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nily—is contemplated, and that those who sow pleasure in this world shall reap misery in the next, how trifling and insignificant do these momentary gratifications then appear!

O, my soul! though others dote upon these fading, transient pleasures, do thou soar above into the regions of light—the place of thy nativity—and look down with pity and compassion upon these creeping insects of the earth. While they are striving after and destroying one another in the pursuit of polluted pleasures, do thou mount above them, and labor for heavenly riches —treasures which cannot be corrupted nor taken away; but which shall remain through the endless ages of eternity, as a river of pleasure—a fountain of joy—an inexhaustible source of delight; where thou mayest solace thyself, and adore thy Creator, with living praises to thy King and Redeemer. These are the riches and pleasures worth seeking—the treasures worth coveting—a possession worth laboring for. It is the one thing needful for us poor, dependent" creatures to strive for.

If I had an assurance of this pearl of great price, what matters it how I fare during these few moments here? or what the trifling, vain world says or thinks of me? whether I am called a fine man—a rich man, a wise or powerful man, or the reverse? Is it not folly to be affected with a name? A pleasure that lives upon the breath of mortals can last but a few days, and will soon be annihilated, as to myself. But, Oh! when I am bidding adieu to time, and stepping into eternity, my ever-during habitation, then will appear the advantage of having treasure in heaven ; then—then the smiles of conscience will be of more worth than millions of worlds. An age of labor will appear but trifling, for such a purchase. May the procuring thereof be my chiefest aim in all my labors. May it ever be my morning's earliest wish, and my evening's latest desire, to be in favor with Him that made me—a Being to whose mercy I owe all my blessings, and to whom may gratitude ascend for his fatherly compassion, in that I have not been cut off in my sins. And in my future life, may I live to his honor, that so praises may ever acceptably ascend—a tribute eternally due to the universal Father from all his works.

David Cooper.


My advice to all professors of Christianity, is, that instead of contending about forms of godliness, they take heed to that in themselves which leads to godliness; instead of searching the Scriptures for a right form, they would labor to live under the government of a right spirit.

Of this true self denial, I am apt to think we have much less than former generations had;

for we see, though preaching abounds, pride, covetous practices, and many other vices superabound; and the reason to me is this; conformity to outward forms of worship being more taking with people than the strait gate and narrow way of self denial, hath, in our present age, gotten the name of Christianity, religion and true godliness, insomuch that should a man add to bis faith, virtue and all other graces, by which an entrance into the everlasting kingdom of Christ is abundantly ministered, if there be not withal a conformity to some outward way of worsliip, he shall not pass for a godly man. Nay, though his conversation be never so heavenly, though he be humble, lowly, meek, patient, peaceable, though truth be in all his words, equity and faithfulness in all his deeds, though he visits the fatherless and the widow, and keeps himself onspotted from the world, if he be not in the exercise of some outward form of godliness, he shaW not be counted religious, nor hardly a Christian.



A considerable time ago there appeared in the Intelligencer an expression of desire that interesting incidents in the lives of such of our predecessors as were eminent in their day, might not be suffered to pass into oblivion, but that some among us, in whose storehouses of memory they are now treasured, might write down and transmit them for insertion in its pages.

It is not recollected that this request has been responded to, to any extent, and we now revive it, in the hope that some of our elderly Friends, who are still left among us", will be willing to comply therewith, especially when they reflect how small the number now is, (and that it is every year becoming smaller,) of those who remember the bright and shining lights of the bygone generation, whom most of us know only by name and character.

We shall hope to receive from time to time such communications, which, though clothed in simple language, will have an intrinsic value as the record of facts new to our readers, and of biographical interest.

Died,—On 7th day the 7th inst., Mary, daughter of Thomas J. and Mary R. Husband, in the 15th year of her age.

, On the 23d of 12th month last, John Stobbs,

a member of Little Britain Particular and Monthly Meeting, aged 71 years.

, In New York on 3d day morning, 3d of 2nd

month, Edward B. only child of Jacob and Jane E. Capron, aged 9 months and 25 days.

For Friends' Intelligencer.

