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columns would find shelter in case of disaster; while the Poles with their backs to the Vistula, traversed by the single bridge of Praga, were exposed to total ruin if defeated.

On the 19th February, at ten in the morning the battle commenced and lasted till the evening. Diebitch made every effort to force the centre, but although he brought every piece of cannon to bear upon it, the Poles did not yield. All the Russians gained was a few hundred yards of ground without a cannon, a standard, or a prisoner. The resistance of the Poles was so vigourous that Diebitch did not venture to renew the attack, but he had called up his whole right wing, which again raised his forces to nearly 80,000 men. One of the Russian divisions in marching towards the centre was attacked and worsted by the Poles, but notwithstanding continued its march, and by nightfall reached its position. The Polish army held its ground in front of Praga. On the 24th February, the battle was again renewed, and was fearfully desperate and bloody. There was little manoeuvring on either side. Like Waterloo or Inkermann, it was a regular stand-up fight. A little wood, the principal scene of the contest, was repeatedly carried and again lost. By a greater weight of artillery, the Russians at last succeeded in shelling the Poles out, and definitively occupied it. Some of the Polish generals were wounded, and the Poles disheartened by their losses, fell back on all sides, and took post under the cannon of Praga. The Russian horse penetrated through the centre; but, pursuing their advantage too far, were overwhelmed by a furious cannonade from the batteries of Praga, charged in flank by a brigade of Polish cavalry, and almost annihilated. The Polish generals, however, fearing lest the bridge of boats, in their rear, should be cut off by the swelling of the Vistula, retreated at night into Warsaw, leaving Praga occupied by a strong rear-guard.

At these desperate battles before Grochow and Praga the Poles lost eight thousand, and the Russians ten thousand men. Scarcely a prisoner, and not a gun or a colour was taken on either side; and had the Poles been twenty thousand stronger, there cannot be a doubt that they would have driven back the Russians, and left them no hope of accomplishing their object. As it was, the first effort of a hundred thousand Russians had failed in defeating less than one half of their opponents.

On the Polish right the greatest success attended its arms under the able and energetic leadership of Dwernicki. With two thousand eight hundred foot and horse, and six guns, he had to encounter Geismar, who had nine thousand three hundred horse, and forty eight pieces of horse artillery. It seemed as if he must be crushed by superior numbers; nevertheless such was his talent, and the heroism of his followers, that he achieved the most brilliant success. Geismar tried to surround his opponent, and to this end divided his forces into two columns. If attacked at once, neither could come to the other's help, but each was stronger than the Polish force to which it was opposed. Dwernicki at once saw his advantage, breathed into his troops his own spirit, arranged them in two columns, and without an hour's delay led them forth to the attack. With overwhelming impetuosity they rushed forth; the first in a few minutes routed the cavalry opposed to it, and captured three guns; the second undismayed by the storm of grape that fell upon them, threw themselves on the Russian guns,

took eight, and passing on, charged and routed the Russian horse. The Russians fled, leaving in the hands of the victorious Poles eleven guns and three hundred and eighty prisoners.

Such energy does the spirit of liberty bestow. The Poles were fighting for their country, their homes, their firesides, their friends-for freedom. Their cause was right, and approved of Heaven. They made conscience of the matter and were men. Nothing but the vilest abandonment of their cause by the other Governments of Europe in order to propitiate the Czar could have led to their subjugation, for he was unable to divide them. And that abandonment is now bearing its fruit on the shores of the Euxine and of Finland. The Poles have not forgotten the deeds of those brave men. There are still living those whom a Radzivil and a Dwernicki led; and if the voice of sympathy and encouragement fell upon their ears, with but little of material help they might yet be free. If England could afford one-tenth of what it has so readily given to uphold some of the tottering thrones of the continent, Poland would yet be free, and Asiatic despotism, if not finally conquered, curbed for a century to come.

(To be continued.)

STATISTICS OF THE NATIONS.

The total number of soldiers in the armies of thirty-six countries, is 3,151,241! The entire force of their naval armaments is, 2072, with 470,343 men. Great Britain has thirty two per cent., or about one-third of the combined naval force of the world. The number of soldiers in the standing armies of Europe, including Turkey, is 2,797,158! The annual cost of the armies and, navies of twenty states is £103,236,671-upwards of one hundred millions of money!, England pays annually for her debt £27,726,960! France stands next and pays £15,860, 136! The debt per head of England is £27 6s.; that of France is £6 16s.; of Austria £4 8s.; of Prussia £1 18s.; and of Russia £1 18s. It thus appears that Russia, whatever be the comparative poverty of her resources, has managed to avoid the terrible incubus of a heavy national debt, and yet has kept up the most numerous of armies, surrounded her frontiers with mighty fortresses, and created great advanced posts which threaten the liberties of the world.

In postal communication Great Britain rises above all other countries in the world. In 1853 there were delivered in this country 411,000,000 of letters; and in France 190,000,000..

