sal head of Memnon, which was believed to speak at sunrise. He writes: "It emits sounds every morning at sunrise, which can be compared only to that of the breaking of the string of a lyre." Many of the fables of the ancients sprang, no doubt, from some mysterious sounds of nature, assisted by the imagination, moulding them into living things. In this way, perhaps, we may explain the classic fable of "the Sirens," two solitary maidens, who by their dulcet voices so enchanted the navigators who sailed by their rocks, that they forgot home and the purpose of their voyage, and died of starvation. Ulysses, instructed by his mother Circe, broke the spell, and the ladies threw themselves into the sea with vexation. There is no doubt but that many of the classic mysteries, admit of some such topographical explanation.

III.

How holy the place, as we gathered at night
Round the altar where peace ever dwelt,
To join in an anthem of praise, and unite
In thanks which our hearts truly felt.

In his sacred old seat, with his locks white as snow,
Sat the venerable form of my sire,

While my dear mother sung, as she rocked to and fro,

In the old easy chair by the fire.

IV.

The cottage is gone which my infancy knew,
And the place is despoiled of its charms;
My friends are all gathered beneath the old yew,
And slumber in death's folded arms;
But often, with rapture, my bosom doth glow,
As I think of my home and my sire,
And the dearest of mothers, who sung long ago,
In the old easy chair by the fire.

THE BLUSHING CHILD.

(From Gotthold's Emblems.) YOUNG girl was one day censured

nia, we hope Brother MILLER will take a walk to this "Singing Valley," and strike those musical stones, and after he has heard their sweet and mysterious melody, tell us something about the matter in the Home Journal.

T. S.

To the lovers of poetry and music, and mother memories, we give the following, from Dyer's Songs and Ballads. It may be sung to that universally admired tune, of

The Old Arm Chair.

THE OLD EASY CHAIR BY THE FIRE.

I.

THE days of my youth have all silently sped,

And my locks are now grown thin and gray; My hopes, like a dream in the morning, have fled, And nothing remains but deeay:

Yet I seem but a child, as I was long ago,
When I stood by the form of my sire,

And my dear mother sung, as she rocked to and fro,
In the old easy chair by the fire.

II.

O, she was my guardian and guide all the day,
And the angel who watched round my bed;
Her voice, in a murmur of prayer, died away,
For blessings to rest on my head.

Then I thought ne'er an angel that heaven could know,

Though trained in its own peerless choir,

Could sing like my mother, who rocked to and fro, In the old easy chair by the fire.

which she deeply blushed, burst into tears, and retired into a corner. Gotthold was present, and observed to the mother: "How beautiful your reproof has made your daughter. That crimson hue, and those silvery tears, become her better than any ornament of gold and pearls. These may be hung on the neck of a wanton, but those are never seen disconnected with moral purity. A full-blown rose, besprinkled with the purest dew, is not so beautiful as this child blushing beneath her parent's displeasure, and shedding tears of sorrow for her fault. A blush is the sign which nature hangs out to show where chastity and honor dwell.”

But, since my mother dwells above, It's brighter, far, up there.

I know they'll dig a place so deep,
Down where the willows wave,
And lay me sweetly there to sleep,
Close by my mother's grave.
But yonder, with the spirits blest,
Her radiant form I view:
O, let me on her bosom rest,
And be an angel too!

THE OPEN SMELLING-BOTTLE.

G

(Gotthold.)

OTTHOLD had, for some purpose, taken from a cupboard a vial of rosewater, and, after using it, had inconsiderately left it unstopped. Observing it some time after, he found that all the strength and sweetness of the perfume had evaporated. This, thought he within himself, is a striking emblem of a heart fond of the world, and open to the impressions of outward objects. How vain it is to take such a heart to the house of God, and fill it with the precious essence of the roses of Paradise, which are the truths of Scripture, or raise in it a glow of devotion, if we afterwards neglect to close the outlet; that is, to keep the Word in an honest and good heart! (Luke 8:15.) How vain to hear much, but to retain little, and practise less! How vain to excite in our hearts sacred and holy emotions, unless we are afterwards careful to close the outlet by diligent reflection and prayer, and so preserve it unspotted from the world. Neglect this, and the strength and spirit of devotion evaporates, and leaves only a lifeless froth behind.

