fields of Boaz. Suppose a young woman from the Feejee Islands were to be transported to the hayfields of some of our large farmers on a fine day in July; would her impressions be as favorable as those of Ruth? Would she see a liberality, and kindness, and courtesy, which should at once recommend a Christian country to her favor? Do we always see in our barns, our cider-presses, our corn-fields, our potato-patches, our wood-sheds, a Christianity as decorous and well-behaved? There are farmers who, instead of being polite, rather pride themselves on the roughness of their dress and manners. They seem to think that to be polite is unmanly, that blue overalls and swarthy arms must have coarse natures to match,

that refinement belongs only to broadcloth, and a soft address to dancing-masters; but is there any reason why a New England farmer should not be polite as well as a Bethlehem farmer? Farming is a noble occupation when it is nobly followed; but if to be a farmer it is necessary to be a boor, then farming is of all occupations the most ignoble and undesirable. The truth is, politeness is the prerogative of no vocation. A boot-black may be less accomplished than a prince, but he need not be less polite. Haymaking browns the skin and hardens the hands, but it need not make the heart callous nor the soul coarse.

Politeness is a Christian duty. A man has no more right to be impolite than he has to steal.

Politeness is often synonymous with Christianity; that is, politeness will often lead a man to do the same things which Christianity will lead him to do. Politeness keeps a man from saying that which will needlessly wound another's feelings. So does Christianity. Politeness keeps a man from indulging in habits which annoy those around him. So does Christianity. Politeness is often Christianity applied to the manners. Yet Christian people will often make remarks which they know will, and intend shall, give pain to others, and for no other purpose than to amuse themselves or gratify a petty malice. Sometimes it is simply that they do not care whether they wound or not. They never seem to think that religion has any bearing on such things. They will speak disparagingly of a person whom they know you like, when there is no possible worthy object to be subserved by it. They will ride rough-shod over the sensitiveness of those with whom they are associated, and if any one remonstrates with them, why, forsooth, "they are plain people, they say what they think, there is no hypocrisy about them." Woe to the man who is among them, but not of them! The only way for him to do is to shut up within himself everything that is vulnerable, and to go abroad always with his armor on. Thus it happens that it is often far pleasanter to live and mingle in society with gay, fashionable, worldly, and polite people than with some kinds of Christians.

The former may do many things of which you disapprove. They acknowledge no higher code than politeness, it may be, but they live up to it. They round off their angles, level down their protuberances, never say cross, or harsh, or ill-natured things. They are cushiony, and amiable, and restful. You glide smoothly among them. There are no tangles and collisions; whereas the Christian who despises politeness is angular, full of sharp corners which he continually thrusts in your way to make you stumble over them; he takes no pains to make himself agreeable, never seems to think that it is better to be loved than not to be loved. If you shun him, he thinks it is because he is sincere or you are haughty, when it is only because he is intolerably selfish and repulsive. He forgets that, though the Devil does appear sometimes as an angel of light, light is none the less on that account a divine and glorious thing; and he forgets also that the Devil in such a disguise is just about as comfortable to have about as would be an angel with the diabolic appurtenances.

Politeness if not godliness, is next to it, therefore let us be polite. If we cannot be as polite as we would like to be, let us be as polite as we can. The man who will not try to be polite is fit neither for the church nor the world.. Let him dwell apart among the tombs. Do our best, and we shall all probably be in some respects disagreeable to our warmest friends. The least we can do is to make ourselves as tolerable as possible.

IX.

GLORYING IN THE GOAD.

"LET the wealthy and great

Roll in splendor and state,
I envy them not, I declare it ;
I eat my own lamb,

My own chickens and ham,

I shear my own fleece, and I wear it;
I have lawns, I have bowers,
I have fruits, I have flowers,
The lark is my morning alarmer;
So, jolly boys, now,

Here's God speed the plough,
Long life and success to the farmer!"

O sings a certain venerable pitcher its untiring song. A brave pitcher it was in its day. A well-ordered farm lies along its swelling sides. A purple man merrily drives his purple team afield. Gold and purple milkmaids are milking purple and golden cows. Young boys bind the ripened sheaves, or bear mugs of foaming cider to the busy haymakers, with artistic defiance of the seasons. There are ploughs and harrows, hoes and spades, beehives and poultry-houses, all in the best re

pair, and all resplendent in purple and gold. Alas! Troy was. The gold has become dim, the purple is dingy, the lucent whiteness has gone gray; a very large, brown, zigzag fissure has rent its volcanic path through the happy home, dividing the fair garden, cutting the plough in two, narrowly escaping the ploughman; and, indeed, the whole structure is saved from violent disruption only by the unrelaxing clasp of a string of blue yarn. Thus passes away the glory of the world and of pitchers!

Is it not too often typical of the glory of our rural dreams? To live in the country; to lie on green lawns, or under bowers of roses and honeysuckle; to watch the procession of the flowers, and bind upon our brows the sweetest and the fairest ; to take largess of all the fruits in their season; to be entirely independent of the world, dead to its din, alive only to its beauty; to feed upon butter and honey, and feast upon strawberries and cream, all found within your own garden-wall; to be wakened by the lark, and lulled asleep by the cricket; to hear the tinkling of the cow-bell as you walk, and to smell the new-mown hay, surely we have found Arcadia at last. Cast away daybook and ledger, green bag and yardstick; let us go straightway into the country and buy a farm.

But before the deeds are actually delivered, it will be worth while to ascertain whether the pitch