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For Mends' intelligencer. , auce an(] contrition of soul; and wheu we thus

There is much said at the present time, in surrender our own wills, we become again prereference to man's progression in spiritual things, pared to progress in the highway of holiness, and many are confidently inculcating the doctrine, which to rue is the only progression the Christhat each succeeding age is capable of arriving ! tian knows. Then as we are concerned to daily, at a higher state of perfection than the preced- j yes hourly, walk in this progressive path, it will ing one. While this appears to be true of | throw an influence around us, which, as those

temporal things; while there seems to be scarcely an end to the inventive powers of man, let us carefully consider how far it is true in relation to man's spiritual life ; is it not the acme of the Christian's hopes and aspirations to become like unto the blessed Jesus? In what then did his perfection consist, but in being obedient at all times and under all circumstances to his Father's will?"

Then to me it appears that the progress for for which we should look, is from the state of innocence in which we were created, to that Christ-like obedience to, and firm reliance on our Heavenly Father's will. There is also another

who become influenced are concerned to move in the same direction, will widen and widen and be conducive to the progress of truth in the earth. It must be wholly an individual work ; man may form associations in order to further the cause of truth, but the efforts of such associations will be futile, unless each individual is concerned for himself to progress in the highway of holiness; and as this becomes his chief concern, he will be anxious only as his Master commauds; he will not be contriving how or where his influence will most be felt, but will wait in humility until his Master goes before and points out the way; then he feels he can walk with safety, and will

progress, which consists in returning from our exert an influence for good on those with whom

fallen, sinful situation, to the childlike innocence in which we were ushered into the world; and which ouly constitutes the preparatory step for the progression first alluded to.

We find man in the beginning was placed in a state of innocence, having come from the hand of his Creator pure and unsullied, and was therefore pronounced good. He was endowed with various faculties and propensities, which he was required to keep in their proper order, and under subjection; for the accomplishment of which he was endowed with reason; but while he was allowed to partake of the fiuit of these

he conies in contact. Joiin J. Cornell. Mendon, 5th mo., 1857.

For Friends' intelligencer.
AFFABILITY.

What a sweet word, what a volume of meaning is comprised in it. Let us reflect upon it, and its bearings upon daily life everywhere, in every department; how much of the dregs of bitterness would be prevented by exercising it. The Apostle understood it when he said, "be kind, be courteous;" it is amiability refined by

t action, manifesting a due regard for the welfare trees which he was qualified to dress and keep I of all God's children; it invites attention by giv

iu order, he was forbidden to partake of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, thus clearly indicating to him that he must be dependent immediately upon his Heavenly Father for this knowledge, and that therefore in the government of the dispositions which were given him he must look to divine wisdom for counsel. But by not continuing in this dependant state, he suffered the tempter, or the lust and appetites of the animal, to reason with him, and hence partook of the forbidden fruit, and was therefore cast out of the garden, or state of innocence, into a state of spiritual darkness, or sin.

Now these animal dispositions are given us to prove and try us; they constitute the trees of the girden which we are required to keep and dross, and in the keeping and dressing of which we are enabled to progress from a state of innocence to a state of virtue, which is known as we overcome all that lie in the way hindering our progress to perfection. But if we suffer these to overcome us, we are then, like our first parents, cast out of the garden, and experience the horrors of remorse, and we then find there is no other way of regaining access to the garden, but through suffering, and a deep heart-felt repent

ing it, it elicits kindness by extending it.