Lord Jesus, enable me to keep thy word, like a lively cordial, in my heart. Quicken it there by thy Spirit and Grace. Seal it, also, in my soul, that it may preserve, forever, its freshness and its power!

revolutionary banners approaching his dominions, and waving at his very frontiers. Hastily he packed up his jewels and valuables, together with between two and three millions of thalers, and took them to the ancient city of Frankfort, hoping there to find means of placing his wealth and the jewels of his house in security.

Arrived at the city which had for centuries sent forth the rulers of the "holy Roman Empire," the fugitive Landgrave knocked at the door of an humble Jewish banker, Meyer Rothschild, richer in children than thalers, but withal a distinguished and experienced archæologist and numismatologist.

The sovereign, who himself was an expert in these sciences, paid much respect to the knowledge of the Jew banker, and had actually, a few years before, bestowed upon him the distinction of the title of "Medailleur to his Court."

"Meyer," he began, as he handed him his well-filled case, "I know you to be honest and conscientious. Here is all I possess; take it, and return it to me when this tempest shall have blown over, and when better days dawn upon us!"

"Such vast confidence does me great honor," replied the Hebrew, "but your Highness must not forget that the republican army is almost before our doors."

"We are in the hands of Providence," replied the Landgrave. "I ask you for no receipt."

The Prince re-entered his vehicle and hurried off, without listening to the renewed protestations of the man of business.

What Meyer Rothschild had anticipated, came to pass. Before a week was over, Frankfort was in the possession of the French troops, and the banker, who had been denounced as an anti-revolutionist, and an ally of the tyrants, found his domicile sacked, and his cash box plundered in the name of liberty and the people.

No sooner, however, had the victors left Frankfort, than Meyer Rothschild re-opened his banking house, finding, at first, credit among the Jews, and ultimately with all the business world, and soon was reputed richer than ever. In 1802 he was once

more considered as one of the most reliable

bankers in Germany.

About this time there came a short period of rest for the crowned heads of Germany. The Princes of the Rhenish Confederacy rested under the high and forced protection of Napoleon. Raised by the will of the great commander to the dignity of an Elector of the German Empire, the Landgrave of Hesse received permission to return to his dominions. On his way he passed through Frankfort. The journals had before informed him of the plundering of Rothschild's house, and he naturally believed his own wealth long since a prey to the Jacobins. Still he determined to visit his numismatic friend, if only to assure him of the continuance of his confidence.

"Good morrow, Meyer," said the Elector, with a frank and hearty shake of the hand. "At last we have peace, old friend, but it costs us dear enough. Before you stands a ruined man; as poor as Job." "What! you poor, your Highness ?"

แ Certainly, for have not those lawless sans culottes stolen my wealth along with yours? If I do not now too much inconve nience you, I should like to borrow a small advance upon the indemnity which I receive in Hesse Cassel."

"An advance is not needed for your Highness, for all that you confided to my care is safe and untouched."

"What!" exclaimed the Prince, "and were you not plundered, then ?"

"The French have taken everything I had, and I was very careful not to excite them by resistance; otherwise they would have searched more thoroughly, and might have found your diamonds and money where they were hidden in the cellar.

"Yes, my surrender was a stratagem. They never found what I had hidden. For the last nine years, in order to indemnify myself for the moneys I had lost, I have taken the liberty of using some of yours. All my enterprises have proved successful, and without embarrassing myself in the least, I can now return you the entire sum with five per cent. interest."

The Prince was deeply moved.

honorable Jew I ever heard of. Keep my money, and continue to operate with it. From to-day for two years I want no return of it, and only two per cent. interest."

And thus Rothschild became a millionaire.

MEMORIES OF BETHANY, by the author of "Words of Jesus," &c. This is a book for the Home Circle. Those who have read this author's little book-"The Words of Jesus,"-need not be told how precious this work will be to the household in times of domestic trial and bereavement. It is dedicated to Mourners in Zion, with whom Bethany has ever been a consecrated name.