The following rare document was found among the papers of the late Lewis Jones, of Blockley, and though it was written one hundred and fiftyfive years ago, it is still in a tolerably good state of preservation. The document will be interesting to the largo families of Jones, Griffiths, Foulkes, Evans, Lewis, and many others, especially their descendants. At the suggestion of a number of the subscribers of the Intelligencer, I was requested to offer it for insertion, should it meet with approbation. I have endeavored to conform the spelling to the original, and it would be desirable if the signers' names could be kept in their respective columns.

A venerable and worthy ancestry, who had settled at Gwynedd, left the church and joined . themselves to Haverford Monthly Meeting of Friends, to which Merion and Gwynedd and

other meetings then belonged. (In the year 1702.)

The first permanent stone meeting house at Gwynedd was built in 1712, and the first Monthly Meeting was held there by the approbation of Philadelphia Quarterly Meeting in the year 1714. The house at Gwynedd stood until 1823 when it was taken down and re-built. Many of the Friends whose names are signed to the certificate became Ministers of eminence, and some of them will be found in the collection of memorials from that Meeting. I remember my father saying, that George Dillwyn said in his hearing, that when the Yearly Meeting was held at Burlington, and he a lad, he could remember the ancients of that day saying, that "Gwynedd was the school of the prophets."

Joseph Foulke.

Gwynedd, 2d mo. 8th, 1857.

Whereas, Thomas Jones, of the Township of Merion, in the County of Philadelphia, And Anne Griffith of the aforesaid Township and County, Having declared their intentions of Marriage before Several Public Meetings of the People of God called Quakers in the Welsh Tract, according to the good order used among them, Whose proceedings therein, after a deliberate consideration thereof, and consent of Parties and Relations concerned, being clear of all others, were approved of by the said Meeting: Now these are to certify all whom it may concern, That for the full accomplishing of their said Intentions, this Twenty-third day of the Fourth Month, in the year according to ye English account one thousand seven hundred and two, They, the said Thomas Jones, and Anne Griffith, appeared in a solemn and Public Assembly of the aforesaid people, and others met together for that end and purpose, in their public Meeting House at Merion aforesaid, and in a solemn manner according to the Example of the holy men of God Recordod in the Scriptures of Truth, He, the said Thomas Jones, taking the said Anne Griffith by the hand, did openly declare as followcth, viz: In the fear of the Lord and in the presence of this Assembly, I do take Anne Griffith to be my wedded wife, and do promise with the assistance of God to be unto her a true, loving and faithful Husband until it please God by Death to separate us. And then and there in the said Assembly, the said Anne Griffith did in like manner declare as followeth, viz: In the fear of the Lord and in the presence of this Assembly, I do take Thomas Jones to bo my wedded Husband, and do promise by the assistance of God to be unto him a true, faithful, obedient* and loving wife until it please God by Death to separate us. And the said Thomas Jones and Anne Griffith as a further confirmation thereof did then and there to these Presents set their hands. And we whose names are hereunto subscribed, being present amongst others at the solemnizing of their said marriage and subscription, in manner aforesaid as witnesses thereunto, have also to these Presents subscribed our names the day and year above written.


