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dividual conscience; that metaphysical and dogmatic theories can never become the only symbol of the church, nor even its most elevated symbol; but what is far better, that Christianity is destined to sanctify and purify all the relations of real life; that, in fine, all religious forms or ecclesiastical regulations should aim at this divine result, alike in individuals and communities of believers."



It is not in the heat and fury of battle, if we may believe the many attestations of history, that the bravest deeds are done, the most wonderful acts of heroic selfdevotion performed. When the blood is stirred by the sound of the trumpet, and the consciousness that the eyes of a nation are to witness his valor urges him on, it may be easy for a soldier to face the cannon's mouth without flinching. But there are other situations, seemingly not half so dreadful, which really require more heroic strength than any which the field of battle can present. The disastrous retreat of Napoleon's army from Moscow, perhaps furnished more striking evidences of the truth of this than any other event of history. With a burning city behind them, an infuriated enemy to dispute every step of their way, and the deadly cold of a Russian winter before them, the commencement even of that long and dreadful march which strewed every mile of its length with the dead, may be supposed to have been enough to destroy the courage of the bravest. What must it have been as cold, weariness, and starvation, gradually more and more unfitted them to resist the harassing attacks of the living foe which everywhere dogged their steps? One of the thousand evidences of what a brave heart can conquer, is furnished in the following incident selected from multitudes equally remarkable, and recorded by a sentinel who accompanied the army in its retreat. It is so luminous with glorious self-devotion, as to touch every heart capable of appreciating the noble and the grand in human char


A certain regiment having received orders to evacuate Moscow, arrived at the little village of Maloi-Yaroslavitz just in time to take part in a glorious battle fought by Prince Eugene, at the head of the fourth regiment against the united forces of the enemy. Colonel Kobilenski, aide-de-camp of Marshal Devoust, crossing the line of battle to carry some order was struck by a ball and left among the dead. On the evening of this brilliant day, for the little village, several times taken and retaken, remained at last in power of the French, Marshal Devoust was reconnoitering the battle-field, when suddenly a man covered with blood, rose up from a heap of dead, exclaiming,


Well, comrades, are you going to leave me to die without assistance?" It was Kobilenski, who in the general confusion was supposed to have fallen into the hands of the enemy. A litter being hastily prepared by the men of the escort, the poor wounded officer was soon confided to the care of the surgeons; but, alas! when they came to examine his wound, they exchanged a glance of gloomy intelligence with the Marshal; amputation, which the ball itself had effected at the hip joint, could only be completed by the scalpel. A second time losing his senses, the unfortunate Kobilenski presses the hand of his illustrious chief in token of a last adieu.

The next day the order came to the Marshal to quit the route of Kalouga immediately, and deploy on to that of Wilna, where hereafter his retreat was to be effected. The troops were already executing this movement, when the officer whom the Marshal had sent to inquire in regard to the condition of Kobilenski— returned to announce that contrary to all expectations he was still alive, and the ambulances of the army had remained behind! The baggage had been burned! What would become of the unfortunate Polander? Such were the reflections of the Marshal, when he suddenly formed a bold resolution; walking immediately towards a company of grenadiers, he stopped before them, "Soldiers," said he, in a clear, decided tone, "My aide-de-camp, Col. Kobilienski, has had his leg carried

agony had gone by, and they still repulsed almost as an outrage the prayer of the Polander, who, seeing himself the aim of so many heroic sacrifices, supplicated them with folded hands to abandon him upon the road, and think only of preserving their own lives.

away by a ball. He is a Polander, and must not fall into the hands of the Russians. confide him to you. Guard him as you would your flag." A few minutes after Kobilenski, carried upon a litter in the centre of the company, was following the retrograde movement of the army. Then each day, as events grew more portentous, Providence, seconding the touching protection of the soldiers seemed to restore to the wounded man new hopes of life. Yet after a few days more, this retreat, commenced in good order, began, under the frightful and even increasing intensity of the cold, to present a fearful aspect of disorganization and misery.

