up to the basket, out of which he had seen the biscuits taken, and commenced fumbling at it with his nose and paws. In his awkwardness he pushed it every instant nearer the edge of the ice, and presently it rolled off into the water. Then he tried to fish it up with his paws, but it was of no use, and he stood looking at it longingly, as the dash of the waves carried it beyond his reach. For a moment Elizabeth hoped that he would plunge into the lake after it, but the bear had no such intention. As long as the basket floated, he stood watching it; and when at last the weight of its contents caused it to sink out of his sight, he uttered a discontented growl, and once more sat down facing Elizabeth. How she dreaded lest disappointed hunger should wreak its fury upon her and her child! But whether it was that his own danger had somewhat tamed him, or that the gift of the biscuits inclined him to friendliness, the bear manifested no disposition to molest them. Thus for hours these strange companions remained together on that floating fragment of ice; the anxious woman, the feeble child, and the soulless beast of the forest, alike partakers of the same peril, probably to be sharers of the same fate. Still, the land which she had seen grew larger and larger in Elizabeth's sight. At length she distinguished a cluster of islets, toward which the current bore them. As they drew nearer the bear raised himself on his hind feet, and looked eagerly landward. Then, after a time, he plunged into the lake, and swam to the nearest island, along whose white shore his dark form was soon to be seen rolling. Meanwhile, the current swept the ice-raft past, and the woman and her child were again alone on the blue lake. What a feeling of relief was even in this dreadful as was the prospect before them for all the food Elizabeth had so hoarded had sunk in the basket, and now she must not only want herself, but see her child hunger before her eyes, and have not wherewith to give him to eat. But there came a reaction after the mental strain which both had in their terror suffered for hours. They had no present strength left even for fear, and mother and child were soon sleeping the deep sleep of exhaustion. It was bitterly cold that night; the wind lashed the lake into billows which tossed the ice-raft wildly, and dashed over it, as though they would ingulf it every instant, and the water froze as it washed over the helpless ones who had no shelter from wind or wave. who were The next morning two men, cutting wood on the lake-shore, perceived a mass of broken ice, entangled among some rocks, and on it they found a woman wrapped in thick mufflings which were cased in ice, with a child clasped tightly to her bosom. The child was still warm; sleep had not with him deepened into torpor; but the woman seemed cold as death. They were at once placed in the wood-sleigh, which bore them quickly to a house, where all that kindness, and the skill gathered by familiarity with such incidents, could do for Elizabeth Glover, was done for her by strangers as promptly and energetically as though she had been of their own kindred. And in a few hours the death-like form was instinct with life, the warm blood flowed through her veins, and she had voice to thank those who at her utmost need had succored her, and the one who was so much dearer than herself. But to one hand, which had been exposed in keeping the wrappings tight over Harry, neither power nor sensation could ever be restored. Yet Elizabeth, in the depths of her woman's love, felt herself rewarded for all her sufferings. She learned she was but six miles from the house where her husband lay; for the winds and currents, though sweeping her hither and thither, had carried her no great distance down the lake. And, weak as she was, a few days saw her at his side, to find him, indeed, requiring her presence, though others nursed him carefully; for a violent fever had seized him, and her voice alone had power to soothe him, and only from her would he admit of care and tending. At length he recovered, to learn and regret, yet bless her for all she had suffered in her desire to watch over him in his hours of pain. And when, years afterward, we heard the tale from Elizabeth's lips, and while every tone told that she had never repented that perilous journey, I saw the rough backwoodsman's eyes dwell on her with a look of deep gratitude and affection, until at last he turned away —I might have been mistaken, but I thought it was to hide a tear. CULLED FLOWERS. I HAVE here only made a nosegay of culled flowers, and have brought nothing of my own but the string that ties them.MONTAIGNE AGED, BUT NOT OLD. WE remember to have heard, at a session of the Baltimore Conference