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neck of his king. In his devotional retirement, he prayed with convulsions and groans and tears. He was half maddened by glorious or terrible illusions. He heard the lyres of angels or the tempting whispers of fiends. He caught a gleam of the Beatific Vision, or woke screaming from dreams of everlasting fire. Like Vane, he thought himself intrusted with the scepter of the millennial year. Like Fleetwood, he cried in the bitterness of his soul that God had hid his face from him.

6. But when he took his seat in the council, or girt on his sword for war, these tempestuous workings of the soul had left no perceptible trace behind them. People who saw nothing of the godly but their uncouth visages, and heard nothing from them but their groans and their whining hymns, might laugh at them. But those had little reason to laugh who encountered them in the hall of debate or in the field of battle. These fanatics brought to civil and military affairs a coolness of judgment and an immutability of purpose which some writers have thought inconsistent with their religious zeal, but which were in fact the necessary effects of it.

7. The intensity of their feelings on one subject made them tranquil on every other. One overpowering sentiment had subjected to itself pity and hatred, ambition and fear. Death had lost its terrors, and pleasure its charms. They had their smiles and their tears, their raptures and their sorrows, but not for the things of this world. Enthusiasm had made them stoics, had cleared their minds from every vulgar passion and prejudice, and raised them above the influence of danger and corruption. It sometimes might lead them to pursue unwise ends, but never to choose unwise means. They went through the world like Sir Artegale's iron man Talus with his fail, crushing and trampling down oppressors, mingling with human beings, but having neither part nor lot in human infirmities; insensible to fatigue, to pleasure, and to pain; not to be pierced by any weapon, not to be with stood by any barrier.

8. Such we believe to have been the character of the Puritans. We perceive the absurdity of their manners. We dislike the sullen gloom of their domestic habits. We acknowledge that the tone of their minds was often injured

by straining after things too high for mortal reach. And we know that, in spite of their hatred of Popery, they too often fell into the worst vices of that bad system, intolerance and extravagant austerity,—that they had their anchorites ani their crusades, their Dunstans and their De Montforts, their Dominics and their Escobars. Yet when all circumstances are taken into consideration, we do not hesitate to pronounce them a brave, a wise, an honest, and a useful body.

il! LXIX.-NEW ENGLAND'S DEAD.

il pred cep

ISAAC MCLELLAN.

1. New England's dead ! New England's dead !

On every hill they lie;
On every field of strife made red

By bloody victory.
Each valley, where the battle poured

Its red and awful tide,
Beheld the brave New England sword

With slaughter deeply dyed.
Their bones are on the northern hill,

And on the southern plain,
By brook and river, lake and rill,

And by the roaring main.

2. The land is holy where they fought,

And holy where they fell ;
For by their blood that land was bought,

The land they loved so well.
Then glory to that valiant band,
The honored saviors of the land !
Oh ! few and weak their numbers were, -

A handful of brave men ;
But to their God they gave their prayer,

And rushed to battle then.
The God of battles heard their cry,
And sent to them the victory.

3. They left the plowshare in the mold,

Their flocks and herds without a fold,
The sickle in the unshorn grain,
The corn half garnered, on the plain,
And mustered, in their simple dress,
For wrongs to seek a stern redress,
To right those wrongs, come weal, come woe,
To perish, or o'ercome their foe.

4. And where are ye, O fearless men ?

O, where are ye to-day ?
I call :—the hills reply again

That ye have passed away ;
That on old Bunker's lonely height,

In Trenton, and in Monmouth ground,
The grass grows green, the harvest bright,

Above each soldier's mound.

5. The bugle's wild and warlike blast

Shall muster them no more;
An army now might thunder past,

And they not heed its roar.
The starry flag, 'neath which they fought

In many a bloody day,
From their old graves shall rouse them not,
For they have passed away.

LXX.-RAINY DAYS.

A. H. QUINT. 1. It is a rainy day. Sometimes I used to enjoy rainy days at home, and sometimes I did not. They were pleasant when one had a heap of odds and ends of work, and a rainy day was so good a time to finish them up. Or, one wanted a clean day for some special object, and had it then, beginning as soon as breakfast was over hardly stopping for dinner, and not caring whether “the shades of night were falling . fast” or slow. But sometimes the rainy days seemed dismal;

by reason, doubtless, of a moderate fit of the indigoes, warranted not to fade; or, possibly, sometimes from some depressing influence of the air.

2. But, on the whole, I used to like rainy days; not merely for the opportunity for work, but because it was pleasant to make a real visit on one's family, which is rather a rare event. I could both work and have the visit. Some people have an exclusive and forbidden study. I could not. If I locked the door, little feet soon pattered up, and little hands tried the handle. Suppose I said, “ Busy now;" then I heard a good-natured, but self-satisfied and triumphant, voice, “ Papa, it's Me!” Who could resist that? Me always came in, and me and papa had the best time imaginable, to the detriment-no—the decided improvement, of writing ; and then me would sit down quietly to play, and not disturb papa.

3. Children improve sermons. Besides, there are two ways of thinking and writing. Some people think as the horse-cars journey from Jamaica Plain to Boston. From the stables to the office at Eliot street is the Introduction. At the office is “first.” They jog along to Hyde's Corner, and the conductor sings out that name, which means “secondly." At Roxbury is the stopping for “thirdly.” “Dover street" means “fourthly.” And from Boylston street, various halts let out the different parts of the “ Application,” and the office opposite the Tremont House is “ To conclude."

4. And all the way along you must keep on the iron ruts. Get off the track, and there is a terrible jolting over the rough pavement before you get on again. Indeed, on the track, every stoppage loses impetus ; and a stop at rising ground is sometimes terrible. That's a good way for those that like it. But I would rather take a seat with some of my people who have fleet horses, as I used to do. You can then start when you please ; you can stop of errands ; you can take the smoothed roads and dodge the pavements; you can see a little speed on Tremont Road; and your friend drops you at just such part of the city as you wish.

5. However, different people may have different ways, to advantage. And my way was to have few secluded study hours, but to let all hours be study; and to have the freshness of life illumining the cold rows of books—which books

are capital things for a little girl to make houses of. In as soon think of shutting sun and air out of my study as keeping out my wife and child.

6. There is a salutary warning in the case of that good minister whose grandchild was always driven from his study. “ Mother,” said she,“ will grandpa be in heaven?” “Why, certainly, my child.” “ Then it's no use for me to go: as soon as he sees me, he'll say, “What's that child here for ? Go right out of my study!'" I fully believe that that divine's accurate "scheme” would have the same resemblance to the real living doctrines of the gospel, as the dry, pressed, squared, and labeled roots and herbs in an apothecary-shop do, to the blooming, fragrant, lovely plants out of which they were manufactured.

LXXI.—THERE IS WORK FOR ALL.

ANONYMOUS.

1. There is work for all in this world of ours,

Ho! idle dreamers in sunny bowers !
Ho! giddy triflers with time and health!
Ho! covetous hoarders of golden wealth !
There is work for each, there is work for all,
In the peasant's cot, in the noble's hall;

2. There is work for the wise and eloquent tongue,

There is work for the old, there is work for the young ;
There is work that tasks manhood's strengthened zeal,
For his nation's welfare, his country's weal;
There is work that asks woman's gentle hand,
Her pitying eye, and her accents bland;
From the uttermost bounds of this earthly ball,
Is heard the loud cry, “There is work for all !”

3. Think on the waste of human life,

In the deadly scenes of the battle-strife ;
Gaze on the drunkard's wife and child,
List to his ravings, fierce and wild ;

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