Nature created by a sympathetic imagination; and it is by the mind of Wordsworth and the mind of Turner, in no small degree, that the student of each stands confronted when contemplating a passage of Nature as interpreted by the one or the other. In the delineation of both, according ly, while there is an extraordinary fidelity to Nature, there is also an absence of mere portraiture, as in the characters of Shakespere, which are

individual and actual, but generic at the same time. Masterly as is the truth with which Turner sets forth the profounder characteristics of Nature, many of them ignored till his time, it has been remarked that he seldom aims at minute accuracy in his representation of a particular scene. If it does not please him in its details,

he modifies them without hesitation and without concealment. He could not have done otherwise. A painter must cover every part of his canvas, and therefore it is only by such modification of details irrelevant or unworthy that he remains true to the ideal. The poet who paints in words enjoys an ampler freedom; and Wordsworth simply left out whatever would have marred the spirit of the scene, while, with touches of truth and power, he intensified the rest. It is thus that Nature herself, as he has

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pointed out in that remarkable sonnet beginning, "Hail, twilight, sovereign of one peaceful hour!" As the day light dies, day's mutable distinctions" die with it, but only to reveal more vividly those larger features of the scene which are beyond the power alike of the hours and of the centuries

Those mighty barriers, and the gulf between;
The floods-the stars-a spectacle as old
As the beginning of the heavens and earth.
-"Essays, chiefly on Poetry," by Aubrey de

Vere.

TO A YOUNG MAN.

My good friend, if in the circle in which you revolve it is considered the correct thing to despise home influences, don't follow such a senseless fashion, but get out of the society not walk alone yet. Uprightness of which eyes it with favor. We cancharacter is, by Divine arrangement, the fabric is supported by buttresses, contingent upon many auxiliaries; pillars, and stays, and no stays stronger than parental influence. Don't ostracise that. Perchance you may not make old bones. Disease and death are pretty busy. They will give you a look some day-perhaps sooner than you imagine. You will then whimper

for some kind hand to beaded sweat from off smooth your pillow; to wipe the your brow. You will want to hear something about a Better Land. You will be

glad of your mother then. Will she turn her back on you? Never! A man may deliberately take the high road to ruin; he may sqander his fortune; he may sell his soul; he may become the veriest loathsomest beggar alive; he may be emaciated in body, and so repulsive, physically and morally-so foul a rag of humanity that few would care to pick him from the gutter with a pair of tongs-the whole world shall have turned its

She

back upon him; and then then, when he, a squeezed orange, betakes himself to his wretched bed to die, an outcast, a trophy of the devil, a good angel comes to claim him as her darling-her precious treasure! mounts guard at his bedside; anticipates his every wish; keeps sleepless vigil through the solemn midnight watches, and, ever and anon, when the dying one shows signs of consciousness, discourses music sweet and soft on Heavenly mercy, and love beyond a mother's. That angel is his

mother. And when all is over, and the poor body, for decency's sake, hides its shame beneath the sod, a sorrowing woman in black will, in all weather, tend his grave, and strew it with forget-me-nots. The world abounds with hindrances for that young man who is animated by high aims and noble purposes. Welcome, then, the helps which come from Home. Earthly voices mystify; to heed them is risky, ofttimes ruinous; but messages from home are winged by love. Letters thence are written in the golden ink of disinterested affection. The Quiver.

MORAL COURAGE.

A courageous sergeant, the hero of twenty-two battles, who served four years in the war, showed that he possessed moral courage also at Reading, Pa., a few years ago. Ex-Governor Curtin, in the course of an address at a public meeting, humorously said:

"Who ever knew an old soldier to refuse commissary whisky?"

To his surprise, a tall, gray-bearded man arose, and answered: "Here's one.'

The old soldier who was not afraid to make known his temperance principles is William H. K. Bush of Reading. He was a temperance man first, last and all the time. He organized a temperance society of twenty-eight members in his company, and built it up to sixty-eight members.

