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spairs, forgetting that a daily progress, with such efforts as he might all the time put forth, would place him high among the ranks of the saintly followers of the Man of all goodness. Not one half of our youth arc developing the full energy of their capacities; yea, nine-tenths are growing up in comparative undevelopment, not one half of their real capacity being called into action, from this one cause—a want of moral courage. They have energy, ambition, industry, but lack courage. An assurance from a valued friend, a word of cheer from a known and esteemed author, or a good-speed from the lips of experience, would be of essential service to them. It would fire their courage, and they would be true to their desires, their ambition, and duty.

I everywhere meet with faltering youth—noble souls, but fearful. Poverty, or diffidence, or the whims of uuwise friends, or some fancied defect of mind or body, keeps them from the fields they desire to occupy, and where they could be more useful and successful than any where else in life, because their hearts are there. They lack truo bravery of soul. Or, it may be in them, but it is undeveloped. Bravery, like all other virtues, is developed by the hand of culture. The noblest bravery in the world is moral bravery, that which meets disappointment, trial, affliction, failure, misfortune, sickness, and all the varied ills of life, with a determined and vigorous composure and a stern and trained selfreliance, which enable its possessor to pursue his even course undismayed, and add to, rather than detract from, his strength. Such a bravery is a lofty moral heroism, as great as that which nerved the martyrs' hearts and bared the reformers' stalwart arms. The bravery that faces the cannon's mouth is often the fear of public rebuke, or the love of public praise. Seldom is true bravery exhibited on the field of battle, or in any of the great conflicts of arms or minds carried on in the audience of the world. It is more generally ambition, fear of censure, love of gain, animal excitement, or the madness of narcotic or stimulating drugs or drinks. These supply the place of bravery, and the world knows not the difference. But there is a bravery that is true. It is the proudest, subliniest of human virtues. It is that bravery which dares be true to duty though the heavens come down; true when the world knows it not; true in the calm resolve of the midnight hour, when no eye but God's looks into the soul; true when the world would applaud for being false, and every worldly interest should seem to offer a price for cowardice. The bravery that under these circumstances is the same calm, undismayed, unseduced, dauntless vigor and determination of soul, is worthy the name, and is a godlike grandeur of moral greatness worthy a place in the calender of the sublimest heroism. Our youth want more of this heroism. There is a fearful deficiency every

where. It is as much needed iu the common walks of life, as in the higher or highest pursuits, and often more so; fjr in public life the world often sustains the martyr, or the defender of humanity, or her injured rights; but in common life it is often that the severest trials have to be borne in solitary silence, while the contumely of neighbors, unjustly given, adds another trial scarcely less severe. To suppress the mutiny of the passions, to silence the clamors of lust, avarice, and ambition, to moderate the vehemence of desire, to check the repiniugs of sorrow, to disperse the gloom of disappointment, and suppress the dark spirits of despondency, requires a degree of vigorous moral courage that is not so often possessed as it is needed. It is everywhere needed, and very seldom possessed to a very great degree.

Whoever encourages this virtue in the world, either by example or precept, does the world good. The fear that its want inspires in nearly all youth, makes them often intensely miserable, subjects them to the doubt, and blackness, and torment of despondency, or " the blues," as they call it, and all the enervation, perversion of mind, waste of time, and ultimate evils that follow. Thousands on thousands of noble-minded and generous-hearted youth are ruined, or greatly injured by this prevailing cowardice. Scarcely any escape its scathing influence. Mere courage, determination, force of will, cheerful pursuit of known duties, or the objects of honorable desires, gladsome labor in the paths of right and usefulness, is the almost universal want among manhood, and especially among the young. Life is full of beauty, and ought to be of gladness. It has a thousand glorious joys, and as many sources of constant enjoyment. Constant cheerfulness is a duty. A faithful, joyful pursuit of the things that will minister most to our peace, usefulness, happiness, and progress, is a moral obligation that we ought to comply with all the time.

