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was assassinated by a fanatic, named Ravaillac. His death was regarded as a national calamity, but the effect of his victories remained, and for nearly a hundred years the Protestants of France enjoyed comparative security. In other countries, however, persecutions still continued, and these we propose to con

sider in our next article.



On board the ill-fated steamer, Seawanhaka, was one of the Fisk University singers. Before leaving the burning ship and committing himself to the merciless waves, he carefully fastened upon himself and his wife life-preservers. Some one cruelly dragged away that of the wife, leaving her without hope, except as she could cling to her husband. This she did, placing her hands firmly upon his shoulders, and resting there until her strength becoming exhausted she said, “I can hold no longer!"" Try a little longEverybody knows that the series of er," was the response of the wearied Psalms in our version of the Scriptures and agonized husband; "let us sing ends with the 150th, which concludes Rock of Ages. And as the sweet with the beautiful verse that strikes the strains floated over those troubled wakey-note of the whole book: "Letters, reaching the ears of the sinking everything that hath breath praise the and dying, little did they know, those Lord. Praise ye the Lord." There is, sweet singers of Israel, whom they comhowever, an apocryphal composition on forted. the killing of Goliath by David, which, though not found in Hebrew, is given as Psalm CLI. in Syriac and in most of the Greek versions. It is very ancient,


But lo! as they sang, one after another, the exhausted ones were seen raising their heads above the overwhelming waves, joining with a last effort in and St. Athanasius regarded it as ca- this sweet, dying, pleading prayer: nonical; but it is probably nothing more than a versification of the seventeenth chapter of 1st Samuel by some known hand. The following is an abbreviation of a very literal version executed by Richard Brathwait, in 1638:


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Doth hearken to my prayer.
He sent his messenger and took

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Me from the shepherd's toil;
And on my head, sweet unction! pour'd
His own anointing oil.

My brethren, beautiful and tall,
Held theirs a happy lot;

But in them, and their comeliness,
The Lord delighted not.

To meet the boasting alien chief,
I went forth on their part;
He cursed me by his idols, and
Despised me from his heart.
But having slain, I with his sword
Cut off his head at once,
And took away the foul reproach
Of Israel's daunted sons."

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee."

With the song seemed to come strength; another and yet another was encouraged to renewed efforts.

Soon in the distance a boat was seen approaching. Could they hold out a little longer? Singing still they tried; and soon, with superhuman strength, laid hold of the lifeboat, upon which they were borne in safety to land.

This is no fiction; it was related by the singer himself, who said he believed Toplady's sweet "Rock of Ages" saved many another besides himself and wife. -Selected.

THE BANK OF ENGLAND.-The Bank of England covers nearly five acres, and includes most of a parish, with the church-yard now known in the bank parlance as "The Garden," and a very neat little garden it is. Long after it had ceased to be a burial ground, an ancient servant of the bank, of amazing stature, was buried there for safe keeping by request of his friends, who feared that some enterprising museum would go for his skeleton. The bank occupies the site also of the house and garden of Mr.

Houblon, its first Governor, a Huguenot,
of exemplary character, whose very
wealthy descendants hold the estates he
bought near London. The first Deputy
Governor, Mr. Godfrey, nephew of the
unfortunate Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey
-not Sir Edmondsbury, as it is usually
written a famous magistrate, murdered
in the Titus Oates days, was killed at
the siege of Namur, whether he had
gone on bank business, having insisted
on accompanying William III. to the
trenches. The bank is guarded by a
detachment of the Foot Guards, who
take possession about 5 o'clock every
evening. The officer on guard is
allowed a handsome dinner for himself
and two friends, with plenty of wine,
but the friends have to depart at 11
o'clock. The men do not know who
will be on the bank guard, so collusion
is impossible. The building has no
external windows, and contains acres of
vaults. In the day-time it is guarded
by its own porters, and by policemen,
many of them in plain clothes, who are Having given Himself our mighty debt to
always on the watch.-Trib.


MEN WHO WIN.-It is not the men of great talents who often do the great work of the world. It is the men who have trained their working powers the best. The greatest engineer of England was a man of only medium talents; but he was a giant in principle. He gave himself wholly to it when a task was to be done. If a mountain was to be pierced and a roadway made through its heart; if an "impracticable and impossible" bridge was to span a chasm or valley, he would shut himself up for a few days in his room, and scarcely eat or sleep while he turned the matter over in his mind. At the end he would come out smiling, with his plans all clearly laid and his hand ready to set to work and carry them out. Those who wish to be great men and women, in the truest sense, must learn to be great workers, both with brain and hand. The two must go together, or they will accomplish nothing of importance to themselves or the world. Train the working power to its utmost capacity if you desire to make your mark in the age in which you live.-The Lutheran.


Over against the Treasury this day

The Master silent sits; whilst, unaware
Of that Celestial Presence still and fair,

The people pass or pause upon their way.

