may follow in his steps, and overtaking him, will hurl him from his seat, to gratify their own inordinate passion for superiority. It is almost impossible to be long beyond the reach of such rivals, and great indeed must that man be who can withstand their determined onset.

To a fondness for change may also be ascribed one cause of this instability. There is a peculiar restlessness among men, which is constantly Beeking for gratification in new objects. Any charm, however lovely, soon loses its power. Any object, however beautiful, is soon neglected. Any name, however exalted, becomes by frequent repetition, harsh and dissonant to the ear. The Grecian peasant manifested this spirit when he condemned the virtuous Aristides to banishment, because he was tired and angry with having every body call him the "just." An individual may continue for a considerable time the favorite of the public, by performing a long succession of noble exploits, but when his work is finally done, he is frequently consigned to neglect and oblivion, while 'the giddy world are exalting and adoring some new idol of their worship. At his death, his name may be engraved in the imperishable marble, and over his tomb a splendid monument may be erected to perpetuate his memory. But he is remembered as one that once was. The sleeping dust, the tomb and the monument may be revered, but the man himself is literally passed into the land of forgetfulness. The adoration that is rendered to his remains is almost entirely selfish. Perhaps some misanthrope, tired of the world, may pause at his tomb, but it is only to administer a soporific to his own feelings. Some passing traveler may stop and gaze at the place of his repose, but it is only to admire the splendor of the monument. Some sentimentalist may visit his sepulchre, but it is to please his own fancy, or gratify a poetic imagination. The rising youth may be led to the tomb and pointed to the towering marble, but it is only to instil into his inquiring mind a desire to imitate the actions of the deceased, so as to secure like praise for himself. The sleeping dust is insensible to the selfish adoration of its visitants, and the departed spirit, if permitted to discover the motives of human conduct, would probably be stung with anguish in view of the emptiness of that honor, which through so much anxious labor it had acquired. Another cause for this instability, is found in the want of a harmonious development of greatness in its subject. No man can be equally great on all occasions.

Extremely strange, indeed, it would be, if a weakness was never discovered in the popular favorite. The least manifestation of frailty dissipates the fancies of a warm imagination, and reduces its subject to the dimensions of ordinary men. A few slight failures are oftentimes disastrous. What was at first regarded only as a slight mismanagement, is magnified into a crime, which becomes the watchword of action to the enemy. The unthinking multitude swim along upon the current of public opinion. To them a man is great when his fame is loudly proclaimed. But the proclamation of one fault will sometimes convert a multitude of such friends into enemies, and the fickle public may change front, even before their presumptive favorite had become aware of any fault worthy of their disapprobation. His secret adversary, finding his opponent vulnerable, redoubles his activity, while the object of his enmity, like a stone falling from a precipice, sinks with accelerated velocity. At the bottom of the precipice, he discovers, oftentimes, to his sore dismay, that his

present and his future happiness are alike blasted. Prompted by ambition, he had toiled long and severely by day and by night. At times the object of his anxiety seemed almost within his grasp, and his heart was cheered with the loftiest hopes, but, alas! the pleasing vision vanished, when cruel disappointment, with a band of furies in her train, rushed upon him and dragged him down to despair. Ah, foolish man! thou sport of fortune, and of insatiable ambition. Thou hast brought thy soul to the very gates of misery, unattended by the luscious fruits of thy toil. The reward of thy folly thou must receive-"Thou shalt eat of thine own ways and be filled with thine own devices."

Another and a nobler course is commended to the attention of the young. Let them rather seek for that which imparts true worth and dignity to man. Let them seek for knowledge, virtue, holiness, and they will possess imperishable worth. To such it makes but little difference what the giddy world may say. They have within themselves a source of exalted happiness which shall bring them true glory beyond the skies. Such lean upon no broken reed. If the acclamations of the multitude follow them, they are calm and humble. But if, on the other hand, their scoffs and sneers, they are equally collected and confident, rejoicing in the assurance that when the revelations of a future world shall be made known, their names will be found emblazoned in light upon the records of eternity. This is Glory! genuine Glory!

