin,
They fear no dim forthcoming sorrow,
"They toil not, neither do they spin."

Yet still they tell the same old story
To us who crave in vain for ease,
That "Solomon in all his glory
Was not arrayed like one of these."
Sunday Magazine.

OUR LATTER DAYS.

E. T. F.

A CLOUDY morning, and a golden eve
Warm with the glow that never lingers long;
Such is our life; and who would pause to
grieve

Over a tearful day that ends in song?

The dawn was grey, and dim with mist and rain;

There was no sweetness in the chilly blast; Dead leaves were strewn along the dusky lane That led us to the sunset light at last.

'Tis an old tale, beloved; we may find

Heart-stories all around us just the same. Speak to the sad, and tell them God is kind; Do they not tread the path through which we came ?

Our youth went by in recklessness and haste, And precious things were lost as soon as gained;

Yet patiently our Father saw the waste, And gathered up the fragments that remained.

Taught by his love, we learnt to love aright; Led by his hand, we passed through dreary ways;

And now how lovely is the mellow light
That shines so calmly on our latter days!
Sunday Magazine.
SARAH DOUDNEY.

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