VOL. IV.

AN APPEAL FOR THE OUTCAST. Dost thou hear that sound of weeping coming to thee in the night?

Like the wailing of an outcast, as of one who hath not light,

As of one whose heart is breaking, while her sorrow and her sin

Close in silence closer round her, dark without and dark within?

Oh, my sister, thou hast beauty, thou hast

talent, softness, grace;

Love hath sheltered thee in safety, thou art in a wealthy place!

But that other, tempest driven, drowning in the midnight wave, Wrecked on cruel rocks is crying, crying

unto thee to save.

Wilt thou bear that cry unheeding, wilt thou let it o'er thee glide? Draw thy robe more closely round thee, pass by on the other side? Dost thou fear thy deed of pity will provoke the mad world's scorn?

Christ, thy Master, was an outcast, poor and desolate, forlorn.

For his love the world gave hatred, for compassion enmity,

And his foes in triumph saw him crucified on Calvary.

This he bore for thee; thy portion is to bear for him again,

Through thy sister, that poor outcast, tender sorrow, loving pain;

Sure that as the dawning creepeth higher up the eastern sky, His redemption full and perfect, draweth ever yet more nigh;Sure that thou and I, my sister, sowing precious seed in tears, Soon shall gather sheaves immortal, in the bright eternal years.

London, Eng.

LAURA ORMISTON CHANT.

No. 1.

Time is subject to the most inflexible laws. It is enslaved by the chains of an unalterable, everlasting order. The question is, How can it be redeemed from those laws, and set free?

One of those laws is this: Time moves at absolutely the same rate for all living beings. All human beings must live together in the same moment of time. The fifteen hundred millions who inhabit the earth are all living in exactly the same instant of time in which you and I are living. The time of the

clocks differs. It is about eleven o'clock here; in London it is about four in the afternoon. But if we send a telegram to London, it is not received by those who were there five hours ago, but by those who are there now, our contemporaries. We are all swept along in the same current, at the same rate. one, by any amount of genius or energy, can get a step in advance of the others; no one can fall behind. If I was born ten years before you were born, then, after fifty years, I am still exactly ten years older than you.

No

They appear to be very short while they go; but when we look back on them they suddenly become very long. A year filled with a variety of interesting incidents seems a very long year to look back upon. One in which we have been going through a mechanical routine,

with little excitement of thought and feeling, appears short.

In dreams we often appear to live many hours in a few minutes. One of the best verified cases of this kind was that of Lavallette, during his imprisonment in Paris at the time of the French Revolution. One night he heard the clock strike twelve, the iron gate open, and the tread of the sentry advancing to relieve his comrade on guard. Then he fell asleep, and dreamed that he was standing in the Rue Honoré, and saw an immense procession of the dead pass by; armed cavalry, infantry and artillery, a long army of fleshless men and horses, the men bearing torches which threw a ghastly light on the vast multitude and on the sad faces looking down from the houses. For more than five hours they passed by, an enormous array. Then the iron gate was shut with a clang, and he awoke. He touched his repeater, and it rang twelve. Only a minute or two had passed be tween the opening and shutting of the gate; yet in that interval this dream had taken place, of which he said that "nothing which had ever happened to him seemed more real, or the duration more certain."

I once tried this experiment: I said, "Our New England summer is too short in proportion to the winter. Is there no way to make it longer?" Then I recalled the fact that when I had gone away from home to make a visit, the first three days, being full of novelty and excitement, had seemed as long as a week. I therefore determined to visit several places during my summer vacation, but to stay only three days in each place. In this way I should make my summer twice as long. And I found it to be the fact. That summer seemed very long. Time thus becomes like an elastic bag, which expands as you put. more things into it. And from these observations we may deduce this rule: "In order to lengthen your life, put a great deal into it."

It is not only true that "One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name," but it is also equal to an age of indo

lence and apathy. That is why Tennyson says:

"Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay."

Time, and what we put into it, somewhat resembles a chemical solution. Take a glass of water, and dissolve salt in it. After a while it will dissolve no more; we say "it is saturated." But when it will dissolve no more salt, it will dissolve a certain amount of sugar. So you can put into a minute of time only just so much manual labor; but you can also add to the same moment thought and love. Some people while working with their hands, can also converse, or reflect, or read. When Robert Collyer was a blacksmith, he used to have an open book by the side of his bellows, and read while he was working the bellows.

A minute will hold only just so much manual labor, just so much mechanical industry; but who can say just how much thought, emotion, imagination and love can be put into it? It is therefore the action of the higher human powers which lengthens life, which turns an hour into a day, and a year into ten. Some of the greatest souls who have lighted up the earth have had a short life if measured by years; but how long, if we consider the number of their great endeavors and accomplishments! The artist Raffaelle died when only thirty-seven; yet if the quantity of his creative work should be distributed along the years, he would be found to have attained an extreme old age. His genius developed itself in three distinct periods. Having reached the summit of one manner, he passed up into another, and then into a third, leaving in each masterpieces of grace and beauty which still give delight to thousands. He painted an innumerable multitude of Madonnas, eighty portraits, the frescoes in the Vatican, the cartoons, and an immense number of altar pieces, drawings, arabesques, and groups of graceful figures. His soul was an ever flowing stream; an exulting and abounding river of thought and beauty.

Not only genius but goodness lengthens out our days. How long are the