The Priest from India answered and said, "We call him Brahma, that means the great.

The Priest from Judea said, "We call him Jehovah Adonai, which means, The Lord who is, who was, and is to be!"

The Priest from Persia said, "We call him Ormus, which means primitive light."

And thus each Priest had his own name by which he designated the highest being.

The king grew furious in his heart and said, "You have only one Ruler and King. Hereafter you shall have but one God. His name is Jupiter!"

The Priests became exceedingly grieved at the declaration of the King, and said "With that name by which we have named him, our people have called him from their youth. How shall we change this?"

But the king was still more angry.

By this time an old sage, with gray hairs, entered the assembly. He was a Brahmin, who had accompanied the Priest to Babylon. This old man arose and said "Permit me, Oh King, my Lord, to address the assembly!" Thereupon he turned towards those assembled and inquired, "Do the heavenly bodies of the day-the source of earthly light-shine with you?" The Priests unitedly bowed and said "Yes!" Then the Brahmin asked one after the other-"How do you name them?" and each one gave a different name, as that of his land and people. Then the Brahmin addressed the King thus"Should not they hereafter name the heavenly bodies of the day with each ones name, since the bodies are still the same?"

After these words the King was full of shame, and said"Let each one use his own name. I see well that the image and sign are not the essence!"

A THOUGHT OF HOME AT SEA.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

'Tis lone on the waters,
When eve's mournful bell
Sends forth to the sunset
A note of farewell!

When, borne with the shadows

And winds as they sweep, There comes a fond memory Of Home o'er the deep!

When the wing of the sea bird

Is turn'd to her nest,

And the heart of the sailor
To all he loves best.
'Tis lone on the waters--
That hour hath a spell
To bring back sweet voices,
And words of farewell!

SPEAK KINDLY.

IN our daily intercourse with those we love-in our family relations, as husbands and wives, parents and children, brothers and sisters-a constant watchfulness ought to be maintained over our words and actions, in order to avoid inflicting unnecessary pain. How frequent does it occur, that a word unkindly spoken to those we once loved, but who have been since removed by the hand of death will haunt our memory long afterward, like an avenging demon, causing us poignant and vain regrets! Years after the circumstance has passed out of our minds and the mind of the friend we may have grieved or wronged, if some sudden calamity befalls him, or some unexpected summons calls him away from earth, and removes him from the scope of our ability to make redress, will the awakened memory of the unkind act or word cloud the melancholy reflections of our waking hours, and even haunt our dreams. But the most bitter and poignant reflections arise, when we have parted in unkindness from some one connected with us by the tenderest ties; and then no opportunity occurs to effect a reconciliation, the person we have injured is removed from us suddenly by death. Then comes the period of vain regrets and unavailing self-reproach. What would we give for a moment of time to ask and obtain one word of forgiveness from that loved one we have wronged! but alas, too late! too late!

THE HOUR OF PRAYER.

CHILD, amidst the flowers at play,
While the red light fades away;

Mother, with thine earnest eye
Ever following silently;
Father, by the breeze of eve
Call'd thy harvest work to leave;
Prayere yet the dark hours be,
Lift the heart and bend the knee!
Traveller, in the stranger's land
Far from thine own household band;
Mourner, haunted by the tone
Of a voice from this world gone!
Captive, in whose narrow cell
Sunshine hath not leave to dwell';
Sailor, on the darkening sea-
Lift the heart and bend the knee!
Warrior, that from battle won
Breathless now at set of sun!
Woman, o'er the lowly slain
Weeping on his burial plain;
Ye that triumph, ye that sigh,
Kindred by one holy tie,

Heaven's first star alike ye see-
Lift the heart and bend the knee!

FEMALE EDUCATION.

BY PROF. T. C. PORTER.

A PERFECT Woman nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command.
And yet a Spirit, still and bright
With something of an angel light.

THE age in which we live, is distinguished from all that have gone before it, by the general diffusion of knowledge. In the words of Holy Writ, it may be said, "Many run to and fro, and knowledge is increased." The treasures of learning and science are no longer exclusively locked up in dead languages, to master which years of patient toil are needed. Our noble English tongue has accumulated an immense amount of literary wealth of its own. Books, which, a century ago, were scarce and dear, through the increased activity of the printing-press, have become common and cheap. The means of intellectual culture are easy of access to all, and the poor man, who earns his bread by the sweat of his brow, may now, if he will, drink from the same fountains as his neighbor, the rich philosopher. The bond of universal brotherhood is more deeply felt and a generous disposition manifest, on all sides, to extend the boundaries of our civilization, and render it more complete, so that even woman, long fettered by chains of barbarous custom, is also invited to enter this glorious domain, and pluck for herself, with free hand, the golden fruits of high thought, and the many-hued blossoms of fancy. Each one of you, young ladies, can boast of many advantages, in this respect, which were beyond the reach of a Lady Jane Grey, or the accomplished Mary, Queen of Scots. Old prejudices vanish like the mists of morning. The dreaded name of "blue" is fast becoming obsolete. And if we do, now and then, in the journey of life, encounter an ignorant old Vandal, or a crabbed Cynic, who ventures to cry "nonsense" and growl out words of scorn, thinking it the height of wisdom and exaltation, to sneer at learned women, and deride the attainments of a boarding-school Miss, who would, if they had the power, drive her back to the broom and needle, or still further, and rejoice to see her reduced to the same level with the tawny companion of the wandering Ojibbeway, he seems almost as much out of place as some queer fossil monster, some Pterodactyl or Iguanodon of remote antiquity, were he to break loose from his rocky bed and stalk forth into the light of day. Indeed, he deserves to be pitied, for if we admire the act of "Leonidas, the father of the celebrated Origen, who was in the habit of reverentially stooping and kissing the breast of his sleeping infant son, as though he felt the