When the keen hand of adversity is laid upon a fellow being, it lightens the load of oppression by drawing nearer than before, and offeriug to share in the calamities flesh and blood are heir to, at least by reminding the sufferer that disappointment is the common lot of mankind, falling alike upon the righteous and the wicked ; that the choicest blessings which descend from our beneficent Father are oftjiuies clothed in a mantle of disguise, that he doth not willingly afflict, or grieve the children of men; that in removing earthly comforts, the great object is to prepare for the reception of heavenly good. Sometimes, perhaps, the decay and suffering of our outward garments, or earthly tabernacle, may rouse the miud's energies, "to seek a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens," remembering the promise, they that seek shall find. There is no situation in life where this heaven-like quality may not profitably be called into requisition, bringing with it high benedictions, its benign influence assists in nerving with fortitude to bear up manfully under difficulties ; a calm and gentle salutation falls upon the ear of the grief-stricken,

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as dew upon the opening flower, reviving the wasting energies, restoring again their power by calling them into action.

It turus the keen edge of asperity into accents of soothing tenderness, and moulds the fierceness of the lion, into the gentleness of the lamb. It partakes of that power that "makes the rough smooth, the crooked straight, brings mountains low, and exalts vallies." S. H.

FRIENDS' INTELLIGENCER

PHILADELPHIA, SIXTH MONTH 20, 1857.

We publish some remarks in the present number from Harper's Magazine, descriptive of the present state of American Society, which we think are worthy of consideration. Theartificial style of living, with some of the causes which tend to our deterioration as a people are here portrayed, and it requires constant watchfulness and the exercise of Christian firmness, lest we are betrayed by the customs which surround us into an abandonment of that simplicity which experience has proved to be most conducive to happiness. A cheerful home, under right influences, where every member of the household is willing to make some personal sacrifices for the good of others, is the best school for the right training of young people, and where parents conscientiously desire to discharge their responsible duties in such a home, they may reasonably hope that their children will become useful members of civil and religious society, but not otherwise.

Married.—On the 11th inst., according to the order of Frien is, George A.Tope, of Baltimore,toHannah L. daughter of Richard K. Betts of this city.

, According to the order of Friends, on 5th day

the 11th inst., at the house of Chalkley Lippincott, Clov<;r-vale farm, Glo. county, N. J., Asa Engle, to Beulah Lippincott, both of said county.

Died,—At his residence in Cattawissa,5th mo.20tb, 1857, Benjamin Sharpl6ss, aged 92 years 9 mo. 21 days. He for many years filled the station of elder and overseer, in Roaring Creek Monthly Meeting.

. After a short illness, on the 2nd of 5th mo.,

1857, Elizabeth G., eldest daushter of Andrew A. and Eliza Skid more, members of Oswego Mo. Meeting state of New York, in the 24th year of her age.—She was ever a kind, loving daughter and affectionate sister; her sweet, cheering presence will be deeply missed in the household band and in the social circles where she was wont to mingle. During her illness she gave consoling evidence that her soul was prepared for the change into that " better life " that cometh beyond the grave. May we so live, that when the blest messenger shall call, and the " silver chord" be loosed, we like , her may be found also waiting, and pass peacefully |

through death's valley, and at last anchor safely on that " Haven of Rest " prepared for the ransomed and redeemed to dwell in. M. T.

6th mo., 6th 1857.

Died,—Suddenly, on 5th day the 23rd of Fourth mo., last, Samuel Foui.ke, in the 42nd yearof his age.

He was a member and overseer of Friend's meeting at Norristown, (a branch of Gwynedd Monthly Meeting). In all the relations of life, civil, religious and domestic, few can be found who were more careful to fulfil every duty faithfully. His sudden demise has occasioned a sensation of sorrow and deep mourning.

