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i y f W. ®()e fir bon Vol. 4*. No. 30. Stillwater, Minn.,Thursdag, March S, IS9I. VIA SOLITARIA. An Unpublished Poem.—By Henry Longfellow. Alone I walk the peopled city, Where each seems happy with his own; Oh! friends, I ask not for your pity— -1 walk alone. No more for me yon lake rejoices. Though moved by loving a rs of June. Oh! birds, your sweet and piping voices Are out of tune. In vain for me the elm tree arches Its plumes in many a feathery spray; In vain the evening’s starry marches And sunlit day. In vain your beauty, summer flowers; Ye cannot greet these cordial eyes; They gaze on other fields than ours— On other skies. The gold is rifled from the coffer, The blade is stolen from the sheath; Life has but one more boon to offer; And that is—Death. Yet well 1 know the voice of duty, And, therefore, life and health must crave, Though she who gave the world its beauty Is in her grave. I live, O lost one! for the living Who drew their earliest life from thee. And wait, until with glad thanksgiving 1 shall be free. For life to me is as a station Wherein apart a traveller stands— One absent long front borne and nation. In other lands; And I, as he who stands and listens. Amid the twilight's chill and gloom. To hear, approaching in the distance, The train for home. For death shall bring another mating. Beyond the shadows of the tomb. On yonder shore a bride is waiting Until 1 come. In yonder field are children playing, And there—Oh! vision of delight!— 1 see the child and mother straying In robes of white. Thou, then, the longing heart that breakest, Stealing the treasures one by one, I’ll call Thee blessed when Thou makest The parted—one. September 18. 1862. A SERMON. A Sermon Recently Delivered in Our Chapel by Chaplain J. H. Albert. IN TWO PARTS. —PART I. “For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he.” —Prov. xxiii, 7. There are two thoughts in the text; (1) As he thinketh in his heart; and (2) so is he. These will occupy our attention this morning. It has always been a question as to where in man’s body the soul is located. Accord ing to our modern way of speaking there would seem to be two centers; the brain and the heart. In the brain we place the mental faculties, the intellect, the mind. We speak of a “man of brain,” meaning that he is in tellectual. On the other hand we place the feelings, the motives and purposes, that is, the sensibilities and the will, in the heart. We speak of a man as large-hearted, mean ing one of generous and noble impulses. We say a man’s heart is right, but his head is wrong; we mean that his motives are good, but his judgment is bad. So we con tinually distinguish in this way; locating the intellect in the brain, the emotions afld will in the heart. But the Scriptures make no such distinc tion. They locate the whole man in the heart. “As he thinketh in his heart, so is he.” “Keep thy heart with all diligence for out of it are the issues of life.” “Out of the heart proceed evil thoughts.” We are not, however, to suppose that the Scriptures speak of the heart itself as being the soul. There are some expressions that look that way; but a study of the ditferent passages that speak of the heart and soul, makes it plain they do not. The Bible idea is that the soul ab des in the heart, or rather that the heart is the workshop of the soul. The place where the soul stays and does its work. As the tradesman collects material on the outside, and brings it into his shop, and there works it up into the various arti cles of manufacture, so the soul gathers its material from many sources —from papers, books, conversations, from the whole of surrounding things—and in the heart, works it all over into new forms, new articles, and sends these, the fruit of its labor, out into the world again. There is a wonderful beauty in this ex pression, “As he thinketh in his heart.” .. - Observe the relation of the heart to the body; it is the center of all physical life; it is the great distributing point. The food is taken into the stomach, where it is digested. Then that which is for the nourishment of the body is collected into little ducts; these empty into larger vessels, these into still larger ones, at last it is all emptied into one great vein, which pours it into the hear,t. Here, after another slight change, it is mingled with the blood, and sent out into all parts of the body. Wherever there is a weak spot, a place needing repairs, this food enters and restores and builds it up. In this way the body is kept in health, aud vigor, and growth. Thus the whole body is dependent upon the heart; it is the life center of every organ. Turn now to the soul. We each have another body, besides this one we see aud handle; a body not seen —a spiritual body, or let us say character. The soul is the life center of this spiritual body, the character, just as the heart is the life center of the physical body. As the food is poured into the heart and by it sent out to build up the body, so the thoughts, inspiring feelings, motives and purposes, gathered from every field, are the soul’s food, which it sends out to build up this unseen body, the character. And just as the natural body is made out of those things which have come to it through the heart, so character is made out of those things, and those only, which come from the soul. Now we see what the writer of the text means, in saying. “For as bethink eth in his heart, so is he.” If the heart receives plenty of nutritious food, if it is strong and active, full of rich blood, then the body is healthy and strong. No one ever yet had a diseased body, with a strong and healthy heart, full of pure, rich blood. But if the heart be weak, the food of a poor quality, the blood watery