SW-YOK] 
THE LITTLE SLEEPER. 
BY UliA.N TRENCH. 
No mother's eye beetle thee wakes to night, 
No taper burns beside thy lowly bed, 
Darkling thou liet.t, hidden out of sight, 
And none are near thee but the silent dead. 
How cheerily glows this hearth, yet glows in vain, 
For we unoheered beside it sit alone, 
And listen to the wild and beating rain, 
In angry gusts, against our casement blown. 
And though we nothing speak, yet well I know 
That both our hearts are there, where thou dost keep, 
Within thy narrow chamber far below, 
For the first time un watched, thy lonely sleep. 
Ah I no, not tliou!—and we our faith deny, 
This thought allowing: thou, removed from harms, 
In A i] u a u aM’ 8 bosom dost safely lie, 
O, not in Abraham's— in a Savior’s arms. 
In that dear LOfth’a who in thy worst distress. 
Thy bitterest anguish, gave thee, dearest child, 
8till to abide in perfect gentleness, 
And like an angel to be meek and mild. 
8weet corn of wheat ! committed to the ground, 
To die and live, and hear more precious ear, 
While in tile heart of earth thy Savkicr found 
His place of rest, for thee we will not fear. 
Sleep softly, till that blessed rain and dew, 
Down lighting upon earth such change shall bring, 
That all its fields of death shall laugh anew— 
Yea, with a living harvest, laugh and sing. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE SOLDIER’S WIFE. 
In the pilot house the wife stood watching the 
mail boat slowly but surely nearing the battle¬ 
field* With hope and fear commingling she 
looked aloft, that her eyes might greet the one of 
all others she hoped to see riding in health and 
vigor along that tented shore. Hut as she sal 
with folded hands, repressing sighs impatient 
of control, a white-winged messenger stooping, 
whispered in her ear:— i- book aloft to the Great 
Pilot who guides every life-boat, aud is even now 
safely leading your beloved one. into that peace¬ 
ful haven from which none desire a return.” “ () 
Gon, thy will be done” fell from the white lips 
of the anxious wife. “ Twilight was deepening 
with a tinge of eve,” ere her weary watching and 
patient waiting was rewarded by a message from 
her husband. Then came the painful tidings 
that he was dangerously wounded, and four miles 
below Pittsburg Landing. “ Dangerously wound¬ 
ed!” Oh, how the words echoed through the 
silent chambers of her soul. Fatally wounded, 
it may be. 1 will go to him at once.” But upon 
inquiry she learned that the boat would not re¬ 
turn until morning. Almost desperate at the 
thought of delay, her first impulse was to walk, 
then occurred to her the dangers attending such 
an expedition in a strange country. Knowing 
that the mail boat was subject to the order of 
Gen. Grant, she resolved to see him and obtain 
permission to be taken to "her suffering husband. 
With this courageous woman to resolve, was to 
net. She knew that the Generals headquarters 
(The Tigress,) were not tar from the mall boai, 
and turning to a gentleman near her, asked if ho 
would accompany her thither. Willi evident 
surprise he looked at her, perhaps doubting her 
sanity, but remarked, *• Why! madam, you can¬ 
not see Gen. Grant, he is wounded by the falling 
of his horse.” Without seeming to heed his re¬ 
mark she repeated her request, which he still 
hesitated to grant on the same ground. 
Without further parley she walked to the door, 
then, the gentleman seeing her determination 
hastened to her; offering his escort if she was 
really in earnest. On deck, seeing a mau with a 
lantern, she directed him to show her to General 
Grant’s headquarters. lie obeyed without hes¬ 
itation, and preceding her across a flat-boat soon 
ushered her into a brilliant saloon, made still 
more dazzling by the glittering uniforms of nearly 
fifty officers. Undaunted by the display, she 
asked for Gen, Grant, and was conducted to the 
end of the boat, where, behind a silken curtain, 
he was beiug attended by his surgeon and a per¬ 
sonal friend. On her entering he looked up, in 
some surprise, at first, Twas true, to see a lady 
there, mid at such a lime. She at once apologized 
for the intrusion, and brioliy. but clearly, made 
known her wishes, which he readily granted 
with many expresions of sympathy, and a hope 
that her worst fears were groundless. Having 
expressed her thanks for his kindness she 
returned to the boat, and in less than an hour 
tfiey were moving down the river. However 
much Gen. Grant may be censured for his mili¬ 
tary acts in that memorable battle, yet for his 
generous kindness to that afilieted wife he will 
receive the praise and gratitude that, is ever due 
a noble act. 
