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honest nature, too serious and tragic and rascally a thing by half.

It happened, unluckily, that the poor Colonel and his friend found the President in one of his most despondent and dejected moods. He was in his little private parlour, alone in the gloaming. He was lounging loosely in a large rockingchair, jutting over it in all directions. His slippered feet were exalted, his rough head was thrown back, his long throat bare-he was in his shirt-sleeves. Yes, dear, fastidious English reader, it was a genuine Yankee abandon-make the most of it.

He turned upon his visitors with a look of almost savage inquiry. There was, in his usually pleasant eyes, a wild, angry gleam-a something like the glare of a worried animal at bay.

Colonel Scott proceeded very modestly to tell his story; but the President interrupted him to say, brusquely, "Go to Stanton; this is his business."

"Well, she ought not to have come down to the army. She should have stayed at home. But if they will go tearing about the coun try in such times as theso, and running into all sorts of dangers, they must take the consequences;-not but that I am sorry for you, Colonel. As for your wife, she is at rest, and I wish I were."

Saying this, the President leaned back wearily in his chair and closed his eyes, not noticing, except by a slight wave of his hand, the departure of his visitors.

I am not ashamed to confess that my hero tossed restlessly that night upon a pillow wet with manly tears, and he was resentful, utterly unresigned to the decrees of Providence and the War Department, and that he thought Abraham Lincoln as hard as he was homely, and as inhuman as he was ungainly.

Toward morning he fell asleep, and slept late. Before he was fully dressed their came a quick knock at the door of his chamber, and he "I have been to him, Mr. Pre-opened it for President Lincoln. sident, and he will do nothing for me."

"You have been to him and got your answer, and still presume to come to me! Am I to have no rest? no privacy? Must I be dogged to my last fastness, and worried to death by inches? Mr. Stanton has done just right. He knows what he is about. Your demands are unreasonable.'

"But, Mr. Lincoln, I thought you would feel for me."

"Feel for you! Good God! I have to feel for 500,000 more unfortunate than you. We are at war, sir; don't you know we are at war? Sorrow is the lot of all; bear your share like a man and a soldier."

"I try to, Mr. President, but it seems hard. My devoted wife lost her life for coming to nurse me in my sickness, and I cannot even take her body to my children."

I

The good man came forward, pale and eager, tears glistening in his eyes, and grasped the Colonel's hand, saying, "I treated you brutally last night. I ask your pardon. I was utterly tired out, badgered to death. I generally become about as savage as a wild cat by Saturday night, drained dry of the milk of human kindness.' must have seemed to you the very gorilla the rebels paint me. I was sorry enough for it when you were gone. I could not sleep a moment last night, so I thought I'd drive into town in the cool of the morning and make it all right. Fortunately, I had little difficulty in finding you."

"This is very good of you, Mr. President," said the Colonel, deeply moved.

"No, it isn't; but that was very bad of me last night. I never should have forgiven myself if I

"No, no, Mr. Stanton," said the President, " you did right in adhering to your own rules; you are the right man for this place. If we had such a soft-hearted fool as I here, there would be no rules or regulations that this army or country could depend upon. But this is a peculiar case. Only think of that poor woman.”

had let that piece of ugly work stand. That was a noble wife of yours, Colonel. You were a happy man to have such a noble woman to love you; and you must be a good fellow, or such a woman would never have risked so much for you. And what grand women there are in these times, Colonel! What angels of devotion and mercy, and how brave and plucky! Going everywhere at the call of duty, facing every danger! I tell you, if it were not for the women we should all go to the devil, and should all deserve to. They are the Secretary's order was carried the salvation of the nation. Now, come, Colonel; my carriage is at the door. I'll drive you to the War Department, and we'll see Stanton about this matter."

Of course the "impossible" was accomplished.

To the surprise of the Colonel, the President insisted upon driving him to the Navy Yard, to see that

out immediately. He seemed to have a nervous fear that some obstacle might be thrown in the way of the pious expedition. He waited at the landing till all was ready, then charged the officers of the steamer to give every attention to his "friend Colonel Scott." With him he shook hands warmly

you, my dear fellow. I hope you will have no more trouble in this sad affair-and Colonel, try and forget last night."