He was favored with a heallhy, and vigorous constitution, and was extensively engaged in business, yet like Samuel of old,'when he felt a call of religious duly, he appeared to say within himself " speak Lord for thy servant heareth."—On the diiy above mentioned, he attended his Preparative meeting at Plymouth, and after meeting was over, remained in the house for some time conversing with his aged father, to whom he was strongly attached, and of whom he was about to take, though unconsciously, his final leave. On his way home he received an apoplectic shock, which yielded not to the remedies applied, but terminated his earthly existence in a few hours. He was interred in Friends' burial ground at Plymouth on Second day following; the funeral was large, and solemn testimonies were borne by ministering Friends in attendance. One of these in the course of her communication observed that it was remarkable, that "The last act of his life was worship, that he had gone where men meet and women assemble together to wor hip the God of their fathers, who in the counsel of his infinite wisdom saw meet to accept his offering, and to take him to himself in those blissful abodes where the wicked cease from troubling, and where the weary are at rest." Thus dear Samuel is set free from the besetment8 and trials of this probationary state. He has left a bereaved widow, near relatives, and numerous friends to mourn his loss. F.

When we follow to the grave in the bloom of youth, those who in the last moments have given undoubted evidence of their hope in a glorious immortality, thus impressively inviting those around them, without distinction of sect or color to be prepared to meet them where partings are unknown, it is an encouragement and consolation to survivors, and helps to sustain them under these deeply afflictive bereavements.

Died,—On the 1st of 3rd mo., 1857, J. Clarke Wharton, aged 20 years, son of Lewis M. and Mary W. Wharton, of Bristol, Bucks County, Pa.

On the 21st of 2nd mo., last, he spoke much to his brother of the goodness of the Lord, exhorting him to faithfulness to every known duty, to be watchful and prayerful, lest he be overcome with temptation ; to be diligent in business and fervent in spirit serving the Lord. At another time he remarked to some of his friends how good the Saviour had b"en to him; there were many names as to religion, but they that feared God and worked righteousness would be accepted of him, as there was but one Lord, one faith, one baptism.

On another occasion he said, "what a beautiful day, so clear and bright! I think I must get up once more to look upon the works of nature. How I wish the flowers were in bloom, they are so beautiful, so sweet, yet how emblematical of decay, of all things passing away, but it is not the season for them and I am content. Who beholding the beauties of earth can doi bt the existence of a God 1 There must be a supreme being over all, to place us amidst such beauty to enjoy it. All, all must acknowledge him. 1 have a Saviour to guide me. If I have one desire to live, it is for my mother, to throw around her declining years a few comforts. I would were it the will of God to show my gratitude to her in this way, but I know she will never want. My mother has always been so kind to me, particularly in this my last illness, waiting upon me untiringly, without a murmur. Without her love, her influence, lil» would indeed be a blank. No one can too highly prize a mother's love—always loving, always forgiving. Perhaps she too readily forgave my faults. But oh, a mother's lore cannot be too deeply appreciated.

If it be his will to call me home, 1 am willing to say not my will, but thine be done."

Thus closed the lite of this young man, beautifully exemplifying the wonderful dealings and oprrations of Almighty wisdom in the soul of man, in so much, that some of his friends remarked, they had witnessed happy death beds, but never stich a perfectly blissful one as bis, P.

Smsalem, 6th mo. 6th, 1857.

For Friends' Int«UigeDc«r.

LINES ON THE DEATH OF SAMUEL FOULKE.

Oh! why dost thou, Almighty God,

By death's unsparing hand.
Remove fiom out this lower world

Unto a brighter land,
The ones who-e mission here below

Seems scarce to have begun,
While the aged and the desolate

Are leit lo pine alone 1

We would not dare arraign thy laws,

So truly just and right,
Nor vainly seek to know the cause

Concealed from mortal sight;
But when, as in a case like this,

Thy solemn warnings come,
Anil man in all his joy and strength,
^ Is hurried to the tomb;

When all he dearest earthly ties

Have suddenly been riven,
A husband, brother, son and friend,

To death's embrace been given;
When those we love the truest, best,

Have b^en removed from us;
We can bill pause amid such scenes,

And ask, why is it thus?

Perchance thou dost in mercy take

Those /inn r spirits home,
To lure us to the Father's house,

From which we're wont to roam;
And grant'st to us, thy wayward ones,

A longer sojourn heie,
The better lo prepare us for

A bnghler happier sphere.

