Charity is here learned. In almost every author consulted, however widely his views may differ from mine, something of interest and profit is suggested. This is especially true of Christian authors. Calvin and Luther, with all their warlike propensities, had a share of the true spirit; and Baxter, and Doddridge, and Hall, — each with their peculiarities, have written much to the honor and glory of the church. Priestly and Channing, Stuart and Wayland, Winchester and Ballou, much as they may contend for opinions, and differently as they may be viewed by the world, all speak at times in one voice, one language, one spirit, the spirit of celestial truth and love. Such harmony is inspiring, enchanting. If all Christians could hear and enjoy it, they would learn that difference in faith is no just reason for bigotry and sectarism ; that they who would love God, must first learn to love one another, and to appreciate goodness wherever they find it. Nor do we wish to confine these acknowledgements to Christian writers. Even unbelievers have written good things, and we rejoice to declare them. Books! Reading! Inexhaustible subjects! Delight and blessing of the student's home. Well saith Sir John Herschel, “If I were to pray for a taste which should stand instead, under every variety of circumstances, and be a source of happiness and cheerfulness to me through life, and a shield against its ills, however things might go amiss, and the world frown upon me, it would be a aste for reading." He who reads from habit is independent. The world without may exclude him. from its glare, its fashion, and its fame. He has a world within. "He can draw his supplies of interest and amusement, and those of the highest order which life can furnish, from his own perennial and exhaustless fountains. Neither need he envy the possessor of the most magnificent apartments in which to deposit his splendid copies, with their gaudy engravings, gildings, and bindings. To a real lover of books, a stall, so that it be amply furnished, is as good as the Vatican; and nature offers him her universal ticket of admission to the grand apartment of her reading-room; and seeing him. enter satisfied, with his book in hand, her composed visage will always greet him with a hearty welcome." * Is the reader ready to ask for the best book in my study? Most cheerfully do I answer, the BIBLE. Beyond all others in comparison, it contains the rich words and treasures of immortal life. I have, indeed, heard it ill spoken of, derided, and abused; but could never find out the reason why this was done: I presume because I could not know the hearts of its opposers; for I am of opinion that the fault has been there. Nevertheless, I love the book, "and neither the sneers of a *Flint's Lectures. worldly scepticism, nor the groans of a gloomy theology," can disturb my faith in its doctrine of life and eternal felicity. Lord, increase this faith! As the Book Divine is before me, a few thoughts may be indulged in the running numbers of the Muse. TO MY BIBLE. Gift of a Father's holy love! thy face, how dear to me, When from the folly of this world my longing soul would flee, To spend the sacred moments at that feast of wisdom spread In thee, by God's own gracious hand,-life-giving, heavenly bread! Food of my soul! by thee sustained, I cannot faint nor tire; Armor complete! in thee my strength can mightiest deeds perform. Sword of the Spirit! when the foe appears in dark array, And by feigned words would captive lead my soul in chains away, In wielding thee, how quickly fly his forces from the field! For who, thus armed, was ever known in error's grasp to yield? Book of all books! O may I find thy presence ever dear; And, when I turn aside, be thy reproving wisdom near: As when the sands of life run low thy counsel I shall need, So while that life is spared, do thou the hungry spirit feed. Lamp of salvation! light my way to Zion's holy hill, Where I can bid my passion, sin, and unbelief, “ be still ! ” And learn of Christ, and find his truths most precious to the The sovereign balm, that makes the sick and wounded spirit whole. Blest volume! I can praise and love, with thee before my eyes, In hope that purer joy in heaven from this glad heart shall rise; Where glorious themes on earth commenced, in truth and power with thee, Shall be prolonged, in highest bliss, throughout eternity! Silent, sacred study! Pardon this revelation to the world of thy beauties and joys; for it is the outpouring of an honest heart. Heaven grant that thou mayst ever be to me what thou hast been in light and in darkness, in exultation and woe, in sunshine and storm, — the dearest place on this great footstool of the Everlasting King! THE WESTERN EMIGRANT. BY L. L. SADLER. EAGER curiosity had prompted me to penetrate the depths of the American forests, to feast the eye with the picturesque scenery there sketched in nature's own pencilings, and to study the character of the red man in the simplicity of his unadulterated, untutored originality. Far remote from the abodes of civilization, I had visited the Indian at his "lodge," witnessed his amusements and sports, heard his startling war-whoop, attended the buffalo hunt and wild-deer chase, beheld him paddle his light canoe over the surface of the broad, blue lake, and listened to the serenade song of the lute, by which he wooed his dusky maid. I enjoyed "a feast of reason and a flow of soul." His high-toned sentiments, lofty feeling, dignified sense of justice, and ennobling virtues, impressed my mind so favorably, in regard to the elevating power of nature's teachings, that the surrounding creation seemed doubly lovely; and, as by instinctive impulse, I was led to adore the Author of this beautiful world. It was autumn. The glories of summer were |