[It is wicked to swear]

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It is wicked to swear, says the leader of our Bible-Class. It's very wicked, says the same person, to be selfish, and not allow others to have their portion of the enjoyments of life, according to their station and ability. She has never told us, however, whether it is wicked to feel like kicking a poor, little, ragged, bare-footed human, who sweeps the street crossing, and runs after you, pertinaciously asking for a penny. Nor has she said it is wicked to wonder why indifferently dressed people don't take a back seat in church, although they may be deaf, poor, and pious. In the same state of ignorance has she kept us, as to the propriety of Mrs. V.'s expressed surmises in reference to Mrs. H.'s new shawl, exhibited last Sunday—the husband of the latter being in California. It may be that there is so much wickedness going on, that our spiritual instructress is unable to keep us posted to the fullest extent. We have heard her complain of cold dinners on Sunday at her boarding house, and have seen her open her eyes, and stick out her tongue like a toad, when Miss. R. appeared in her "bully" crinoline. She has told us, too, that working people ought to be satisfied to rest on Sunday, so as to be able to go to work on Monday, and not think of such a thing as going to see a relative. "It is wicked," says she, "to run the cars on Sunday, and I don't want anybody in my class that will speak a word in favor of such a sin." Poor lady! poor lady! If she had some dear relative ill to death at Gowanus, and she could not afford a coach to convey her to the death bed, would she not gladly take the cars, and thank Heaven that they carried her in time to receive the last request of one near and dear? For further particulars vide Mathew 23: 15.