KINDNESS.

BY F. H. STAUFFER.

When our bosoms are rack'd with woe

No human heart can cure,

The hardest trial we can know

Is learning to endure !

To him whose life is ebbing fast,
Whose heart outlives its joy,
Dark must be the dull wing'd blast
That gathers to destroy.

Set not then his fond heart aching
By thoughtless acts of pain-
O'er the sunlight sweetly breaking
Throwing shrouds of mist again.

Rather with that magic power
A nature kind hath given,
Tinge with light each darkening hour,
And weave a dream of Heaven!

COMFORT IN OLD AGE.

Time has laid his hand

Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it,

But as a harper lays his open palm

Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.-Longfellow.

SIMEON'S CHRISTMAS JOY.

FROM THE GERMAN, BY THE EDITOR.

IN the city of Damascus, in Syria, lived Simeon, a man who was pious and feared God after the manner of his fathers, and well acquainted with the holy scriptures of the divine covenant. Beyond all others he loved the songs of the royal Psalmist, and the words of prophecy spoken by the Spirit of the Lord, by the mouth of his servant Isaiah, the son of Amos. Not far from Damascus, in a quiet village, lived Phanuel, the friend of his youth; and every Sabbath he came to the house of Simeon, that he might with him praise the Lord, and inquire in the scriptures after the consolation of Israel. When they had read together in the writings of the covenant, Simeon took his harp and played, while Hannah, his wife, accompanied the harp with a devout psalm of David or Asaph. Then they all fell upon their knees and prayed that the Christ of God might come and enlighten Israel.

For

But alas! soon the harp grew silent, and the song died away. Hannah sickened and died. Then Simeon sank weeping upon the grave of his beloved. Lord-so he prayed-take away also my life, and take me to thyself, for my soul is sorrowful even unto death.

So he prayed, and as he looked up, behold! an angel of God stood at his side. "Simeon !"-so ran his heavenly words-"your prayers have come up before the throne of glory, and I come to bring thee consolation from God. Behold! thou shalt not die until thou hast seen the Christ of God. Wherefore get the hence, and dwell hereafter in Jerusalem; and when thou hast borne the Salvation of Israel upon thine arms, the Lord will permit thee to depart to thy fathers in peace."

Then Simeon arose and went to Jerusalem, and abode there for the space of forty years, serving God. When now he was old and full of days, a heavy sickness came upon him, so that for three months he could not arise from his bed; and his friends said among themselves: " Alas! his hopes will never be fulfilled; we shall soon bury him, and there will be great lamentation over him in all Jerusalem." Simeon smiled secretly, and said: "The word of the Lord is sure, and what he has promised that will he keep. I shall not yet die!"

Now the next day, when the morning dawned, Nathaniel, his youngest nephew, came to his house, fearing that he should find him dead. But behold! the venerable man was walking joyfully up and down in his room like a vigorous youth, and a long festal garland hung down over his shoulders. Then Nathaniel called his father and his brethren, and all were filled with, surprise, saying: "What does this mean?" For they knew not that the angel of God had spoken with him in the night, and so strengthened his dying limbs.

Simeon now wandered silently down from his dwelling through the streets of Jerusalem, and all who saw him were filled with surprise and reverence, with such dignity and majesty did he move. Nathaniel accompanied him up to the door of the temple; and when an hour had

passed, Simeon returned to his house, and his countenance shone like that of an angel of God.

Then he came into the midst of his children and nephews, and said: "Blessed be God! Mine eyes have seen the salvation of God, which He has prepared before the face of all people, a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of His people Israel. Blessed be God !"

Then they all cried out: "Blessed be God!"-and Simeon called for his harp and played upon it: and they all with one accord sang the twenty-second psalm from the holy psalter of David.

