a region of petulant complaining and fault-finding. Beneath that bright and pretty exterior, too, which had glorified her to her lover's eyes, was a certain shrewd and calculating habit of mind, useful not only in the matter of butcher's bills and all manner of house-keeping accounts, but of exceeding availability in adjusting all concerns of mine' and thine.' Village trades-people had long ago learned that Mrs. Glendenning was not a person to be trifled with in the matter of short weights and uncertain qualities, and the lady's husband was soon made aware that she attended with equal vigor and exactness to the receipt of marital dues and services. Richard Glendenning's nature was too free to take kindly to harness, and in his wife's smooth and fine rendering of a husband's duty, he was not long in detecting a tone which made his nerves tingle like the crack of a whip. Certainly this was not the Eloise Vaughan of his dreams, and Glendenning in the first six months had come to feel the difference keenly. Still he made no accusations, even mentally, but only in a sad, vague way, assented as he had never done before to the poet's dictum : "So the dreams depart, So the fading plantoms flee; and I wish you both much joy. By the way, I used to flatter myself she cherished a cousinly partiality for me. Now that she is a wife, no doubt she will deny it, but bid her name her first boy for me, and we will call the account balanced. Will Eloise ever marry, I wonder? If you hear of such a probability, don't fail to inform me." Dr. Glendenning had walked down to the office toward evening, and read the letter as he started through the flowery lane which led homeward... Just how life looked to him, just what his feelings were towards his wife, toward the world in general, towards that Providence which rules the world, it might be difficult to tell. The first overwhelming sensation was that of having been defrauded, vilely, wickedly cheated. All things, -his best friend, Providence itself, had been leagued against him, and against every power so leagued, he rebelled with the whole force of his nature. But the revolt had no firm basis, for deeper than all, keener than all, was the sense of shame and humiliation at his own want of insight. A fair face and a gentle voice had made him mad and blind.' Once, perhaps, in his lifetime, every man curses himself for this folly. It is nature's revenge for the despite which man in the aggregate does to her most perfect workmanship. Dr. Glendenning could not face his wife while this mood was upon him. His horse stood harnessed at the gate for a professional tour when he reached home, and jumping into the buggy, he rode till midnight. He came out of that fight torn, bruised, bleeding, but more a man than he had ever been before. A week later a week made up of alternate storms and sullen calms-he said to his wife one day: "You have a cousin who is also a namesake, I believe?" Elsie grew crimson in a moment. "Yes," she said; and, after a pause, "what of her?" "Where does she reside?" "Has she always lived there?" "Richard!" she replied, with an angry flush, "you question me as if I were a witness on the stand. I know very little about Eloise Vaughan, except that she is a person whom I never admired She is an orphan, and lived for some years at Uncle Abner's. She had strange notions about being independent, and went to the School of Design, I believe, to fit herself for some kind of artistic work; I'm sure I don't know what. That was several years ago. I have'nt heard from her, except in a general way, since." Dr. Glendenning said nothing more, but Elsie understood perfectly from that time that her duplicity had been discovered. Some women would have either pined or sulked under the circumstances. Elsie did neither. An open rupture was the very thing she was far too wise not to avoid. From that day forward her girlish graces were renewed, and, let Dr. Glendenning try as he might, there was no angle or point of vantage about his household whereon he could hang a complaint. It was dreadfully aggravating, that perpetual lubrication of all the wheels around him, when inwardly he was fuming and chafing for a crash of the elements; a general pitching of events into chaos. The wear and tear of it upon his nervous system was more than he could endure. He fled from home to visit his mother. She had a keen eye that pierced at once the gloom of his soul. "Richard," she said, " your dreams have not been realized." "No, mother," caressing her hand, as he had been used to do in his boyish days, "dreams never are. If we could be as good or as happy as we wish to be here below, there would be no need of Heaven. Thank God there is Heaven, at last." She knew then that the pain was deep. "Richard, my son," she said with tender, solemn