What a trifle is the sum expended on all charitable and religious objects compared with the amount devoted to war! The sum total raised by our Bible Societies is £230,616; by our Missionary Societies £544,006; for our Home Missions £158,694; for Educational purposes £78,512; and for all Benevolent Societies £127,630; the sum total being £1,256,644, or little more than the onehundredth part of what is devoted to war. Look at these two streams as they run parallel to each other, the one the stream of death rolling its wide, devastating, fiery flood through almost every land, the other like a little rill, with a narrow margin of verdure almost to sight lost in the vast wilderness through which it passes. Let every Christian and every patriot look to it!

TEMPERANCE.

To this a spare diet contributes much. Eat therefore to live, and do not live to eat. That is like a man, but this below a beast.

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Man. What art thou, Bible? Art thou not the great crumbling yew that still grows in the burial-place of the earth's ancestry? Thy roots are by father Adam's head, and under thy shade the elders of the world rest. Thy branches are still gravely green, but thy decay is advanced and advancing. Is it not so? Bible. I am both antiquity and eternity.

M. Eternity abides, but antiquity must perish.

B. Must antiquity perish? Dost thou not mark in the sand-stone the traces of the rain-drop that fell ten thousand years ago? Dost thou not consider with rejoicing admiration the skeletons of old leviathans that swam in the earth's early oceans? Art thou not ever learning by that which was, and is not, and yet is? Small things of the old time are now big to thee with import and interest. The light of thy studies grows to thee as the light of a rounding moon. And the mild and thoughtful glow reflects to thee the beam of a sun that shone on times and scenes that have died only for themselves, but rise again to live for thee. The Lord give thee understanding, that thou speak not lightly of antiquity perishing.

M. Thou sayest, Bible, that thou art eternity.

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B. He that knoweth and honoureth me, knoweth and honoureth the eternal. Thou art mortal, and shalt, if thou be faithful, put on immortality. I am immortal, and shall put off mortality. My oft-unfolded pages shall be at last folded as a vesture. But my word is the same, and it shall not fail. earth is a temple, and I am the altar; from me streams heavenwards the everburning fire. But, when he shall come with light and with fire whose right it is to reign, he shall take me into himself, and I shall be known in him as he has been known in me.

M. Speak yet of thyself, Bible; for who can speak as thou? Tell me what thou art.

B. I will speak to thee in emblem. It is my manner. The bride hath her attire and her ornament, and the prophet his parable. He may no more speak without beauty than without truth. Aaron's pure linen is fine linen. His vestments are for holiness, and for glory, and for beauty.

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M. I honour thee, and will hearken; speak of thyself as it pleaseth thee. B. I am a map, on which the eyes of generations have pondered. The venerable charter of your highest liberties. I am as an old cathedral, solemn and yast, around whose circuit and among whose windings eternity whispers in the stillness, as the voice of ocean in its shells. Upon the stones have your fathers' feet rested, and from them have their voices risen. I am as Petra, the city of tombs, tombs in the rock. Therein lie the great ones of the old days, each in his house; Judaism rests in its sculptured sepulchre, and the prophets of God are embalmed imperishably. I am as the massive head of an Fgyptian Memnon. The sands of centuries drift over me; the wind again scatters them, and my rest is immovable. Colossal and majestic, undreadingly I confront all storms, and with sorrowful but hopeful eyes gaze fixedly upon the wastes of

time. I am an ancient forest; in me are trees of all kinds. Some stand fair in their beauty and proportion; others are gnarled, and of a rough strength. You walk through me in a light dusky but solemn, and, ever and anon, you break from thickest gloom, and the clear heaven shines openly above you. You tread on herbs of healing, and plants of rarest beauty; and as you look around, your eye is ever catching some flower now conspicuous, but hitherto unseen. I am like a cavern-dark, but full of gems. I send forth the sound of many waters that flow from unseen depths, pure and refreshing. Your eye may not penetrate. The vastness awes you. You tremble, but rejoice. I am as the wonderful but changing firmament, which sometimes is a sky of storm, wherein are clouds dark as night or of a lurid brightness, shadowing the soul with awe ; and sometimes an open sapphire vault, a blue heaven, pure and deep as the thoughts of God, in which refreshing airs wander like spirits, even the spirits his messengers; but the great sun dwells there, giving life when visible, and sustaining it when unseen. And even as the natural sun bends worlds around it in harmonious movement, whilst it creates and conserves life and fertility in their different parts, and brings forth an infinitely varied beauty; so the great Sun of Truth-God manifest in humanity, gives movement and harmony to the whole system of truths; life, force, and productiveness to each, even the least several portion, and, by its illuminating beam, enables us to view all in a completeness impressive and majestic.

M. Bible, I will worship thee.

B. See thou do it not. I am a servant, as thou. I am but of thy brethren the prophets. Worship Him who is the Light of lights.

M. Art thou not at the least a king?

B. I am a king, though I be but a servant. 'I am understanding; I have strength.' And he that hath most strength by fullest understanding of my wisdom, shall be a prince in that great company of souls that wait for, and shall welcome and inaugurate, the reign of Him who cometh to rule and to be loved as the true and only everlasting King.