And some go laden with His treasures sweet,
And dressed in costly robes of His device
To cover hearts of stone and souls of ice,
Which bear no token to the Master's feet.
And some pass, gaily singing, to and fro,

And cast a careless gift before His face,
Amongst the treasures of the holy place,
But kneel to crave no blessing ere they go.
And some are travel-worn, their eyes are dim,
They touch His shining vesture as they pass
But see not-even darkly through a glass-
How sweet might be their trembling gifts to


And still the hours roll on; serene and fair

The Master keeps His watch, but who can

The thoughts that in His tender Spirit swell,
As one by one we pass Him unaware?
For this He Who, on one awful day,

Cast down for us a price so vast and dread,
That He was left for our sakes bare and


Oh, shall unworthy gifts once more be thrown
Into His treasury-by Whose death we live?
Or shall we now embrace His cross, and
Ourselves, and all we have, to Him alone?
-London Christian.

HUSBANDS AND WIVES.-A good husband makes a good wife. Some men can neither do without wives nor with them; they are wretched alone in what is called single blessedness, and they make their homes miserable when they get married; they are like Tomkins' dog, which could not bear to be aloose, and howled when it was tied up. Happy bachelors are likely to be happy husbands, and a happy husband is the happiest of men. A well-matched couple carry a joyful life between them, as the two spies carried the cluster of Eschol. They are a brace of birds of Paradise. They multiply their joys by snaring them, and lessen their troubles by dividing them. This is fine arithmetic. The wagon of care rolls lightly along as they pull together; and when it drags a little heavy, or there is a hitch anywhere, they love each other all the more, and so lighten the labor.-John Ploughman.

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ber probably required as much labor as ten at a later period, but the editor was untiring, and rapidly improved. Series Some twenty-six years ago, when the of articles appeared, which were subsepresent editor of THE GUARDIAN was quently gathered into precious volumes. still in his teens, Dr. Harbaugh one day Gradually a corps of contributors gathsurprised him by inquiring, "Joseph, ered around the editor, many of whom have you ever written anything for pub-were thus started upon an honorable lication?" It was a searching question, literary career. Hundreds, perhaps thouand brought out the confession, accom- sands, of readers learned to appreciate a panied by many blushes, that occasion- literature which, though not sensational, ally, and with great secrecy, a sketch or was pure and edifying, and best of all, the a few verses had been sent to a certain GUARDIAN was faithful to its name, and newspaper, where they were published was thus instrumental in keeping multiunder an assumed name "Let me see tudes of the young in the ways of rightsome of your work!" said the Doctor. Such an appeal could not be resisted, and THE GUARDIAN, like the church with in a few minutes the visitor was examining which it is most closely connected, makes the contents of the boy's portfolio. but little noise in the world, but it ap"Well!" he said, at last, "I want you pears to have the elements of permato write for THE GUARDIAN. It is betnency. Nearly all the magazines which ter to write for your own people than were so popular thirty years ago have for strangers. Do not write for the pur-disappeared, but still THE GUARDIAN pose of gaining personal reputation pursues the even tenor of its way. It that is vanity-but for the purpose of has proved a potent lever for the social, doing good. Possibly I will criticize literary, and religious elevation of our your work unmercifully, and sometimes reject an article altogether. Never mind people, and we believe its work is not half done. Do you wonder that we that! Get to work again. Let us labor love THE GUARDIAN? for the literary and religious advancement of our people."



In this way we became a contributor to THE GUARDIAN-at first anonymously, but afterwards, more publicly and boldly. If Dr. Harbaugh had not thus taken us by the hand, it is likely that apart from the boyish efforts to which we have alluded-we would never have ventured to appear in print. Though we have done but little, we are thankful that we were permitted to engage in the work which Dr. Harbaugh inaugurated.

Many persons have an erroneous impression, gained principally from reading novels, that certain surnames are indicative of high social position, while others are as inseparably connected with vulgarity. Because there are certain exalted families in England whose names have been favorites with novelists-names like Mordaunt or Montague, De Vere or Courtenay-it however does not follow that all who bear them are

It is now nearly thirty-three years since THE GUARDIAN was founded. Any entitled to bask in the splendor of their one who examines the earliest numbers greatness. On the contrary, such names must observe that the editor was not at are apt to beget suspicion unless susthat time a fluent writer. The first num-tained by recognized social position.

The person who finds it necessary to ing somewhat similar story concerning change his name is certain to choose George William Curtis, for many years some high-sounding patronymic. The editor of Harper's Monthly and Weekly, actor, the ballet-dancer, and the circus- and author of many delightful volumes. rider are sure to assume surnames which It is cheering to find such an example of they imagine, will "fill the trump of genuine honesty among American aufame." These names descend to their thors: children; and this may account for their abundance in the police reports.