some years ago, a venerable father, hale and vigorous, reply to an insinuation that he was nearly superannuated. His pithy remarks convinced his hearers that the assertion was not true. 1 am, indeed, said he, in comparison with some of you, an aged man, but I am not old! Truly has it been said that A wise man will never rust out. As long as he can move and breathe he will be doing something for himself, for his neighbor, or for posterity. Almost to the last hour of his life Washington was at work. So were Franklin, and Young, and Howard, and Newton. The vigor of their lives never decayed. No rust marred their spirits. It is a foolish idea to suppose that we must lie down and die, because we are old. Who is old? Not the man of energy; not the day laborer in science, art, or benevolence; but he only who suffers his energies to waste away, and the spring of life to become motionless; on whose hands the hours drag heavily, and to whom all things wear the garb of gloom. Is he old? should not be asked; but, is he active, can he breathe freely, and move with agility? There are scores of gray-headed men whom we should prefer, in any important enterprise, to those young gentlemen, who fear and tremble at approaching shadows, and turn pale at a lion in their path, at a harsh word or frown. THE RULING POWER, WHAT is it? WENDELL PHILLIPS thus answers; and the reader will perhaps agree with us in the opinion that there are men, in stature at least, as well as boys, who regard the walking-beam as the propelling power of the steam engine: We The press is the ruling power of the times. The age of statesmen is over, the age of bullets is over, and the age of the printing-press has come. What the invention of gunpowder was to the art of war, making any man who could pull a trigger equal to the most powerful warrior, the press is in a reading age. have invented the pamphlet. We have called into existence the fourth estate of the realm; it is brains. Men sometimes think that the great brows at Washiington control the nation. So the boy who first sees a steamboat thinks that the walking-beam is the propelling power, but below there is a "fanatic" feeding the fires. ble region, and preaching the Gospel to theso "spirits in prison." We believe that Christ would feel more grieved amid an assembly of smooth-faced professors of religion, their cheeks clad with emulous lies, and their hearts full of malice and falsehood. No hell like a rouged hell. No damned like the jeweled and smiling damned. We are fond of speaking against the Sepoys, but, had we been trained like them, and had our passions been heated by as hot a sun, we might have been as bad as they. Let us not be high-minded, but fear, remembering the grand exhortation of Burke, "to love all men, and fear ourselves." UNIFORMITY AND VARIETY CHARACTERIZE all the works of God. There is enough of the former to demonstrate the unity of the Divine Being; enough of the latter to prove the infinitude of his power and wisdom. Nature, it has been well said, Is gifted with something wonderfully like imagination; forever reproducing herself, but always in new forms, new combinations, new loveliness, and her humblest tree passes through as many phases as her fairest moon. Now the summit is crimson and gold; now it rolls a great billow of green, and now it stands dark as the folds of a storm-cloud. So nature busies herself all the day, and all the year long, in doing something new and something more for that tree; when it buds, when it blossoms, when it is full of summer glories. In the morning she amuses herself in laying its shadows all to the westward; in the evening she trails them, like a mourner's robe, to the east; and at noon she bundles them up under the tree. What mockery of sunset, of flame and of gold, when she touches it with frost. What a decoration for fairy-land, when the winter endows it with pendants of diamond and pearl. THE POWER OF RIDICULE CAN scarcely be overrated. What sound argument cannot effect a sneer will frequently accomplish. Even a diminutive, disparaging adjective, employed at the right time, and in the right place, may be an overmatch for all the other parts of speech. Listen to ANNA LYLE's experience: A sentimental young lady became infatuated by a very devoted admirer; and not only engaged herself to him, but for his sake secluded herself from society, lived in what she considered an atmosphere of most exalted sentiment, and rather gloried in the thought of the many barriers which lay in the way of her union with the object of her affection, and of the possibility of her dying an "old maid" for his sake! Though constantly annoyed by hearing little anecdotes which conveyed an unfavorable impression of the beloved, she