T. S.

THE EVENING ANGEL.
HE snowy day was sinking down
To gloomy eve without a star,
And winds wild-moaning from the sea,
Crept inward o'er the harbor bar.
Half dreaming, by the twilight fire,
Of vanished loves and snow-piled graves,
I sang a weird-like song that stole
O'er all the waste of memory's waves.
The curtains o'er the windows fell;

The clock ticked softly on the wall;
The firelight gleamed: but in my heart
What drifting snows enveloped all!
Now deeper grew the shadows' play;

The wind blew wilder from the sea;
When a warm hand was laid in mine,
And lo! an Angel sat with me!

A murmuring music filled the room;
The air grew sweet with spring-time flowers;
The clock ticked softer on the wall

As loath to count such heavenly hours.
No word the Angel spoke, but love
So tender-true was in his smile,
And on his brow such perfect peace,

That I, who sighed and wept erewhile,
Grew calm and strong beneath his glance;
It was no atmosphere for tears;
And heaven unfolding to my view,
Illumined all my darksome fears.

I did not breathe a single prayer;
I did not ask for love or joy;
But all my quiet heart was full

Of faith and trust without alloy.

**

Now sank the snowy evening down

To midnight gloom without a star, And winds, wild-moaning from the sea, Crept inward o'er the harbor bar. But neither snow nor wailing wind Could shade my heart's celestial morn; The Angel's holy peace was mineThe starlight from the storm was born?

HOW TO CONQUER AN ENEMY.

WE

E have heard an interesting story of a little girl in New Hampshire. We will call her Mary, because-as the minister, from whom we received the incident, said that is "a beautiful name;" and he sometimes almost wished all little girls were called Mary.

Mary went to school in company with another pleasant girl of her own age. On their way to school, they frequently met a girl from a poor family, who used to insult them. She would kick them, push them down, and throw snow-balls into their faces.

There seemed to be no reason for this treatment, except that this poor girl was ugly, and appeared to find delight in tormenting others—even though they had never done her any harm.

This unkind treatment these little girls bore as long as they could. At length Mary felt that she could bear it no longer, and told her mother all about it. Her mother was very sorry to hear of any child that would be so wicked as to insult and injure other children, when they are going quietly to school. After thinking of the matter awhile, she told Mary how she thought she could conquer that bad girl, and make her kind and friendly.

"How, mother?" inquired Mary, anxiously.

"You go to the cellar and pick out the largest apple you can find. Get a red one if you can. And the next time that girl tries to injure you, give her the apple."

The countenance of Mary, in a moment, was the most perfect picture of unbelief and scorn. Oh, how could she do such a thing as to give an apple to such a wicked girl, who had so many times abused her? But after a few more soft words from her mother, Mary went for the apple. She carried it three days in her pocket, before she met that girl again. The next day, as she and her friend were on their way school, they met her. No sooner did she see these girls than she seized a great piece of hard snow, and ran and threw it directly into Mary's face. Just as soon as the poor child could recover from the shock, her face

all smarting as it was with pain, she stepped up to the wicked girl and held out to her the beautiful rosy-cheeked apple, at the same time saying,

"You may have this."

The girl instantly shrunk back in astonishment. Mary approached her again, and with a very mild voice, said, "I will give you this apple."

The girl took the apple and immediately

said,

"I won't throw no more snow-balls to you-nor to that other girl neither."

Now, was not this a noble victory? It was a true Bible victory-it was conquering by love-returning good for evil. It was, indeed a double conquest. Mary not only conquered the little girl who had been acting as an enemy; but she had conquered herself. She, at first, wanted something done to punish that wicked girl. But she gained such a victory over her desire to be revenged, that she met her with a gift of love. And such a course, the minister thought, in relating the story, would always result in a similar conquest.—Oberlin Evangelist.

HOME MUSIC.

ICHARD STORRS WILLIS recently delivered a lecture on music, in which he dwelt with much effect upon the advantages of teaching vocal music in common schools. He said, that parents who had their children learn to sing, and who had them practise at home in the evening, exercised a greater influence over their feelings and affections than by almost any other means. He recommended vocal rather than instrumental music; yet if a child has a talent and taste for an instrument, he should learn to play upon it. He thought the melodeon an excellent instrument for a family. The piano, he believed, is cultivated too exclusively; the harp and guitar he preferred for home music. We recently heard a distinguished preacher say, that good singing is about as strong a shield against the temptations of the devil as a man can

use.