pathos, "it is all very well to sigh for Heaven; that is our last resource. But first it is best to try to be a man, a fit dweller in God's good world. That is a boon which doesn't come with sighing for. Put your shoulder to the wheel, lad, and give the world a turn. The exercise won't cure a local hurt, but it will develop strength to bear it. Go home, dear, and test the quality of your manhood." He' Richard's eye brightened. kissed the good old woman, and went home. Five years had passed; years given heart and soul to his profession, not to the dry details of it, but to the breadth and compass of its sacred mysteries. It led him into all the by-ways of the human heart; it strengthened his insight, it challenged his faith; it put him on the alert at every point for imposture and deception; and fortunately it could not do for him what it does for so many; petrify his religious nature, or dry up the source of his affections. At thirty, Dr. Richard Glendenning was a man among men, with a strong, clear brain, and a mighty arm for all practical undertakings; a fine, penetrating insight, with just an edge of skepticism to make it doubly incisive, and a deep and tender heart, over whose secret hiding-place a great stone was rolled, waiting the resurrection morning. To-day at dinner, his wife had told him that Eloise Vaughan was coming. Pacing up and down the grape vine arbor, according to his after-dinner wont, he turned the old dream over curiously in his mind. He was a strong man now, and not a whit afraid to let the rippling pulses that still would thrill at the sound of her name, carry their secret intoxication in and out of his heart's deep p'aces for that one half-hour. CAROLINE F. CORBIN. NOTES AND COMMENTS. GOODYEAR'S INDIA RUBBER GOODS.-The progress and improvements of late years in the manufacture of India rubber goods are most surprising. Some twenty-five years ago scarcely any articles were made of rubber except shoes, and they were of such rude shape, and would become so hard in cold weather, that it was almost impossible to put them on; but, thanks to the genius of Charles Goodyear, who made the all-important discovery of vulcanizing India rubber, we are enabled to have an infinite variety of useful and ornamental articles made from India rubber, which will retain their elasticity in the coldest climate, and be proof against softening or sticking in the tropical regions. At Goodyear's India rubber establishment, No. 205 Broadway, next door to Fulton St., New York, may be seen a very large assortment of India rubber goods-rubber clothing of all kinds, a beautiful assortment of fine rubber and gold jewelry, fancy goods in great profusion, and the heavier and more useful articles, such as machinery betting, hose, carsprings, etc., etc. Goodyear's, now at 205 Broadway, was established in 1844, when the manufacture of India rubber was in its very infancy. A branch of Goodyear's, located at No. 417 North 4th Street, St. Louis, Mo., was established about two years since, in order to have a Western warehouse for the supply of the great and increasing demand for rubber goods in that portion of the country. The factories for the supply of the above rubber depots are located in Naugatuck, Conn. They are very extensive, and capable of turning out an immense amount of merchandise. Rubber articles of any desired pattern can be made to order at Goodyear's, and not a day passes but some one or more new inventions are brought to notice. An invitation is extended to all to pay a visit to Goodyear's, at No. 205 Broadway, at the foot of the bridge, where a welcome reception is always assured. LITERARY A friend and subscriber inquires why the name of our magazine might not as well be the Unitarian as the Friend. We should not object to such a name, received as indicative of our opinions, but the name of "FRIEND" being much more comprehensive, does not imply that we aim to be the organ of any society, but that we are ready to work with all hearty workers as friends. If we were to choose a motto for our paper, it would be this: "Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you." NOTICES. found it, with Mr. Eytinge's humorous illustrations, very good company, and, although suffering with weak eyes, have not found our sufferings at all aggravated by the clear fine print. The Atlantic Almanac for 1868. This beautiful addition to our usual supply of holiday literature has met with a very cordial welcome. The racy articles from Dr. Holines, and cheery ones from Donald Mitchell, with Emerson's sensible talk about domestic life, and choice bits from Thackeray, Whittier, Curtis and others, make a holiday bill of fare with which epicures can scarcely find fault. There are many pretty illustrations, and the illuminated cover is so beautiful that no one could grudge the 50 cents for the pleasure of studying it. THE FRIEND. VOL. III. - MARCH, 1868.