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The streets of Jerusalem are unclean enough now to justify all that Isaiah and Ezekiel declare of the abominations cast out from holy places. On the side of Mount Zion, one feels forcibly the truth of David's complaint: "I sink in deep mire, where there is no standing." While the rainy season continues, this mire is beyond fathoming, and every one, saint or sinner,—the saint with flowing robes more than the scantily clothed sinner,—must needs carry "filth on the skirts of his garment." When the rainy season is over, the annoyance of another kind is as great, and Jerusalem tries in vain to "shake itself from the dust." Every thing is covered, and the virgin daughters can sit in the dust without coming down from the house top. The supply of water has not ceased, fountains play in the courts of the Mosque, and the laden ass bears upon his back full skins from the Pools of Siloam. But cleanliness does not go with godliness in Jerusalem, in the Moslem or the Christian, much less in the Jewish quarter. More disgusting uncleanness can be found in no city of the world, not in Ireland or Egypt or Australia, than is found on the eastern side of Mount Zion. The odors there are of the shambles; and the door posts are besmeared with baser sprinklings than the blood of sacrifice. Of the various races which now inhabit Jerusalem, the Jews undoubtedly approach most nearly to the ancient people. They number about eight thousand souls. Their dwellings are compressed into a very narrow space, huddled together without regard to convenience, and to the last degree wretched in their exterior. This outward show, however, does not always fairly indicate what you find within. They are afraid, by an exhibition of wealth, to tempt the cupidity of their masters; and it is said that some of the Israelites in the Holy City have in their homes wealth, and the show of wealth, enough to call upon them rebukes such as their fathers received there in the age of the kings—couches of silk and ivory, purple and fine linen, and sumptuous daily fare. A stranger will not discover this. The Jews of Jerusalem are bigoted and suspicious, and do not, like their brethren at Damascus, invite or welcome Christians to their dwellings. In their lynagogue service, which on the early Sabbath morning Christians may freely witness, you see no sign of ostentation or luxury: the splendor is antique and faded, the garb and countenance of he worshippers are alike and sad, and the ritual s simple and touching. Perhaps you will not •.onsent to the extreme age which they design to the synagogues, or believe that they really stand where David prayed with the people when he had fixed his throne on Zion, since there is no account of synagogue worship before the cap

tivity; but remembering how tenaciously the Hebrews hold to thoir traditions; observing, too, how the rubbish of ages has lifted the streets around, many feet, above the floors of their sanctuaries, so that they must be reached by descending steps, you may readily assent, that, for two thousand years, at least, the prayers and chaunts. the law and the prophecy, have been delivered to the people Israel on this sacred spot. The rooms are four in number, somewhat differently furnished, and apparently appropriated to the Jews of different national extraction. For it is striking to notice at Jerusalem, along with the uniform characteristics of the Hebrew race, the aquiline nose, the arched eyebrow, the sad expression—along with these, the various complections and marks of the different nations of Europe ; the blue eyes with the black; the auburn with the raven hair; the pale hue of the North with the olive cheek of Italy and Spain. Oveibeck, the enthusiastic artist of the Roman church, has been faithful to this fact in his pictures, aDd has given, in his groups of Jews, all that variety of feature and color which you see on a Sabbath morning at the synagogues on Mount Zion. From the roof of their houses, the Jews can look over upon the opposite buildings, which cover the once holy hill of Moriah, now profaned to them by its long devotion to the worship of the false prophet. A few things they may see to remind them of the glory of their great king. Across a narrow, vacant pasture, where thickets of weeds and thistles hide the deep accumulations of ruins, and mask many a treacherous pitfall, are yet remaining the lower stones of that great arched bridge which once spanned the Tyropeon, and connected the fort on Zion with the temple on Moriah, the upper and the lower city. It was reserved for an American Christian to make discovery of this remarkable monument, which for ages the resident Jews had mistaken for the stones of the wall, thrust forward by some natural convulsion. To one who looks now upon it, it is incredible that the real character of the stones should not have been found before, so perfect and regular is their curving. Three courses of stones remain. Some of them are of great size, upwards of twenty feet in length; and the bridge itself must have been at least fifty feet in width, with a span of three hundred and fifty feet. The ignorance of the use of this arch may be accounted for in the fact that it is not mentioned in the Scriptures, and that the works of Josephus, in which it is mentioned, are not regarded as of high value by the Christian monks, who have chiefly kept the legends of Jerusalem. A short distance from this arch, which springs from the southern wall of the Mosque, is another famous spot, known as " the Jcw's wailing place." It is at the southwest corner of the wall. The area is about a hundred feet long, and twenty or thirty wide.