would not credit them, but clung to him all the more closely. At last-sad to relate-she one day fell into conversation with a lady, who, unaware of the cruel blow she was leveling at an idolatrous worship, mentioned the unfortunate Romeo, as "a nice little man!" Alas! alas! for Romeo! Though the idol did not at once fall to the ground, the pedestal began to give way. Vainly did Juliet think within herself, "It is all very well for her to call him 'little-she is so tall!" It would not do-the horrid word would haunt her; and, thenceforth, he was no longer an ideal, but a man! He was no longer "Romeo," but "Thomas," or "John," or whatever his name may have been. Let a notion of ridicule once enter a woman's mind, and affection. must be strong indeed to stand the test. In this case It had the most salutary effect on the lady's feelings; and that which not all his falsehood and ingratitude had been able to effect, was accomplished by that unfortunate diminutive. When once she began to regard him as a common, everyday mortal, his faults peeped out slowly, one after another; till at last she summoned courage to dismiss him altogether. ONE FAGOT AT A TIME. It is a common-place remark that troubles in anticipation are harder to bear than those through which we are passing at the present moment. It is our own fault. "Sufficient unto the day," said the great Teacher, "is the evil thereof;" and the idea is here quaintly and practically expanded: We may compare the troubles which we have to undergo, in the course of this life, to a great bundle of faggots, far too large for us to lift. But God does not require us to carry the whole at once. He mercifully unties the bundle, and gives us, first one stick, which we are to carry to-day, and then another, which we are to carry to-morrow, and so on. This we might easily manage if we would take only the burden appointed us for each day. But we choose to increase our troubles by carrying yesterday's stick over again to-day, and by adding to-morrow's burdens to our load, before we are required to bear them. THE FASHIONS Are impervious to ridicule. The more they are laughed at the firmer seems to be their sway. And then the ladies are so goodnatured about it! They laugh, too, and then-enlarge their circumference. Listen to the cynic: We think the New Zealander somewhat quaint in bis apparel; the lady who luxuriates on the coast of Africa may seem rather scantily clad. But such exhibitions as these are not more ludicrous than the costumes we sometimes see in the streets of civilized London and Paris. Why blow up ladies like bladders or balloons? If the human form were by nature distorted and misshapen, this concealment of the real figure might be reasonable; but on what principles consistent with sanity ladies involve their graceful proportions in hoops that are fitter for herring-casks, and in petticoats inflated like a life-preserving cushion, it is impossible to say. If your little daughter wishes to decorate her doll in a fanciful way, very well; if you determine to dress up your monkey in a red jacket and blue trowsers, we have nothing to say against it. But that the divine image of a rational creature should be, without sense or shame, made the mere framework for bags of wind and hoops of whalebone, is an idea fitter for a chimpanzee than a human being. PURGATORY. THAT was a witty reply of Bishop Hughes to Dr. Bond, who had made some remarks about the popish dogma of Purgatory: "You may go further and fare worse!" Not easily, indeed, will the Romish Church give up purgatory, as saith the facetious Thomas Fuller: No wonder if the papists fight for purgatory. It is said of Sicily and Egypt, that they were anciently the barns and granaries of the city of Rome; but now-adays purgatory is the barn of the Romish court-yea the kitchen, hall, parlor, larder, cellar, chamber, every room of Rome. When Adonijah sued for Abishag the Shunammite, Solomon said to his mother, "Ask for him the kingdom also." But if once the Protestants could wring from the papists their purgatory-nay, then would they say, Ask the triple crown, cross-keys, St. Angelo, Peter's patrimony, and all. In a word, were purgatory taken away, the pope himself would be in purgatory, as not knowing which way to maintain his expensiveness. Who has not taken up lives and stories innumerable, and laid them down depressed and discouraged? Here are heroes and heroines innumerable, perfectly fault less, far beyond the human frailties of Abraham of Simon Peter. They breathe spirituality and nothing else; their whole conversation goes to a covenanting psalm tune; they, indeed, confess their sinfulness, but their biographers show us a character so faultless as to be utterly useless to sinners