At 10 P. M. ; the wife stepped on board the grim 
hospital ship, where she was assured her husband 
was. But as she sought him among the wounded 
and dying soldiers, stronger and stronger grew 
the conviction that she was indeed widowed, 
The pitying look aud suppressed groans of those 
suffering ones, told of sympathy for her grief. 
Alas! many a manly eye was wet, many a one 
thought of his loved wife, mother, or gentle sis¬ 
ter, and perchance felt a wish that they might be 
sought lor as that faithful wife was seeking her 
departed husband. 
At last the guide pointed to a low stretcher, 
covered with a soldier's blanket. Not a word 
was uttered} calmly tho wife uncovered the face 
of the sleeper. Ah! truly as the white-winged 
messenger bad whispered, the Great Pilot had 
guided her lored one over the rough waves of 
life into the haven of rest. The passage of the 
soul must have been peaceful, for those well- 
known features wore a gentle expression that 
told not of a death agony, or of the longiug to 
look once more upon his loved ones, but leaving 
tender messages for them he whispered, “ Jksus 
will lake mo home.” and seeing the Death Angel 
beckon him to come, ho gathered up his weary 
soul and calmly went to meet him. As the wife 
gazed upon the still l’orui of her loved one, a 
paralyzed expression stole over her features, but 
only, “my husband” issued from the blanched 
lips. Bowing over the precious remains, she 
prayed lor strength to endure her ailliction. 
What surges of agony swept over her soul no 
pen can portray—such feelings are two painfully 
sacred to be described. We will draw the veil. 
Gently he was conveyed to the mail boat All 
night she kept lone and silent vigils by her dead, 
praying lor herself and for her country—her 
loved country!— upon whose altar she had sacri¬ 
ficed her dearest treasure, and was ready to offer 
liersell if need be. “O that I could bear the 
nation’s grief,” was the cry of her soul. 
Arriving at I’aducab, through the kindness of 
Gen. Non lk a metallic case was procured, and 
hastening to the home they had so lately left in 
health, sh<* was met by relatives, friends, and 
citizens, with tears of grief and expressions of 
sympathy. But to all she said, “ Grieve for your 
country; it was In her sacred cause he fell; until 
she is free from traitor-sway we must not weep 
for ourselves. Express your sympathies in ac¬ 
tions,—if necessary follow where he has led.” 
Wrapped in the glorious flag for which he 
bravely fought and died, her loved, her honored 
husband, Col. Hkrman Canfield, was borne to 
his last resting place in the quiet church yard of 
Medina, Medina Co., 0. Truly he had “fought 
the good light of faith, he had finished his course” 
and there is a crown of glory more brilliant and 
enduring than earthly laurels, which he will re¬ 
ceive at the hand of' the Captain of his salvation, 
for he was ever found as faithful fighting under 
Christ's banner, as under that ff his native 
country. “ Heyuiesaat in pace." 
A few days and this bravo ami patriotic Chris¬ 
tian woman returned to tho scenes of suffering. 
Night aud day she may lie found administering 
to the want- of our wounded and sick soldiers in 
the Western hospitals, speaking words of sym¬ 
pathy to all. and with willing hands soothing the 
pillows of restless sufferers, or preparing need¬ 
ful refreshment for them. Many a husband and 
brother has learned to bless her coining; many 
of them have hud their faith in CHRIST strength¬ 
ened by not ing her humble trust. Others, by her 
gentle persuasion, have been led for the first time 
to seek .1 kbits. All! in many a distant home, 
blessings have been invoked to rest abundantly 
upon that noble woman, Marth a Canfield, who 
is so willing to spend and be spent in her 
country’s service. o. t. w. 
