Editor's Drawer.

A German divine, who had been decorated with a title, sent to the University a request that the same degree might be conferred upon his horse; to which he received the reply that there was no precedent for bestowing the honor upon a horse, though the University had in one case given it to

an ass.

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CURIOSITIES OF LANGUAGE.-The Hindoos are said to have no word for "friend." The Italians have no equivalent for "humility." The Russia dictionary gives a word the definition of which is, "not to have enough buttons on your footman's waistcoat;" a second means to "kill over again ;" a third to earn by dancing." The Germans call a thimble a finger-hat," which it certainly is, and a grasshopper a "hay-horse." A glove with them is a "hand-shoe," showing that they wore shoes before gloves The French, strange to say, have no verb to-stand," nor can a Frenchman speak of "kicking" any one. The nearest approach he, in his politeness, makes of it, is to threaten to "give a blow with his foot," the same thing, probably, to the recipient in either case, but it seems to want the directness, the energy, of our "kick." The terms "up-stairs" and "down-stairs" are also unknown in French.-Exchange.

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A Boy's IDEA OF HEADS."Heads are of different shapes and sizes. They are full of notions. Large heads do not hold the most. Some people can tell what a man is by the shape of his head. High heads are the best kind. Very knowing people are long-headed. A fellow that won't stop for anything or anybody, is called hot-headed. If he isn't quite so bright, they call him soft-headed. If he won't be coaxed or turned, they call him pigheaded. Animals have very small heads. The heads of fools slant back. When your head is cut off, you are beheaded. Our heads are all covered with hair, except bald heads. There are barrel heads, heads of sermons— and some ministers used to have fifteen heads to one sermon; pin heads, heads of cattle, as the farmer calls his cows and oxen; head winds; drum heads; cabbage heads; and loggerheads; come to a head; heads of chapters; head him off; head of the family, and go ahead-but first be sure you are right. Young American, Rogersville, Tenn.

AN amusing story about Thiers is going the rounds of Paris now, said to have been told of himself by the President at one of his last receptions. M. Thiers was walking one morning lately alone in the new camp which he has established near Versailles. He saw a soldier stationed on guard, an ! at the moment, vigorously engaged in eating bread and cheese. "Gool morning, mon garcon," said M. Thiers. "Good morning, ma petite vielle" (my little old woman), replied the soldier. "Eh bien! You don't get tired, do you, of your camp life?" "That depends on the hour. At pres

ent, not. I am off duty, and am eating my bread and cheese, as you see." "And the camp bread, it's good, isn't it? I find it far superior to that they gave us before." "Tiens! Do you eat it? What are you, then? Are you an oil merchant or a hospital nurse?" "Better than that," replied M. "Bah! Then you're a second lieutenant." "Better than that." Captain?" "Better than that." General?" "Better than that; I'm the President of the Republic." "You are Thiers: Sacredieu! Then quick, hold my bread and cheese, so I can present arms to you!”—Paris

Thiers.

Letter.

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STORIES ABOUT BEADLES.-A church in the north country which needed a pastor had a beadle who took an active interest in all proceedings taken to fill up the vacancy. One of the candidates, after the afternoon service was over, put off the cloak in the vestry and stepped into the church, in which our worthy was just putting things to right. "I was just taking a look at the church," said the minister. Ay, tak' a guid look at it," said the beadle, for it's no likely ye'll ever see it again. At a country church, a young minister from the west, and a great swell, came to do duty one Sabbath. Entering the vestry, he doffed his coat and vest previous to donning the cassock and cloak, and looked round for the looking-glass, which generally forms part of the vestry furniture. He searched, however, in vain. At last, losing patience, he cried out, "Church offisaw, church offisaw!" After calling for some time, the head of a gray-haired man peered in at the door, and a stentorian voice demanded, What's yer wull?" "Where's the mirraw?" demanded the minister. Sir," said the other. "The mirraw-the looking-glass," said the minister, impatiently. "Oh, the looking-glass. Ye see, oor minister's sic a handsum man naterally, that he doesna need a lookin' glass; but I'll bring ye a pail o' water, if ye like."

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VICTORIOUS PITMEN.-An amusing incident is reported by a correspondent of the Newcastle Chronicle, who moreover guarantees it to be genuine, Scene: A roadside station of the Blythe and Tyne Railway. Time, Saturday morning. A swell in a first-class carriage, smoking a cigar. Two pitmen enter, to swell's infinite disgust. Swell, after viewing them all over for some time, and addressing them with a supercilious air: "Have you first-class tickets?" Reply: "What's that to ye?" Swell: Very good, we will see about it when we get to the next station, as the train has started." Leading Pitman: "Oh, vary wel!, as yer so curious, luck at yur tickets. They are all reet, are they not?" Swell, after examining them carefully, "Yes, that is so." Leading Pitman: "Now, will ye put yer cigar out? Ye knaw this is not a smoking carriage." Swell, with indignation: "No, I won't." Leading Pitman: We'll see when we get to the next station whether you will or not." Train pulls up at station. Leading Pitman, with his head out of the window: Hi, guard, come and turn this fellow out of the carriage. He will smoke when he has no reet to do." Guard, appearing at the doorway and addressing swell," You must come out of the carriage, Sir; you have no right to smoke here." Exit swell with feelings that may be better imagined than described, leaving pitmen (6 masters of the situation."

