the humiliation and death on Calvary, prevented that full reliance which only could have raised them above the fearful circumstances of that hour.

But now the darkness of that night was vanishing, and the twilight of a brighter dawn appeared-Jesus had arisen. The wondrous fact was proved by his personal appearance at various times to his astonished and awe-struck disciples. And they had proved his love and compassion unaltered. With the same tendency which had characterized their former intercourse, he, in one interview, condescended to Thomas' exceeding unbelief, and by tangible proof put to flight his incredulity. In another, in pity to repentant Peter's bitter sorrow, he gave him the especial commission to "feed his lambs;" and yet again he shed light into their minds that they might understand the Scriptures. And now viewed in the clear light of prophecy, which every word an act of his life had tended to fulfill, their Jewish prejudices and spiritual blindness were fast departing, and their minds were gradually preparing for the important mission they were designed to occupy.

About forty days after the resurrection, in "an upper room," in the familiar place which had so often been hallowed by the presence of their Lord-where the affecting scene of "the last supper," had transpired, and from which he had gone to the garden and the cross, in the still midnight hour, the disciples were once again convened.

They had gathered from the various parts of Galilee to keep the approaching feast of weeks, called the Pentecost. The city was crowded with strangers from every land. Parthians, and Medes, and Elamites, and the dwellers in Mesopotamia, and in Judea, &c., had congregated there, and recent events were discussed in every tongue.

Impelled by an influence they could not resist, they were, with one accord, in one place. Around

hearts? Behold my hands and my feet, that it is I, myself: handle me, and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have." And when he had thus spoken, he showed them his hands and his feet; and while they yet believed not for joy, and wondered, Jesus said, "Have ye here any meat?" And they gave him a piece of boiled fish and a honey-comb.

And now, before the evidence of their senses, doubts vanished: they saw him-they touched him— his familiar tones sounded in their ears; and, as in olden time, he partook of their food, and did eat before them. And he said unto them, "These are the words which I spake unto you, while I was yet with you, that all things must be fulfilled which were written in the law of Moses, and in the prophets, and in the Psalms, concerning me. Then opened he their understandings, that they might understand the Scriptures;" and throwing the full tide of the Spirit's light back upon the types and ceremonies of the past, the shadows which had obscured them vanished, and he stood clearly revealed, the entire substance of the whole Jewish economy. "And he said thus it is written, and thus it behooved Christ to suffer, and to rise from the dead the third day, and that repentance and remission of sins should be preached in his name, among all nations, beginning at Jerusalem. And ye are witnesses of these things." In such sublime and solemn intercourse the hours passed unheeded by, and the disciples sat gazing on their risen Lord, and drinking in his important instructions.

Morning dawned-the sun rose gloriously in the heavens, and brightness beamed upon the earth. Jesus led forth his disciples. They trod the path familiar to them all; and leaving "the city full," crossed the brook Kedron, and again passed through the garden hallowed by his sufferings. There was an involuntary pause, as Peter, James, and John re

in silence on, and reverently they followed.

They were again debating the subject of their common interest-the various appearings of their Lord to them. And the conviction was fastening yet more deeply in every heart, "The Lord is risen indeed." They were joined by Cleophas and another disciple, who related to them the history of their journey to Emmaus, and how "He was known of them in the breaking of the bread." And as they thus spake, Jesus himself stood in the midst of them, and said, "Peace be unto you!" But they were terrified and affrighted, and supposed that they had seen a spirit. And he said unto them, "Why are ye cast down, and why do thoughts arise in your

The country through which they passed was clothed in beauty. The fullness of harvest was over; but much of the product remained ungathered; and Olivet, memorable for its associations, was before them. But all was unheeded. Every eye was riveted on the Master's face, which beamed upon them eloquent in love and mercy. Slowly they ascended the rugged path, and lingered a moment upon the summit, to gaze upon their sacred city and glorious temple, which now shone resplendent in the first rays of the morning sun. They descended toward Bethany, and Jesus paused. The disciples gathered in reverent silence around, prepared, by his previous instructions, for any fresh manifestations of his love and power. And Jesus said, "All power is given unto me, in heaven and in earth. Go ye, therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of