Then let ns patiently await

The trials we must bear,
And seek to well improve the life

Thou dost in mercy spare.
That when thy summons calls us hence,

We joyfully may hear;
And meej within a world of bliss

Those cherished friends so dear.

L. w. s.

Lincastrr Courtly Normal School, Millerscille, Pa., 5th mo. 17<A, 1857.

The sainted dead, these are our treasures, changeless and shining treasures. Let us look hopefully. Not lost, but gone before. Lost only like stars of the morning, that have faded into the light of a brighter heaven. Lost to the earth, but not to us.

AMERICAN SOCIETY.

A prominent and general defect in the domestic society of our country, is the excessive devotion to business, which is so marked a characteristic of our habits. Although this evil is chiefly the result of circumstances, acting with peculiar 'force on the enterprising men of the day, yet its influence is probably more pernicious, at least in its present effects, than any other cause that is operating on our social life. A fair portion of every man's time is justly due to his wife and children ; and if it is denied them, there is no compensation for the robbery. They suffer a moral privation for which he can not atone by splendid success in making money. Let him not think that the hours sacred to domestic instruction and enjoyment, if spent in honest and honorable labor, will not avenge themselves on him and his household. No matter how pure the motive may be, the consequences will not be averted. Love has its duties that must be discharged; and of all love, married love is most acutely sensitive to its obligations. It is not an affection that may be left to its own spontaneous growth, but one to be watched- and nurtured with daily care and kindly solicitude. To keep alive the beautiful and truthful simplicity of early feeling; to perpetuate aud deepen the delicate glow of romance that then overspread the scenes of existence; to interchange those thoughts and sympathies which makes the life of one the property and inspiration of the other; to be kindred in tastes, tempers, and pursuits; aud to be so vitally united as to render marriage the natural expression of a common nature and destiny—this is surely a great and divine task, that demands no mean skill, no chance art, and for which time and occasion and circumstances are to be held in rigid reserve. Married people are too apt to forget that each other's character and happinessare a constant trust, requiring no small wisdom in its management. They are to be more than a mutual help and comfort, for Providence means them to educate each other, and, by the agency of a common tie and common interest, penetrating every faculty aud sentiment, to form their nature in harmony with its social purposes. Such a work as this—the highest and holiest that can engage man and woman— is certainly not to be accomplished in the refuse bits and shreds of time that are usually left after business has exhausted mind and muscles. But this is the current style of our life. The merchant, the lawyer, the speculator, eats up the husband, and the skeleton of bis former self is all that remains to the wife and the household. Is it any wonder that domestic infidelity is increasing among us? Is it any wonder that misery is creeping into so many of our homes, and laying its black shadows around the table and the fireside? There can scarcely be a doubt that our women, as a whole, are degenerating. And our married women head the list in extravagance, folly, and other evils. This too, when we have more to make us contented and happy than any other people. We apprehend that the cause of this social deterioration is not occult and mysterious. It is patent to all eyes. Our civilization is founded too much on the basis of business, iustead of resting, where God has placed it, on the life and love of the household. If our women were made happier at home, they would not be so proue to seek false and pernicious excitements abroad. If their husbands did not neglect them so shamefully, they would seldom show that morbid passion, now spreading among them, for gratifications that are wretched substitutes for the blessedness of the domestic circle.

