Years passed on, and saw them thriving in worldly substance, beyond their neighbours, yet beloved by all. From them the lawyer and the constable obtained no fees. The sheriff stammered and apologized, when he took their hard earned goods in payment for the war-tax. They mildly replied, 'Tis a bad trade friend. Examine it in the light of conscience and see if it be not so.' But while they refused to pay such fees and taxes, they were liberal to a proverb in their contributions for all useful and benevolent purposes. before, had gone out to settle in the western wilder- | overcome with good, till not one was found to do ness. They were mostly neighbors; and had been them wilful injury. drawn to unite together in emigration from a general unity of opinion on various subjects. For some years previous, they had been in the habit of meeting occasionally at each other's houses, to talk over their duties to God and man, in all simplicity of heart. Their library was the gospel, their priesthood the inward light. There were then no antislavery societies; but thus taught, and reverently willing to learn, they had no need of such agency, to discover that it was wicked to enslave. The efforts of peace societies had reached this secluded band only in broken echoes, and non-resistance societies had no existence. But with the volume of the Prince of Peace, and hearts open to His influence, what need had they of preambles and resolutions? Rich in spiritual culture, this little band started for the far West. Their inward homes were blooming gardens; they made their outward in a wilderness. They were industrious and frugal, and all things prospered under their hands. But soon wolves came near the fold, in the shape of reckless, unprincipled adventurers; believers in force and cunning, who acted according to their creed. The colony of practical Christians spoke of their depredations in terms of gentlest remonstrance, and repaid them with unvarying kindness. They went farther-they openly announced, You may do us what evil you choose, we will return nothing but good.' Lawyers came into the neighborhood and offered their services to settle disputes. They answered, We have no need of you. As neighbors, we receive you in the most friendly spirit; but for us, your occupation has ceased to exist.' What will you do, if rascals burn your barns, and steal your harvests?' We will return good for evil. We believe this is the highest truth, and therefore the best expediency.' 6 At the end of ten years, the public lands, which they had chosen for their farms, were advertised for sale by auction. According to custom, those who had settled and cultivated the soil, were considered to have a right to bid it in at the government price; which at that time was $1.25 per acre. But the fever of land-speculation then chanced to run unusually high. Adventurers from all parts of the country were flocking to the auction; capitalists in Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York and Boston, were sending agents to buy up western lands. No one supposed that custom, or equity, would be regarded. The first day's sale showed that speculation ran to the verge of insanity. Land was eagerly bought in at seventeen, twenty-five and thirty dollars an acre. The Christian colony had small hope of retaining their farms. As first settlers, they had chosen the best land; and persevering industry had brought it into the highest cultivation. Its market value was much greater than the acres already sold at exorbitant prices. In view of those facts, they had prepared their minds for another remove into the wildernees, perhaps to be again ejected by a similar proBut the morning their lot was offered for sale, they observed, with grateful surprise, that their neighbours were everywhere busy among the crowd, begging and expostulating :- Don't bid on these lands! These men have been working hard on them for ten years. During all that time they never did harm to man or brute. They are always ready to do good for evil. They are a blessing to any neigh cess. When the rascals heard this, they considered it a marvellous good joke, and said and did many provoking things, which to them seemed witty. Bars were taken down in the night and cows let into the cornfields. The Christians repaired the damages as well as they could, put the cows in the barn, and at twilight drove them gently home, saying, Neighbourhood. It would be a sin and a shame to bid on bour, your cows have been in my field. I have fed them well during the day, but I would not keep them all night, lest the children should suffer for their milk.' If this was fun, they who planned the joke found no heart to laugh at it. By degrees a visible change came over these troublesome neighbors. They ceased to cut off horses' tails, and break the legs of poultry. Rude boys would say to a younger brother, . Don't throw that stone Bill! When I killed the chicken last week, didn't they send it to mother, because they thought chicken-broth would be good for poor Mary? I should think you would be ashamed to throw stones at their chickens.' Thus was evil their lands. Let them go at the government price. The sale come on; the cultivators of the soil offered $1.25, intending to bid higher if necessary. But among all that crowd of selfish, reckless speculators, not one bid over them! Without an opposing voice, the fair acres returned to them! I do not know a more remarkable instance of evil overcome with good. The wisest political economy lies folded up in the maxims of Christ. With delighted reverence, I listened to this unlettered backwoodsman, as he explained his philosophy of universal love. What would you do,' said I, 'if an idle, thieving vagabond came among you, resolved to stay, but determined not to work?' 