The body-guard travelled slowly, and as it were, alone upon this route, which was covered with wrecks of the army, which told everywhere the same dreadful tale of agony and death, going through in a few days, we might say a few hours, all the various phases of the war; now forming in a circle around the litter of the poor wounded man, repulsing the fierce and brutal attacks of the wild Cossacks, now taking the offensive and making their way by a sudden and irresistible onset, through the masses of their enemy, but always calm, resolute and silent. How touching must have been this spectacle, this episode of a grand drama which might have passed unnoticed, like the thousand isolated traits of devotion and courage which have hallowed every step of that dreary road, but had none to chronicle them. Whence did those soldiers, abandoned to themselves in the midst of general discouragement, derive this moral force which more than any other thing over-masters events? That they were struggling for their lives was not sufficient. That motive had failed to nerve the legions whose dead and dying remains everywhere strewed their way. It was that a Marshal of France had said to them, "I confide Kobilenski to your honor; you are to bring him to me without fail." The prestige of this glory was a reality. It was something palpable to struggle for, something generous to do, and this is oft-times a lever to lift up even the lowest and most selfish.

More than three weeks of strugle and

"My Colonel," replied an old and stoical trooper, "dead or alive, we shall carry you with us; that was the order of the Marshal; beyond that, we leave everything to God !"

Weeks still went on, and five only remained of the numerous company which had composed the body-guard; the rest having succumbed, one fearful night to that stupor so common in high latitudes, and which, once yielded to, ends in death, when one day towards evening, a curtain of houses rose above the stormy horizon on the road just before them. It was Wilna, land of promise, an Eden with its delights, and the delights so much desired

shelter, a little straw and bread; a cry of joy re-animated the courage of the five brave fellows who supported the litter whereon lay half dead the unfortunate Kobilenski. Vain hope! This last effort had exhausted their vigor; three fell in sight of their goal, the two others made one step-then one alone, only one still disputed with the unchained elements for the senseless body of his chief. Not having power to carry him, he dragged him, he crawled with him; there was a horrid silence, then a shout of victory; he had reached Wilna!

By the aid of some soldiers, he soon transported his precious burden to the house where Marshall Davoust had established his quarters. Then with a pride which may be imagined, he sent the Marshal word that the company of grenadiers, to which he had confided, Col. Kobilenski, having accomplished its mission, claimed the honor of presenting itself before him. The Marshal instantly ordered its attendance.

"Where is my aide-de-camp?"


"And the company?"
"You see it, my Marshall."

"You do not understand. I ask for the company?"


"I have answered, you see it before most as much of uniformity as his church you." found him on the preceding day. Preachers came to the vicinity and moved away,


But your


That is different-buried under the faces familiar for months, and in a few snow."

A strange light for a moment passed over the face of the Marshal, then with a wordless emotion, which shook his whole frame, he strained the brave old soldier to his breast.

cases for years, receded from the viewother spheres of duty called them hence, but good Dr. Ballou was always here. It was not a tent set up for a night, but a familiar spot in the landscape he seemed a part of the locality. For about forty years he has lived hardly the distance of five miles from Cornhill; business and recreation called him frequently to the city, he entered its precincts, and his feet, by instinct, took him to "37" and "38!


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History has not preserved the name of this dauntless hero, but it is stated that after twenty-five years had elapsed he still lived to relate this story, and to speak of the hour when he stood before his Marshal, his duty done, as the happiest of his whole life.


The denominational weekly papers have, ere this, published throughout our borders, the sad intelligence of the sudden departure from earth of the great and good man whose simple name - a name that receives no lustre by the prefix or affix of titles-is given above; and in every case, so far as we have read, affecting tributes to his memory have accompanied the announcement. We have not seen a word of eulogy that seemed to us too strong, and the farther removed we become from the event of his decease, the more painfully do we realize our loss, and the more assured are we that in his case, the warmth of friendship and esteem will find it difficult to deal in exaggerated terms. We need not, and we will not, here attempt any analysis of his character -we are moved to speak in a somewhat different strain. We have a brief word to say of Hosea Ballou 2d, and Cornhill.