Even at that early hour they found the Secretary at his post. The President pleaded the case of Colonel Scott, and not only requested that leave of absence should at parting, saying: "God bless be granted him, but that a steamer should be sent down the river to bring up the body of his wife. "Humanity, Mr. Stanton," said the good President, his homely face Away up in a New Hampshire transfigured with the glow of churchyard there is a grave careearnest, tender feeling, “humanity fully watched and tended by a should overrule considerations of faithful love. But every April time policy, and even military necessities the violets on that mound speak in matters like this." not alone of the womanly devotion and tenderness of her that sleeps below-they are tender and tearful with the memory of the murdered President.

The Secretary was touched, and he said something of his regret at not having felt himself at liberty to grant Colonel Scott's request in the first place.

DORCAS.

BY THE REV. JAMES OWEN.

"Now there was at Joppa a certain disciple named Tabitha, which by interpretation is called Dorcas: this woman was full of good works and almsdeeds which she did. And it came to pass in those days, that she was sick and died," &c.-Acts ix. 36-42.

THE incidents recorded in this Book are like a series of pictures of the early history of the Church. When you have wandered through picture galleries you have seen manifestations of skill and taste,

beautiful and grand conceptions, indications of genius in all the works of the different artists. But some are more beautiful than others; some are towering above the rest like giants above children, or like tall trees above saplings. And then some room on the galleries may be reserved for the works of one of the grand old masters; it may be Raphael's room, or Michael Angelo's room, or Titian's room; all the pictures in it bearing the same signature, and showing traces of the same lofty and imperial genius. Now, this Book might be called "Jesus Christ's room; all the pictures in it are from the same hand-the hand of a divine artist. This "diary" of the "beloved physician " contains not so much "the acts of the Apostles," as "the acts of the Lord through His Apostles." It is a continuation of the golden chain whose links were fashioned and fastened by the Evangelists. Referring to his gospel, Luke says "The former treatise have I made, O Theophilus, of all that Jesus began both to do and teach." And, in this second treatise we see the same Jesus working and teaching through His servants. At the close of this ninth chapter we find two pictures. Peter was visiting the brethren in different places, and he came down also to Lydda, where he found a wretched sufferer, named, Eneas; a man who had been paralysed for eight years, and probably a believer; and Peter said unto him, "Eneas, Jesus Christ maketh thee whole, arise and make thy bed." Others had been spreading his couch for him; now, he was to do it himself, and to evince his restoration by that act. "And he arose immediately." About five miles from Lydda was the seaport town of Joppa-it might be called the seaport of Jerusalem. Thither the ships of Tyre brought the timber with which Solomon built the Temple; there Jonah embarked when he wished to flee from the presence of the Lord: and there lived, in the days of the Apostles, a humble, and active, and useful follower of the Lord Jesus Christ, whose character, and death, and restoration to life, are depicted in the words of the text. Let me call your attention to these three things:

I. Christianity is a religion of good deeds.

II. The memory of goodness is fragrant.
III. Goodness is immortal.

I. Christianity is a religion of good deeds. Tabitha, or Dorcas (the names being the Aramaic and Greek words for "gazelle")—was a Christian. She is called a disciple. And this is the most common name given in the Gospels to the followers of Christ. They are disciples, or learners.

The word implies a consciousness of ignorance. This is essential to progress in knowledge. He who thinks he knows enough will not try to learn. They who know most are most conscious of their ignorance. They have only carried away a cupful or two from the ocean; they have only gathered a pebble or two from the beach; they have only discovered one star or two in the heavens. And with all the

vauntings of modern science, it leaves unexplained a portion, and that the higher and better portion, of man's nature; it does not touch the spiritual realm. And the speculations of philosophers now come to much the same thing as the misgivings of heathen sages centuries ago. As Mr. Lewes says, in the introduction to his "History of Philosophy," 'Precisely the same questions are agitated in Germany at the present moment that were agitated in ancient Greece; and with no more certain methods of solving them, with no nearer hopes of ultimate success." We need a teacher; and the term "disciple" implies a consciousness of ignorance. A student goes to school because he knows he is ignorant and wishes to gain knowledge.

