disappointed. It has poured balm and consolation into the heart of the sick, of captives in dungeons, of widows in their pinching griefs, of orphans in their loneliness. Dying soldiers have died easier as it was read to them; ghastly hospitals have been illumined; it has visited the prisoner and broken his chains, and, like Peter's angel, led him forth in imagination, and sung him back to his home again. It has made the dying Christian slave freer than his master; and consoled those whom, dying, he left behind mourning, not so much that he was gone as because they were left behind, and could not go too. Nor is its work done.

It will go singing to your children and my children, and to their children, through all the generations of time; nor will it fold its wings till the last pilgrim is safe, and time ended; and then it shall fly back to the bosom of God, whence it issued, and sound on, mingled with all those sounds of celestial joy which make heaven musical forever.

A CHRISTIAN MAN'S LIFE is laid in the loom of time to a pattern which he does not see, but God does; and his heart is a shuttle. On one side of the loom is sorrow, and on the other is joy; and the shuttle, struck alternately by each, flies back and forth, carrying the thread, which is white or black, as the pattern needs; and in the end, when God shall lift up the finished garment, and all its changing hues shall glance out, it will then appcar that the deep and dark colors were as needful to beauty as the bright and high colors.

HELP THE SLAVE.-Do you ask me whether I would help a slave to gain his freedom? I answer, I would help him with heart, and hand, and voice. I would do for him what I shall wish I had done when, having lost his dusky skin and blossomed into the light of eternity, he and I shall stand before our Master, who will say, "Inasmuch as ye did it unto him, slave as he was, ye did it unto me."

EVERYDAY CHRISTIANITY.—As flowers never put on their best clothes for Sunday, but wear their spotless raiment and exhale their odor every day, so let your Christian life, free from stain, ever give forth the fragrance of the love of God.

THE HOLY CATHOLIC CHURCH.-Christian brethren, in heaven you are known by the name of Christ. On earth, for convenience' sake, you are known by the name of Presbyterians, Episcopalians, Methodists, Congregationalists, and the like. Let me speak the language of heaven, and call you, simply, Christians. Whoever of you has known the name of Christ, and feels Christ's life beat

ing within him, is invited to remain, and sit with us at the table of the Lord.1

A MAN'S A MAN.-It makes no difference what you call men, -prince, peer, or slave. Man is that name of power which rises above them all, and gives to every one the right to be that which God meant he should be. No law, nor custom, nor opinion, nor prejudice, has the right to say to one man, "You may grow," and to another, "You may not grow," or, "You may grow in ten directions, and not in twenty;" or to the strong, "You may grow stronger," or to the weak, "You may never become strong." Launched upon the ocean of life, like an innumerable fleet, each man may spread what sails God has given him, whether he be pinnace, sloop, brig, bark, ship, or man-of-war; and no commodore or admiral may signal what voyage he shall make or what canvas he shall carry.

GOD has given to men the great truths of liberty and equality, which are like mothers' breasts, carrying food for ages. Let us not fear that in our land they shall be overthrown or destroyed. Though we may go through dark times,-rocking times, when we are sea-sick, yet the day shall come when there shall be no more oppression, but when, all over the world, there shall be a common people, sitting in a commonwealth, having a common Bible, a common God, and common peace and joy in a common brotherhood!

CERBERUS IN AMERICA.-The Bible Society is sending its shiploads of Bibles all over the world,-to Greenland and the Morea, to Arabia and Egypt; but it dares not send them to our own people. The colporteur who should leave a Bible in a slave's cabin would go to heaven from the lowest limb of the first tree. It was hell, among the ancients, that was guarded by a hundredheaded dog; in this country, it is heaven that has the Cerberus.

RELIGION AND BUSINESS.-How hateful is that religion which says, "Business is business, and politics are politics, and religion is religion"! Religion is using every thing for God; but many men dedicate business to the devil, and politics to the devil, and shove religion into the cracks and crevices of time, and make it the hypocritical outcrawling of their leisure and laziness.

A CHRISTIAN LIFE.-A Christian merchant should so act that his customers shall see and know that he is a Christian; not merely that he conducts his business on great maxims of honesty, but that business itself is subordinate, and instrumental to the

Invitation to the communion service.

great purposes of life. Is it so with you? How far does the difference between you and the worldly man lie in the fact that, on the seventh day, you have a little tabernacle of religious experience into which you run? Go through the streets and stores of New York: you can pick out the men that are wealthy; can you pick out the men that are Christians? What wonder that truth makes such slow advances in the world, with one Christian to tell what is true for two hours on Sunday, and hundreds to deny it all the week by their lives!

HYPOCRITES.-There are many professing Christians who are secretly vexed on account of the charity they have to bestow, and the self-denial they have to use. If, instead of the smooth prayers which they do pray, they should speak out the things which they really feel, they would say, when they go home at night, “O Lord, I met a poor wretch of yours to-day, a miserable, unwashed brat, and I gave him sixpence, and I have been sorry for it ever since;" or, “O Lord, if I had not signed those articles of faith, I might have gone to the theatre this evening. Your religion deprives me of a great deal of enjoyment; but I mean to stick to it. There's no other way of getting into heaven, I suppose."

The sooner such men are out of the church the better.

GIVING versus KEEPING.-The great ocean is in a constant state of evaporation. It gives back what it receives, and sends up its waters in mists to gather into clouds; and so there is rain on the fields, and storm on the mountains, and greenness and beauty everywhere. But there are many men who do not believe in evaporation. They get all they can and keep all they get, and so are not fertilizers, but only stagnant, miasmatic pools.