the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you; and lo! I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world." "And he lifted up his eyes, and blessed them; and it came to pass, while he blessed them "-while the music of his voice still sounded in their ears, "he was parted from them." Slowly he arose from their midst. The revered form, the beaming countenance gradually faded from their view, "and a cloud received him out of their sight." Transfixed they stood upon the mount, every thought and feeling absorbed by the glorious vision. "And while they looked steadfastly toward heaven, as he went up, behold! two men stood by them in white apparel, which also said, Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven? This same Jesus which is taken from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye seen him go into heaven." "And they worshiped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy, and were continually in the temple, praising and blessing God;" for now was revealed to them the glorious truth, "Christ is risen from the dead, and become the first fruits of them that slept." "For as in Adam all die, so in Christ shall all be made alive." "And they preached Jesus and the resurrection."

"O, who can doubt that mortal man
Has part in that immortal plan,
So long from human search concealed,
So brightly now by Christ revealed!"

THE FRIENDSHIP OF JONATHAN.

BY HELEN M. ARION.

NOWHERE can we find, in the world's history, a record of such true, such disinterested friendship as was manifested by Jonathan, the son of Saul, for David, the sweet singer of Israel. Nowhere can we find, in poetry or romance, emanating from the loftiest imagination, a love so pure, so refined, so exalted, as burned in the bosom of Jonathan for him whom he loved as his own soul. We see now and then a ray of this heaven-born feeling, rising above the horizon of the gross passions of earth. But it is a mere spark in comparison to that which glowed in the heart of Jonathan. The poet forgot this friend of David's when he said,

"Friendship is but a name

A charm that lulls to sleep

A shade that follows wealth and fame,
But leaves the wretch to weep;"

for in his character, at least, we find a friendship that no time or change of circumstances could chill. Jonathan loved his friend, although he knew that friend would take from his head an earthly crown. He loved despite the opposition and hatred of his father. And we see him, even amid the scorn and

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highest indignation of that father, venturing to speak a good word for his friend. He loved David in prosperity, when the world smiled upon him—when he had achieved the mighty conquest over the giant Philistine, and had put to flight the hosts which had defied the armies of the living God, and when the song went forth upon the winds of the morning, and was echoed from hill and dale, that David had slain his tens of thousands, no one, in that triumphant hour, rejoiced with more heart-felt joy than Jonathan-unmixed, too, by that envy and jealousy which often possess ordinary minds. Such passions had no place in his noble heart; for see him in that hour stripping himself of the gorgeous robes and ensigns of royalty, and decorating his young, handsome, brave, but, until now, obscure friend with them. Jonathan forsook not his friend when Adversity came, with her sullen frowns, withering each hope, each joy, that had nestled in his heart-when his life was hunted by his enemies, and by Saul, whose soul burned with no common hatred toward him-when, as we read, there was "but one step between him and death:" in this hour of desolation and gloom, this faithful friend is nigh, to speak words of consolation and assurances of protection. Yea, in this desponding moment, he clasped his tried and stricken friend to his generous heart, renewing again and again those promises of never-ending love and affection, which they had vowed in happier hours. Methinks, in imagination, I see this constant, devoted friend of David, standing before his indignant father, with a countenance beaming with an exalted love with every feature marked by that true nobility of soul which characterized his every action, expostulating for his friend-endeavoring, with an eloquence that might have moved a less implacable enemy, to reconcile and appease the wrath of Saul. Think of this, gentle reader, when your voice is raised to speak criticisingly or unkindly of your friend. Think of Jonathan-of him who ventured to speak a good word for his friend, even with the javelin of his father raised to strike him from existence-think, I say, of him, and let your words be stayed. When, too, your friend is ill-used and unjustly treated, imitate him in his vindication.

The Bible is replete with characters, in every relationship of life, worthy of our highest admiration and imitation. But none has ever struck us as being more truly great, noble, and self-sacrificing than Jonathan, David's friend. The contemplation of his character has given us comfort and consolation, when we have felt like believing that there was no friendship in all this cold and hollow world. Noble-hearted Jonathan! when deceived by those in whom we had confided, we have turned to the sacred volume, that contains the record of thy character, and read over, and over again, thy devoted, constant love," which surpassed even that of woman's love," and have felt reassured, that there is, in reality,

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some true, genuine friendship; and, although such specimens of constancy are rare, yet once, indeed, it had an existence in a human heart-it was the heart of Jonathan.