and inpure, the whole body is out of health, there can be no soundness in it. it is against nature. The moment the heart becomes diseased, the whole body is sick. And just so the character; if the soul be healthy, full of strong, pure thoughts, holy thoughts and noble purposes, then the character is strong and healthy. It cannot be anything else. On the other hand if the soul is out of health; if it is full of weak and sickly, unclean and bad thoughts, the character must be base and impure. There is the thought, my friends; your soul is your measure. You remember, per haps, that story of Pope, the English poet. He was deformed, hunch backed, so small that he had to sit on a high chair at the table, and so weak that he could scarcely walk, but one of the most popular poets of his day. Overhearing a lady unkind remark about his little, ugly body, he turned upon her saying, “Madam, could I in stature reach the pole, And grasp creation in a span; I’d still be measured by my soul. The mind's the magnitude of man.” But further, I spoke of the character as an invisible body. This is not exactly cor rect. It is not altogether invisible. Indeed we may say that to the practiced eye, this spiritual body is as distinctly seen as the physical body is. It shines out, revealing itself through this body of flesh. A lazy, shuffling walk, tells you at once there is a lazy, shuffling character within; while an erect, strong, firm step, reveals a strong, firm character. An eye that looks you squarely in the face, reveals at once a soul that is not afraid of you. But there are finer and fuller revelations than this. I have said on other occasions, that nature allows no hypocracy; no one can really be a hypocrite for any length of time. Nature will ever be true to herself, and forces every one of her children to be true to her also. They try to deceive, but only succeed in blinding their own eyes. Nature writes one’s character on every line of his face, and proclaims it to all the world. And how? There are various ways, but let us take only one. Let us go back to the body again. It is a law of nature, that the mus cles tend to grow larger and stronger by use. The blacksmith must use his right arm a great deal. Nature helps him by making the arm large and strong. The mus cles called into action, in walking, increase in size and strength, by . the very act of walking. So every muscle of the body; us ing it often, calling it into action, adds to its size and strength. Now it is a fact that thoughts write themselves on the counte nance; every thought calls into actiou some muscle or muscles of the face. sTou watch a speaker; suddenly his whole face flashes with a peculiar light. It means that a new thought has swept across his soul, and is reflected on the countenance. A new “ IT IS NEVER TOO LiATE TO MEND.” thought in the soul, a new expression on the face. And so it goes on; not simply while the man is speaking, but all the while. Every thought that crosses the soul, crosses the face also. be too fine for mortal eyes to observe them, but they are drawn nevertheless. Now let us put these together. Every particular thought calls into action some particular muscle of the face, and the fre quent action of a muscle causes it to grow in size and strength—and what have we? Suppose I take up some line of thought; I follow it days and weeks and years, what happens? The muscles that express that thought are becoming larger. Little by lit tle they are growing, changing my counte nance, writing themselves there, until at last, he that runs may read. Take the man who has fought his way, against adverse fortune, up to some position of high trust and honor; the marks of the battle are on every line of his face; his character is stamped there. How different is the face of the weak man of fortune, who has never known what the battle of life is. So with you and me, all the while the in visible hand that is moulding our character, is chiselling it also where all can see it. It is not a meaningless fancy of the old painters, that led them to paint the devil with an ugly face, not homely, but ugly, sinister, evil. He could have no other. And so also sooner or later every soul that is devilish, must make for itself a devilish face. I know that St. Paul tells us that Satan is some times transformed into an angel of light. But he did not mean that he lived that de ception in human form. Let him try that once, and the devil will soon be discovered shining out through the angel face. Nor, on the other hand, is it a mere imagination of thp sacred writer, when he tells us that Moses after communion with God in the mountain for forty days, had to put a veil over his face, in the presence of the people. As you live and as I live, if we commune with that which is high and holy, if we commune with God, the fashion of our face will be changed, not so rapidly, nor so much as that of Moses, but changed never theless, until it shines with celestial glory. (Concluded Next Week.) “ Is Work Dignified? ” From The Whoopemup Juvenilite, It is with no small degree of pleasure that we set before our readers to-day a choice, as well as exceedingly diversified array of answers to our recent query, “Is Work Dignified?” from the very able pens of such of our local lights, as the celebrated Tommy Gooden; NicodemusShallowbrayne and Master Sammy Brick. The dignity of work has always been a more or less much mooted question, and for this reason, if for no other, the Juveni lite sincerely hopes that the papers follow ing may throw that spark to a thinking people, which shall eventually lead to the one acknowledged and correct solution of the problem. Tommy Gooden, the talented young news vender who is so well known for his spark ling natural humor, and his stock of