presence of the spirit that dwelt there, to be higher and greater than himself," how much more are we bound to do homage to the same spirit of humanity, when enshrined in beautiful forms! how much more should we rejoice to see that spirit developed, according to the laws of its own inward being, and become an ornament to society here, and a glory to heaven hereafter! To reverence humanity in all its various degrees, and in every stage of its development is at once the dictate of sound philosophy and of true religion.

But let us look further: "What is mankind, this genius man, what is it? An imperishable unit. It commenced at the beginning; it touches the middle and the end of time. It is a vast wave rolling down the tide of time, ever rolling, ever descending. Its spray and foam are lost in the sands, or melted in the air, as fragments of its mortality are broken off and swallowed up in the grave, but the unit continues unbroken; the wave rolls onward, onward forever; perdurable and shall not be swallowed up, till the last trump shall sound, till the last end be come." The idea of humanity lies neither in man, nor in woman, separately taken, but in both. The species is indissolubly one. Sunder them, and you have no longer man, but merely the wreck of man. The decree of the Almighty cannot be annulled. "In that day, in which He created them, He called their name, Adam," that is to say, Man. They are thus closely linked together, and the perfection of manhood is found only in the union of the two.

To dream of woman, therefore, as an inferior, does her infinite wrong. Let any people treat her as such, and they must sooner or later degenerate into barbarism. Can her rights be invaded and not the rights of all at the same time? Can she suffer and man not feel the pain? Can she be degraded from the lofty position which heaven designed her to fill, without that degradation touching the whole body of society? A simple glance at the miserable condition of the Oriental nations, who shut her like a captive bird, within the guarded precincts of the zenana or harem, is answer enough. The mighty power of our holy religion, in the first dawn of its strength, was not able fully to do away the evil effects, entailed on them, through a long course of generations, by the curse of her slavery. So too was it with Greece and Rome; till at length the standard of the cross, and the main current of history passed over to the tribes of Northern Europe, where, woman, from a period beyond memory, as may be seen in the writings of Tacitus, moved in an element of freedom and virtue. The genius of Christianity falling

in here with the spirit of the Teutonic races, the institutions of chivalry grew up in their midst, silently, like all great things in nature, and prepared the way for the triumphs of modern civilization. Without robbing our common faith of one single ray of glory, it may be safely affirmed that the degradation of the gentler sex is not universal beyond the limits of christendom. Even in our own time, travellers of undoubted veracity assure us that the warlike Rajpoots, who inhabit the mountain districts of Central India, the most cultivated and refined of all the Asiatic nations, among whom polygamy is unknown, regard woman with an admiration, bordering on idolatry, and equal in gallantry and devotion the Orolandos and Red Cross Knights, who figure so largely in the romantic literature of the middle ages. And yet to Christianity alone we owe every true conception of her real dignity. The teaching and example of our blessed Lord have not been lost on the world. He himself, the Son of God, was born of a Jewish Virgin, and numbered the three Marys among his chosen disciples, nor did he hesitate to unfold to them those transcendent mysteries of his kingdom, which baffled the wisdom of the Greek, and to understand which is the privilege of the rarest perception and the most vigorous grasp of intellect. It is clear then that the elevation of woman is the elevation of the race; that she is not inferior to man, but gifted with the same powers, intellectual and moral, and hence that all departments of knowledge should be laid under contribution to furnish means for training up these powers to their highest pitch of excellence.

Nor does this view in the least tend, as the careless observer might suppose, to destroy all the distinction between the sexes. There are wide differences, which, ordained of old, have their deep ground in the laws of nature and of God. Not to be inferior does not of necessity argue perfect sameness. The man cannot include in himself all the elements of complete manhood, so as to be able to stand independent of the woman, and the woman cannot add to her own feminine qualities those of the man, in order to occupy the solitary grandeur that station which belongs only to the two as they act together and react upon each other. Whenever woman, therefore, steps out of her peculiar sphere and usurps the rights and prerogatives of man, she does violence to her better nature, shocks the sense of the world, is shunned as a monster, and justly earns the title of amazon or virago, except under extraordinary circumstances, as in the case of that avenging angel, Joan of Arc. So, too, when man, forgetful of his high calling, sinks a helpless Sybarite, into the