like ourselves. then they expurgate their letters until they are pure sermons, morbid and monotonous, that put their finger on no practical want. Who does not know the model religious biographies of ladies who composed strictly private journals in periods so rounded as to be ready for the press. We need to see men and women made And of the same clay as ourselves; weak, passionate, tempted, struggling, overcoming in fear and much trembling, no enemies of shadowy texture, but a living devil and living sins. A TIME TO LAUGH. THERE runs through the writings of Henry Rogers a vein of wit, and, occasionally, of satiric humor exceedingly provocative of laughter. At times, there is an apparent levity in his handling of the most solemn themes, which, to some readers, is objectionable. But, says a Titanic critic: We do not join with these people in this objection. There is often a ripple on very deep streams, and a dimple on the waves of the mightiest oceans. The eagle does not pursue a direct course through the upper ether; she "Screws the night-heaven till lost in the blue." The leviathan "laugheth at the shaking of a spear," This curveting, caroling, rejoicing, is a sign of strength, and the horse neighs amid his tremendous gallop. not of weakness; of earnestness, not of indifference; of enthusiasm, rapture, and energy. Just as a man who has done a manly day's work will sometimes sing at its close, or as one who has climbed a mountain often leaps and dances in delight, so Rogers, with Pascal, Coleridge, and other thinkers who have reached lofty altitudes, sometimes express their feelings at the far-stretching sight by shouts and lively laughterlaughter, however, speedily subsiding into seriousness again as they see the "clouds and darkness" which mingle with, and shade the prospect from every mount of vision. KNOW-NOTHINGS. Tom Hoop describes a variety of the genus "Know-Nothings" in his own whimsical style: Of all the know-nothing persons in this world, commend us to the man who has "never known a day's illness." He is a moral dunce; one who has lost the greatest lesson in life, who has skipped the finest lecture in that great school of humanity, the sick-chamber. Let him be versed in mathematics, profound in metaphysics, a ripe scholar in the classics, a bachelor of arts, or even a doctor of divinity, yet is he as one of those gentlemen whose education has been neglected. For all his college acquirements, how inferior is he in wholesome knowledge to the mortal who has had but a quarter's gout or a half year of ague! how infinitely below the fellow-creature who has been soundly taught his tic doloureux, thoroughly grounded in the rheumatics, and deeply versed in the scarlet fever! And yet what is more common than to hear a great hulking, florid fellow bragging of an ignorance, a brutal ignorance, that he shares in common with the pig and the bullock, the generality of which die, probably, without ever having experienced a day's indisposi tion? IN HEAVEN LAST NIGHT. THE classical and the religious emblems are beautifully interwoven in these stanzas, which we copy from a London periodical: "Last night there was a festival in heaven; The sky burn'd with a most majestic light; Orion, Aqua, and the mighty Seven, Flamed like the banners of some awful fight. The stars hung clustering like white ivy round The oriel window of the curtain'd sky, As though God had with festoons gayly bound The cloud-draped arch through which his angels fly. Perchance the Master, in some distant place, Had hung mid-sky a new created world; Or with another sun had garnish'd space, Streaming below like a gay flag unfurl'd. Or it might be some great returning day, When an archangel by a holy feat, Gain'd for his mighty crown another ray, By mastery at the games where angels meet. The winds at sunset had an organ's sound, It may be at that hour some saint was crown'd, moon. Whatever was the cause, there was in heaven A rare and grand display of pomp last night; Perhaps the Saviour and the great eleven Reveal'd themselves unto angelic sight. THE DEAD IN CHRIST. THE victory has been gained. The grave is disrobed of its terrors. Even now faith secs the fulfillment of the promise. He will swallow up death in victory. The dead in Christ! What a sight! if we could behold them! the tears wiped away by their Saviour's hand, awaking up after his likeness, and satisfied with it. The last look of suffering mortality is changed into one of perfect peace. The fall of the coffin-lid makes no echo in our hearts now; the grave whether in the crowded cemetery, or the quiet country church-yard, where the dead lie festering in undistinguished masses, or where the spring and summer weave a funeral garland with grass and leaves, the grave has lost its victory; and the thoughts are chased away that wrapped it like the winter-snow, or hung over it like the shadows of night. For the great Easter-morning has come after the Sabbath of the grave, and the soldiers of Christ are mustering round the Captain of their salvation. The National Magazine. MARCH, 1858. EDITORIAL NOTES AND GLEANINGS. FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE IN PRAYER.