many witty sallies—-and for his interest and deep attention generally, as pertains to all the various economics—has this to say upon the subject: “Is work dignified? Well—you may mark me down as saying so—decidedly. Work, the fundamental structure of all that is noble and instructive, is certainly digni fied. Work is the teacher of conteutment, and the vanguard of all happiness. With out work, there would be no steamboats —and without work, there would be no railroads. Without work, we could have no street cars, and without work, there could be no omnibusses. Without it we could have nothing to eat —no pleasure, in fact, of any kind; for, if you will but briefly consider the subject, you'll find, that pleasure is but the outgrowth of the item we call work. That work is, too. at times, the aftergrowth of pleasure, cuts no figure and is foreign to the case—because we are not discussing that point. Without work, in short, there would be no work, in short, all would be chaos, and confusion, and an unenlightened dark ness. Yes, indeed —most emphatically— work is dignified. And that is the reason, why work is so abundant in our present day.” Nicodemus Shallowbrayne thinks as fol lows: “Work is very well in its place; and con sequently may also lay claim to the posses sion of a greater or lesser amount of dig nity. But out of its sphere, of course, work Rive Gents. loses its identity; and cannot, therefore, bear conscientious description as being dig* nified. Work, as we all know, is the out come of necessity; and being such, there can be attributable only that amount of dig nity, as is commensurate with the necessity, or need, calling forth the work. Ergo: Work in a pauper would be very dignified. In a poor man also. Not in the same de gree, to be sure, but yet immensely digni fied. In the man of easy circumstances, I cannot see that work is dignified. In the rich man—not at all. This, I believe, is the logic of social gradeology: and I think that every reasoning being will bear me out.” Sammy Brick says: “The question is beyond a doubt a stun ner. Ever since the downfall of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, this query has been uppermost in the human mind. It is a question that has been looked upon and treated from as manitold an array of stand points, as we count colors to the rainbow. On so short a notice, it would be utterly impossible to do the subject justice, to say nothing of myself. Extemporaneously, however, I am not adverse to stating, that I think it all depends upon the ‘worker.’ Every man is born to fill some occupation. Some, due to fallacious teachings in their earlier life, or, we might rather say. to the lack of teaching on this very subject, ‘ls Work Dignified?’ fall short of this pre destined obligation, and while away their lives in indolence and idleness. It is from the ranks of such, that we recruit our jail birds and our convicts. Others, fall in line, and pass their lives in useful occupation; but —and here again a lack of training is apparent—not because of any qualm as touching on the dignity of labor. Simply for the reason, that they take all work to be a heritage; and consequently, a yoke that must be carried —an unavoidable commod ity. This refers to rich as well as poor. But aside from these, there are still a few —and a goodly per cent it is, 1 am very glad to say—who take to work for the ben efits there are in it. Should you go to such a one, were he banker, merchant, or me chanic —and even though the proud con sciousness of his position should leave you room to ask the question—what answer would he give to your query. There could be but the one. He would tell you, yes— yes. by all means, there is dignity in work. In brief, I hold, as stated, that it all de pends upon the worker. And the ‘face’ carried by the worker, must of necessity prove the gauge whereby the item must be measured.” Charles Le Furst. The Seven Wonders of Corea. Corea, like the world of the ancient, has its “seven wonders.” Briefly stated they are aa follows: First, a hot mineral spring near Kin-Shantao, the healing properties of which are believed to be miraculous. No matter what disease may afflict the patient a dip in the water proves efficacious. The second wonder is two springs situated at a considerable distance from each other; in fact, they have the breadth of the entire peninsula between them. They have two peculiarities. When one is full the other is always empty; and notwithstanding the ob vious fact that they are connected by a sub terranean passage one is of the bitterest bitter, and the other pure aud sweet. The third wonder is Cold Wind cave, a cavern from which a wintery wind perpetually blows. The force of the wind from the cave is such that a strong man cannot stand before it. A forest that cannot be eradi cated is the fourth wonder. No matter what injury is done the roots of the trees, which are iarge pines, they will sprout up again directly—like the phoenix from her ashes. The fifth is the most wonderful of all. It is the famous “floating stone.” It stands, or seems to stand, in front of the palace erected in its honor. It is an irregu lar cube of great bulk. It appears to be resting ou the ground, free from supports on all sides, but, strange to say, two men at opposite ends of a rope may pass it under the stone without encountering any obsta cle whatever! The sixth wonder is the “hot stone,” which from remote ages has lain glowing with heat on the top of a high hill. The seventh and last Corean wonder Is a drop of the sweat of Buddha. For thirty paces around the large temple in which it is enshrined not a blade of grass will grow. There are no trees or flowers inside the sacred square. Even the animals decline to profane a spot so holy.—St. Louis Republic.