Once there came an order that every soldier should have two doses of quinine in whisky every day. Sergeant Bush marched his company up to the surgeon's tent at "sick call," and the surgeon said:

"Pour out a big one for the sergeant."

But the sergeant answered: "I swore allegiance to Uncle Sam to fight, but not to drink whisky."

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The surgeon was inclined to make a fuss, but the colonel backed up the sergeant and others of his company who refused the whisky.

"When the governor asked the question," said Mr. Bush, "I thought it my duty to stand up, ard up I went."-Forward.

ACKNOWLEDGING HIS ERROR.

We commend the example of the late Charles Darwin to all students. He was a student all his days, even to threescore and ten, and never a more modest student than in his old age, when his name was honored throughout the civilized world. In his early manhood he spent some time in Tierra del Fuego, and afterward wrote a minute account of the inhabitants of that island, describing them as the lowest of the human species, scarcely deserving the name of men. Later observers, however, received very different impressions of them, and Professor Max Muller, who has studied their language, reports that it proves them to hold rank high among wild races. Captain Parker Snow, who lived among them several times, found them honest, gentle and kind, and so wrote to Mr. Darwin in 1881. The great student of nature at once acknowledged his error. He replied to Captain Snow:

"You saw so much more of the natives than I did that wherever we differ you probably are in the right. Indeed, the success of the missionary establishment there proves that I took a very erroneous view of the nature and capabilities of the Fuegians.'

This was a more important concession than it seems, since Darwin first conceived his theory of the descent of man from his observations of these people. Professor Max Muller mentions that some dialects of the

The lodes and veins, and minerals, there's quantities untold

In the quarries and the crystals, and the quartzes, full of gold.

It is in an El Dorado, found in Mawddach's happy vale;

It is Mr. Pritchard Morgan's, look you, no romancer's tale.

And mines besides Gwmfynydd mine 'tis like there's them that owns; Peradventure Mr. Jenkins, Mr. Evans, Mr. Jones.

North Wales will be a Golden Chrsonesus, though the phrase

Is a little solecism, indeed, suppose quartzcrushing pays.

And, moreover, in Welsh diggings what if nuggets there be found.

As large as leeks, and weighing from a scruple to a pound?

A Golden Age in Wales, look you, there's goodly Ground to hope,

And a theme of song besides to give the Bards unbounded scope,

And prizes at Eistedfoddau for poetry and odes,

On the find of gold in the quartzes and the meta -veins and lodes.

Punch.

THE SLUGGARD-A SONNET.

He exhibits no facility
In matters of agility,
In line of immobility

He is actually great.
Averse to things athletic
He is fond of the aesthetic,
And a lassitude pathetic

Is his customary state.
He is happy in appearance,

Quite a Bruce" in perseverance When he's searching for a seat whereon to sit.

He's a kind of human lichen; When his lazy bones enrichen Mother earth, hell not be missed a single bit.

-M. A. Childs, in The Judge.

A VERY BUSY WOMAN.

She pronounced in sounding platitude, Her universal gratitude,

For men of every latitude

From the tropics to the poles;

She felt a consanguinity,

A sisterly affinity,

A kind of kith-and kinity

For all these foreign souls.

For Caledonian Highlanders,
For brutal South Sea Islanders,
For wet, and moist, and dry-islanders.
For Gentile, Greek, and Jew;
For Fins, and for Siberians,
For Arabs, and Algerians,
For Terra-del-Fuegians,

She was in a constant stew.

O, it worried Miss Sophronia,
Lest the men of Patagonia
Should all die of pneumonia,

With the phthisis or the chills;
Yes, indeed, she worried daily,
Lest the croup or cold should waylay
Some poor Soudanese or Malay,
Dying for the lack of pills.

And she toiled on without measure,
And with much unstained pleasure,
For the good of Central Asia,

And the pagan people there;
But meantime her little sister
Died of a neglected blister.
But Sophronia hardly missed her,
For she had no time to spare.

