these joys and blessings are held in uncertainty; that fact is forced upon us by calamities like this. What hopes, what associations, what schemes, went forth that morning in the crowded train? Upon what a wreck did that day's noon look down! What bright plans dashed into darkness! What bounding hearts stopped by the sudden flood! What dreams instantly breaking into the great Reality! Ye cannot tell us now, who, but a week ago, sat side by side with loved ones in the quiet New England Sabbath, whose graves to-day will drink the Sabbath rain. Ye cannot tell who, ministers of healing to so many, had for yourselves such ghastly death-beds, and heard, it may be, the cheering of the festal hall blend with the thundering doom. Thou canst not tell whose marriage covenant was sealed with the kiss of death, and who came up from the waters with dripping bridal-robes. Sharp lesson of uncertainty, crashing upon our ears, and causing all the securities of our life to topple; out of whose confusion issues the solemn text-'Boast not thyself of to-morrow; for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth!' Teach us, while we grasp our joys with due appreciation, to temper them with seriousness, and to live with prepared hearts.

"And against this recklessness, I repeat, provision should be made by every measure which will enforce respect for human life—a sentiment which, I am grieved to say, needs to be more widely and deeply felt in our age and our country. Life is precious. It is a priceless freight which you bear in those rushing cars, oh! driving engineer-a freight of warm

blood, and beating hearts, and dear relations' lives. The engine that pants before with throbbing breast, and arteries of fire, is but a poor symbol of the precious vitality and curious workmanship of the meanest life that it drags along. An unsteady brain, a deceit of the eye, a slight risk, and the wealth of existence committed to your charge is shattered to ruin. And is it not right that the community, that fathers, and wives, and brothers, and sons should hold you stringently bound to all the responsibilities of your office, and refuse to cast upon Providence the burden of your fault? Something besides profit and the price of stock must enter into your account, O! iron-hearted corporation. Against dollars you must balance life; and if a little gain is of more consequence than a bolt more firmly driven, or an additional officer at a dangerous point, say not that the community acts merely under excitement if it cuts the nerves by which corporations do feel.”

The following fine passage occurs in his sermon on the Vice of Great Cities.

“A young man now, when he gets in town, is too great entirely to retain any regard for parental authority. His father is no longer such-he turns into the 'old man.' The mother is also carelessly treated, and thus ties are weakened or broken which should never end but with death, and sometimes even then they scarce end; for when misfortune meets you or disgrace comes on, what heart beats the truest for, and clings closer to you in disgrace, in ruin, in poverty, even at the verge of death, but the mother's? You, young men, should be care

ful of yielding to the first temptation, for it is in that the danger is. No one when he first took drink ever intended to become a drunkard, and yet we have seen intemperance so gain on men, that it narrowed and narrowed, till it encased them, as it were, in an iron shroud, which crushes and kills. I have read a very impressive tale of a young man who was confined in a dungeon having seven windows, but which was made of iron. On the second morning after he went there he found but six. He suspected something, and watched, and the next day there were but five, and his food and bed changed. So it went on changing from day to day, till he had but ne window, and immediately the bells began to ring, and he then knew he was fast enclosed in that tower by his enemy, in order to be crushed to death by a slow and tormenting process."

After some further remarks on the right of females to an equality in everything with the male portion of society, he concluded by again exhorting the youth to beware of yielding to the first temptation...

With this gem which I tear from its setting in a recent sermon, on "City and Country," I must close this sketch.

"The pleasures of a country life, moreover, are enhanced, by having the city, with its intelligence and facilities within reach. Is is comfortable to have one's retirement tapped by the railroad, and connected by telegraphic wires; and the murmur of the trees mingles pleasantly with the hum of popular applause. To the country belong all the aspects and influences of nature-of valley and woodland, of rock and river,

the fitting stillness of night, the pomp of morning, the inexpressible loveliness it pictures ever new, and all the glories of the punctual year. The poet's line one cannot help quoting here, 'God made the country, but man made the town,' and it has doubtless a true signification; it really extends to Divine works that stand far above any human achievement; and when one is sick and tired with routine-when he is dazzled by the shows, or troubled by the afflictions of life-let him go out into the calm breadth of nature, and confer with realities that are fresh and unabused, as they came from the hand of the Maker. Whatever is inspiring in mountains, lovely in the reach of landscape, or impressive in the still woods, will serve his deliverance from weariness and distaste. Let the meditative man pass out from tangled controversies into the harmonies of the universe. Let the man injured by the follies and nonsense of books, recover health in studying the stereotypes of God; what revolution, what history is written in every wrinkle of the earth; what mysteries in all the unrolled heavens; and let vice and sordidness, and all the brood of evil passions and canker, go and be rebuked by the holy presence which is so evident in the air and sky. 'God made the country,' and all around it keeps the stamp of the Maker; but man 'makes the town,' and fabrics of stone and brick, which shall crumble away. However, this fact suggests to us to consult a deeper truth."

JOHN CHARLES FREMONT.

ONE of the most remarkable men of modern times is John Charles Fremont, Thomas Benton's son-in-law. He has resolution, no obstacle can sway; bravery, no danger can intimidate; enterprise, no undertaking can over-match.

Having a strong wish to hang his portrait on the walls of my little volume, I take the following sketch from the "Gallery of Illustrious Americans."

"The feet of three men have pressed the slopes of the Rocky Mountains, whose names are associated for ever with those vast ranges; Humboldt, the Nestor of scientific travellers; Audubon, the Interpreter of Nature, and Fremont, the Pathfinder of Empire. Each has done much to illustrate the Natural History of North America, and to develope its illimitable resources. The youngest of all is likely to become as illustrious as either, for fortune has linked his name with a scene in the history of the Republic, as startling to the world as the first announcement of its existence. To his hands was committed the magnificent task of opening the gates of our Pacific Empire. His father was an emigrant gentleman from France, and his mother a lady of Virginia. Although his father's death left him an orphan in his fourth year, he was thoroughly educated; and when, at the age of seventeen,