-No argument for the use of a prescribed Liturgy is so strong as the fact that many ministers, in their professedly extemporaneous addresses to the Almighty, indulge in tropes and other rhetorical figures, in misquotations of Scriptural language, and in emendations of the petitions taught us in the Bible. Even the Lord's Prayer, which every child is supposed to know by heart, is frequently heard from the pulpit, altered, but not improved. "Give us, day by day, our daily bread." "Forgive us our trespasses as we endeavor to forgive those who trespass against us." "Suffer us not to be led into temptation." Deliver us from all evil." These are a few of the most common variations. We do not care to discuss the question, Are they improvements? For even admitting that they are, which we do not admit, it will by no means follow that any man has the right to use them in leading the devotions of a congregation. But a worse fault than this is the omission of the Lord's Prayer altogether, especially by those whose Discipline expressly says, "Let the Lord's Prayer be used on all occasions of public worship in concluding the first prayer." Some disregard this injunction altogether. Its repetition so frequently, in their godly judgments, savors of formality; or, they are too full of matter of their own to allow time for its utterance. Others use it in the morning, on the Lord's day; but, overlooking the little word italicised above, deem themselves quite justifiable in its omission at any other time. It is possible that the omission of a few sentences of their own would be quite as edifying. It would certainly be more respectful, if not to Him who taught us the prayer, at least to those who enjoin its use on all occasions of public worship. There is a rule, too, with regard to the conclusion of Divine service. The apostolical benediction is to be used. That has undergone an almost endless variety of alterations. Some affect latinity, and invoke the blessing of the triune God. Triune is an expressive word, but not Scriptural. Others are not satisfied unless they make the communion of the Holy Ghost comfortable: "The comfortable communion," etc. And yet others extemporize a benediction in which grace, love, and fellowship are strangely transposed from one to the other person of the Trinity, in a way, however ingenious and novel, certainly not apostolic. It is not wonderful that those who indulge in these and similar emendations of what is plainly printed should be led into high-sounding, figurative, and unscriptural expressions when professedly extemporizing. In addressing men such language is an offense against good taste. It is something more when a worm uses it in holding converse with the Almighty. By what authority, for instance, is HE addressed as "the fairest among ten thousand, and the One altogether lovely?" The language is not in the Bible. There is a passage in Solomon's Song where the spouse is asked "What is thy beloved more than another beloved, O thon fairest among women?" She answers, "My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand." If this language must be applied to the Father, or to the Son, it ought to be quoted accurately. Let him be the "chiefest" among ten thousand, but the most poetic temperament would shrink from such an application of "white and ruddy." The request for "a kid to make merry with" is supposed to to be a prayer for the conversion of a sinner. There is no authority for such a violent figure; and the prayer that "we may make a Sabbath day's journey toward heaven," seems to imply that considerably less progress than we make on ordinary days will be satisfactory on Sunday. What kind of a window is a kind window? We have heard the Lord urgently entreated to open such a one, and have, perhaps, made a good guess at the petitioner's meaning; while "the droppings of the sanctuary," a phrase nowhere to be found in the Bible, but exceedingly common, conveys to our ears no meaning. - PLAIN TALK. To our friends in the free states who apologize for slaveholders, and who oppose any rule of discipline by which they shall be excluded from the Church, we commend the plain and forcible language of a zealous Southern periodical. The Richmond South declares that it has "no confidence in any man north of Mason's and Dixon's line. They cannot