Meadville, Pa., 1863. 
AN EXTRAVAGANT WOMAN. 
Tub Empress of France is probably the most 
extravagant Woman living. Nor is this all; she 
lias been tbo cause of ruinous extravagance in 
the families of her husband’s subjects, and iu all 
countries where the costly fasluons she has set 
have found favor. M. Fould. the Linperor’s 
Minister of Finance, threatens to resign Ids 
office unless her enormous drafts upon the treas¬ 
ury are curtailed. So costly lias she made the 
toilette in Paris, that fashionable ladies are utterly 
unable to settle their bill; for dress, and it is 
stated by the English press that it is as much as 
many of them can do to pay the interest on the 
largo debts which following the Imperial modes 
has caused them to incur. Tho world owes 
Crinoline to the fair Eugenie: and the rougher 
half of its civilized population does not feel by 
any manner of means grateful to her for the 
introduction of tlm article. She has made her 
apartments in the Til tileries as magnificent as the 
palaces one reads about in Oriental tallies. The 
doors of her boudoir me of ivory, inlaid with 
gold. The furniture is of rose wood, inlaid with 
mirrors, gold, ivory, aud pearl, aud is upholstered 
with pale-red sillv. Smyrnian carpeting of the 
heaviest Texture covers the floor, and the ceiling 
is splendidly frescoed. The desks aud portfolios 
arc of tortoise shell, arabosqued with gold, and 
the most valuable paintings of the old masters 
oraincnt the walls. The beautiful woman who 
has surrounded herself with these luxuries spends 
an almost fabulous amount annually in rare luces 
and all t he most expensive articles of female cos¬ 
tume, besides subscribing unheard of sums in aid 
of certain vast political schemes, fur she is withal 
an intriguing politician. 
The Empress is thirty-six years of age, and 
therefore old enough to have learned prudence; 
yet she Is more prodigal now than in the hey-day 
of her youth and beauty. The Queen of Louis 
XVI. was as ex travagant, ami as fond of meddling 
in stale affairs, as Eugenie, and her fool of a hus¬ 
band suffered her to lead him by the nose. One 
day, however, they lost their heads, poor things. 
Would it not be well tor Louis Napoleon to take 
the wanting to heart? 
--- 
Tears.— Thorc is a saeredness in tears. They ; 
are not the marks of weakness but of power. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
HOME IS WHERE THE DEAR ONES ARE. 
BY A. 8. BOOKER. 
Wnu.K the eYening shades are falling 
O’er the wanderer far away. 
Memory's voice is tuny calling 
Scenes and faces round his way; 
Thoughts of born I', its joys and pleasures, 
Dear ones sundered far apart, 
And, as yields the past its treasures, 
Fall rlu: shadows o'er his heart; 
Homeward turn his footsteps weary, 
Sad Ills brow with gloomy care, 
Sinks his heart, life's ways look dreary,— 
Homo is where hi* dear ones are. 
WheD the heart, grown sad and lonely, 
Vexed with all the storms of life, 
One fond prayer the lips breathe only, 
Tunis the soul from bitter strife, 
Where the loved oues round us cluster, 
Where the home affections burn 
In their brightest, purest luster, 
Thither, wearily, we turn. 
Humble though the place and station, 
Centers all our foudness there, 
Disregarding age and nation,— 
Home is where the dear ones are. 
Though man rears a princely dwelling, 
If no loved ones round him smile 
’Tis uot home, love U not swelling 
O’er his weary heart, the while. 
Where the wliite sail dots the oeean, 
Where the exiled stranger roams, 
Hearts may share his deep emotion, 
Hearts, not places, make our homes. 
Home is where, with fond caressing, 
Hearts their Joys and sorrows share, 
’Tis uot home where- they are missing,— 
Home Is where the dear ones are. 