It is easy to purchase success in business at too dear a price. If men will barter away a pair of good eyes, a sound nervous system, a healthy digestion, and the opportunities for recreation and improvement for a few extra thousand dollars, they are less shrewd than they are in other commercial transactions. But there are some other items in this scale of profit and loss. Your prosperous man frequently trades off his wife and children. Some of the Eastern nations buy their wives; but we often sell ours, and pocket the profits. And when the successful man has amassed a fortune, what sort of a home has he for its enjoyment? Ths statuary that he puts there rebukes the mock-life around it; and the pictures on the walls, that ought to be significant emblems of the joy and brightness of his family, only suggest the dreams that his youth indulged. Men ought to know that while Home is not a hard master, or an inexorable tyrant, it is yet a divine authority, whose laws are not to be trampled down with impunity. It will not let the offender escape. It accepts no pleas in abatement, and forgives no mistakes. Errors of judgment are held to a strict accountability, as well as vices of conduct. Too many of our men ignore this sanctity of home-law. Their fit title is—a business-sex. Kind and affectionate they may be, but not in a wise and proper way. Wives and children need something besides good sentiments and full purses. They want attention, counsel, sympathy, heartsuccor aud heart support. Denied these gracious offices on the part of husband and father, what else can be expected but disorder and distress at home?

Nor ought another point be overlooked. Society has now so much machinery in it, that we are readily betrayed into a substitution of its action for our own. We have good schools; we pay them well; and forsooth, the obligation of the parent to educate his child is discharged by committing him to the teacher. We can buy books for wife and children. Here, too, are the morning papers and the monthly magazines. They can do our talking. Sabbath

schools come in opportunely, to relieve us of moral and religious culture. Money can hire a nurse for the boys and girls. Money can. buy the news, and all other intelligence. Money can secure all kinds of agents on whom parental responsibility may bo shifted. Our whole social system is crowded with these proxies. Such instruments are invaluable so long as they are used as mere aids to the parent. But every observer knows that in a vast many cases they are not employed as adjuncts to parental effort. And this is, perhaps; the most serious evil of modern society; viz., the excessive reliance on outside machinery to do the work of home. A few years since, when the world was not quite so much blessed with gifted people, who could be harnessed in your traces, it was customary for parents to do their own work. Their minds were in active and constant contact with their children; their talents were exerted in the domestic circle ; their knowledge was at the service of the family, and their delight was to comment on useful maxims, illustrate great truths, give wholesome advice, and inspire laudable ambition. All of us are aware what a falling off there is in this particular. Household talk, as once known, is becoming rarer every day. Children are taught abroad how to be men and women ; and not only are there manners formed by professional teachers of behaviour, but the principles which are to guide them in after life, are often left to the capricious instructions of such as have no vital interest in the matter. What a contravention this of the divine plan! External aids may be wi.-ely invoked to assist in the proper development of childhood andyouth, but the essential sentiments of character, as well as most of what constitutes the true growth of intellect, must be commuuicated through homeagency alone. The fruits of this false method of training are already startling enough to awaken anxiety. Young America is a product of the outside world, where the heart is stimulated before its time, and the imagination is captivated ere reason and common sense have acquired their first lessons in the realities of human experience. Nature sheathes the young flower beneath the hardy covering of the bud. and opens it slowly to the air and light. Modern education is in hot haste to strip off the protections of the sensibilities, and expose them to the excitements that kindle fever in the blood.

Aside from these evils, there are other pernicious influences at work in our domestic society that threaten us with injury. One accustomed to observe the characteristics of the day, must have often noticed what a growing indisposition there is among our women to submit to the care and duty of housekeeping, and how eager they are to throw them off. Time was, when a home of your own was an object ardently desired, and hearts pledged to each other looked to the quiet companionship of its walls as the consummation of earthly bliss. A wife without a home was scarcely considered a wife at all. Our old-fashioned fathers and mothers reasoned, that if two loving souls united themselves in the bands of matrimony, a home was essential to rivet those bands firmly and closely around them. The honeymoon over, thither they went, and beneath their own rooffouDd a genial occupnncy for their time in the responsibilties of their daily tasks. And they were true to nature in the act; for married life demands, with the force of an instinct, a home for itself. Nor can we Bee how the completeness of marriage can ever be realized—how its full measure of joy can be attained, how its sacrifices can be nobly made, and its patient, soothing inspiring vocation be fulfilled—except in suchahome. Is there nothing in having a table, a fireside, a pleasant porch, shady walks, cheerful flowers, that you can call your own? The commonest article of furniture borrows new associations if it has a place in your own dwelling; and chairs, carpets, curtains, draw a charm from the walls that shut you in from the world. Man and" wife are never perfectly themselves any where else, nor can they ever learn to depend on each other—to think, plan, talk, labor, and suffer for mutual benefit—unless theyare thus separated from outside connections, and dedicated to each other's service and joy.