Blessed are the memories that cluster about this association! For more than the term of a generation, the denominational "head-quarters"-we speak of our vicinity have been to him next to his home. From youthful manhood to venerable age. he has come to Cornhill with a regularity and a fondness such as no spot outside of his home could elicit from him. Till the time his college duties compelled a change in his habits, Monday morning found himat the habitual resort, with al

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Here everybody got acquainted with him. Even the youngest shop boy was always intimately acquainted with Dr. Ballou. The first time we entered the classic door of "38," timid, bashful, and blushingly modest, a man approached us, and with a kindly look that sent relief to our agitated nerves, exclaimed, "And who is this?" We told him. "My name is Ballou," said he, in reply. We never had any other introduction. To young ministers, he was so good, so considerate, so fatherly. O, how many of them bless the hour that formed for them that blessed acquaintance! Time passed along. The head was nearly bald, and the few remaining locks were white. But Dr. Ballou was always young. The cheerful flow of his spirits, the quiet, yet real zest, with which he entered upon free conversation with his brethren, his hearty relish of a good story, the smile that went all over him, made his youth perennial. We remember the hour when he left Cornhill for Europe for when he went from Boston, he always went from Cornhill and we happened to be in Cornhill when he returned there,

of course-directly there-from Europe; and we remember the almost youthful glow that lighted up his venerable features as he left, and the profound satisfaction that filled him as he returned. No Mussulman ever went the voyage to Mecca witha more elastic spirit, than had Dr. Ballou as he anticipated a summer in the Alps. To see Mont Blanc ! to him what a prospect! 'Well," said we to him, almost before the warm shake was


through," how did our old friend Blanc look?" We wish our readers could see his reply it is idle to think of giving it here. But where would reminiscences of Dr. Ballou end? The past is crowded with them. Believe us, he was a most extraordinary man. He was one of the small number of elect that the good Father does not deem wise to make common in this lower world. He belonged to the true nobility in every fibre of his being; a man wise, learned, pure, in every thought and, act sincere; a leader even among leaders. Such was Hosea Ballou, 2d. May his memory be green in our hearts-may his example lose none of its power, as it recedes into the past-and may not only our last days, but all our days, be such as his!



BY E. W. C.

"Charlotte," said Mrs. Ray to her daughter, on one fine morning in October, "do you still continue your desire to take a walk to-day!"


while the leaves of one small tree were of a bright red, and looked very beautiful. Charlotte stopped several minutes to look at it, and thought it was more beautiful in its decay than it was during the spring and summer. As they passed on, they came to a deep dell. The sides of it were rocky and steep, and here grew the golden-rod in abundance. Charlotte picked a few of the flowers that grew near the top, and admired their bright golden hue. Flowers of various kinds, yellow and blue, spotted the wide plain, and the grass was still of a lively green.

As they passed along, they observed that, in some parts of the wood, the trees were of a varied hue. They were partly yellow, partly red, and of a russet brown, while a faded green bough occasionally peeped forth as if to show that all of summer had not yet departed. This variety of colors in the leaves was very beautiful, and yet it was nothing uncommon, as my young readers will perceive if they take the trouble to walk in the country, during the autumn months.

Yes, ma'am," replied Charlotte, "I thought the first thing this morning, when I opened my eyes, and saw the sun shining in at the window, I should be very glad to start right off."

At length they came to a brook. The stream of water was wide but it was not deep, and they could see the clean pebbles and gravel at the bottom of the brook. They followed this brook to some distance, when they found a water-fall; for the brook ran over a large rock and fell about six feet, making a roaring sound that was very pleasant to Charlotte. She stood looking some time at this sheet of pure water, as it ran over the rock and fell into a hollow below, where the water was as much as two feet deep. Farther on they found a pond into which the waters of the brook ran. In this pond were a number of small fishes that Charlotte could see very plainly. They darted about so fast that Charlotte could scarcely follow them with her eyes, and seemed to enjoy themselves very much.