On the broad and fertile prairie, 
On the rugged mountain side, 
In the forest, dark and dreary, 
On the swelling ocean-tide; 
In the ralley, hv the river, 
In tlie crowded city’s mart, 
Under leaves where sunbeams quiver, 
Rest the treasures of the heart. 
Be our home a cot or palace, 
Lowly hut or mansion fair, 
There we drink from love’s sweet chalice,— 
Home is where the dear ones are. 
When tho golden clouds of even, 
Oat her o’er tho close of life, 
And the opening gate* of Heaven 
Call the weary home from strife; 
Through the bright unfolding portal, 
Glow the faces that we love,— 
Hands that once we clasped when mortal, 
Beckon to the home above; 
To Jiis side the Father ealleth, 
Go we to His heavenly care, 
In that home no shadow falleth, 
There is where the dear ones are. 
Lima, N. Y., 1863. 
RES GEST5!,-DIDACTICALLY DISCUSSED. 
NUMBER TWO. 
Vcrite sans peur is an old Gallic proverb that 
has lost none of its essence in coming down 
through the ages, but sometimes seems to lack a 
great deal in application. The csoleros and 
exokros of Plato are fitly illustrated in daily 
conversation. The Greeks taught their boys to 
stand unflinching under tin* lash; to Buffer death 
before revealing a secret. Their patron saint, 
Mercury, was noted for deception, and Livy 
gives a glowing account of tho Grecian hero’s 
skill iu stealing the herd of cattle on the banks of 
the Tiber and drawing them a posteriora into 
the cave, so that no one poiild suspect from the 
trucks their place of concealment. We whip our 
boys for not telling the truth, hut for another 
reason; still, with all the discipline, children icill 
lie, and some parents almost despair teaching 
them what the Persians made the third thing iu 
the education of their boys, viz., alatheuein ,— 
to speak the truth. St. Paul might apply 
Ms quotation to the “wow men,” and exem¬ 
plify as much homiletically as he did to the 
Bishops and Eiders of Crete. 
Now, why is it that children lie? Often be¬ 
cause they are educated to it from their first 
words. Can we expect they will be better than 
those around them? Can we believe they will 
not stretch the truth when they hear it done by 
their seniors every day ? Some parents seem to 
think that a child has no perception; that he 
never sees into the inner thoughts and influ¬ 
ences around him; but they are terribly mistaken. 
It is much easier to deceive the man than 
the child; for children have a kind of intuition 
to perceive truth and falsehood. It is inborn. 
They are little philosophers in their very being. 
So they judge from example. Now Susan, when 
she sees her mother put on all the airs in receiv¬ 
ing callers, and then speaks her mind when they 
They are messages of overwhelming grief, of have gone,-she, of course, learns the same 
deep contrition, of unspeakable love. If there 
were wanting any argument to prove that man 
was not mortal. I would look for it in the strong, 
convulsive emotion of the breast when the soul 
has been agitated, when the fountains of feeling 
are rising, and when tears are gushing forth in 
crystal sir earns. Oh. speak not harshly of tho 
stricken one weeping in silence. Break not the 
solemnity by rude laughter or intrusive footsteps. 
Despise no woman’s tears: they are what make 
her an angel. Scoff not if the stern heart of 
manhood is sometimes melted into sympathetic 
tears; they are what help to elevate him above 
the brute. 1 love to see tears of affection. They 
are painful tokens, but still most holy. There is 
pleasure in tears — an awful pleasure. If there 
were none on earth to shed tears for me, I should 
lie loth to live; and if no one might weep over my 
grave, I could never die in peace.— Dr. Johnson, 
— ■ - 
It is more shameful to distrust our friends than 
to be deceived by them. 
practice, and often is punished for it, while the 
mother is terribly troubled about the welfare of 
her cMldren, and perhaps “ tells it to the church,'' 
asking their prayers to assist her in training her 
children, when her own example is leading them 
to despise her hypocrisy. The father Bells a 
horse which the son knows is not sound, making 
the bargain as close as a Wall Street broker, then 
after the horse is gone he boasts before his son of 
Ms bargain. Is that the way to develop true 
Christian honesty? 