"Blessed be God!" said Nathaniel, when the song was ended, “that you, my father, hast renewed thy youth as an eagle; mayest thou yet live long on the earth, and your years be for ever and ever!"

Not so, my son!" answered the venerable man, "have I not seen the Christ of God? Behold! as the divine babe lay upon my arms it smiled upon me, and its smiles proclaimed to me my speedy deliverance. Children! my end draws near, sing me a song in whose blessed tones I may expire !"

Then his children and nephews wept together, and with te mb spirits sang the words of the ninetieth psalm.

The psalm was ended. The harp was quiet. Nothing but a subdued sobbing was heard in the room, as the angel of death came and bore the spirit of the just away into Heaven!

And a soft voice was heard in the heart of each, which seemed like the echoing shout of a great triumph: "Mine eyes have seen thy salvaion!" Simeon rested for ever in the bosom of his God.

FORGOTTEN BLESSINGS.

WHERE are the stars-the stars that shone
All through the summer night?

Where are they and their pale queen gone,
As if afraid to be looked upon

By the gaze of the bold day-light?

Gone, they are not. In the far blue skies
Their silent ranks they keep;

Unseen by our sun-dazzled eyes,

They wait till the breath of the night wind sighs,
They come and watch our sleep.

Thus oft it is the lights that cheer
The night of our distress,
When brighter, gladder hours appear,
Forgotten with our grief and fear,
Wake not our thankfulness.

Yet still, unmindful though we be,
Those lamps of love remain;

And when life's shadows close, and we

Look up some ray of hope to see,
Shall glad our hearts again.

MY PILGRIM'S POUCH.

V.

BY NATHAN.

NATIONS like individuals have their periods of life, their seasons of development and decay, their youth, manhood and declining age. As well might an individual expect to evade death as a nation to evade its allotted dissolution. Both are subject to certain fixed laws which inevitably lead to this end. This measurably accounts for the social differences between Germany and America. Here every custom reminds you of a nation in mature life. Not of an effete civilization, as our Fourth of July orators are in the habit of calling it, but a people of settled, fixed habits, who attend to their business with calmness and deliberation; who are seldom in a hurry about anything, and take time to enjoy and be comfortable. But they are so stupidly unprogressive. Well, their age of progress has gone by. After a man is full grown, has reached mature life, there is little hope for further development. If he is so unfortunate as to have any, it will be a superfluous corpulency that will rather encumber than promote his activity. They have had an instance of this during the last fifty years. They made fearful progress until '48, when this helpless, corpulent body-national, stumbled and was thrown back fifty years, in its struggles after freedom. Age is strong and firm on its feet, but when it steps or tumbles, it is helpless, labors and frets monstrously to regain its feet, and most likely will rise with a broken limb, which will leave it a cripple. In America, we can talk of progress, for there we are still in the age of growth. We grow fast. Our habits, customs, fashions, men-great world renowned men-rise and fall, come and go, like the dreams of youth. Here they have no fast men. They had them in '48, and they would have plunged Germany into national perdition in less than forty-eight hours, had not a merciful Providence willed otherwise. The French are an exception. With marvellous dexterity, they turn a political somerset every fifty years, and always safely strike their heels into the old track..

The elite, of course, get the fashions from Paris, the great fountain of the universe for taste-good and bad. But the substantial peasantry still wear the short breeches, long-bodied vests, and broad-brimmed hats, which they wore in the days of Frederick the Great. They still sip their wine and beer, and whiff clouds of tobacco fume from their yard-long pipes, as their great-grand-sires did. No reapers or grain-drills have yet profaned their fields, nor threshing-machines their barns. They still reap their grain by the slow process of the sickle, and thresh it with the flail. They have the same skinning, skimming, two-wheeled, halfwagon plough, they had when my father was a plough-boy on the Rhine. In Science and the fine Arts there has been progress in every branch, though it was, sometimes, downwards. But in the mechanical arts they have not advanced a step, up or down, for several generations. The stove in Luther's study, on the Wartburg, is nearly the same as in com