"Then get your shawl and bonnet," said her mother, "for the days are short, and the sooner we start the more time we shall have for our ramble before dinner." Charlotte ran for her bonnet and shawl, and in a few minutes, she was ready to go forth with her mother. As they passed out of the house, Charlotte could not help exclaiming at the fineness of the weather. It was indeed, a beautiful day. The air was bracing, but not too cool, and Charlotte felt herself grow stronger every moment, as the fresh breeze fanned her cheeks, and cooled her blood. A few birds were also hopping about among branches of the trees, and the ponds glistened in the rays of the sun. At first, they passed along by the skirt of a piece of woods, and here they saw that the leaves of the trees had begun to change their color, while many of them had already fallen off. Some of the leaves on the trees had become as yellow as gold,


While Charlotte and her mother stood watching the motions of these little fishes, a young man came there with a rod and line in his hand. At the end of the line was a fish-hook upon which he had put a worm. He let the hook down into the water and when the fishes saw the worm, they darted forward to eat it. One of them tried to bite the worm, and was

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"I catch them for the sport of fishing," said the young man. "Did you never see anybody fish before?"

Charlotte was much surprised, and said, "I have heard that people caught fish to eat; but I never knew before that people caught fish for sport. I could not enjoy such sport, and it seems to me to be very cruel to take them out of the water where they enjoy their lives so well, only to see them struggle and die upon the grass."

The young man looked very hard at Charlotte, as if he was disposed to be angry, and did not like to be reproved by a little girl; but, at last, his better feelings came uppermost. He took the little fish from the hook and threw it back into the water, and said—" I believe that the lit tle lady is right after all. It is of no use to catch these little fellows and deprive them of life for nothing, though I never thought so much about it before. I will give up the practice."

"That is a noble resolution," said Mrs. Ray, "and I am glad that you have determined so wisely. You will find your advantage in it, for one vice overcome is so much gained for our own happiness."

The young man then shook hands with Charlotte, bowed to Mrs. Ray, and went away. It is said that he was never seen to catch any more fish afterward.

Charlotte then asked her mother wheth

er it was common for people to catch fish only for sport, and her mother said that there were many persons who did it; and that some would even shoot the little birds for sport; while, in some countries, it was common to hunt harmless animals with dogs, only for the sport of putting them to death. Charlotte was much surprised to hear of these things, and said that she was sure there was a great deal more pleasure in seeing these animals enjoy life in their own way, than there was in hunting, shooting and destroying them."

"So there is, to every innocent mind," replied her mother; "but people's pleasures depend very much upon their dispositions. Many seem to take pleasure even in hunting and destroying men."

Mrs. Ray had scarcely finished speaking, when they came near a butcher's house, and a large, fierce dog rushed out, leaped over the low, stone fence, and sprang toward them as if he were determined to bite them. He was a very ill looking dog, and showed his ugly teeth in a very frightful manner. Charlotte was very much alarmed, and turned to run away. Mrs. Ray told her not to run, but to sit quietly down on a large stone which lay near her. Mrs. Ray also sat down and remained perfectly quiet. The dog continued to come towards them, with open mouth. But when he had got near them, and saw that they sat still, he stopped, and stood watching them as if he would spring upon them as soon as they got up. A man came out of the house, very soon, and called off the dog, who ran back toward the house. Then Charlotte and her mother got up and continued their walk. Charlotte ever afterward remembered that the way to stay the fury of a dog, was to sit down quietly until somebody came and called the animal off. It is very improper to be so much frightened in the hour of danger as not to know what is best to be done. Had Charlotte and her mother run, the dog would have run faster than they did, and when he caught them, he might have injured them very much.

They soon came to a place where the wood-cutters were at work, chopping up wood, and putting it into wagons, to burn

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