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THE WELSH AT ROCK MART, GEORGIA.

Rock Mart is a growing little city twenty miles from Rome, in this State. It is a healthy location. The lands are good and productive. The country with its surroundings is rich in iron, copper, marble and other valuable minerals. There is also a boundless wealth of slate in the hills at and around Rock Mart. When I speak of slate my readers will, no doubt, anticipate the business in which our countrymen are engaged at Rock Mart. Some of the best and finest buildings in this and adjoining states are covered with slates, quarried, split, and dressed at Rock Mart. The slate quarries at this place are of a very superior quality, not unequal to Penrhyn or Bethesda, North Wales.

All this work is being done by as good a set of men as ever left "Gwlad ein tadau," they are sober, industrious, and honest. The stand well as good citizens among all who know them. To give the reader an idea of these Welshmen, isolated as they are

from their people, I will say that they not only know but can sing with a hwyl many of those grand old hymns composed by the immortal "Williams Pant-y-celyn," (The Watts of Wales,) nor have they forgotten those sacred little prayers taught to them, in their childhood days, by their saintly mothers yn Ngwlad y Breintiau Mawr. I have not yet mentioned one word about the Welsh women of Rock Mart; bless their dear souls, how can I begin? Possibly a Welshman does not live, at least I hope not, who has not heard of "Morwynion glan Meirionydd," their beauty and their virtues. The Rock Mart ladies are all that the good old song pictures them; they are industrious, good, kind-hearted, noble and generous; nor did we meet even one of the ladies, married or single, that did not express her thoughts freely in the grand old Cymraeg. So also the children. I would not have the reader think that the English language is being neglected, not by any means, for these same Welsh people are pillars of song in the various English churches, which they attend regularly for preaching and Sunday school. They mix freely with the natives, who are a kind and generous people and welcome the Welsh people among them. How is it that more Welsh people do not come to this State, the lands are good and climate not surpassed anywhere we know of; pure sparkling water all around. We have had no snow to stay on the ground this winter; we generally have nice bracing freezes which makes ice from one-quarter to one-half inch in thickness. How will this compare with New York and many places in the north-west. My dear old friend, Capt. W. E. Whyte of Pittston, Pa., called to see me, he was in poor health, and seeking a warmer clime. He went on to Florida. It would have given me very much

pleasure to have had him stay with me longer, and to talk of Auld Lang Syne," but such is fate. At present, my brother, G. A. Hughes and family from 305 Hewes street, Brooklyn, New York, are here and will remain for sometime, they are delighted with the climate. They were here enjoying sunshine and cool bracing breezes, when Brooklyn had ten to fifteen feet of snow, more or less. He wishes to be remembered to New York and Brooklyn friends.

"The Georgia Welsh Choir" expect to attend some of the coming Eisteddfodau for the purpose of competition. With the handsome and accomplished Miss Devers to lead, their success is almost a fact. The great choirs of Pennsylvania, New York, and Ohio may sulk at the adjudicators, but the chief prizes will come to Georgia all the same. My next epistle will be on Rome the gem of the South.

JOHN HUGHES.

GOLD IN WALES. Mr. Pritchard Morgan returned to London on Saturday last from the Gwynfynydd Gold Mine, bringing with him over 400 ounces of smelted gold, to the value of about £1,400, which he said was the yield of about 250 tons crushed during the last fortnight. Fifteen heads of stamps and "Frue Vanners" are now at work day and night. The tramways have been completed, and the electric apparatus has arrived with which the mine and premises will be lighted. Mr. Morgan states that there will be another clear up of gold next Saturday week. The lode continues of the same excellent character, and maintains its extent and richness. There are between 2,000 and 3,000 tons waiting to go through the mill, and more stone is being raised than the present machinery can treat, and it is contemplated to put up 40 additional heads this summer.