The youth of our country have no right to be unhappy; no business to be desponding; no sort of a privilege granted them by any constitution, either written or unwritten, in any of our States, or by any code of laws, natural or divine, to have "the blues," or to fail to pursue the objects of their honorable ambition. Our free institutions are designed to be the nurseries of youth, to afford them an open field and fair play for the legitimate and righteous exercise of their powers, in all the pursuits of high-minded industry. The friends of youth may, and will, encourage and advise them, through books, lectures, lessons, examples, and every known means of assistance; but depend upon it, young men and women, it is your own work, after all. Nobody else can do it for you. Fortunes are hewn out for ourselves, not made to order at a fortune shop. Characters are forged on the anvil of industry by the well-directed strokes of the head and hand. Children are what they are made; but men and women are what they make themselves. The web of life is drawn into the loom for us; but we weave it ourselves. We throw our own shuttle and work our own treadles. The warp is given us; but the woof we make ourselves— find our own materials, and color and figure it to our own taste. «

m (To be continued.)

For Friends!' Intelligencer.

THOMAS STORY.
(Continued from page 393.)

And having staid there a short time, I was invited to dinner at the house of Richard JKibton, an ancient and honorable Friend in the village; where I was made kindly welcome, and where 1 had great freedom of conversation.

And being now satisfied beyond my expectation, concerning the people of God, in whom the Lord had begun, and in a good measure, carried on a great work and reformation in the earth, I determined in my mind, that day, to lay aside every business and thing which might hinder or veil in me the enjoyment of the presence of the Lord, whether among his people or alone; or obstruct any service whereunto I was or might be called by him; especially things of an entangling or confining nature. Not regarding what the world might say, or what name they might impose upon me.

The business being over which brought me into that part of the country, I returned to Carlisle, where I had been but about two weeks, till the Friend of the inn, before mentioned, coming to town, informed me of their Meeting for Business, and affairs of their Society; and invited me to it, being about four miles distant.

At first I was a little surprised that he should invite me to such a meeting, and hardly thought him prudent in it; for though things had happened as above, yet I had not made an outward profession with them, or declared myself of their communion, but though I found some aversion, rather than inclination, toward it, yet I yielded to go, that I might see how, and in what spirit and wisdom, they managed the discipline and business of their Society, in matters of religion.

That I might view them a little more clearly in all circumstances, before I should openly declare for their way in all things; (some doubts yet remaining as to some points,) and whether they thoroughly agreed with the idea I had conceived in my mind of the state of the Church of Christ, viz. that they believed in God and Christ; were settled in the practice of Christian morality; that they were able to suffer any persecution, or opposition, for true religion, when thereunto called, in the course of Divine Providence ; that the characteristic mark of the disciples of Christ should be fairly upon them, to love one another,

not in word and in tongue only, but in deed and in truth ; and that they should be preserved by that love in uniformity and unity among themselves; and also be loving and kind to all men as occasion might offer; and evince the same, by doing them good, and never any harm.

These qualifications I had deemed sufficient to demonstrate such to be the children of God; brought forth in his image, righteousness and true holiness, in the mind, or inner man.

The meeting being set, they had first a time o? silence, waiting upon God (as I did believe and practice) for the renewing and strengthening of their minds; and after that, they proceeded upon the business of the day. And so it happened at that time, that a matter of great moment among them was debated, and not without some warmth on both sides; but the zeal of both did not arise from the same root.

It was concerning the manner and essence of their Discipline, which a sect among them had opposed, from the time of the first proposal of of any Discipline among them as a Society. The debates arising pretty high, and they observing me to be there, and most of them, I doubt not, having heard I seemed to favor their way, and being cautious lest I should take offence, from their debates, not knowing the state of the case, or, perhaps not qualified to judge in matters so foreign to me, some of them, prudently put that friend who had introduced me, upon an inoffensive way to procure my absence ; and accordingly he called me aside into an outer room, offering to discourse on some foreign subject. But as my mind in time of silence in the meeting, had been comforted in the life of Truth, I remained under the sense of it; having taken little other notice of what had passed in point of argument, than in what spirit they managed and contended on each side.

But though I observed the Friends' good intent in calling me out, I could take no cognizance of what he said; for a deep thought now entered my mind, whether these could yet be the people of God ? since they seemed to be divided among themselves, and treat one another with an acrimony of language, which, I thought could not arise from love, neither altogether suited the humility of Jesus the true Christ.

The Friend, observing my silence, and that I was under a deep inward concern, became silent likewise, and a trouble also seized him, but of another kind; for I was concerned to know the truth, and on what side, if on either, it might lie; and he was afraid I had, or might take offence, and depart from the beginning I had made among them.