'We him. would give him food when hungry, shelter him [erful and thrilling appeal to his countrymen, when when cold, and always treat him as a brother.' they were on the eve of welcoming back the ty Would not this process attract such characters? ranny and misrule which at the expense of so much How would you avoid being overrun by them?' blood and treasure had been thrown off, can ever Such characters would either reform or not remain forget it? How nobly does liberty speak through with us. We should never speak an angry word, or If," said he, "ye welcome back a monarrefuse to minister to their necessities; but we should chy, it will be the triumph of all tyrants hereafter, invariably regard them with the deepest sadness, as over any people who shall resist oppression, and their we would a guilty, but beloved son. This is harder song shall then be to others, How sped the rebelfor the human soul to bear, than whips or prisons. lious English,' but to our posterity, How sped the They could not stand it; I am sure they could not. rebels, your fathers.'" How solemnly awful is his It would either melt them, or drive them away. In closing paragraph: "What I have spoken, is the nine cases out of ten, I believe it would melt language of that which is not called amiss, The them.' good old cause.' If it seem strange to any, it will not seem more strange I hope, than convincing, to backsliders. This much I should have said, though I were sure I should have spoken only to trees and I felt rebuked for my want of faith, and conse. quent shallowness of insight. That hard-handed labourer brought greater riches to my soul than an Eastern merchant laden with pearls. Again I re-stones; and had none to cry to but with the prophet, peat, money is not wealth.-Letters from New York. O earth, earth, earth! to tell the very soil itself what its perverse inhabitants are deaf to; nay, though what I have spoken should prove (which Thou suffer not, who didst create mankind free! nor BLIND OLD MILTON. BY WILLIAM E. AYTOUN. The following beautiful poem is from the December number of Blackwood's Magazine It is a noble pic-Thou next, who didst redeem us from being servants ture of that sublime old man, who, sick, poor, blind, of men!) to be the last words of our expiring liberand abandoned of friends, still held fast his heroic ty." It was the consciousness of having done all in his integrity, rebuking with his unbending republican- power to save his countrymen from the guilt and ism the treachery, and cowardice, and servility of his folly into which they had madly plunged, the answer old associates. He had outlived the hopes and bea- of a good conscience, which sustained him in his old tific visions of his youth; he had seen the loud-age and destitution.-Joshua Leavitt. mouthed advocates of liberty throwing down a nation's freedom at the feet of the shameless, debauched, and unprincipled Charles the Second, crouching to the harlot-thronged court of the tyrant, and forswearing at once their religion and their republicanism. The executioner's axe had been busy among his friends. Cromwell's ashes had been dragged from their resting place, for even in death the effeminate tyrant hated and feared the conqueror of Naseby and Marston Moor. Vane and Hamp. den slept in their bloody graves. He was left alone in age, and penury, and blindness; oppressed with the knowledge that all his pure heart and free soul abhorred, had returned upon his beloved country. Yet the spirit of the stern, old republican remained to the last unbroken, realizing the truth of the language of his own Samson Agonistes. -" Patience is the exercise Of saints, the trial of their fortitude, That tyranny or fortune can inflict." Place me, once more, my daughter, where the sun And soon amidst the ever-silent dead I must repose, it may be, half forgot. Yes! I have broke the hard and bitter bread My heart the sternest consciousness of right, Which made me what I am; and though the stain More honor by it than the blinded train True, the overwhelming curse had gone over his country. Harlotry and atheism sat in the high places, and the caresses of wantons and the jest of buffoons regulated the measures of the government, which had just ability enough to deceive, just religion enough to persecute." But while Milton mourn-Borne up and wafted by the gentle wind; ed over this disastrous change, no self-reproach mingled with his sorrow. To the last he had striven against the oppressor. Who, that has read his pow I feel the odors that perfume the air, Within my heart I picture them, and then I almost can forget that I am blind, And old, and hated by my fellow men. Fain would I see thy countenance, my child, I hear thy voice so musical and mild, And wait the hour which is approaching fast, Even as the saint in his Apocalypse Sat He who fashioned glory. This hath driven To find the straight and narrow path to heaven. Yet I am weak-O, how entirely weak, For one who may not love or suffer more! Which made the beautiful Italian shore Do the sweet breezes from the balmy West And Philomel her plaintiff chant prolong, Despite of years, and wo, and want, and pain, To wander with thee, hand in hand, again, Love's burning secret faltered on my tongue, And tremulous looks and broken words betrayed The secret of the heart from whence they sprung. Ah me! the earth that rendered thee to heaven Gave up an angel beautiful and young; Spotless and pure as snow when freshly driven; A bright Aurora for the starry sphere Where all is love, and even life forgiven. Bride of immortal beauty-ever dear! While I, Tithonus-like, must linger here, I, that was fancy's lord, am fancy's slave- Retains