M. Bible, what shall I do?

B. Flatter me not; follow me. Say not, 'This is the temple of God: see what stones and buildings are here,' when thou dost not worship, but defilest my sanctity with thy foolish, thy earthy, thy selfish mind. Count me as a friend whose greeting is generous, and whose heart is large; but know that I will rebuke thee sharply for all that is false and mean. Come thou in naked sincerity, and bathe in my cleansing rivers. Come thou whenever it is morning with thee; when the earliest beam of hope and of thought strikes. Come, drink of the flowing brook of my counsel, and as thou drinkest, lift up the head, pray, and give thanks.

M. Bible, I will be a trumpet to sound thy praise. With what certain and simple sound may I proclaim thee?

B. Proclaim me the firmament in which He shines who is the light of the world. Only a sun can be a lamp to suffice a world: only God a Saviour to suffice mankind. Believest thou in Christ the Saviour?

M. Alas! Bible, I believe in sorrow.

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B. But believest thou in sin? There be more that wear crape for their sorrows, than sackcloth for their sins. If thou servest the Evil World, at the last Evil shall say to thee of thy sorrows, 'What are these to me? see thou to these fool, to complain-too late, too late!' But if thou servest the True One -the Saviour, he shall say to thee of thy sorrows, 'What are these to thee? I bear them; I change them. By mine own sorrows and victory have I resolved them into joys.' Sin without a Saviour is the black cloud of a storm advancing; but sin to him that believeth in Christ is the black cloud of a storm retiring.

M. Bible, I believe; still help thou mine unbelief. This Saviour shall be my Saviour for ever and ever. He will be my guide even unto death. 1 rejoice, and yet 1 fear.

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B. The lightning glared on thee as thou didst journey a dangerous path. It showed thee an abyss at thy foot. But hadst thou not seen, thou couldst not have been saved. The abyss, not the sight of it, was thy peril. The sight of the evil was the occasion of thy terror, but the condition of thy deliverance. And if thou sawest an abyss below, thou sawest also the countenance and hand of a friend above thee. But the sudden light passed, and it fell dark again— and so thou again fearedst. And often thou wilt see thy Saviour by the transitory flash of a bright summer-lightning, rather than by the steady shining of a bright summer day. But call, in the dark, on a Saviour whom thou seest not, and he will answer thee; he will come to thee, and hold thee by the hand while shadows remain; and soon the morning shall dawn, and he be with thee thy counsellor, master, and companion.

M. Bible, thou comfortest me. 1 will sing.

B. Sing, but fight too. Let the song of faith spirit thee for the fight of faith. Art thou assured of a Saviour's strength and presence? sing thankfully. But be thou also strong to overcome as he overcame. Praise God by the harmony and power of thy life, as well as by the melody of thy thanksgiving. If thou goest to God at last as one that hath fought the fight, hath kept the faith, and hath overcome-thou mayst also depart, as thou art told the old lark doth. He collects his strength for one last flight and one last song, strikes upwards to the serenest heights' of heaven, and breathing his soul out in praise, in the midst of his melody he droops his wing, and falls dead upon the green earth he has so often charmed and cheered.

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M. Bible, I bless thee, and I bless thy glory and thy beauty.

B. Which is the greater, the golden candlestick or the lights it bears? My books are the many-branched golden candlestick-my 'word of life' is the yet more golden light thereon, the light which goeth not out at all. Blessest thou my beauty? Yea, and it shall be blessed. But rather bless my truth, which beauty serves as a robe, a diadem, a pavilion. Bless the light of my lights, and the glory of my beauties. Bless your Lord and your God.-Christian Spectator.

THE CHRISTIAN'S TREASURE.

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The Christian possesses a treasure very glorious in its nature. And what is this treasure? It is not riches, not honour, not fame, not worldly joys, not the earth itself, with all its precious gems. No! It is something more sublimely grand-more heart-thrilling-more gloriously unfading and eternal. Riches are good, but they take to themselves wings and fly away.' Honour and fame make a man prosper only to his grave, and the joys of time are like flakes of foam on the surface of a river, ravaging by their milky face and beauteous wild flutter the spectator's eye, but in a moment passing away. The flowers of summer open their young bosoms in the hour of morn, and they always, by their varied hues, rouse the sympathies of the human mind; we gaze on them, and as we handle them, we smell a fragrance which makes our spirits leap away in imaginative flight over the hoary years of earth, to the morning of the world when the roses of Paradise scented the new created air, and charmed the unpolluted souls of God's first human children. But flowers bloom only to die! We look at them, and decay steals over their infantile bosoms-being too delicate for earth they drop their heads and weep, and with the exit of yonder sun, they bid us adieu for ever-feeling ashamed of the sinful world, and man, as he presents himself, a melancholy wreck in the empire of the Holy Jehovah. And so do all things fade? Time gnaws the vitals of all matter. The proud cities which reared their heads to heaven, Nineveh, Babylon, ancient Rome, and highhonoured Jerusalem of old, and Ephesus, the eye of Asia-yes; these world

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