which go to spread a most delusive colouring over war, and to remove its shocking barbarities to the back ground 35 of our contemplations altogether. I see it in the history, which tells me of the superb appearance of the troops, and the brilliancy of their successive charges. I see it in the poetry, which lends the magic of its numbers to the narrative of blood, and transports its many admirers; as by 40 its images, and its figures, and its nodding plumes of chivalry, it throws its treacherous embellishments over a scene of legalized slaughter. I see it in the music, which represents the progress of the battle; and where, after being inspired by the trumpet-notes of preparation, 45 the whole beauty and tenderness of a drawing-room are seen to bend over the sentimental entertainment; nor do I hear the utterance of a single sigh to interrupt the death-tones of the thickening contest, and the moans of the wounded men, as they fade away upon the ear, and 50 sink into lifeless silence. All, all goes to prove what strange and half-sighted creatures we are. Were it not so, war could never have been seen in any other aspect than that of unmingled hatefulness; and I can look to nothing but to the progress of Christian sentiment upon 55 earth, to arrest the strong current of its popular and vailing partiality for war. Then only will an imperious sense of duty lay the check of severe principle, on all the subordinate tastes and faculties of our nature. will glory be reduced to its right estimate, and the wake60 ful benevolence of the gospel, chasing away every spell, will be turned by the treachery of no delusion whatever, from its sublime enterprises for the good of the species. Then the reign of truth and quietness will be ushered into the world, and war, cruel, atrocious, unrelenting 65 war will be stript of its many and its bewildering fasci

nations.

pre

Then

EXERCISE 71.

The Elder's Death Bed.-PROF. WILSON.—Edinb.

PART I.

For six years' Sabbaths I had seen the ELDER in his accustomed place beneath the pulpit-and, with a sort of solemn fear, had looked on his steadfast countenance,

during sermon, psalm, and prayer. On returning to the 5 scenes of my infancy, I met the Pastor, going to pray by his death-bed-and, with the privilege which nature gives us to behold, even in their last extremity, the loving and beloved, I turned to accompany him to the house of sorrow, of resignation, and of death.

10

And now, for the first time, I observed, walking close to the feet of his horse, a little boy about ten years of age, who kept frequently looking up in the Pastor's face, with his blue eyes bathed in tears. A changeful expression of grief, hope, and despair, made almost pale, 15 cheeks which otherwise were blooming in health and beauty; and I recognised, in the small features and smooth forehead of childhood, a resemblance to the aged man whom we understood was now lying on his deathbed. 66 They had to send his grandson for me through 20 the snow, mere child as he is," said the Minister, looking tenderly on the boy; "but love makes the young heart bold-and there is One who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb."

१

As we slowly approached the cottage, through a deep 25 snow-drift, which the distress within had prevented the inmates from removing, we saw, peeping out from the door, brothers and sisters of our little guide, who quickly disappeared, and then their mother showed herself in their stead, expressing, by her raised eyes, and arms 30 folded across her breast, how thankful she was to see, at last, the Pastor, beloved in joy, and trusted in trouble.

A few words sufficed to say who was the strangerand the dying man, blessing me by name, held out to 35 me his cold shrivelled hand in token of recognition. I took my seat at a small distance from the bed-side, and left a closer station for those who were more dear.

"If the storm do not abate," said the sick man after a pause, "it will be hard for my friends to carry me 40 over the drifts to the kirk-yard." This sudden approach to the grave, struck, as with a bar of ice, the heart of the loving boy-and, with a long deep sigh, he fell down, with his face like ashes, on the bed, while the old man's palsied right hand had just strength to lay it45 self upon his head.

"God has been gracious to me a sinner," said the

dying man. During thirty years that I have been an elder in your kirk, never have I missed sitting there one Sabbath. When the mother of my children was taken 50 from me-it was on a Tuesday she died-and on a Saturday she was buried. We stood together when my Alice was let down into the narrow house made for all living. On the Sabbath I joined in the public worship of God-she commanded me to do so the night before 55 she went away. I could not join in the psàlm that Sabbath, for her voice was not in the throng.-Her grave was covered up, and grass and flowers grew there."

The old man ceased speaking-and his grandchild, now able to endure the scene,-for strong passion is its 60 own support,-glided softly to a little table, and bringing a cup in which a cordial had been mixed, held it in his small, soft hands to his grandfather's lips. He drank, and then said, "Come clòser to me, Jámie, and kiss me for thine own and thy father's sake;" and as the child 65 fondly pressed his rosy lips on those of his grandfather, so white and withered, the tears fell over all the old man's face, and then trickled down on the golden head of the child, sobbing in his bosom.