But here was a poor

The word also implies submission to the authority of Christ. Even they who accepted not His teaching were impressed with its authority. He "spoke that which he knew and testified that which he had seen.' They were not guesses but certainties, not conjectures but realities, that He made known. What would have been arrogance and selfconceit in any human teachers, even in an inspired apostle or prophet, was natural in Him, He said again and again, "It hath been said by men of old time; but I say unto you." He spoke of Himself as "the Light of the world," as the Way to the Father, as the Truth which the soul needs; as the Bread of life. How would such language sound on the lips of Moses, or David, or Isaiah, or Paul? Would it not savour of self-ignorance and presumption? peasant of Galilee saying all this of himself, and without giving the impression that He was self-applauding and arrogant, but with the greatest simplicity and humility. The people generally recognised the authority with which He spoke. The disciples submitted to His authority. "Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart." What are thy claims, O Man of Nazareth? What hast thou to teach? He had something to teach which could not be found in Greek poems, or Roman laws, or Jewish writings; something which He had brought down with Him from heaven; something which the world had not heard before, and which it was very important the world should know. He advanced a claim which no human teacher has a right to advance. The claim made by the Romish Church is this: "Submit to me-your reason, your conscience, your whole being; let me be the arbiter and judge; when I say anything, argue not against it; receive it on trust; when I say the wafer and wine are converted into the real flesh and blood of Christ, do not call it absurd, but accept it in all humility; and when I say virtue emanates from a certain image, and that miracles have been wrought by certain relics, take all on trust; doubt not my infallibility." It is marvellous that any should comply with such an extravagant demand, and especially that men of keen intellect and great learning should submit to such bondage. It is easy to say, They know better, and they uphold the imposture to benefit themselves, and to decieve the people. But this cannot be the explanation in all cases, nor the whole of it in any case, There are two things that must be added.

First, love of ritual; a passion for a religion that appeals more to the physical senses than to the mind and heart. Second, love of rest. Many have sought refuge from the storm of doubt and unbelief in the haven of the Romish Church, where their personal nature is, as it were, crushed, and where they are expected to swallow without inquiry or reasoning the boluses bequeathed by tradition, or prepared by ecclesiastical authorities. Their nature, their will, their reason, their outward relationships, are all merged and lost in the Church. Submission to the authority of Christ is different from that. There are certain questions that rise naturally in the human heart, that perplex it and harass it. What is God? What are His relations to us? Does He hear prayer? How may we be saved from the burden of sin? How can we meet the future without fear? And in Christ there is an answer to these questions-an answer that satisfies the mind, the reason, the conscience. His character is the grand confirmation of His teaching, and of His right to teach. We enter His school, not that our natures may be cramped, and dwarfed and withered, beneath the icy breath of a dictator, who says, "You must pursue this course, because I say it; " but that our natures may be educated, developed, trained, as flowers growing under the genial and quickening influence of the sun.

The term "disciples" is applied to the followers of Christ to the very close of their career. It is frequently used in the Acts. "The disciples were called Christians first at Antioch." In the Epistles they are generally spoken of, in their relation to one another, as "brethren; or, in regard to their character, as "saints." But the meaning conveyed in the term " disciples" often comes out in the various Epistles, in exhortations to growth in knowledge, to diligence in the school of Christ, that the brethren might know more, learn more, and that the heavens of truth above them might become brighter and brighter. The disciple of Christ does not in time grow too old to be a disciple; he never leaves school; his education is never finished. Men with grey hairs are sitting with little children at the feet of Jesus. The teaching of Christ is complete, and the facts of His history are the same in every age; but the meaning of that teaching is unfolded and the import of the facts grow upon us every day. They cannot be exhausted. The hidden meanings and beauties of the Revelation are disclosed to the disciple gradually. In Nature we have an old revelation, an old book; the same book that has been here from the beginning. Nothing has been added to it-not a line. Nothing has been taken from it not a syllable. And students of science are trying to read it and understand it; and they find work enough for all their cultivated powers, and the confession is extorted from their lips that there are many chapters they cannot decipher. There is room for advancement. And the same thing is true in regard to the knowledge of Christ's will. Many have been long in school, and yet have not learned much. They are like a lazy student who said, when leaving

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