TRUE TENDERNESS.

BY REV. A. CARROLL.

TENDERNESS, when it flows from a pure source, and when drawn out by proper objects, is itself true grandeur. Afflictions come to all, and we shall find opportunities to sympatize with many of the afflicted ones of the earth. Hence, there are objects enough, and more than enough, whereon we may evince our sympathy, and cause the hearts of the distressed ones to bless us. Through the manifold imperfections of our moral vision, we shadow forth to ourselves false images, and we make false conclusions. Some think, that to cultivate tender sensations, we would undermine that manliness which becomes us, and it would be considered a mark of weakness in us to be thus tender-hearted. This they need not fear, as there are flinty rocks enough in this world to keep us on edge.

Experience teaches us, that a soul devoid of tenderness never was truly great. Tenderness is generally the concomitant of the most lofty and powerful minds. We may point the reader to the first famed President of these United States. Whether we view him in the Continental Congress, trying to speak a word in answer to an expressed plaudit, or moved by sympathy toward Major Andre, when called to sign his death-warrant, or sympathizing with the afflicted soldiers, we see him evincing that tenderness which becomes the good and the great. There was, also, our own John Marshall, "Chief Justice of the United States." Judge Story says of him, "His virtues expanded with the gradual development of his character. They were the natural growth of deep-rooted principles, working their way through the gentlest affections and the purest ambition. No man ever had a loftier desire for excellence; but it was tempered by a kindness which subdued envy, and a diffidence which extinguished jealousy. Search his whole life, and you cannot lay your finger on a single extravagance of design or act."

Few men in this world could claim the attributes of true greatness with more propriety than the late John M. Mason, of New York; and yet very few men ever possessed a greater degree of tenderness, or whose visits to the abodes of the afflicted ever were hailed with greater joy. What were the prophets and apostles of our blessed Lord? Were they not tender-hearted? Did they not weep with them that wept? Our precious Lord himself was tender: Jesus wept.

"HAVE FAITH IN GOD." MARK XI, 22.

BY MISS MARY MERWIN.

O, WHEN the troubled dream of sin is past,
And ghost-like voices from the charnel-house
Of buried warnings and departed hours
Awake the startled soul from out its sleep,
And rouse it up to action, in its woe;
Or when the spirit feels how heavily

The hand of sorrow may come down and crush
Its glowing thoughts and springing hopes in dust,
O, rest thee then upon the arm of God.
And when the hand of death hath slowly laid
Its icy fingers on some loving heart,
That beat with thine, and hushed it in the grave,
Making thy spirit, in its loneliness,

Long for the well-remembered words and tones,
And pressure of the hand and gleaming eye,
Till life shall seem a wilderness of shades,
Unreal and unblest, look up to God-

To God thy Father; for his hand hath traced
On all the trembling leaves, and smiling flowers,
And golden clouds, and on the springing grass,
That looks up mournfully above the grave
Of thy departed one, as if in prayer-
"Lean thou upon mine arm, for I am love."
If on thy pathway there should e'er be cast
That darkest shadow of all sin-born shapes-

A heart that once hath loved thee, grown all cold-
An eye that once hath beamed forth light, grown

dark

A tone that was a fount of tenderness,
Whose music answered to thine own heart-song,
Grown harsh to meet thine ear, come then to God,
And, in bowing down thy soul, say, "Father,"
With holy trust in that unfading eye

That wearies not in watching o'er thy path;
And in the ear which ever hears each throb
Bearing one wish upward; and in the arm
Which hath sustained each faltering step of thine;
And in the one, the all-pervading heart
That is a boundless sea of deathless love.
So shall thy wearied soul grow strong again,
Thine eye grow calm, thy tones be full of hope,
And life be like the sky-all bright with stars.

THE LOSS OF BEAUTY.

BY MRS H. O. GARDINER.

