Where is the Enemy? L. M. CHILD says "I have somewhere read of a regiment ordered to march into a small town, and take it. I think it was in the Tyrol but wherever it was, it chanced that the place was settled by a colony who believed the Gospel of Christ, and proved their faith by works. A courier from a neighbouring village informed them that troops were advancing to take the town. They quietly answered" If they will take it, they must." Soldiers soon came riding in, with colours flying, and fifes piping their shrill defiance. They looked round for an enemy, and saw the farmer at his plough, the blacksmith at his anvil, and the women at their churns and spinning-wheels. Babies crowed to hear the music, and boys ran out to see the pretty trainers, with feathers and bright buttons, "the harlequins of the nineteenth century." Of course none of these were in a proper position to be shot at. "Where are your soldiers?" they asked, "we have none," was the brief reply.-" But we have come to take the town." -"Well friends it lies before you."-"But is there nobody here to fight?"-No, we are all Christians." Here was an emergency altogether unprovided for a sort of resistance which no bullet could hit: a fortress perfectly bomb-proof. The commander was perplexed. "If there is nobody to fight with, of course we cannot fight," said he, "It is impossible to take such a town as this." So he ordered the horses heads to be turned about, and they carried the human animals out of the village as guiltless as they entered, and perchance somewhat wiser. This experiment on a small scale, indicates how easy it would be to dispense with armies and navies if men only had faith in the religion they profess to believe. Clarkson at Wadesmill. LUCY BARTON. A WANDERER by the road-way side, Casting their branching shadows wide, Though rich the landscape, hill and plain One hand holds fast his bridle rein, 36 THE WORTH OF HOURS. Not vainly has he watched the ark, Che Worth of Bours. BELIEVE not that your inner eye Can ever in just measure try For every man's weak self, alas! Makes him to see them, while they pass, But if in earnest care you would Those surely are not fairly spent, That leave your spirit bowed and bent, In sad unrest and ill-content: And more though, free from seeming harm, If then a painful sense comes on Of something from your being's chain By all mere memory can retain, IN MEMORIAM. Upon your heart this truth may rise: So should we live that every hour That every thought and every deed, Esteeming sorrow, whose employ R. M. MILNES. In Memoriam. THE path by which we twain did go, And we with singing cheered the way, And glad at heart from May to May: But where the path we walked, began As we descended, following Hope, 37 38 IN MEMORIAM. Who broke our fair companionship, My blood an even tenor kept Till on my ear this message falls, God's finger touched him, and he slept. Oh thou and I wert one in kind As moulded like in nature's mint ; For as the same cold streamlet curled At one dear knee we proffered vows, I falter where I firmly trod, And, falling with my weight of cares That slope through darkness up to God; I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope. ALFRED TENNYSON. |