within its mystic urn the hum Heard in the sea-grots, where the Nereids dwellOld thoughts that haunt me, unawares they come Between me and my rest, nor can I make Those aged visitors of sorrow dumb. O, yet awhile, my feeble soul awake! They lie with blighted love and buried wo. I did not waste the gifts which nature gave, For constant was my faith in manhood's dower; Man-made in God's own image—and I felt How of our own accord we courted shame, Until to idols like ourselves we knelt, And so renounced the great and glorious claim Of freedom, our immortal heritage. I saw how bigotry, with spiteful aim, Smote at the searching eyesight of the sage, How Error stole behind the steps of Truth, And cast delusion on the sacred page. So, as a champion, even in early youth I waged my battle with a purpose keen; And trace the ramparts of Heaven's citadel On the cold flag-stones of his dungeon drear. And I have walked with Hampden and with Vane, Names once so gracious to an English ear In days that never may return again. My voice, though not the loudest, hath been heard Whenever freedom raised her cry of pain, And the faint effort of the humble bard Hath roused up thousands from their lethargy, To speak in words of thunder. What reward Was mine or theirs? It matters not; for I Am but a leaf cast on the whirling tide, Without a hope or wish, except to die. But truth, asserted once, must still abide, Unquenchable, as are those fiery springs Which day and night gush from the mountain side, Perpetual meteors, girt with lambent wings, Which the wild tempest tosses to and fro, But cannot conquer with the force it brings. Yet I, who ever felt another's wo More keenly than my own untold distress; I, who have battled with the common foe, And broke for years the bread of bitterness; Who never yet abandoned or betrayed The trust vouchsafed me, nor have ceased to bless, Am left alone to wither in the shade, A weak old man, deserted by his kindWhom none will comfort in his age, nor aid! O, let me not repine! A quiet mind, Conscious and upright, needs no other stay; Nor can I grieve for what I leave behind, In the rich promise of eternal day. Henceforth to me the world is dead and gone, Its thorns unfelt, its roses cast away, And the old pilgrim, weary and alone, Bowed down with travel, at his Master's gate Now sits, his task of life-long labor done, Thankful for rest, although it comes so late, After sore journey through this world of sin, In hope and prayer, and wistfulness to wait, Until the door shall ope and let him in. FOOT-PRINTS OF ANGEL S. BY HENRY W. LONGFELEOW. It was Sunday morning; and the church bells bells were ringing together. From all the neighbouring villages came the solemn, joyful sounds, floating through the sunny air, mellow and faint and low, all mingling into one harmonious chime, like the sound of some distant organ in heaven. Anon they ceased; and the woods, and the clouds, and the whole village, and the very air itself seemed to pray, so silent was it everywhere. The venerable old men, -high priests and patriarchs were they in the land, went up the pulpit -- stairs, as Moses and Aaron went up Mount Hor, in the sight of all the congregation, for the pulpit stairs were in front and very high. Paul Femming will never forget the sermon he heard that day, no, not even if he should live to be as old as he who preached it. The text was, I know that my Redeemer liveth.' It was meant to console the pious, poor widow, who sat right before him at the foot of the pulpit stairs, all in black, and her heart breaking. He said nothing of the terrors of death, nor of the gloom of the narrow house, but, looking beyond these things, as mere circumstances to which the imagination mainly gives importance, he told his hearers of the innocence of childhood upon earth, and the holiness of childhood in heaven, and how the beautiful Lord Jesus was once a little child, and now in heaven the spirits of little children walked with him, and gathered flowers in the fields of Paradise. Good old man! In behalf of humanity, I thank thee for these benignant words! And, still more than I, the bereaved mother thanked thee, and from that hour, though she wept in secret for her child, yet. "She knew he was with Jesus, And she asked him not again." After the sermon, Paul Flemming walked forth alone into the churchyard. There was no one there, save a little boy, who was fishing with a pin hook in a grave half full of water. But a few moments afterward, through the arched gateway under the belfry, came a funeral procession. At its head walked a priest in white surplice, chanting. Peasants, old and young, followed him, with burning tapers in their hands. A young girl carried in her arms a dead child, wrapped in its little winding sheet. The grave was close under the wall, by the church door. A vase of holy water stood beside it. The sexton took the child from the girl's arms, and put it into a coffin; and, as he placed it in the grave, the girl held over it a cross, wreathed with roses, and the priest and peasants sang a funeral hymn. When this was over, the priest sprinkled the grave and the crowd with holy water; And then they all went into the church, each one stopping as he passed the grave to throw a handful of earth into it, and sprinkle it with holy water. A few moments afterwards, the voice of the priest was heard saying mass in the church, and Flemming saw the toothless old sexton treading the fresh earth into the grave of the little child, with his clouted shoes. He approached him, and asked the age of the deceased. The sexton leaned a moment on his spade, and shrugging his shoulders replied; Only an hour or two. It was born in the night, and died early this