THE ELECT are whosoever will, and the non-elect whosoever won't.

BLINDNESS. It would be a dreadful thing to me to lose my sight; to see no more the faces of those I love, nor the sweet blue of heaven, nor the myriad stars that gem the sky, nor the dissolving clouds that pass over it, nor the battling ships upon the sea, nor the mountains with their changing lines of light and shade, nor the loveliness of flowers, nor the burnished mail of insects. But I should do as other blind men have done before me: I should take God's rod and staff for my guide and comfort, and wait patiently for death to bring better light to nobler eyes. O ye who are living in the darkness of sin! turn before it is too late to the light of holiness, else death will bring to you, not recreation, but retribution. Earthly blindness can be borne, for it is but for a day; but who could bear to be blind through eternity?

JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY.

SCARCELY any author ever became more suddenly distinguished than John Lothrop Motley. Before the appearance of his great historical work, The Rise of the Dutch Republic, he was, though favorably known, comparatively unknown. That work, from its research, its style, its power, its earnest spirit, its breadth of design and successful execution, placed its author at once in the rank of eminent historians. Published simultaneously in England and America, it was commended with equal warmth in the leading critical journals of both countries; and, though but three years issued, it has passed through five editions, and amply vindicated the laudations of the critics.

Mr. Motley was born in Dorchester, Massachusetts, in 1814, and was graduated at Harvard College in 1831. Soon afterwards he went to Europe, and spent several years in Germany, studying its literature and acquiring the large learning of its universities. On his return to the United States in 1835, he applied himself to the study of the law, and was admitted to the Boston bar. In 1836, he was married to Miss Benjamin, a sister of the well-known author, Park Benjamin, and for several years resided in Boston and its vicinity. Having ample means, he did not practise his uncongenial profession, but gave his time and talents to the pursuits of letters. At this time he wrote several papers for the leading periodicals, and published anonymously two novels,-Morton's Hope, and Merrymount. Early in 1841, during the brief administration of General Harrison, Mr. Webster, who had been long an intimate friend of the father, gave the son, for whom he also cherished a cordial regard, the post of Secretary of Legation to Russia, Colonel Todd being the minister. Here he interested himself in the history of Russia, and wrote for the "North American Review" a leading article on "Peter the Great," which was much admired. But in less than two years he resigned his place and came home.

In 1851, he again visited Europe, and there resided in various cities,-chiefly Paris and Dresden,-engaged in the accomplishment of his noble historical work, which was published in 1856. He had not been home a year after it was published, when he resolved to write a second similar work, commencing where the first leaves off; and, not able to obtain the necessary documents in our libraries, he went again to Europe, where he is now (1859) residing with his family in its affluent capitals,-affluent in books and manuscripts, engaged in writing the new history, which we doubt not will fully sustain his present reputation.1

1 Of Motley's History, the "North American Review," July, 1856, thus speaks: "This is one of the most important contributions to historical literature that have been made in this country. It is characterized throughout by a spirit of great fairness and moderation, indulging in no violent invective or extravagant praise, even where the narrative might furnish a fair excuse for the one or the other; while at the same time it is neither cold nor heartless. . . . On the contrary, a genuine sympathy with liberty and a spirit of humanity pervade it, and it is evident that the author rejoices heartily in the successes of the patriots. . In short, it is a work that every American may be proud to own as written by his countryman."

THE SIEGE OF LEYDEN.

Meantime, the besieged city was at its last gasp. The burghers had been in a state of uncertainty for many days; being aware that the fleet had set forth for their relief, but knowing full well the thousand obstacles which it had to surmount. They had guessed its progress by the illumination from the blazing villages; they had heard its salvos of artillery on its arrival at North Aa; but since then, all had been dark and mournful again, hope and fear, in sickening alternation, distracting every breast. They knew that the wind was unfavorable, and at the dawn of each day every eye was turned wistfully to the vanes of the steeples. So long as the easterly breeze prevailed, they felt, as they anxiously stood on towers and housetops, that they must look in vain for the welcome ocean. Yet, while thus patiently waiting, they were literally starving; for even the misery endured at Harlem had not reached that depth and intensity of agony to which Leyden was now reduced. Bread, malt-cake, horse-flesh, had entirely disappeared; dogs, cats, rats, and other vermin, were esteemed luxuries. A small number of cows, kept as long as possible, for their milk, still remained; but a few were killed from day to day, and distributed in minute proportions, hardly sufficient to support life among the famishing population. Starving wretches swarmed daily around the shambles where these cattle were slaughtered, contending for any morsel which might fall, and lapping eagerly the blood as it ran along the pavement; while the hides, chopped and boiled, were greedily devoured. Women and children, all day long, were seen searching gutters and dunghills for morsels of food, which they disputed fiercely with the famishing dogs. The green leaves were stripped from the trees, every living herb was converted into human food; but these expedients could not avert starvation. The daily mortality was frightful: infants starved to death on the maternal breasts which famine had parched and withered; mothers dropped dead in the streets, with their dead children in their arms. In many a house the watchmen, in their rounds, found a whole family of corpses,-father, mother, children, side by side; for a disorder called the plague, naturally engendered of hardship and famine, now came, as if in kindness, to abridge the agony of the people. The pestilence stalked at noonday through the city, and the doomed inhabitants fell like grass beneath its scythe. From six thousand to eight thousand human beings sank before this scourge alone; yet the people resolutely held out,-women and men mutually encouraging each other to resist the entrance of their foreign foe,—an evil more horrible than pest or famine.

Leyden was sublime in its despair. A few murmurs were,