Jamie, thy own father has forgotten thee in thy in70 fancy, and mé in my old àge; but Jamie, forget not thou, thy father, nor thy mother; for that, thou knowest and feelest, is the commandment of God.”

The broken-hearted boy could give no reply. He had gradually stolen closer and closer unto the loving old 75 man, and now was lying, worn out with sorrow, drenched and dissolved in tears, in his grandfather's bosom. His mother had sunk down on her knees, and hid her face with her hand. "Oh! if my husband knew but of this he would never, never desert his dying father!" 80 And I now knew that the Elder was praying on his death-bed for a disobedient and wicked son.

PART II.

At this affecting time the Minister took the Family Bible on his knees, and said, "Let us sing to the praise of God, part of the fifteenth Psalm." Ere the Psalm was yet over, the door was opened, and a tall fine look5 ing man entered, but with a lowering and dark countenance, seemingly in sorrow, in misery, and remorse.

Agitated, confounded, and awe-struck by the melancholy and dirge-like music, he sat down on a chair, and looked with a ghastly face towards his father's death10 bed. When the psalm ceased, the Elder said with a solemn voice, "My són-thou art come in time to re>ceive thy father's blessing. May the remembrance of what will happen in this room, before the morning again shines over the Hazel-glen, wìn thee from the error of 15 thy ways! Thou art here to witness the mercy of thy God and thy Saviour, whom thou hast forgotten.'

The Minister looked, if not with a stèrn, yet with an upbraiding countenance, on the young man, who had not recovered his speech, and said, “ William! for three 20 years past, your shadow has not darkened the door of the house of God. They who fear not the thùnder, may tremble at the still, small voice-now is the hour for repentance-that your father's spirit may carry up to Heaven, tidings of a contrite soul, saved from the company of sinners!"

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The young man, with much effort, advanced to the bed-side, and at last found voice to say, "Father-I am not without the affections of nature-and I hurried home the moment I heard that the minister had been 30 seen riding towards our house. I hope that you will yet recover, and, if I have ever made you unhappy, I ask your forgiveness;-for though I may not think as you do on matters of religion, I have a human heart Father! I may have been unkind, but I am not crùel. 35 I ask your forgiveness.

Come near to me, William; kneel down by the bedside, and let my hand feel the head of my beloved sonfor blindness is coming fast upon me. Thou wert my first born, and thou art my only living son. All thy 40 brothers and sisters are lying in the church-yard, beside her whose sweet face thine own, William, did once so much resemble. Long wert thou the joy, the pride of my soul,ay, too much the pride, for there was not in all the parish, such a man, such a son, as my own Wil45 liam. If thy heart has since been changed, God may inspire it again with right thoughts. I have sorely wept for thee-ày, William, when there was none near me-even as David wept for Absalom-for thee, my son, my son!"

50

A long, deep groan was the only reply; but the whole body of the kneeling man was convulsed; and it was easy to see his sufferings, his contrition, his remorse, and his despair. The Pastor said, with a sterner voice, and austerer countenance than were natural to him, 55 "Know you whose hand is now lying on your rebellious head? But what signifies the word father, to him who has denied God, the Father of us all?" "Oh! press him not too hardly," said his weeping wife, coming forward from a dark corner of the room, where 60 she tried to conceal herself in grief, fear, and shame. Spare, Oh! spare my husband-he has ever been kind to me;" and with that she knelt down beside him, with her long, soft, white arms mournfully, and affectionately laid across his neck. "Go thou, likewise, my 65 sweet little Jamie," said the Elder, go even out of my bosom, and kneel down beside thy father and thy mother, so that I may bless you all at once, and with one yearning prayer. The child did as the solemn voice commanded, and knelt down, somewhat timidly, by his 70 father's side; nor did the unhappy man decline encircling with his arm, the child too much neglected, but still dear to him as his own blood, in spite of the deadening and debasing influence of infidelity.

"Put the word of God into the hands of my son, and 75 let him read aloud to his dying father the 25th, 26th, and 27th verses of the eleventh chapter of the Gospel according to St. John." The Pastor went up to the kneelers, and, with a voice of pity, condolence, and pardon, said, "There was a time when none, William, could 80 read the Scriptures better than couldst thou-can it be that the son of my friend hath forgotten the lessons of his youth?" He had not forgotten them-there was no need of the repentant sinner to lift up his eyes from the bed side. The sacred stream of the Gospel had worn a 85 channel in his heart, and the waters were again flowing. With a choked voice he said, Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the life: And whosoever liveth, and believeth in me, shall never die. Believest thou this? She said unto him, Yea, Lord: I believe thou 90 art the Christ the Son of God, which should come into the world."

66

"That is not an unbeliever's voice," said the dying