- NO. 27. THE FOUR GOSPELS. ARTICLE XII. THE MARVELLOUS NARRATIVES. (I.—Evidence and Testimony continued.) HAVING in our last article stated the laws and conditions affecting the subject of testimony, or the witness, we come now to consider the object of testimony. The object of testimony is the thing testified to and declared to be fact. This may be, 1. Impossible. It may be impossible in itself as involving a contradiction, violating the laws of pure reason, in which case the testimony of the combined universe would deserve no notice; or it may be impossible as an object of our faculties, in which case also testimony is evidently worthless. In either case the testimony is disposed of at once, and the witness proved either dishonest or incompetent. 2. Possible. Any object of testimony which is possible both in itself and as lying within the range of our faculties may be a. Probable, considered in connection with accompanying circumstances. This probability, when well established, is, in proportion to its amount, an evidence for the alleged fact of the kind called circumstantial evidence, and may be of very great weight in confirmation of the testimony, or may cause us to be satisfied with less testimony. b. Indifferent. In this case, the nature and value of the Testimony is the only thing to be considered: i. e. Testimony is the only kind of evidence adduced for or against the fact. c. Improbable. Under this head, we come directly upon our main subject. in hand, which is the laws of evidence in their application to the marvellous. For the marvellous and the improbable are evidently one and the same, since we do not wonder at that which is to be expected, but at that which happens more or less contrary to the usual way of things, i. e., which is more or less improbable. All the foregoing distinctions concerning testimony and its object seem to be very plain and easy. But the case when the object of the testimony is improbable, is one of great difficulty, at least in practical application. On the one hand, testimony admits of so many degrees, depending on the number, character, independence, etc., of the witnesses; on the other hand, the circumstances and considerations which make up improbability are so numerous and diversified, and the improbability when established admits of such nice distinctions of degree, that the comparison of the two, the ascertaining of the kind and degree of evidence contained in the improbability, and the just weighing of this evidence against the opposing testimony, is a work of extreme difficulty and delicacy, requiring often for its successful performance peculiar and excellent endowment, as is often witnessed in the arduous and delicate researches of historians. It may be acknowledged here that we shall naturally come upon the difficult and much debated subject of miracles, and that our argument will be conducted against the reality of miracles, whether recorded in the N. T. or elsewhere. But while we confess this fact, which has already been very plainly intimated, we bespeak a candid consideration of our argument, without prejudice or predetermination; and the above remark concerning the difficulty often experienced by scientific men in weighing evidence, and finding a track between conflicting improbabilities and testimonies, may serve to suggest the very slender grounds which the great majority of men have for their asserted and reasserted opinions on this subject. No man who is ignorant of chemistry, some one has said, thinks of venturing a statement or opinion concerning it. But theology and biblical criticism are considered as proper fields for the display of self-sufficient ignorance. What people in general call their faith is a mixture of incapacity, presumption, and that " conceit of knowledge without the reality," which Socrates denounced as the most pernicious of errors. We remark, in the first plase that improbability is a matter determined wholly a posteriori. The a priori reasoning has no field here; that is concerned wholly with the impossible. Antecedent objections to anything on the score of improbability take their stand to be judged before the bar of experience and there is no higher appeal; conversely also, anything which rests. upon experience can never rise to demonstration or absolute certainty, but only to high probability or moral certainty. Now obviously human testimony, its nature, conditions and trustworthiness, rest upon experience. Testimony is not necessarily true; its degree of probability in any case depends upon many contingencies. It never, therefore, reaches demonstrative certainty. The truth of testimony is, in fact, a probability, greater or less according |