And thus we remained silent for some time; during which I plainly observed a struggle between two distinct powers in the ground of nature, working in myself, which exhibited two different ideas, or conclusions, in my mind, concerniug the matter then in hand, and the spirits and persons concerned as agents therein, viz.

That the first was Truth, establishing himself in his own nature, a lawgiver and ruler, in every member of his Church and body, as alone needful unto them who were truly so; but as he who knoweth all things, did foresee that many would, in time, come into that profession as of old, without any knowledge of the Divine Truth, or work of it in themselves, but as thieves and robbers, climbing up some other way; by education, tradition, imitation, or sinister interests, and worldly views; who not being under the rule and law of Grace in the second birth, would act and say of themselves, contrary to the way of Truth, and Church of the living God: and therefore in his wisdom and power working in the minds of the just, he had early established, and was yet more firmly establishing a due order among his people; for preserving the right, and passiug judgment and condemnation on the wrong and evil doers; that such as should profess the truth of God, and yet walk contrary to . the same, bringing forth fruits of another kind, might be bounded and confined by outward moral rules, adapted to human reason and understanding.

And secondly on the other hand, that the spirit of this world had been, and still was working in the other sort, to oppose all order and discipline, and to live loose as they list, without any rule or account to the Society, though professing the same truth with them; and to be judged only by their own light, or what they called so, and accountable only to the spirit in themselves: though several among that party were only against some branches of the Discipline, already established by the body of the Society, and not against the whole.

And during this time of silence I clearly beheld the contrary natures and ends of these differing spirits; the one truth, the other error; the one light, the other darkness; the one for moral virtue, and a holy, pure mind, and the other for a loose unbounded liberty: and yet that these last, as creatures, did not see the sophistry of the evil one, to whom themselves were instruments, nor the snare,'but intended well in their own view and way of conceiving things.

And in proportion and degrees, as these distinctions were gradually made clear in my understanding at that time, the load and trouble I was under abated; and, at last, my mind settled down again to its own centre in peace, and became serene, as before; which, being fully sensible of, I was cheerful, and said to the Friend, "we may now return into the house, for the danger is entirely over. I knew thy meaning before we came out of the other room ; and commend your care and caution." With this he was greatly pleased; and so were the rest, when they came to know it.

After this I was at some other meetings; but little notice was taken of it by any of my relations or acquaintance, till the time of the Assizes at Carlisle; where some Friends being prisoners in the county jail, for non-pa^nent of tithes, others attended the Assizes, as their custom was, the better to obviate occasion of trouble, or hurt, to any of the Society, and to minister counsel or other help, as need might be; and these went to a meeting at Scotby about ^wo miles from the city; and thither I went also.

During the time of the meeting, I found a great and unusual load on my spirit, and hardness in my heart; iusomuch that I could hardly breathe under the oppression; nor could I say I had any sense of the comforts of the Divine presence there, but that the Heavens were as thick brass, and the burs thereof as of strong iron. But though I had no enjoyment in myself, yet I was sensible the presence and goodness of the Lord was there, and many therein greatly comforted, and therefore did conclude my condition of mind was from some other cause, and not relating to the state of themeetingin general. And after the meeting was over, one of them asked me how I did; I answered indifferently. Then he and some others perceived my spirit was oppressed and sympathized with me therein.

[To be continued.]

FRIENDS' INTELLIGENCER.

PHILADELPHIA, NINTH MONTH 12,1857.

In the experience of an Editor, incidents frequently occur which prove the impossibility at all times of suiting the tastes of those for whom he labors. And he might retire from his position in despair, were he not sustained by his own integrity. It is no uncommon circumstance to be censured by some for what others highly commend. There seems in such cases, but one course for him to pursue, which is, at all times, and under all circumstances to act in accordance with the best judgment furnished him. For ourselves we may say, the object for which our paper was first published is steadily kept in view, and to attain this is the point at which we aim.