It is paved with flat blocks of the stone of the region, which are worn smooth as polished marble. The time to visit this place is on Friday, especially between ten and one, when the Moslems are at prayer within the Mosque. Then, without any explanation, the spectacle itself would shew you what are these stones in the wall, what the office of the people here. Old men trembling with the burden of four score years; mothers with their infants in their arms; the mechanics of the streets of Akra, who have left their trade to fulfil here their sad vindictive duty; bright eyed boys, who have come to practise the dark task of malediction; men gayly clad, who will defile their garments to the dust in token of sorrow; and the mendicants of the streets, whose hopeless want adds to the bitter energy of their lamenting; all ages and classes, rabbis, money changers, and hucksters, are all here together seated, some in eastern fashion, silent, gazing vacantly at the great blocks before them, others prostrate seemingly in agony; others close to the blocks, repeating rapidly passages from the open book, and striking at intervals the stone with their heads; others again wailing in low murmurs, all mourning, after their fashion, the downfall of their nation, the profanation of their temple, the wo of their hard lot, with only the joyful faith to relieve them, that the Messiah will come here at last to judgment. These blocks which now they kiss, and now strike with their heads, are the great stones which Solomon laid in the walls of the temple. Time, and the lips of the mourners, have worn smooth their bevelled edges; but they lie there massive and strong as when set in their place by the workmen of the royal architect, bearing above them the lighter weight of the Saracen wall, which casts its shadow on the pavement below. The spectacle is touching, full of meaning, far more than the mummeries around the Christian altars. It shows tho persistent trust, along with the desperate humiliation, of the race that have so long pined for the day of the Lord to appear. The changes of feeling which mellow the Christian's youthful zeal to a calmer devotion, have no such action on the Jewish heart. But the boy who wonders now, perhaps, why he should repeat curses upon his enemies from the same book which he uses in the sanctuary, will come here when his eye is dim and his beard is gray, and his voice is harsh and broken, to repeat these same words more fiercely, with a bitterness of which age has only nourished the fires.

The Jews in Jerusalem are more numerous than the rest of the people ; yet they have no political weight, hold no offices of trust, and their comfort, their safety, and their rights, are not considered by their Turkish masters, or by the Christian nations who are always interfering in the affairs of Jerusalem. They gain their livelihood partly from the trades which they ply, and

some of which they exclusively occupy, and partly from the contributions which are sent from their brethren abroad. Gifts go from tho synagogues in London and Frankfort and Prague, even from New York and Charleston, almost annually, to the house and synagogues on Mount Zion. The Jew's hand shall forget its cunning, his tongue shall cleave to the roof of his mouth, when in a strange land he shall forget Jerusalem. The Jews of Jerusalem complain, indeed, that they are not remembered by their brethren as they should be; that more rights are not given to them with the alms that are forwarded; that the powerful members of their society do not intercede to save them from tyranny; that Rothschild will not use his power to confirm to them their property against the aggressions of Turkish governors. Many whom religious power has sent there as emigrants, become tired of their hard life, and sick in the debilitating climate, and come back again to their haunts in the cities of Europe. They have no common language of daily life, though most who have been long there speak Arabic like the natives of the land. German is frequently to be heard in their streets. Hebrew, of course, is the tongue of their schools and their synagogues. Their schools are small, and not so good as those of Tiberias, where they are able to study unmolested. On Friday (the day of their wailing), and on Saturday ("the Sabbath), they do not work, and their shops are mostly shut. They keep all the festivals of their nation, kill the paschal lamb, spend eight days of the autumn in the feast of the tabernacle, and take notice in their homes of the renewing of the moon. They are scrupulous to avoid all connection, except in way of business, with their Christian and Moslem neighbors; eat no meat, contract no marriages with these, and though they have shops among the Christian convents, have their homes all on the eastern side of Mount Zion.

The Roman and Greek churches have enough to do in their own quarrels, without troubling themselves about the Jews. While all the elder Christian bodies seem indifferent to the condition of this ancient people, the benevolence of the Protestants has not passed them by. The English establishment have a fine new house of worship, a school, and a regular bishop, as parts of their work for the conversion of the Jews in Jerusalem ; and sympathising travellers tell pleasant stories of what it has done, and what it will be likely to do. More recently a zealous Virginian, minister in one of the smaller Baptist sects, took upon himself a volunteer mission, and labored some years in Mount Zion with a truly self-denying and Christian earnestness, though to little purpose. There are dogmas of the prevalent Christian creeds which the Jews reluctantly accept; and we repeat only the ad- * mission of this missionary, when we say, that the

faith which holds to God's simple unity will have most effect in persuading the Jews of Jerusalem to take Him for their master who was once persecuted there to his death.