be our friends and be honest. The interests of the two sections are antagonistic. The Northern man who goes for our interest necessarily goes against the interests of the North, his country, and I can have no confidence in a traitor, no matter how high is his price." The tone of the Southern periodical press is pitched on the same key. Reverend divines, as well as political editors use similar language. Doctor William A. Smith, in his book on the philosophy of slavery, divides the religious world at the North into two parties. They are the abolitionists and the anti-slavery men. He declares most unequivocally that if the latter are right in their theory that slavery is an evil, the former are right in their proposed measures. Nay, he declares expressly: "I AGREE WITH THE ABOLITIONISTS." Like a consistent man, and one not afraid to follow where the legitimate consequences of an adopted theory inevitably lead, he tells us why he agrees with the abolitionists. If, he says, "if the abstract principle be wrong," and that it is wrong almost every Northern Christian professes to believe," then," says the learned divine, "the institution is wrong." "All who grant the antecedent are bound to admit the consequent!" Most assuredly they are, if they have any regard for consistency, or even any respect for sound logic. The alternative, the only alternative so far as we can see, is to take the position that the abstract principle is NOT wrong; that slavery is NOT a great evil. Rather a bitter pill that; but, suppose it swallowed. What then? Have you gained anything? By the very men for whose sake you have taken this nauseous draught you are regarded and held up to the scorn of the world as a dishonest traitor. You are told very plainly in the extract above quoted that you "cannot be our friends and— be honest," and that the South "can have no confidence in a traitor!" The simple straightforward way out of this dilemma is apparent to all who do not willfully close their eyes, and we could not hope to benefit those who do by pointing it out. ALONE WITH THE DYING.-It would be diffi cult to find in the whole range of fiction a more affecting incident than is contained in the following extract from a letter written by a British seaman to his wife. It was his first service as a soldier, he having been sent on shore with a boat's crew of marines to silence a fort and take some guns: We dispersed at a few hundred yards' distance from the beach, to keep the coast clear, while the boat's crew made prizes of the guns. The enemy had the advantage of the wood, and also knowing the country well, and a troop of them showed in advance. We were ordered to fire. I took steady aim, and fired on my man at about sixty yards. He fell like a stone, At the same time a broadside from the went in among the trees, and the enemy disappeared, we could scarcely tell how. I felt as though I must go up to him, to see whether he was dead or alive. He lay quite still, and I was more afraid of him, lying so, than when he stood facing me a few minutes before. It is a strange feeling to come over you all at once that you have killed a man. He had unbuttoned his jacket, and was pressing his hand over the front of his chest, where the wound was. He breathed hard, and the blood poured from the wound, and also from his mouth, every breath he took. His face was white as death, and his eyes looked so big and bright as he turned them and stared at me. I shall never forgot it. He was a fine young fellow, not more than five-andtwenty. I went down on my knees beside him, and my breast felt so full as though my own heart would burst. He had a real English face, and did not look like an enemy. What I felt I never can tell: but if my life would have saved his, I believe I should have given it. I laid his head on my knee, and be grasped hold of my hand, and tried to speak, but his voice was gone. I could not tell a word he said, and every time he tried to speak the blood poured out so I knew it would soon be over. I am not ashamed to say that I was worse than he, for he never shed a tear, and I couldn't help it. His eyes were closed when a gun was fired from the to order us aboard, and that roused him. He pointed to the beach, where the boat was just pushing off with the guns which we had taken, and where our marines were waiting to man the second boat, and then he pointed to the wood where the enemy was concealed. Poor fellow! he little thought how I had shot him down. I was wondering how I could leave him to die, and no one near him, when he had something like a convulsion for a moment, and then his face rolled over, and without a sigh he was gone. I trust the Almighty has received his soul. I laid his head gently down on the grass, |