At some places, probably, the preachers might teach a school: although that is not the best way a preacher might be employed; yet, in an emergency, it might be adopted. The subject, however, _deserves_ serious consideration. We want "a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether;" and then something might be done. Again: is there that union, and cordiality, and brotherly kindness, and Christian affection, and personal intercourse, between the rich and the poor amongst us, which our Master has enjoined and _commanded_? I trow not. Until _this_ is effected, how can we expect prosperity and increase? Do we not also want more prayer--secret prayer for each other; social prayer; and, when we pray, that we may love each other, ought we not _to do it_, "not in word and in tongue, but in deed and in truth?" =A Baptist of the Old School.= POETRY. A BROKEN HEART. What makes me court seclusion's shade, And shun this vain world's gay parade, Whose pleasures blossom but to fade? A broken heart. What makes me heave the deep-drawn sigh, And raise to heaven my weeping eye, And inly groan--I scarce know why? A broken heart. What makes me bend before God's throne, There all my guilt and misery own, And seek my help from Christ alone? A broken heart. What makes the word of life so sweet, That I could sit at Jesu's feet, And never quit that dear retreat? A broken heart. What makes the cross such charms to wear, That while I gaze and linger there, No room is left for dark despair? A broken heart. What is it mellows all my joy, Weans me from every earthly toy, And leads to bliss without alloy? A broken heart. What spreads new rapture through the skies? 'Tis when a soul for mercy cries, And angels see with wondering eyes A broken heart. What though the wounds of sin are sore, Jesus, my Lord, has balm in store; I'll use it, till I feel no more A broken heart. COMMUNION OF SAINTS. I love to hear the rising songs That celebrate the Saviour's name Attuned by kindred hearts and tongues, Who think, and feel, and speak the same. No voice of discord there is heard; No thoughts unholy or unkind; No jarring, unharmonious word, To mar the melody of mind. No more the party-wall of pride, Erected by one common foe, The hearts of brethren shall divide, While passing through the vale below. No more, secluded and unknown, In isolated paths they tread; Nor speed their devious way alone, Till numbered with the silent dead.