Boarding-houses were once for young single gentlemen and bachelors. Good days were those, when they lived in easy content, fearing no evil. But the advancing wave of civilization has inundated them, and they have betaken themselves to club-houses for security against noisy Irish nurses and brawling babies. See, too, the great hotels. Is all the world on a furlough from home, that these huge establishments are needed to accommodate them? The stranger is soon let into the secret. Taking the hint from the size of a Southern plantation or a Western praiiie farm, the cunning architect puts a good slice of the continent into walls, passages, chambers, and parlors; and as you wander through these winding ways, you indulge a childish wonder how the laybrinths of Egypt and the catacombs of Home have suddenly reappeared on this remote hemisphere. But it's a new world! Indeed it is—new in more senses than one—and this is among the things that make good its boastful title. Now the idea of converting such a place into a family home is a more ridiculous problem then ever alchemy proposed. You may eat drink, sleep, wear fine clothes, and promenade fine rooms in it, but you can not graft a domestic idea on it. Compared with home, the atmosphere, scenery, habits, are as different as the poles are from the tropics. You might as well exhaust your ingenuity on perpetual motion, as waste it here in efforts to enjoy a home.

Our summing-up must be short. The heart of our country lives in its homes, and after all the eloquent things we say about republican rights, the final test of institutions is in the domestic character of the people. The world is an enjoyable place just so far as we can render it tributary to our homes; and freedom is a blessing exactly up to the measure that we improve its privileges in forming ourselves after the divine ideal of noble men and women. Side by side stand the Altar of Liberty and the Altar of Home; and if Christianity has lighted their flames, let us never forget that it is from those flames, burning heavenward with steady strength of warmth and lustre, that Providence brings the fiery swords which arm us for our highest achievements and our grandest victories.

BAYARD TAYLOR IN NORTHERN EUROPE.
(Continued from page 205.)

Our road was well beaten, but narrow, and we had great difficulty in passing the many hay and wood teams which met us, on account of the depth of the loose snow on either side. We had several violent overturns at such times, one of which occasioned us the loss of our beloved pipe—a loss which rendered Braisted disconsolate for the rest of the day. We had but one between us, and the bereavement was not slight. Soon after leaving Haparanda, we passed a small white obelisk, with the words "Russian Frontier" upon it. The town of Torneaa, across the frozen river, looked really imposing, with the sharp roof and tall spire of its old-church rising above the line of low, red buildings. Campbell, I remember, says,

"Cold M the rockfl on Torneo's hoary brow,"

with the same disregard of geography which makes him grow palm trees along the Susquehanna river. There was Torneaa; but I looked in vain for the " hoary brow." Not a hill within sight, nor a rock within a circuit of ten miles, but one unvarying level, like the western shore of the Adriatic, formed by the deposits of the rivers and the retrocession of the sea.

Our road led up to the left, bank of the river, both sides of which were studded with neat little villages. The country was well cleared and cultivated, and appeared so populous and flourishing that I could scarcely realize in what part of the world we were. The sun set at a quarter past 1, but for two hours the whole southern heaven was superb in its hues of rose and orange. The sheepskin lent us by our landlady kept our feet warm, and we only felt the cold in our faces; my nose, especially, which, having lost a coat of skin, was very fresh and tender, requiring unusual care. At 3 o'clock, when we reached Kuckula, the first station, the northern sky was one broad flush of the purest violet, melting into lilac at the zenith, where it met the fiery skirts of sunset.

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