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exhibitions of it. First, there was a revelation of it to Adam ; then to Noah; then to Abraham; then to Moses and the Israelites; and now, as we think, through Jesus of Nazareth ; all different forms and degrees of revelation, but all revelations of the same covenant, just as the same sunlight might be admitted through media of different colors or densities. So that this is the difference between a covenant and a dispensation : a covenant is a ground, condition, or term upon which God will save man; a dispensation is the revelation of this covenant, either by words more or less explicit, or by symbols more or less palpable.

A VOICE FROM WATERLOO. Our good friend Elihu Burritt, among the many philanthropic projects he has put forth to the world, has lately favored the public with a proposition of peculiar interest to the young. Like many of his other plans, it has a pretty and poetical character, which must render it a general favorite, especially if viewed under his own development of it, as given in the introduction to the “Waterloo Series" of penny and half-penny books, now publishing by Mr. Gilpin, of Bishopsgate-street. But he is well able to speak for himself.

“All our young friends in England and America have read and heard much, perhaps, of Waterloo, and of the awful battle which was fought there by the armies of the Continent, under the Duke of Wellington and Buonaparte, Over that field of blood the green corn waves in spring, and marshals its mimic armies of yellow sheaves in summer. The still blue sky above has wept its dews upon it, and the spring and summer rains of thirty years have blanched its murderous stains, and green things for man and beast have come and gone, until the blood courses that channeled its surface on that great slaughter-day have been smoothed over, and all is still. The thousands upon thousands who fought and fell there, were promised an immortal remembrance in the hearts of the living, before they entered upon the deadly strife. But, it is said, that their bones were gathered up by their countrymen afterwards, and ground to lime, and sold to English and Continental farmers, to manure their fields with! But a great many of the slain--we know not to which of the generals they belonged when alive-were thrown into a heap, and covered with earth, until a large mound was formed. And upon the top of this mound they placed a brazen, or marble lion--we know not which just as if any lion, or tiger, or any ravenous beast, however hungry, could be guilty of such an act as his statue there is designed to represent! Well, thousands of travellers, from different parts of Christendom, make pilgrimages to this great slaughter-field, and there is an old officer, who reddened his hands there on that day of blood, who lives hard by; and he takes the pilgrims to the choice places of the Aceldama, and tells them what was done here and there during the battle. And men who profess to be Christians listen to him as if amazed, not with horror, but with a kind of admiration, and as if they would have gone a great way on foot to see what he saw. Whether they were wont to press him for more than he could tell at once, or whether he wished to make the most of their inkling for bloody stories, we cannot say; but, for one or both of these reasons, he has written quite a large book, which he entitles, 'A VOICE FROM WATERLOO.' This, of course, contains a more minute and extended account of the battle than he could give the curious travellers in the course of half an hour's conversation on the field. Besides, it is kept for sale in all the book-stalls far and near, so that those who cannot go out of their way to see Waterloo, may read a graphic description of the scenes enacted there, from the pen of an eye-witness.

“While writing this, we are almost within sight of the monumental mound on the field of Waterloo. Had it not been for a long and violent rain, we should have gone to the top of it, and there and thence sent our « Voice from Waterloo' to all the children in England and America. Perhaps they will listen to it from where we are. Well, then, this thought has come to our mind : Suppose they should send forth to the world their “Voice from Waterloo !'-a voice of peace and good-will to men!

How do you ask? In this way-for instance, by establishing a PEACE Press at the base, or on the top of that very monumental murder-mound. The thing requires only a little earnest effort, and it is accomplished. “Many hands make light work,' and a light work, indeed, would it be for the children on both sides of the Atlantic to plant in the centre of that old battle field the tree of peace, whose healing leaves should fall upon all the nations on the Continent ! a light work, and a beautiful one, would it be, if they would lend each a hand, however small, to it. And, then, how worthy it would be of the children of this Sundayschool age ! and what a beautiful work-ground it would be for English and American children to meet upon! O, it would be nice! And after a while, we would bring children of other countries into partnership in the enterprise; and the children in the far-off islands of the ocean should have a hand in it, if they liked, and send their odd playthings, their shells, and bits of ivory, and the little wooden gods their fathers once worshipped, to feed the peace manufactory on Waterloo; and we would have a lamb made as near like life as possible, and we would have it stand up under the neck of that old grim brass lion on the top of the death-mound, that the world might see what the children were at. Would not that be nice ? And we would have packets of the sweetest little books ever made, sent from Waterloo to all the Sunday schools in England and America, and to all the Sunday schools in Europe, and far away in the Indies, and the islands of the Pacific and Indian Oceans. That would be nice! We hope soon to hear what the children of America say to this plan."