Shall not the time soon come when the experiment may be tried, and the faith which the Saviour gave to his disciples in that upper room, on his last night of life, shall be delivered by some new apostle, and a new pentecost shall complete at Jerusalem the unfinished work of the spirit? C. H. B.



My Mother, years have passed away since thou wert by my side,

When I thought the earth was beautiful, and life a

summer tide; The earth is bright as then, mother—the sky as blue


But I miss the soft notes of thy voice, thy tenderness and love.

I know thou art at rest, mother, in yonder realms of bliss—

I know thy spirit mingles now with him thou lov'dst in this:

I know that one sod covers both, that father's form and thine —

I know 'tis selfish sorrow that makes me thus repine.

But I'm in the world alone, mother, without a hand to guide,

And the world heeds not the orphan's fate, except it be to chide—

And 1 care not for the summer heaven, or the springbird's thrilling tone.

If I must see that summer heaven, or hear those birds alone.

I miss thee from my side, mother, as to the house of God,

With silent lip and thankful heart, our Sabbath path we troil;

I miss thee when the closing day awakes to evening mirth,

And thy child has but the stranger's chair beside the stranger's hearth.

But most, my mothei, when disease has bowed my aching head,

I miss the light touch of thy hand around my fevered bed;

I miss the voice so soft and low, that soothed me to repose,

With those deep tones of tenderness a mother only knows.

I bless thee, mother, for the care my youthful steps that led—

I bless thee for those parting tears upon my forehead shed:

But most I bless thee for the prayer I learned of thee to say.

That God would guide my erring feet when thou wert far away.

And often when I think of thee in yonder realm of bliss,

I care not if it please my God to take me soon from this;

In vain I drink of pleasure's cup, some sorrow lurks below,

And, disappointed in the draught, my spirit asks to go.

But yet I would abide my time, and do my Maker's will}

I know be hath appointed all some measures to fulfil; I fain would say, with thankful heart, "Thy will,

not mine, be done," Yet take me to those realms of bliss whene'er my

race be run.

'Tis well to woo, 'tis good to wed,

For so the world has done
Since myrtles grew and roses blew

And morning brought the sun.

But have a care, ye young and fair:

Be 6ure ye pledge with truth j
Be certain that your love will wear

Beyond the days of youth;

For, if ye give not heart for heart,

As well as hand for hand, You'll find yon've play'd the " unwise" part

And " built upon the sand."

'Tis well to save; 'tis well to have

A goodly store of gold,
And hold enough of shining stuff;

For charity is cold.

But place not all your hopes and trust
In what the deep mine brings:

We cannot live on yellow dust
Unmix'd with purer thing6.

And he who piles up wealth alone

Will often have to stand Beside his coffer-chest and own

'Tis "built upon the sand."

'Tis good to speak in kindly guise

And soothe where'er we can; Fair speech should bind the human mind

And love link man to man.

But stay not at the gentle words;

Let Deeds with language dwell: The one who pities starving birds

Should scatter crumbs as well.

The mercy that is warm and true

Must lend a helping hand;
For those who talk, yet fail to do,

But "build upon the sand."

For Friends' Intelligencer.

Aye weep, young mother—'tis the copious rain
That clears the inner, as the outer sky;
Ah! heavy is the heart, and sore its pain
When the blest fountain of its tears is dry.

E'en while the anguished voice of nature cries
In bitter wailing for its cherished one,
From the submissive soul the prayer may rise
«' Father, thou'knowest best—Thy will be done."
If thy poor stricken heart shall question why
The tender nursling laid upon thy breast,
Was only born to suffer and to die
Its little span one vision of unrest 1
God's hidden purposes shall yet be clear,
"Hereafter" he will " justify His ways;"
The dispensation so mysterious hrre
Shall then compel thy gratitude and praise.

If thou beneath this stroke wilt meekly bow,
And to thy bleeding heart this cross wilt hold,
For every pang that it shall cost thee now,
Thou yet shalt reap of joy a thousand fold.

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