and dishonest men are nominated and elected to public offices. You and I agree well enough for practice; you will work from a sense of duty, even though you do not hope to see the fruits of your labor; I have hope, but perhaps not virtue to work from sense of duty without hope; and both of us have that kind of pride, or sense of honor, which is the best assurance of action that we have until religion becomes practical. We will at least gather together two or three in the name of civilization, and in time the number will increase, and the influence of a liberal association will overpower that of conspiracies to defraud the public." "Yes, Brooke! that is my view. We have no sympathy, but rather antipathy for what are called parties. We regard them as both corrupt and degraded, led by men who are not only not the best, but in some cases the worst. What we aim at is, to bring together the best men, for the purpose of giving advice to the public, especially in regard to candidates for office; that is, in nominations." "And the more difficult the work, the better for you, my dear Lindsey. You will have occupation, which is what you need. When one battle is lost, you will begin work for the next; and by the next election you will have your force of voters; and so on, every year growing stronger, until the barbarians are defeated. Meantime, you will have a happy home, and leisure for social intercourse." "A pleasant dream." "Not all a dream. Not so improbable of success as was the attempt of the Founder of our religion, in a mere common-sense view. And were it all moonshine, or mere astronomy, it would still be interesting, though not so exciting as if we could sell our new discoveries." interests were concerned. Whether they will ever be accomplished so far as they relate to public interests, may be seen in future more clearly than we can now see. Lindsey is resolute and indefatigable; and Brooke still has hope that there will be a healthy reaction. BIRTHDAY. By Rev. G. T. Flanders. TO-DAY Time turns his glass and drops a grain, Another sand-grain of my fleeting years, Another heart-throb sharp with keenest pain, — Another milestone passed, bedewed with tears. With weary step I toil the steep hillside; My lips are parched, my life is drained dry; Sometimes I fain in valleys would abide, Or, bruised and wounded, lay me down to die. And yet, through all the Hand divine I see, Weaving the golden threads with mercy in ; And Love predicts the morning that shall be, When sceptred Light shall rule the night of sin. The years are hilltops; from each height are seen And paradise in everlasting green, And all that our weak mortal sight can bear. Slowly my spirit lays its burden down, Shakes itself free of this material dust, And dimly sees held out a radiant crown, For those who love the Lord, and wait and trust. Flow, then, thou tide of years, with steady pace; From height to height I tread with bright'ning sight. Life is a chariot, entered for a race; OH, if there were a real freedom, that comes from the doing of God's will in this land, how the dry bones would begin to shake, how corrupt institutions would begin to tremble, how the chains would snap, how the abominations that make us a hissing and a byword would pass away! For where the spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty, and not merely Fourth of July talk about it. THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT. By Rev. A. C. Edmunds. THE dwellers among the hills and in the vales of California have seen exemplified, in a thousand different forms, a fatal disease of the human heart, remorseless in its ravages, yet common as the daily walks of men, making its way, almost unobserved, into the sacred "home circle" of every family in the land. Michaels was a generous, noble-hearted soul. Born of respectable parents and educated in schools of refinement, he was, early in life, inclined to be a man. In his youthful years he saw the walking skeletons that infest society, and was resolved to shun the ways that lead to the chambers of death. But how vain are human resolves, unless we walk continually with God, praying that "his own right hand may give us the victory"! ter winds sing their cheerless requiem. I had watched his decline and fall, and when the scene was closed, addressed the following letter to his friends: DOWNIEVILLE, Jan. 14, 1854. Yesterday I was at the bedside of the dying Michaels, and he requested me to send a message of his demise to his mother and sisters. To-day we have laid him in the grave, and now I have to fulfil my melancholy promise. Sisters, you know your brother as a dear and loved companion. His counsel was always a source of pleasure to you; his sparkling eyes and cheerful voice and manly ways always were messengers of unspeakable joy. It was a sad day when he left, with principles formed, but not established, the holy influence of home; but the step was taken, and I send you the result. I will not harrow your feelings with a recital of his life. Your brother had changed, and I would to God that I could tell you his change was for the better! But alas, alas! the trail of the serpent has passed over him, and your own imagination must paint the pictures, or, what is better, draw before your eyes the veil of obliv Full of hope and manly pride, he bade adieu to early friends and home to seek his fortune in the El Dorado of the west. The rough and uncultivated touch of pioneer life soon changed his features and his mien; but in his wild excitement and eager search for gold, he paused not to consider the outward man. With blis-ion. tered hands and sweating brow, he toiled And his mother, what shall I say to for the shining prize; but Fortune's smiles you? There are seasons of grief too were not for him. Disappointed in his deep for human consolation. May you endeavors, he began to doubt the justice realize the fulness of the promise "Blessof Providence. That doubt was cherish-ed are they that mourn; for they shall be ed until the brightest vision of his manly life was transformed into a grim-visaged monster of despair. The fatal canker was eating its way, slowly and surely, into the precious