But very often we use falsehood from habit, 
without any thought, especially in conversation. 
I remember a friend who tried to speak the truth 
always in her intercourse with visitors, and she 
said it was tiie hardest thing in the world. She 
thought it was easier for men to do this than 
women. I hardly think so. Worse than this, 
there is a lack of independence in society. 
Truth without fear is too scarce. This morning 
Thomas came up to my room, saving:—“ Gentle¬ 
man wishes to see you,” So down I went to see 
the stranger. There he -was awaiting me, and 
said—“Mr.-,teacherof the Academy?” “Yes, 
sir.” “Well, I want your influence to help me 
in a matter here.” Here he stopped. “Yes,” said 
I, “ I shall be glad to assist you in any worthy 
object.” Greatly elated, he continued: — “I 
would like the use of your name, and will give 
yon-dollars and-per cent, of the profits if 
you will help me in arranging matters.” I looked 
at him a moment before I answered, and the 
temptation was strong to pass over the matter of 
bribery lightly; but then I thought before I an¬ 
swered—shall this go unrebuked? Then I told 
him 1 was not accustomed to sell myself in that 
way. He soon left, and I was provoked at 
myself for letting him off so easily. I presume 
it was a commou occurrence with him, and no 
doubt be undertakes it as coolly as a demonstra¬ 
tor of anatomy goes to his subject Now, why 
not tell men when they come in this way, and 
the sycophants that receive them, as the boy told 
the surgeon during an operation on bis foot “ I 
won’t hurt von." said the surgeon. No sooner 
had the knife touched the skin, than the little 
fellow looked up to the surgeon with great tears 
in his eyes, saying, naively,—“ You lie, sir! You 
lie, sir! ” * Ik. Iopas 
8evillc, Medina Co., Ohio, 1863. 
WELLINGTON’S PICTURES. 
There was but one picture of the battle of 
Waterloo in the gallery, and as it represented 
Napoleon and Ms staff, with the British in the 
remote distance almost enveloped in smoke, I 
ventured to ask His Grace which was the best 
representation of the battle he had ever seen. 
“ All bad. sir. A battle cannot be painted. It 
is a continual motion. I chose this because I 
could not say it was false. It is quieter than 
any of the others.” He then proceeded to de¬ 
scant on the falsehoods perpetuated by painters. 
“Now,” said be, “there's Mr. Barker’s painting 
of rny meeting with Blueber on the field of 
Waterloo. It is absurd. He has made us iu the 
act of saluting with our cocked hats. This was 
not the way of it at all. Blucher rushed up to 
me at La Belle Alliance, threw his arms about 
my neck, kissed me and covered me with mud. 
I see that Maclise has sent in a design for a fresco 
illustration of this event in tho House of Lords; 
hut from the description given of it in the papers, 
I fear it will be no nearer to the truth than Bar¬ 
ker’s.” There is a picture extant of the Duke 
showing the present Duchess, the Marchioness of 
Douro, the localities of the chief incidents ol 
Waterloo. I remarked, “ The likeness of your 
Grace is good.” “Yes," he replied, “but the 
deuce of it is that the whole picture is false. I 
never took the Marchioness to Belgium at all.” 
Seeing Mm in a chatty humor, J ventured to 
inquire if it were true that he cried out, 
“Up, Guards, and at them!” at the crisis of 
Waterloo. He said, “It stands to reason I 
couldn't be such a fool. I was a quarter of a i 
mile away, and couldn't have been heard. May 
be sumo of tbo staff called out to the Guards to 
rise out of the corn where they were lying down. 
J merely said, ‘ Let llio line advance.' ” On a 
later occasion I found the Duke in a gallery of 
illustrations, scrutinizing a picture of himself 
looking at tin* dead body of Crawford as it lay in 
a Spanish chapel after tho siege of Cnidad Rod¬ 
rigo. I inquired, “Is it like, sir?” “All a lie,” 
he answered. “I never was there, never saw 
Crawford after he fell." So much fur pictures. 