If there could be any choice in the matter, a name "as plain as a pikest aff" would perhaps be most desirable, as being reasonably secure from such spoliation. In England there are many distinguished families with names which our modern novelists would employ only the articles of partnership was declared for purposes of caricature. Take, for to be legally responsible for a portion of instance, the Scrope family,who since the its debts. Many of his friends held that middle ages, have ranked among the he was in no way bound beyond the foremost in the land. The very ugliness $10,000, and urged him to test the quesof the name has to a great extent pre- tion in the courts. Mr. Curtis refused, served it from being dishonored by those although his decision involved the asnot entitled to bear it. What name has sumption by him of a debt of $100,000. a fairer reputation than that of the Strutt He surrendered all his property. In family, of Belper? In Scotland ther sixteen years, by most arduous labor, is no better name than Skene, nor in Ire- writing and lecturing, he paid the last land than Glubb, and yet the modern dollar of the debt." novel-reader would probably decidedly object to a hero with such a surname. Such snobbishness is of a piece with that of young American girls, who marry foreign adventurers for the purpose of gaining a title. They should remember that "all is not gold that glitters."


We have always regarded the honesty of Sir Walter Scott, as manifested in his herculean efforts to pay the debts of the business firm with which he had become involved, as the grandest feature of his character. It will be remembered that by the failure of his publishers he became responsible for debts amounting to about half a million of dollars, and though he might easily have avoided payment, he insisted on assuming the whole amount. By years of unremitting labor he succeeded in paying this enor mous debt, but there can be no doubt that his death was hastened by excessive literary labor. It was, however, a glorious achievement, and has done more to exalt the memory of Scott than all his works of genius.

We find in our exchanges the follow-fice everything and say nothing.

"George William Curtis in 1855 became a silent partner in the business firm of Dix, Edwards & Co., the publishers of Putnam's Monthly He invested $10,000 in the concern; but had no part in its management. Two years later the firm failed, and Mr. Curtis through some informality in drawing up

THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.-The learned tell us that the nineteenth cen

tury requires advanced thought. I wish
the nineteenth century was over.
have heard it bragged about so much
that I am sick of the nineteenth century.
We are told that this is too sensible a
century to need or accept the same gos-
pel as the first, second or third centu-
ries. Yet these were the centuries of
martyrs, the centuries of heroes, the cen-
turies that conquered all the gods of
Greece and Rome, the centuries of holy
glory. And all this because they were
the centuries of the gospel; but now we
are so enlightened that our ears ache for
something fresh, and under the influence
of another gospel, which is not another,
our beliefs are dwindling down from
Alps to ant-hills, and we ourselves from
We will want a
giants to pigmies.
in the land, it is getting to be so small
microscope soon to see Christian faith
and scarce.-Spurgeon.

MANY a small man is never done talk. ing about the sacrifices he makes, but he is a great maa indeed who can sacri


Alas! alas! all words seem vain,
To picture my dismay,
And vainer still poor mother hen,
Thy sorrows to portray,
A voiceless, tearless Niobe



I had a flock of chickens,
The sweetest little things,
With tiny coats of creamy down,
And little bits of wings,
And bills like finest ivory

From Indian jungles brought,
And slender pointed legs that seemed
Cornelian finely wrought.

How pretty their bright beady eyes,
And cunning side-long peep,
As 'neath their mother's clucking wings,
They nestle down to sleep!
How sweet their chirping twitter
As they cluster at her side!
How nimbly on her slippery back,
They hopped up for a ride!

How daintily they seemed to pick,
The crumbs I loved to scatter,
How prettily they used to sip,

The water from the platter.
Oh! it would take the graphic pen
Of Hawthorne or of Dickens,
To picture half the beauties,

Of my charming little chickens!

I fixed for them a cosy coop

To shield them from the storm,
And made a nest of softest hay,

To keep them snug and warm,
But" ever thus from Childhood's hour,
Our fondest hopes decay."

I would there were as much of truth,
In half the poets say.

Ah! vain was all my tender care,

Wild March with stormy breath,
Breathed on my little nurslings,

Three slept the sleep of death,
And three of those stern March had spared,
In one sad baleful hour,
A wicked, cruel, murderous cat,
Did ruthlessly devour.

How earnestly the rest I strove,

To shield from hurt or harm, And fortune seemed to favor me,

The air grew soft and warm;
I deemed them safe, when one by one,
To crown the sad mishaps,
The remnant of my little ficck

Fell victims to the "gaps."

By fate's fell arrows stricken,
Thou standest by the empty coop,
Bereft of every chicken.

No need for me at morn or eve
The dainty crumbs to bring.
No need for thee, poor mother hen,
To spread thy sheltering wing,
I look around and o'er my eye

A dewy dimness thickens,
And with a wailing voice I cry,
My chickens! Oh! my chickens!


The season is rapidly approaching when many country Sunday Schools will be closed for the winter. In some places this is no doubt almost a necessity. Though the little ones bravely face the weather during the week on their way to school, the distance to Sunday-school is often much greater, and parents do not like to send their children so far during the inclement season. Teachers, too, who have to go a considerable distance to church in the forenoon, shrink from undertaking a similar journey the same day.

These are real difficulties, but we believe they are not insurmountable. Perhaps a little village has grown up near the church which might be depended upon to furnish a little company of scholars. Or, parents living at a distance might be induced to bring their children in a carriage, or sleigh, and coming with them in this way might themselves become interested in the work of the school. A few faithful teachers might probably be found who would agree to be in their places during the winter, and if it came to the worst a single active teacher might succeed in interesting and instructing the whole school. The effect

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