morning?' เ A brief existence,' said Flemming. . The child seems to have been born only to be buried, and have its name recorded on a wooden tombstone.' The sexton went on with his work and made no reply. Flemming still lingered among the graves, gazing with wonder at the strange devices, by which man has rendered death horrible and the grave loath some. back again. Wisely improve the Present. It is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy Future, without fear, and with a manly heart.' It seemed to him, as if the unknown tenant of that grave had opened his lips of dust, and spoken to him the words of consolation, which his soul needed, and which no friend had yet spoken. In a moment the anguish of his thoughts was still. The stone was rolled away from the door of his heart; death was no longer there, but an angel clothed in white. He stood up, and his eyes were no more bleared with tears; and, looking into the bright, morning heaven, he said : I will be strong!' In the Temple of Juno at Elis, Sleep and his twin-brother Death were represented as children reposing in the arms of Night. On various funeral monuments of the ancients the Genius of Death is sculptured as a beautiful youth, leaning on an inverted torch, in the attitude of repose, his wings folded and his feet crossed. In such peaceful and attractive forms, did the imagination of ancient poets and sculptors represent death. And these were men in whose souls the religion of Nature was like the light of stars, beautiful, but faint and cold!-longings to behold once more the faces of their deStrange, that in later days, this angel of God, which leads us with a gentle hand into the Land of the great departed, into the silent Land,' should have been transformed into a monstrous and terrific thing! Such is the spectral rider on the white horse-such the ghastly skeleton with scythe and hour glass — the Reaper, whose name is Death! Men sometimes go down into tombs, with painful parted friends; and as they gaze upon them, lying there so peacefully with the semblance that they wore on earth, the sweet breath of heaven touches them, and the features crumble and fall together, and are but dust. So did his soul then descend for the last time into the great tomb of the Past, with pain. ful longings to behold once more the dear faces of those he had loved; and the sweet breath of heaven touched them, and they would not stay, but crumbled away and perished as he gazed. They, too, were dust. And thus, far-sounding, he heard the great gate of the Past shut behind him as the Divine Poet did the gate of Paradise, when the angel pointed him the way up the Holy Mountain; and to him likewise was it forbidden to look back. One of the most popular themes of poetry and painting in the Middle ages, and continuing down even into modern times, was the Dance of Death. In almost all languages is it written,-the apparition of the grim spectre, putting a sudden stop to all business, and leading men away into the remarkable retirement' of the grave. It is written in an ancient Spanish Poem, and painted on a wooden bridge in Switzerland. The designs of Holbein are well known. The most striking among them is that, where, from a group of children sitting round a cottage hearth, Death has taken one by the hand, and is leading it out of the door. Quietly and unresisting goes the little child, and in its countenance no grief, but wonder only; while the other children are weeping and stretching forth their hands in vain to-are instantaneous, and apparently without sufficient wards their departing brother. A beautiful design it is, in all save the skeleton. An angel had been better, with folded wings, and torch inverted! In the life of every man, there are sudden transitions of feeling, which seem almost miraculous. At once as if some magician had touched the heavens and the earth, the dark clouds melt into the air, the wind falls, and serenity succeeds the storm. The causes which produce these sudden changes may have been long at work within us, but the changes themselves cause. It was so with Flemming; and from that hour forth he resolved, that he would no longer veer with every shifting wind of circumstance; no longer be a child's plaything in the hands of Fate, which we ourselves do make or mar. He resolved hence forward not to lean on others; but to walk self-con years in vain regrets, nor wait the fulfillment of boundless hopes and indiscreet desires; but to live in the Present wisely, alike forgetful of the past, and careless of what the mysterious Future might bring. And from that moment he was calm, and And now the sun was growing high and warm. A little chapel, whose door stood open, seemed to invite Flemming to enter and enjoy the grateful cool-fident and self-possessed; no longer to waste his ness. He went in. There was no one there. The walls were covered with paintings and sculpture of the rudest kind, and with a few funeral tablets. There was nothing there to move the heart to devotion but in that hour the heart of Flemming was weak, weak as a child's. He bowed his stubborn strong; he was reconciled with himself! His knees, and wept. And oh! how many disappointed hopes, how many bitter recollections, how much of wounded pride, and unrequited love, were in those him. tears, through which he read on a marble tablet in Thither I will turn my wandering foostetps,' said the chapel wall opposite, this singular inscrip- he; and be a man among men, and no longer a dreamer among shadows. Henceforth be mine a life 'Look not mournfully into the Past. It comes not of action and reality! I will work in my own tion : thoughts turned to his distant home beyond the sea. An indescribable, sweet feeling rose within |