every where excited. Assistance was proffered and sent from all directions; and the mails groaned with the abundance of letters containing remittances and expressions of sympathy. Wagons laden with furniture, clothing, provisions, and other articles of relief, arrived almost hourly. And all this was well, was noble. It spoke volumes for the intrinsic benevolence of the country. It proved that the heart of the people was warm. Now such facts

go irresistibly to prove that the only reason why the people do not come to the relief of the victims of intemperance is that they have been so accustomed to their presence as not to realize their terrible condition. It cannot be that the people know or suspect the horrors of intemperance; if they did, they would rise up en masse, and drive it from the land. Would that we could arouse the public mind to some idea of the sufferings which are occasioned even in one day by intemperance! Why, what was that fire in Fall River to which we have alluded, and which drew so largely upon the public sympathy?-Why, it was but a spark, compared to the fire which is raging in every town in the country, at this very moment. Wherever there is one family suffering from the consuming heats of intemperance, there is a fire, in comparison of which the fire of Fall River is not worthy of a thought:—that is, if a man is of more importance than a house, or a family of more value than a town. We are of those who think it is a terrible thing to see a man on fire! And yet we see this every day! A man on fire! How awful the thought! A human being burning to death! A family of men, women, and children, in the very midst of a civilized country, burning before a slow fire! Awful, staggering as is the thought, such scenes are as common as the rising and going down of the sun!

And yet, how inconsistent we are! We all stand ready to work our fingers to the bone, to climb up burning rafters and swim through a sea of flames almost, to save "buildings made with hands;" and yet buildings not made with hands-the temples of the immortal spirit-are blazing all around us, and we will scarcely lift a finger for their relief. To arouse the people to a

sense of this wide conflagration, which is burning in all our towns and cities

"As one great furnace flamed; yet from whose flames

No light but rather darkness visible,"

which, after it has consumed the body, has power to destroy the soul; and to assist in extinguishing that conflagration, is the object of the Washingtonian movement. It has already snatched thousands and tens of thousands as brands from the burning; and it now asks your aid and sympathy for the completion of its noble work. When you are with us, the work is done. But so long as we have to breast the tide of your influence, our progress must be slow.

We appeal, especially, to the leading portion of the community. It is you who give the bent to public opinion. You hold the reins of power, and yet it is behind your example that the rumseller and rum-drinker skulk, and skulk successfully, for support. You do not mean to cover the land with drunkenness; but you do. Once let your opinion go against the rum-seller, and he is no more. He sucks his sustenance indirectly, and too often directly, from such persons. So long as he is sustained by the wealthy, the educated, the influential classes of society, so long, he will continue to curse the community. Withdraw that sustenance and he perishes. But while members of the legislature, judges of courts, lawyers, school-masters, clergymen, officers of temperance societies, professing Christians, State and town officers, physicians, lecturers, men of "property and standing," put up at rum-selling hotels and drink intoxicating liquors, so long the fires of the still will continue their ravages, and men will make it a regular business to set each other on fire!

And now what more need be said? We have proved our cause to be the cause of humanity, and the cause of Christian truth and we now appeal to you by every high and holy virtue, in the name of our common faith and our common Father, to give it your support.

It is a work whereof the workman need not be ashamed. It is

the star of hope to millions of the poor and down trodden. The flowers of pure affection are strown all along its path. The grateful tears of them which were lost fall upon it like rain ;-the happy smile of their families gilds it with the light of heaven. It breathes the spirit of Christ in every breath. Its true laborers go forth "shod with the preparation of the gospel." By the blessing of heaven it is

"Almighty to create, almighty to renew."

We feel that it is good to be engaged in such a cause. We can enter into it with all our heart, soul, and strength; and more than at any other time can we enter upon it when our hearts are warm with the spirit of our holy religion. While the consecrated elements are yet upon our lips, while the baptismal waters are still glistening upon our brow, while the echo of the Christian benediction is still sounding in our ears, we would hasten, in all the earnestness of our Christian zeal, to give to the cause of temperance renewed tokens of our interest and affection. And it is this cause—this holy cause-which we now submit to your consideration. We beseech you consider it thoroughly, earnestly, and prayerfully. And if you do this in good faith, we are sure you will soon be with us. Judging our cause by the Christian standard of its fruits, beholding as you will the regenerating power it has exercised upon society, and remembering, as we trust you will, that he who is not with us is against us, and who gathers not with us scattereth, we do hope that you will soon give us the powerful aid of your labor, your sympathy and your prayers.

THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.

BY SAMUEL WOODWORTH.

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view!
The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wild wood,
And ev'ry loved spot which my infancy knew ;
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell;
The cot of my father, the dairy house nigh it,

And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well!
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.
That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure;

For often, at noon, when returned from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,

The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing,
And quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell;
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well;
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips!
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
And now, far removed from the loved situation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,

As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,

And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well;
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, which hangs in his well.

COMMON COURTESIES.

It is the little every day courtesies of life which betray the true Christian and gentleman-those little expressions of regard and interest, those little kindnesses and forbearances, which he has an opportunity to practice every hour of his life. They are the unfailing indices of character. They are more eloquent of virtue than all great actions or high sounding professions. The heart from which they do not continually flow, like sparkling streams adown the hill side, you may depend upon it, is barren of all true excellence. That religion which consists in large gifts to the church treasury; scrupulous attendance upon church meetings; unqualified adherence to creeds and creed makers; harsh judgments of the wicked; and great devotion to the far off heathen; but which sets at naught the "sweet charities of life "—and makes no account of the common courtesies of society, is but as sounding brass and tinkling cymbals. The hearty "How d'ye do," "God be with you," "I'm glad to see you," "Good luck to you," and all the other greetings which are so often interchanged by passers-by, fall upon the heart like seed sown in good ground, and give growth to all those gentle affections and humble virtues, which are to the mind what the luxuriant under-growth of shrubs and flowers is to the earth. The smile of kindness which you bestow upon the care-worn laborer, falls like sunshine upon his heart and warms all his faculties into new life and beauty. The word of comfort which you speak to the homeless wanderer goes deep down into his soul and kindles a new fire among the decaying embers of his mind. The mark of esteem and reverence which you extend to the aged man on whose brow is written, in deep characters, the history of many sorrows, recals to his mind the faded hopes and joys of youth, and causes his pulse to beat with renewed vigor, and his eyes to glisten with unwonted brilliancy. The look of sympathy shed upon the child of sorrow, or the word of consolation whispered into his ear, ex