citadel of life, filled, in better days, with a generous supply of virtue and honor. comforted"! May the comfort promised by the Son of God be yours! You have done your duty. You reared an honored son; you stored his mind with right principles; you encouraged him to noble deeds. But we are all children of circumstances, moulded into forms of beauty, Five years have passed, and the golden or driven from paths of virtue, by influ bowl is broken, and the cistern at the ences almost imperceptible. I pray you fountain-head. Young Michaels is no to dedicate this bereavement to the good more. He fell a victim to the tempting of your remaining children. Teach them bowl. He looked at the wine when it the danger of giving way to despair, or was red within the cup, and he died. He yielding to temptations. Impress upon felt the serpent's bite and the adder's their minds this fact: that the first false sting. He gave up every manly virtue step leads to another, and the last leads that he might filla drunkard's grave. down to death. Oh, how fatal are the A few of his former friends buried him falsehoods of life! The good have length beneath the snowy mantle of the Sierras. of days; but they who sin shall die, as There is no tablet to mark his resting- have all who have sinned before; for the place. Over his levelled grave the win-trail of the serpent is death. . in heaven." Thus ends a chapter in California life, and it is only an outline of thousands more of the same character. How well we may exclaim, "Oh, the misery and wretchedness, the ruin and degradation, inflicted upon poor humanity through the fascinating influence of gold!" Thou ⚫art a glittering idol, filled with blessings and curses! I send by express the few remaining the luxuries of life. He had opened an relics of your son. They will doubtless extensive mining claim, which proved be cherished mementoes to you. Keep worthless, and it exhausted all his means. them as emblems of his mortality, with The necessaries of life must henceforth the full assurance that "when our day mark the boundary of household exand years are passed, we shall all meet penses, while his wife, with marriage vow, must become his "helpmeet" indeed. I will not trace the changes of a few months. Visitors became numerous, and costly presents not a few. Then followed whisperings, intended for her ears, that Mr. G— did not provide for his family as he should. The serpent was drawing near. She saw the contrast, but failed to comprehend the reason. She was led by the flattering voice of reckless man, first to call on friends, then to accept buggy-rides with him, then to theatres, and then to balls, followed by another lead, from home and virtue. Two years the father has been toiling to support and educate his deserted motherless children, and two years the mother has been leading a shameless life. It was too much for the father's sensitive nature. He sunk beneath the burden of his grief, and died, broken-hearted. In the wretched wife was fulfilled the sacred declaration, "The wicked shall not live out half their days." She died, shortly after her husband, a victim to the glamour of unholy love. There is another picture, gathered from the paintings of experience, made dark and gloomy with sorrowful remembrances. The name of Wright has a charm for all who knew him. Possessed of a bright intellect, he stood far above his companions. He was a promising star in the literary heavens. How many have been thrilled as they were led, like a bound captive, through his well-rounded sentences, or charmed by the eloquence of his voice! and how many have quailed beneath the keen lash of his sarcasm! In his composition, the lion and the lamb were sweetly and harmoniously blended. He was a wall of defence and a tower of strength to his political party; and the blows he dealt for its success were neither few nor faint. But with all his greatness, he had a fatal weakness. His love of applause was a blind guide into the shallow snares of vice. His ambition knew no bounds. The stimulant of success led him to the stimulant of the still, and six years ago his name was written upon another marble; for the trail of the serpent had done its work. Mr. Gwas an honest, hard-working man. He went to California in '49, and left a young wife in Ohio. Success in mining soon enabled him to send for her, and she came, full of hope, to join her fortune with that of her husband. She remained a faithful wife for a few months, until the luck of her husband had changed. He could no longer supply all A neat little marble, near the city of Nevada, marks their resting-place and tells the story of their death. They have met beyond the river of life. May we hope that there will be no night there, no tears of sorrow or lamentations of woe, nor the trail of the serpent ever known! It Such are a few of the scenes with which a "life in California" is filled. is true, there is a brighter side, but I am not speaking of it now. I am but following the "trail of the serpent," and will notice some of its prevailing symptoms. A young man has just passed from college to buffet with the world. He carries a bundle of text-books under his arm to fight the battles of life with. He ignores experience for rules laid down in school. His biography is short, but comprehensive. His efforts are a bundle of failures, and he dies at an early age, touched by the serpent's trail. A young lady attends boarding-school her little form in the most attractive for a few terms. She acquires a smatter- style. Her street-sweeping flounces, her ing of French literature and Italian songs, rouged cheeks, and galvanized jewelry are and then returns home with a "finished sure indications of the trail of the sereducation" to flirt for a few days with pent. beaux as brainless as herself, and thendies, poisoned by the trail of the serpent. A tradesman or mechanic has just commenced business. He sets out in life with flattering prospects, but is recreant to duty. He has no fixed principles or regular habits. He is out of bed late at night, and in bed late in the morning. He has a time and place for nothing, and nothing in time or place. He is a sure victim