We are rarely in the habit of noticing either credit or censure which comes to us anonymously, but having been furnished by a friend with an extract from a letter received by her, containing the assertion that the Editors of Friends' Intelligencer are in the habit of altering communications sent them to suit their own views, thereby making the authors say what they could at no time assent to, we feel it due to ourselves and the cause in which we are engaged, to endeavor to remove an impression as false as it is unjust. Now so far from meriting so grave a charge, we thought ourselves particularly careful in the criticisms deemed essential prior to publication, to change in no wise the sense of the original. It is true we take the liberty to abbreviate, to avoid repetitions which in our judgment detract from the strength or force of the subject, and in a few iustances, where the meaning has been obscure and liable to a different construction from what we believed was designed, other words have been substituted which appeared to convey more clearly the views of the writer, and such parts as have been of doubtful interpretation have been omitted altogether. We cannot call to mind a solitary instance where the charge preferred against us by the correspondent of our friend could be sustained. We should, indeed, feel ourselves unworthy the confidence of the public if in any case we could plead guilty. We carefully guard our pages against anything which could have a tendency in our judgment to weaken or invalidate the testimony borne by the Society of Friends to the "Light Within," believing this to be the prominent ground upon which all should stand that bear our name. We have not wholly confined ourselves to the writings of Friends, for it is ever gratifying to us to perceive this holy principle acknowledged in its preserving and purifying influences, by others without our pale; and when this has been the case articles have sometimes been admitted even when they have contained some minor points with which we did not unite and yet were not of sufficient moment to reject the whole. The object of their insertion we believe would be clear to discerning minds. And now a word or two to our contributors. If we have at any time wounded by way of criticism or rejection we are sorry for it. The general good is our study. Acting, as we have trusted, without " partiality and without hypocrisy." If we thought we could be rightly understood, we would like here to suggest, that some sentiments and feelings which have been forwarded in measured lines, should be reproduced in prose. True poetry we love, we value; but to comparatively few is this gift entrusted; and except when it beams forth in purity and brightness, it renders valueless

thoughts which might claim a just appreciation in another garb.

Died, on 5th day, the 27th ult., at his late residence in Upper Oxford Township, Chester Co., Pa., Elihu Barnard, in the 60th year of his age, a member of Pennsgrove Monthly and the Western Quarterly Meetin*, and an approved Minister in the Society of Friends. His remains were interred on the 7th day following, attended by a very large concourse of people of the various denominations of professing Christians; after which a solemn meeting was held, wherein several testimonies were borne to the virtues and exemplary deportment of the deceased, considering him an upright pillar in the church of Christ. And there are those who can testify they have often been strengthened and encouraged in beholding the reverential manner in which he sat in our religious assemblies, evidently laboring to come into the Holy of Holies, in order to hold communion with Him who is invisible. That it is believed there are but few to whom the following language would be more applicable: "Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace."

, On the 23d ult.,at the residence of his father,

Camanche, Clinton Co., Iowa, Nathan, son of Joel and Sarah G. Lupton, formerly of Hopewell Monthly and Preparative Meetings, aged 21 years 10 months and 2 days.

Paul's Salaey.

At the meeting of the American Board, Dr. Dacon made a spicy allusion to this topic. Perhaps our readers would like to see the thought as first stated by grand old Saurin. (Sermon on 1 Cor. ix. 26, 27.) "It was in this light, God set the ministry before Paul at first; I' will show him how great things he must suffer for my name's sake.' Show him how great things he must suffer for my name's sake! What a motive to engage a man to undertake an office 1 Now-a-days, in order to give a great idea of a church, it is said :—It has such and such advantages, so much in cash, so much in small titles, and so much iu great titles. St. Paul saw the ministry only as a path full of thorns and briars, and he experienced, through all the course of his life, the truth of that idea which was given him of his office. Hear the catalogue of his sufferings :—1 Of the Jews five times received I forty stripes save one. Thrice was I beaten with rods, once was I stoned, thrice I suffered shipwreck, a night and a day have I been in the deep. In journeyings often, in perils of water, in perils of robbers, in perils by my own countrymen, in perils by the heathen, in perils in the city, in perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in perils among false brethren. In weariness and painfulness, in watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness.' What a salary for a minister! Hunger, thirst, fastings, nakedness, peril, persecution, death!"

Death cannot kill what never dies.—Pcnn.

GEORGE STEPHENSON, THE RAILWAY ENGINEER.

(Concluded from pago 3U6.)