Enquiries and Correspondence.

Sanctifying God. Sir, I shall be greatly obliged if you will inform me in what sense the word "sanctify'' is to be understood, Isaiah viii. 13.


To sanctify God is to praise, honor, and exalt him, to vindicate his glory, and declare ourselves on his side against all enemies. We can see no more impropriety in the expression, "Sanctify the Lord of Hosts,” than in its opposite, " Dishonor God;" for in neither case is his character at all affected. If disposed to invent difficulties of this kind, we need not go beyond the Scriptural injunction to “magnify the Lord,” as nothing we can do can make him greater than he is.




“TO-MORROW!-oh to-morrow! I shall see my own lov'd home
My heart beats high with happiness, I would the time were come:
I long to hear my father's voice, my mother's welcome warm,
And clasp within my arms again each well-beloved form.
To-morrow-oh! to-morrow, I shall tread my native vale,
And breathe again the perfume which floats upon the gale ;
And bound across the meadows with old companions dear-
I wait, I wait impatiently-oh! would the hour were near.”
So spake a bright and merry girl ; the holidays were come,
Anticipations filled her mind of a pleasant visit home:
She stood beside a window, and the sun's deep crimson glow
Threw its parting beams of beauty upon her child-like brow.
Her hands were wreathing nosegays for the lov'd ones far away:
And while she bound the blooming flowers she sang a joyous lay,
A joyous lay of “ Home, sweet home,” her clear voice rising high
Upon the silent evening air in softest melody.
The morrow came; but not for her : her eye was closed on earth,
And vanished from her features was all gay and gladsome mirth :
The radiant bloom had left her cheek, the joyous smile was gone;
From her pale lip no longer burst its glad rejoicing tone.
Again the glorious setting sun streamed through the latticed pane;
Again it tinged the scene around with many a blushing stain;
Its red light bathed a low white couch-a youthful girl lay there;
But death had set his dark’ning seal upon her forehead fair.
Sad was the scene, the gay wreathed flowers were scattered by her side;
They, too, had lost the freshness of their lovely morning pride :
They, too, had faded, withered, died, and lay unnoticed there
By her who culled their clusters bright, with so much heedful care.
Yes, sad the scene ; but let it teach youthful and the gay,
The stern but needful lesson of our life's uncertain day.
Oh! boast not of the morrow which thou may'st not live to see,
But now; "while it is called to-day,” let God thy refuge be.



What have they done, those Mexicans,

I should be glad to know?
I think I never heard before

Of killing people so !


Done !-they're a weak and paltry race;

And all the papers say
They owe our nation certain sums

Which they will never pay.


Well; Sammy Jones is owing me

A sixpence for a knife ;
I'll go some night and burn him out,

And take the fellow's life!


What! take his life?—what do you mean?


wicked tongue ; You would be tried for murder, boy, And on the gallows hung !


Then why not hang the volunteers ?

Is it more wicked then,
To shoot and kill a single boy

Than kill five thousand men ?


Boy! boy! you're talking rather wild ;

You'd better go up stairs
And go to bed—it's getting late-
And don't forget your prayers !

Burritt's Waterloo Series."

NOT MIGHT, BUT LIGHT. BEMOAN, thou seven-hilled Church, each bloodstained deed!

And still the frenzy of mistaken rage

The untimely product of a barbarous age ;
The faggot blazes, and the Church must bleed,
To shew the triumphs of a rival creed !

Uproot the stake, the jagged flames assuage ;
To prove thy strength, in mercy's works engage.

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