For a long time there was one—nay, more than 
one, exposed for sale—representing Lord Cardi¬ 
gan leaping over a gun at Balaklava. When the 
Prince of AY ales saw this ho asked me, as I was 
standing by, whether Lord Cardigan really did 
accomplish the feat, and on my replying in the 
negative, he exclaimed, “ Then why do they 
perpetuate such errors? ”— Harpers Weekly. 
A WORD ABOUT DREAMS. 
Dreams are the accompaniment of idleness 
and work. They “ come through the multitude 
of business,” and occupy the lazy brain; they are 
associated with the sluggard aud the enthusiast; 
they are honored as channels of supernatural ad¬ 
vice, and blamed as the offspring of sheer sensu¬ 
ality. AVe dream with our eyes open as well as 
shut—by day as well as by night. But die phe¬ 
nomena of dreams have defied scientific experi¬ 
ments and metaphysical inquiries. Now and 
then it seems as if some law were discovered, but 
the investigator is soon balked. A'ou fancy you 
can account for a dream, but you can’t make one. 
It may be sometimes analyzed, but I believe has 
never been composed. You do not know how it 
will turn out Impress your mind strongly with 
this and that set of ideas, aud lul the whole slips 
out of the. place where you put it, and another 
occupies your sleeping thoughts. A'ou can’t cook 
a dream. The skillful speaker can count, with 
tolerable certainty, upon producing an impres¬ 
sion sometiiing like that which lie wishes upon 
the waking mind; but, when we sleep, we move 
out of the reach of his persuasive machinery.— 
Once a TFeefc. 
Thelwall thought it very unfair to influence 
a child’s mind by inculcating any opinions before 
it should have come to years of discretion and be 
able to choose for itself. I showed Mm my gar- 
den, and told him it was my botanical garden. 
“ How so,” said be, “it is covered with weeds.” 
“ Oh.” I replied, “ that is because it has not yet 
come to its age of discretion and choice. The 1 
weeds, you see, have taken the liberty to grow, 1 
and I thought it unfair in me to prejudice the 1 
soil towards roses and strawberries.”— Coleridge.. 
Solitude and society are always endeavoring 1 
to checkmate each other, and never succeed. 1 
Men have secluded themselves iu desert, cave, ’ 
and city, and cheated themselves into an illusive 
friendlessness, when lo. tliey have either made a 
friend of some entity, or transformed into a famil- < 
iar for themselves a fawn, pigeon or poodle. <■ 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WHY MOURN WE? 
, Wry mourn we so when loved ones glide 
One by one e’er tho rushing tide, 
"Whose moaningB to our spirit’s call 
As we near life’s further boundary wait. 
Dark, and wild, and fearful the stream, 
Yet piercing the shadows there conies a gleam 
Of the other aide, with its sands of gold, 
With its dazzling glories all untold. 
We weep at tho parting clasp of the hand 
As the pale feet press the slippery sand, 
While they wait for an Angel to carry them o’er 
To the mansions on the other shore. 
And we hush onr breath as if to hear 
The sound of the harpers as they draw near, 
A shattered song or the dip of an oar, 
As the boat g'ide* off from life's rugged shore. 
We cross the hands upon the breast, 
Wc close the eyes in death's calm rest, 
We scatter flowers over their tomb, 
And shudder at the hearth Monti's gloom 
When the bright star goes out in night, 
And leaves no glimmering of its light 
To shine across the drifting y ears, 
And cheer us through this vale of tears. 
Why do we mourn when our loved ones go— 
Tlie dear earth treasures we'vo cherished so, 
For tlie feet that ported death's turbid ware, 
Shall exultant tread the goiden pave 
And tlie pearly streets to tlie Great White Throne, 
And their pallid hands, earth’s labor done, 
A golden harp shall tune to song 
Where living waters roll along. 