to the trail of the serpent. A young miss is desirous of " marrying well;" but she does nothing to earn a good husband. She seems to think that a woman is only a doll, to be looked at and played with. Too indolent and too ignorant to bake the bread she eats, she dies at five-and-twenty, withered by the trail of the serpent. A young spendthrift chews tobacco genteelly, smokes his cigar superbly, and lounges around bar-rooms and billiardsaloons in the most exquisite style. Young lady, beware of that fellow and his associates! They will die as they live; for the trail of the serpent is over them all. A profane man is a pitiful sight. He stands in the highways and in the byways of life, a disgraceful advertisement of where the serpent's trail has been. A young man occupies his time in strutting along the streets puffing a fine "Havana" and twisting his "rattan," or in the parlor flirting with some worthless piece of vanity. The mark of disease has obscured his manhood, and he dies, none too soon, — slavered by the trail of the serpent. A young lady is all perfumery, smiles, frills, and flirts. She is well posted in all the pastimes of life. She makes worthless recreations her duty, while duty is a neglected recreation. Like the beautiful magnolia, she is made for ornament and not for use. Like the passion-flower, she wilts at the first touch of misfortune; for the trail of the serpent has been over her. A miss spends her time in arranging A daughter entertains her gossiping callers, while her mother cooks the food she eats and makes the clothes she wears. There is much hope of an early death; for the serpent has already commenced its fatal work. It is useless to enumerate more instances where this prevailing scourge has made its mark. It is in every field of neglected duty. It is the constant companion and devoted adviser of laziness, dishonesty, profanity, pride, vanity, hatred, tattling, lying, envy, jealousy, faultfinding, God-hating, and Devil-serving, with a countless host of other unmentionable and unpardonable sins. Wherever there is a "word or work" that belies our humanity, you may know that the trail of the serpent has been there. A class of persons attributing to themselves every Christian virtuè, and withholding the Christian name from all who do not believe exactly as they believe, or fail or refuse to wear garments too small for them or dance to a tune that has no musical soul in it, must be moved by selfish meanness, not limited to time, but extending its influence through the countless cycles of eternity. The self-righteousness of such is only equalled by their arrogant presumption. Such persons are known wherever seen or heard. They are detested by the timid, and pitied by the generous and true. They are walking mementoes of the dreadful trail of the serpent, and have yet to learn that "Charity suffereth long and is kind, thinketh no evil, and rejoiceth in the right." Since so many have fallen with the "sins that do so easily beset us," why not seek to put on the "righteousness of God," and learn to "keep thy heart with all diligence," with the full assurance that "out of it are the issues of life." In the house of God, clothed with the Christian armor, there is safety and peace, there is joy unutterable and full of glory. Of such as walk there in newness of life it will never be said, "The trail of the serpent has been over them;" all others will find that a sinful life is like a troubled sea, filled with "wailing and gnashing of teeth." MRS. STOWE'S COTTAGE. By Minnie S. Davis. MRS. STOWE has a charming new cottage in the suburbs of Hartford. It is romantically situated in the midst of a grove, with a small stream of water not far from the rear of the dwelling. Though in so rural a spot, it is close to the precincts of the city, and in due time it may be environed by fine residences. Though the house is quite elegant and spacious, no one, while looking upon it, would exclaim, "What a splendid dwell Oh, ye toiling children of earth, vainly striving to overcome the sins of the world, listen to the voice of Immanuel! "Come unto me, ye weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest," I will heal your "heart disease;" I will be a solace in your afflictions, and a comfort in every sorrow. If you are deaf to this call and despise the offer, then you, too, must die, -you, too, must fall a victim to the trailing!" but would naturally say, "What a of the serpent; for none but the pure in delightful home! what a lovely spot!" heart can see God, or ever learn to know It is in the Gothic style and very irregthat he is Love. ular, with a graceful piazza on this side, and a deep niche, hinting at a future conservatory, on that; and with a bay-window here, and a dormer window there. Behind the house, the ground is terraced and then slopes gradually to the brook's side. A PRAYER. By Clara. GOD, -Father, who art everywhere, Thou knowest the pain that prompts my prayer, - At present, the grounds are in a chaotic or rather transition state; but there is ample scope and material for taste and fancy to work upon. It will be a home worthy of our honored and gifted author. Oh, Mrs. Stowe, first and brightest star among our female writers, I am glad to know you have so fair a home! I congratulate you, from my humble corner, in the joy of its possession! May you gather about you all your heart-treasures, and may you, in the shadow of the walnut trees, write new stories and essays, which shall win fresh laurels for your brow, and tributes dearer than the bay from grateful hearts; and may you dwell there in peace until the sunsetting of life! And, Mrs. Stowe, I wish to ask a question (and pray pardon my presumption). Do you think the theories of your literary friend, Christopher Crowfield, are really practicable? Do you sympathize with his Utopian ideas? And oh, I do so long to take a peep into your house, — nay, home, I mean, and see if the dear old gentleman has had a hand in the furnishing! Say, was he your right-hand man when you selected wall-paper and borders, pictures, carpets, and chairs? If so, I know how he would silence the impertinent suggestions of vulgar Show and |