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"I was born in the town of Newburyport (Massachusetts), on the 24th of February, 1785. I recollect nothing of my infancy, very little of my childhood, and nothing so early as my proneness to evil. As far back as I can remember anything, I can remember that I was a selfish, wilful boy, and very impatient of restraint. As I grew to riper years, my sinful tendencies were expressed, sometimes in bold, and sometimes in deceitful forms. And I have remarked with pain and deep humiliation, that the sins I struggled against in manhood, and even now am struggling against in old age, were the dominant and cherished sins of my youth. The poison rankles there still. I clearly see, as I look back upon the past, that the natural tendencies of my mind were all on the wrong side of the question. I was 'by nature a child of wrath.'

Thus writes Dr. Spring of his childhood and youth, after he has become an old man. It is very evident that he was not a born saint, but became such through many a hard-fought battle with himself. His parents strove to train him aright. The teachings and tender entreaties of his mother often moved his heart. Like all strong, positive natures, he was early subject to seasons of depression. While other youths abounded in hilarity and sports, he often felt very sad. At such times he would get by himself and pray in secret. Once his father took him aside, and got him to read the first twenty-one verses of Exodus xx., and the eighteenth chapter of John's Gospel. Thereby he taught him that "the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life, through Jesus Christ our Lord."

When he was ten years of age, his little sister Hannah died. This was a new page in his early life; a dark sorrow, which he

could not understand. It made a passing impression on his mind, which soon vanished away.

He was not openly wicked. No rowdy. Found no pleasure in vice. But he wanted to be his own master, before he was old enough for it. He chafed under the severe discipline of his parents. He was not allowed to join boys of his age in their ordinary amusements. It is not unlikely that there was fault on both sides. Probably they tried to force their boy prematurely into manly habits; to put a man's head on a boy's shoulders, which is unnatural and unwise. He often wished he was old enough and strong enough to run away from his father.

His parents had devoted him to God, "with the earnest desire that he might become a minister of the Gospel." At the age of twelve he was sent to the Berwick Academy, in Maine. The poor boy soon got home-sick, and returned to study in his native place.

At fifteen he entered Yale College. It was a sad mistake to have entered at so early an age. "I was a severe student, and as ambitious as Julius Cæsar." At the close of the first year he was again taken home. While here his father preached a sermon on "God so loved the world," &c. More than fifty years later he still gratefully remembered the soler impressions it made upon him. Again he returned to College. From the time of his first entry he was in the habit of engaging in secret prayer. Sometimes he devoted hours to prayer. He alternated between peace and despair. Once he seemed to have attained great peace and spiritual joy. Then again his "religious hopes and impressions all vanished." Probably much of his trouble came from his peculiar views of conversion and religious experience. He seems to regard a certain kind of feeling as the only sure evidence of a change of heart. Indeed this view runs through his autobiography. He puts greater stress on feeling than faith.

At twenty he graduated at Yale College. The subject of his graduating oration was: "Aut Cæsar, aut nullus." (Let me be either Cæsar, or nothing.) Surely his subject proves the correctness of his own sentence upon himself: "I was as ambitious as Julius Cæsar." Such a young man will not select the Gospel ministry for his profession. What has the meek and lowly Saviour to offer to such an aspiring mind! In spite of his parents' wishes, young Spring selected the Law. When his father left him at New Haven, he had but four dollars in his pocket. A friend loaned him $250. With the help of this he supported himself in his studies. Ere long he accepted the position of a Classical and Mathematical Teacher on the Island of Bermuda. For fifteen months he taught and studied Law.

From his birth the parents have given him to God, in the service of the ministry. Must their prayers remain unheard, their fond hopes be disappointed? Thus the father reminds him gently of their wishes. Hear the son's reply: "I have felt as though a race of political and legal glory would be the great object of my heart. I am very strongly biased in favor of the office of a clergyI think, were I a true Christian, and could earnestly engage in an employment like this, diadems and thrones would be nothing to me. But, Papa, notwithstanding all this, I roll sin as a sweet morsel under my tongue. I am attached to the world. I am avaricious, and in the present state of my family make money my God. I am altogether dissatisfied with myself. I am an almost Christian. I am not sufficient for these things. It will not do for me to be a clergyman. I am taught myself, and I cannot teach others. I must be in some business. To prevent my falling into want, I take to the Law. I am afraid I shall go very near heaven, and never get there."

Meanwhile he felt lonely and forsaken in Bermuda. He lacked the sympathy and counsel of his parents. His patrons were hightoned aristocrats, who regarded him patronizingly as the Yankee Schoolmaster. In a neighboring parish he attended church, and wept during the sermon. The elders spoke kindly to him, and again he wept. They offered him better inducements in his work.

At New Haven he formed the acquaintance of his future wife, a lady of rare worth and intelligence. It looks very much as if bis haste to get married was a secret obstacle to his becoming a minister. Like many others, he could not bear the idea of deferring his marriage for three or four years longer. He does not say so, but his conduct seems to admit of this construction. Love, especially in young people, is impatient of delay. Many a theological student has crippled his usefulness for life by a premature

affiance of this kind.

Dr. Spring first met Miss Susan Barney at the weekly singing school. "Before I was aware of the attachment, my heart was led captive by one who had captivated more hearts than mine. She knew my character in College; she knew my poverty; she had confidence in me, and though I urged her to an absolute engagement before I left Bermuda, she gave me no other encouragement, than that I might correspond with her, and if I returned unscathed she would then be happy to see me."

Certainly a very sensible girl. And we do not think strange of Gardiner Spring falling over head and ears in love with her. How could he endure to wait three or four years, till he had finished his theological course, before he could make her his own? Meanwhile some one might take his precious prize from him. This helps to