FAIR maiden, thy beauty, though perfect and rare,
And pure as the lily that bends o'er the wave,
Yet still it is transient; and fleeting as fair
Are the honors it strews in thy path to the grave.
But if there's a pearl in the casket enshrined,
If the mind be enlightened, the intellect clear,
Weep not for lost beauty-far better to find
That the mind in its freshness and truth is still here.

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MY ACQUAINTANCES.

BY A QUIDNUNG.

-

LET me have the pleasure, fair reader, of introducing you to Mrs. Overreach, and incline your ear while I whisper, that she is rich, and, report says, gives the best parties in the city-no sparing of expense to gratify her guests. Indeed, she lavishes her money as though she only held it in trust, to be expended in contributing to the pleasure of her friends. She dresses in the height of the mode, and her house, her carriage, and every thing about her, is got up in the most magnificent style. She is rather handsome, and certainly possesses a very brilliant pair of eyes. It is true, there is what may be denominated a hardness in their expression; but this you will soon lose sight of, or you are unlike others, when once she does you the honor to rank you among her friends, and you become the envied recipient of her hospitalities. Acknowledge, now, that you are under very great obligations to me for so valuable an acquaintance.

"Good morning, Mrs. Overreach." "Good morning, Mr. Screw."

"We've just finished opening our new stock, Mrs. Overreach; and I think I may say with safety, there is not a better selection in market, if as good. Shall I have the pleasure of showing you our goods?"

"No, I thank you, sir. I examined them yesterday, and have made a memorandum of what I shall need. Please have them put up for me against my return."

"Certainly, madam. (Exit Mrs. Overreach.) John."

"Sir."

"Did you wait on Mrs. Overreach when she examined our goods?"

"Yes, sir."

"I suppose you can recollect the prices you told her for the articles mentioned in this memorandum." "They were all at the marked prices." "Did she ask no reduction?" "Not a cent."

"Generous, noble woman! Would that all my customers were like her!"

The extent of Mr. Screw's satisfaction may be

Upon my word, you are severe. Then you do not esteem riches a virtue! If such is the fact, since Sparta is no more, you have no business in this world; for, depend upon it, it is not only universally considered a virtue, but takes the precedence of all other virtues, if we may judge from the respect shown to its possessor. The most exalted intellect, and the greatest purity of character, will seldom preserve a man from obscurity, and perhaps indignities, if connected with poverty; but, if possessed of wealth, if he appeared in the similitude of the animal once worshiped by the Israelites, the world would do him homage.

But to return to Mrs. Overreach. If you do not fall into the train of her admirers, on account of her great wealth, her fine house and equipage, and her magnificent parties, I fear you never will; for I have exhibited all her attractions. She is neither intelligent, good, nor benevolent. Although she stops at no expense to secure the praise and admiration of what she calls "good society," yet when she comes in contact with the undistinguished poor, no miser could be more niggardly. Notwithstanding her wealth, she is not above attending to her own pecuniary concerns, and is very fond of economizing, when it does not interfere with her reputation in the circle in which she moves. We will illustrate our meaning, by exhibiting her conduct in one or two business transactions; and will first suppose her at the counter of some wealthy merchant.

marked his goods from fifteen to twenty-five per cent. higher than he had any expectation of ob{taining.

On a cold morning in winter, a man rings at the door of Mrs. Overreach. To the inquiry whether a wood-sawer is wanted, the servant responds that she will see her mistress, who soon appears at the door.

"You want to saw my wood."
"Yes, ma'am."

"What will you charge?"

"One dollar."

"I wont give so much. I will give you seventyfive cents."

"Seventy-five cents is not enough, ma'am. It will take me more than a day."

"That makes no difference to me. I know I can get it done for that, and it is all I will give."

The poor man turns away disappointed. Several applications are made, and still the same result. The wood-sawers think it a hard bargain, and the lady is firm. At length one presents himself, whose appearance indicates that he is more needy than his predecessors. Mrs. Overreach observes this difference, too; and, although the same price is asked, she only offers sixty-two and half cents. He, too, turns away, but it is only a step or two he takes. He appears to be in deep meditation: it is evident he is thinking of the dear ones at home, for a bright tear is glistening in his eye. He wipes it away; then turning to the lady, who has been watching him, correctly anticipating the result, he agrees to her

terms.

