with the misanthropic croakings of those who deny to the present a character as high, a morality as elevating, a philanthropy as expansive, as any with which they falsely cincture the ages of the past. We do not believe that the "Morning Star" which first arose over the mountain-heights of Judea, and shone down on the shepherds who kept their night-watches on her pasture-plains, has poured its serene and seraph radiance along the darkness of many intervening ages, and found its way into so many human hearts, without causing them to bring forth fruit for the Heaven harvest. We do not believe that the song which rolled from the archangels' harps, and pealed over the hills of jasper, and floated down through the chain-work of the night stars, "Peace on earth, and good will to men," has, for nearly two decades of centuries, been filling the earth with the low sweet voice of its melody, to encounter constantly increasing discord.

The cross was not planted upon the summit of Mount Calvary for this. The mighty work of man's moral redemption, that work which has no parallel in the height of the heaven above us, or in the depth of the waters beneath us, was not consummated to bring forth no more of glory to the kingdom of God! We believe that in this "noon of the nineteenth century," with the still small voice of the Bible breathing its royal law of human love and brotherhood into the counsels of the nations, and whispering around the hearth-stones of innumerable homes its precepts and its promises, there is more of truth to combat with error, more of righteousness to encounter and overcome evil, than any age which the hand of history traces upon the broad parchment of the past has ever witnessed, and that the watchers on the heaven heights behold more of the white tents of peace pitched along the pilgrim marches of life, than the world has ever before furnished to their gaze.

But this does not render us ready to receive all

which bears the semblance of religion as such-nay more, we believe there is a fearful amount of sentimental piety in the world which is not the religion of Jesus. The child of genius braids its golden threads. into the woof which his spirit fingers are weaving, and mistakes that sublime earnestness of emotion, which is the heritage only of the gifted, for the voice of God in his soul; and so it is, but not the Voice which said to the woman who washed the feet of her Saviour with the tears of repentance, "Thy sins are forgiven thee!"

The gentle and the refined, they whose chords are strung in unison with the mysterious melodies of nature, and whose souls quicken with sympathy to that mighty under chorus of misery which is for ever wailing out from the great bleeding heart of humanity, and whose aspirations ascend with the incense of veneration, and, it may seem, mingle with somewhat of affection for the Great Father, are most readily deceived by the specious character of their emotions, most easily lured into the danger of mistaking these feelings and regarding them as proofs of that piety which is by nature extraneous to every heart, and fruits of that love whose fountain cannot be unsealed in the soul until repentance through Christ Jesus shall have softened the heart-soil for the seed of the husbandman; after which its deserts shall blossom as the rose, and the waters fill their channels as the rivers do the ocean.

God is our Father, and the earth our mother, and we their children inherit the attributes of both. Some may bear more of the Father's image than others, but the seal of our mother earth is upon all our spirit foreheads, and the evil tree, whose seed is of her sowing, and whose ramifications run parallel with the finest fibres of our spiritual being, rises within, and throws its darkling shadow over every heart.

We sit within the temple of the Lord of Hosts, and

a sublime awe creeps over our spirits as we contemplate its solemn vastness, while the sunshine flits like the fringe of a spirit's robe along the frescoed ceiling, or wanders like the pale caressing fingers of a seraph over the gilded edges of our prayer books, and the voice of the organ peals out upon the Sabbath hush, and fills the sanctuary like an outgushing strain from the choir of the angels, and the heart will kindle with emotions which seem all too pure and sacred for this world, and which are, unquestionably, a proof of that higher and nobler being for which God hath created, and breathed upon the soul the breath of his own great life; the soft sweet tears may flood the eyes, and perchance a word of prayer or praise may quiver on the lip, and alas! alas! how often is this all the trust, all the religion of the gentle, the refined, and the lovely!

And so, in the quiet summer night-time, when we look up to the brilliant chain-work which the stars have wreathed over the night skies, and the silver cloud-folds lie along the edges of the horizon like white truce flags hung out by the angels to the earth armies, and the low spirit melodies of the breeze fed with the life of the far-off hills come to our ears, our hearts will quicken with varied emotions, and gratitude to the Giver of all good, and somewhat of childtrustfulness in the love whose autograph we read in the brightness of the skies and the beauty of the earth, may seem to have a portion in the feelings of our hearts.

But, reader of ours, do such passing emotions fit you for the great earnest struggle of life? Will such transitory feeling furnish you with armour for the lifelong battle, and strength in the hour of its fierce temptations, and wisdom to steer amid the "shoals and quicksands of probation," right steadily onward in the narrow line of duty, your prow caught in the vortex of no, maelstrom, your barque turned never

aside by the promise of more peaceful waters? Will you find light serene, certain, to which you can always turn; and staffs secure, unfailing, upon which you can always lean, during the long wearisome details of your daily life, that sternest ordeal which human nature is called to encounter in these evanescent emotions?

Will they give you that grace which forgiveth the bitter wrong, and turneth away wrath with the soft answer, and, true to its great watchword " Duty," girds itself anew with every rising sun for the race, with its eyes fixed on the crown which shineth at its close ?

Two natures, the good and the evil, are continually striving for mastery in the heart of the Christian; and oh, believe us, dear reader, believe us, the life of such an one must be a continual warfare, and that religion will be little worth ye, which is the companion only of hours of peace and prosperity.

Not when your barque is lying at her pleasant moorings, and sunshine gilding the far heights of the future, and the Hand of the Great Father meting out many blessings for your portion, will you, reader, most feel the need of that religion which the world wotteth not of; but when the dark hours which are the inalienable heritage of the children of men gather over your skies, when the cup of bitterness is at your lips, and the storm howling about you, and the waters going over your head, you will want a hope that cannot fail you, a staff that cannot break, a faith that will shine on brighter and brighter through the deepening of the darkness.

And oh! in that last sublimest hour of your life, whose shadows are stretching with every setting sun longer and broader upon your pathway, you will want what no summer night emotion, no lightly falling tear, or half-whispered prayer, will ever give you. When the death-darkness is dimming your eye, and your heart is beating the last note of its life-long funeral

march to the grave, when the dark valley of the shadow of death is opening its portals to your spirit, when your feet are passing into the cold Jordan surges, you will need the strength of the Lord of Hosts, you will need the voice of the "King of kings" to tread the billows and to guide you through the valley.

Oh! child of genius, and ye, gentlest and loveliest among the children of this world, we beseech you be not deceived in this matter: there "is but one Name given under heaven whereby man can be saved," but one path leading to the "gates" where the warden angels hold their everlasting watches-it is the strait and

narrow one!

If ye would sit down under the eaves of the many mansions which throw the shadow of their shining portals on the far-stretching waters of the "river of life;" if ye would wear the crown whose lustre the fingers of many ages shall not dampen; if ye would look upon more of glory, and enjoy more of happiness, than it hath entered into "the heart of man to dream of;" remember that ye must take the religion of Him who is the "Life, the Truth, and the Way," to be your portion for ever, and for ever.

VIRGINIA.

COUSIN EDITH.

BY ALICE

HAWTHORNE.

Chapter I.-What Twenty Young Ladies did.

MINNIE SUTHERLAND was busily engaged in sorting and arranging some beautiful flowers which were scattered in rich profusion around her. She had already filled two or three vases, and as she stood admiring their effect, she said to her cousin, "Don't they look lovely, Edith ?"

"Yes," answered Edith, as she turned from the table, with some reels of cotton in one hand, and a paper of pins in the