Robert Stephenson, worthy son of worthy father, is said to have walked twenty times over the land between London and Birmingham before he was satisfied with his survey. The elder Stephensou was justly proud of such a son, whose inquiring mind he first found actively employed when Robert—then very young—was, by means of a kite, engaged in drawing down electric sparks into the hinder quarters of his father's pony. His sire merrily called him "a mischievous scoundrel,"—but the trick was one after the father's own heart.

From the period of the opening of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway to 1840—when the elder Stephenson resolved to retire into private life—there were few great railway undertakings in this country with which he was not connected. He was engaged, too, in many abroad. Up to the year last mentioned, he had many a buttle to fight,—but he issued forth from his home, near Chesterfield, generally to conquer. Cities spent countless wealth to keep the rail from them, and then spent more in bringing to their gates what they had denounced. It was not till 1842, when the Queen began to use the Windsor line, that the antipathies of the most prejudiced, except Col. Sibthorp, were effectually set at rest. Before that time, indeed, he who had been accounted mad for getting so fast in advance of the world, was stigmatized as "slow" by "professional men," for asserting that a speed of above forty, or from that to fifty, miles an hour was not consistent with safety. 'He could construct an engine, he said, that should complete one hundred miles an hour, but it would be practically useless. He also advocated level lines and the narrow gauge. He was beloved by his pupils and assistants; and if bitterness ever did find expression in him, it was when he was assailed by opponents whose professional education was esteemed by them as superior to his training and experience, and on whom he might have better afforded to expend his contempt than his wrath.

His retirement was only temporary, and even then he was busy in promoting the carriage of coals by railway, and other useful measures. Thirty years after he had been a worker in a pit at Newcastle, he travelled from that city to London, behind one of his own locomotives, in nine hours. Liverpool gave him, or itself, a statue. Municipalities asked him to honour them by accepting "the freedom of the city." Kings and Queens abroad sat down with him to hear hira familiarly describe the geological formations of their kingdoms, and the English Government, ever forward to recognize merit and to reward it, offered him a superb piece of patronage,—the right to appoint the postman

between Chatsworth and Chesterfield, which official was to receive twelve shillings a week!

He did not care for honours. Leopold made him a Belgian knight, but the Chevalier never wore the insignia. Knighthood was ultimately offered him at home, but he refused the infliction. Some one asked him what his "ornamental initials" were, for the purpose of appending them to a dedication. "I have to state," said Mr. Stephenson, "that I have no flourishes to my name, either before or after; I think it will be as well if you merely say 'George Stephenson.'"

In his closing years he lived the life of a useful, active country gentleman. He was never idle. In the business of his colliery property, lime works, and in correspondence and audiences with numerous persons who resorted to him for advice or aid, he employed many hours. One thing troubled him in his garden: his cucumbers would grow crooked. They baffled all his attempts, till he clapped the growing vegetables into glass cylinders, and produced them perfectly straight. With this achievement he was delighted, and he was not less pleased when he beat the Duke of Devonshire in his pines. He was therewith no tuft-hunter. He was not the man, when he dined with a baronet, to have a paragraph to that effect inserted in the papers. When he did go, he was very acceptable company. Here he is at Sir Robert Peel's in 1845, with Chantrey, Buckland, and Follett:—

"Though mainly an engineer, he was also a daring thinker on many scientific questions; and there was scarcely a subject of speculation, or a department of recondite science, on which he had not employed his faculties in such a way as to have formed large and original views. At Drayton the conversation often turned upon such topics, and Mr. Stephenson freely joined in it. On one occasion, an animated discussion took place between himself and Dr. Buckland on one of his favorite theories as to the formation of coal. But the result was, that Dr. Buckland, a much greater master of tongue-fence than Stephenson, completely'silenced him. Next morning before breakfast, when he was walking in the grounds deeply pondering, Sir William Follett came up and asked what he was thinking about? 'Why, Sir William, I am thinking over that argument I had with Buckland last night. I know I am right, and that if I had only the command of words which he has, I'd have beaten him.' 'Let me know all about it,' said Sir William, 'and I'll see what I can do for you.' The two sat down in an arbor, where the astute lawyer made himself thoroughly acquainted with the points of the case; entering into it with all the zeal of an advocate about to plead the dearest interests of his client. After he had mastered the subject, Sir William rose up, rubbing his hands with glee, and said, 'Now I am

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