It is thus that Mrs. Overreach deals with all the

ment.

If Mrs. Overreach does present an extreme case, she is not singular in her method of dealing. How many are there who would submit to imposition from the higher class of tradesmen rather than obtain the appellation of a "Jew!" yet the same persons will stand and chaffer for an hour for the purpose of still further reducing the miserable pittance for the service of the laborer; while the whole amount thus extorted from the suffering poor will not be felt in the aggregate of their yearly expendi

tures.

PERVERTED LOVE.

BY REV. G. H. M'LAUGHLIN.

GOD is love. As such, he appears to have built the universe upon the plan of love. Love in man, as a means of intelligent, moral government, may be regarded as a principle; and, as a source of happiness, it may be deemed a passion. In beings merely animal, it inheres and operates only as passionate impulse. In that which is merely vegetative or mineral, it is only elective. And it is remarkable, that, in every diversity of genus and species of God's vast terrestrial creation, love, though of a lower order, seems to have been more constant in its course, and conservative of the wise design of its great Author, than in man-nobly intellectual and sensitive, yet fallen, degenerate, and destructive man. The mere animal has been constant in the application of all its limited powers for the attainment of appropriated happiness and usefulness. The vegetable has always elected the most fructifying and congenial gases and nutriments. The mineral has always submitted to naught but appropriate predilection. If we look abroad, we behold the beautiful planet, constant in its primitive cycle, looking with love's pure eye of complacency upon its solar centre, and readily running the round of his imperial mandate.

Yet man,

"Distinguished link in being's endless chain, Midway from nothing to the Deity,"

ness.

Behold that dear, affectionate daughter of affliction, as she suffers with burning fever and aching head. She now calls some one to her couch of sickWho is called? It is a loving, faithful mother. "Come, mother, place your soft hand upon my pained brow. The other hand, also, dear mother, on my burning cheek. O, how soothing are your gentle hands!" For a moment she is better. We cannot doubt it. Pain is turned to pleasure; and if the blood still boil in the veins, it is because ardent love fills the "heart." The sense of bodily suffering is, for the moment, lost in the fullness of reciprocated love.

Again: who like a loving sister? Who, with equal power of pathos and sweetness of sound, can pronounce the name of brother? There is a peculiar pleasure in kindred relationships. And why is it? It is because there is kindred, reciprocal attachment. But should the feeling of love fall, unfortunately, on some insensible one-on some heart all petrified to sympathetic passion, or spontaneous affection, how disappointed—how painful—how miserable does that feeling become, which sought so fondly, but found not an affectionate affiance! It is so with unrequited, worldly love.

Were I a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart, how many could I find, in the city where I write, and in the circle where I move, who are continually and entirely "setting their affections on things on the earth." The glittering gold allures their love. The shining silver saturates their hearts with sordid lust. The imposing pageantry of worldly passion gains their utmost admiration. Or, it may be that the passion for political preferment and popularity becomes predominant in the sanctuary of the affections. And why all this diversified ado in the ardent and various affections of the human heart? Alas! the silly soul has sent out its finest feelings, in the vain hope of real happiness in an alliance with, it may be, unsanctified literature and sciencewith the wealth, the honors, or pleasures of the world. But why this dire, successive disappointment? The soul sought its superior happiness in that which could not give it-in that which had no power of sympathetic reciprocity. "We love God, because he first loved us." We are happy in the love of God, and in the love of friends, only when we realize that our love is accepted and reciprocated. Is this the reason why we love the world so well? It cannot love us purely. It may absorb all our

Pure love for God, given to the world, induces disobedience to wholesome laws, disappointment in the pursuit of happiness, and dismay in the hour of death. But perhaps there is nothing more apparent, and, yet, nothing more destructive of happiness in

in return. Such is the voice of God and of Reason. But too frequently the voice of God is not heard and heeded. As to Reason, let the poet say,

"This world's a bedlam of the universe,

Where Reason (undiseased in heaven) runs mad,
And nurses Folly's children for her own."