LIFE consists not in mere existence, but in the well-spending of our time.

LUTHERAN OBSERVER AND THE MISSIONARY INSTITUTE. Of the scheme for establishing a Missionary Institute, in the abstract, we are prepared to speak in unqualified commendation. There is we think an obvious, imperative necessity for something of the kind. Scores of men, whose talents and piety would otherwise be comparatively lost to the Church, might, through the instrumentality of such an institution, be brought out into the active duties of the ministry. But we do not intend to discuss the expediency of the enterprise. We refer to it, simply to express our feelings in relation to one point, suggested by the editor of the Observer. Dr. Kurtz, in stating the nature and design of the Institute, says: "We shall aim at training faithful ministers, who will preach the Gospel, not read it. On this point we intend to be inexorable, as we think that a man who cannot be taught to preach a sermon without reading it, had better turn his attention to some other calling."

A

Now this is rather more than we can bear, even from the Doctor, whose learning, piety, usefulness, and age, inspire us with reverence, and whose personal friendliness and social amenities have won our sympathy and affec tion. The Doctor, who is so instinctively repugnant to all human standards in faith and practice, ought not to be so intolerant to all who may differ from him-on a point which certainly is not clearly defined in the word of God. The best method of presenting the great truths of the Gospel, is a question upon which the wisest and best men differ. question, which the ablest writers on homiletics have left to be determined by the idiosyncrasy of the minister, and the peculiarities of his position. As the great Head of the Church has not defined the method of preaching the Gospel, it savors too much of dogmatism and exclusiveness, to say, that every minister who reads his sermon ought to relinquish the ministry. We presume the Doctor would hardly venture his reputation as a Biblical exegete, by affirming that the words employed in the original commission to preach the Gospel, necessarily involve the idea of extemporaneous delivery, and preclude by necessity all written and read communication of the truth. It is therefore a debatable question. We should not fear a comparison of the practical results of the two methods. There are facts on both sides of the question. The sermon, which some years ago, in New England, was instrumental in the greatest number of conversions, of any one discourse, since the day of Pentecost, was READ by President Edwards.

We confess that preaching without the manuscript, is according to our own ideal of preaching, and if we could preach as the Doctor can, without notes, we would never read another sermon. But there is diversity of gifts; and we hardly think it charitable, that we should be thrust from the pulpit, be. cause we cannot preach according to the Doctor's standard of power and eloquence. We forbear further discussion of the matter now. We speak in all kindness and charity, when we say, that we are pained at these repeated attacks upon the class of ministers to which we belong. They impair our usefulness among the people. And we believe, that if the principle assumed by the Doctor be made a prominent feature in the proposed Institute, it will alienate many from his cherished and otherwise commendable object, who would love to co-operate with him most heartily in the work.

LUTHERANISM IN AMERICA.

T. S.

An Essay on

the Present Condition of the Lutheran Church in the United States. By W. J. MANN, D. D., Pastor of the Evangelical Lutheran St. Michael's and Zion's congregation in Philadelphia.

This work is just issued, and reached us too late for anything more than this announcement of its publication. It is, as indicated in the Preface, a "portraiture of the Lutheran Church in America, as it exists at the present time."

Although we have not had time to read the book, we feel authorized, from our personal and somewhat intimate acquaintance with Brother Mann, to recommend the work to all who desire a comprehensive, as well as an accurate and impartial view of the subject discussed. He has all the requisites of mind and heart, learning and generous sympathy with the Church, to qualify him in a pre-eminent degree for the work. We feel justified by a priori reasoning, to indorse the book from what we know of the man. He is learned without ostentation, churchly without intolerant bigotry, with a heart that clings to his Church, as a child to its mother, and yet glows with a generous and catholic sympathy for all who love the Lord Jesus in sincerity and truth. As Carlyle says of Luther, he is one of your most loveable men. We shall speak of the work itself, in the next number of the Home Journal.

T. S.

The above was written for the last Journal, but omitted for want of room. We have in the meantime read the book, and can truly