Jamestown, N. Y., 1863. Nrttib. 
THE PEN OF HEAVEN. 
Tub day grows yet more solemn. Its solem¬ 
nity reaches its highest point and culminates in 
the momentous issue of judgment. It is the day 
of God’s settlement, with a world that has had a 
long credit. It is the winding tip of this earth’s 
bankrupt estate, and each man’s individual in¬ 
terest. It is the closing of an open account that 
has been running on ever since the fall. It is 
the day when the balance is struck, and our fate 
is heaven or hell; and by the manner in which 
we walked in these statutes, ami kept these judg¬ 
ments, and did then, our destiny is determined. 
The most common action of life, its every day, 
every hour, is invested with a solemn grandeur 
when we think how they extend their issues into 
eternity. Our hands are now sowing the seed 
for that great harvest We shall meet again all 
we are doing and have done. The graves shall 
give up their dead, and from the tombs of obliv¬ 
ion tho past shall give up all that it holds in 
keeping to bo witness for or against us. Oh! 
think of that, und in yonder hall of the Inquisi¬ 
tions sec what its effect on us should be! AVitliin 
those blood-stained walls, for those atrocious 
i cruelties Rome lias yet to answer, one is under 
examination. He bus been assured that, nothing 
he reveals shall be written for the purpose of 
being used against Mm. White making frank 
and ingenious confession, he suddenly stops. He 
is dumb—a mute. They ply him with questions, 
flatter him—he answers not a word. Danger 
makes the senses quick; his ear has caught a 
sound; he listens; it ties his tongue. An arras 
hangs beside him, and behind it he hears a pen 
running along the pages. The truth flashes on 
him. Behind that screen a scribe site, commit¬ 
ting to the fatal page every word that he says, 
and he shall meet it all again on the day of trial. 
Ah! how solemn to think there is such a pen 
going in heaven, and entering on the books of 
judgment all we say or wish, all we think nr do. 
AA r ould to God we heard it! AVbat a check! and 
what a stimulus! Are wo about to sin, how 
strong a curb! If slow to duty, how sharp a 
spur! What a motive to pray for the blood that 
blots out a guilty past, aud for such grace as in 
time to come shall enable us to walk in God’s 
statutes, to keep his judgments and do them. 
“Knowing, therefore, the terror of the Lord, we 
persuade men.”— Guthrie. 
War as a Means of Grace—Is war demor¬ 
alizing? So is peace. Does it slay our young 
men? So does peace. Does it make the bad 
worse? So does peace. Does it corrupt the 
good? So does peace. Disinterestedness, cour¬ 
age, patience, self-denial, obedience to authority, 
are great virtues, and, given a man at tlie start— 
and what can you expect in any circumstances 
without your in an?—given a man, the soldier’s 
life is eminently fitted to call them forth. The 
most believing man Jesus, found in all Israel was 
a Roman soldier. Peters first Gentile convert 
was a Roman soldier; men. I have no doubt, far 
better and of far more use in that Jewish land 
than its own priests and rulers. If it had not 
been for one of them, Paul would have been torn 
in pieces by the fanatical populace of Jerusalem. 
Christ knew and told them that the best thing 
they could do was.to pay tribute to Caesar. He 
who desires the soldier’s office in tills day of war 
desires a good work; only remember that the 
best may be perverted into the worst.—Rev. 
Ilufus Ellis. 
Be Thoughts ll— Think of the value of your 
soul; it will exist forever. Think of death; you 
must soon die; time is short Think of judg¬ 
ment; God will give to every mau the just re¬ 
ward of his good and evil deeds: to the righteous, 
eternal life—to the wicked, eternal death. Think 
of heaven—eternal happiness and joy—endeavor 
to obtain it 
Religion, if it be true, is central truth, and 
all knowledge which is not gathered round it, 
and quickened and illuminated by it, is hardly 
worth the name. 
Shut not thine ear, therefore, against the cries 
of the poor, neither harden thy heart against the 
calamities of the innocent 
