This is a species of fanaticism, and the more worthy of notice, because the most plausible and self-deceiving. It involves some of the great inconsistencies and lamentable evils of the present day. There are certain standards set up by different sections of the community and country, according to which every man is to be judged, and pronounced too strict or too loose, hot or cold. There are certain divisions of society on its agitating subjects, to one of which every man is required to belong, and by the others must be condemned. He has hardly a choice. He can exercise no independence. He must not expect to retain his individuality or liberty. With all our boast of freedom, and possibly too much of it in some respects, there is a great slavishness of opinion among those who uphold and those who oppose all slavery. There is probably as much of attempted restriction and petty tyranny and unconscious fanaticism in both the Southern and Northern portions of our country, as in almost any civilized and Christian land. But for this the check or the remedy is not to be found in any kind of force, but rather in the union of principle with ardor, courage with gentleness, and liberty with love. "The wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be entreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality and without hypocrisy. And the fruit of righteousness is soon in peace of them that make peace."

E. B. H.

THE PAST, THE PRESENT, AND THE FUTURE.

THERE are few agents who more effectually connect the past with the present, than death. It opens the flood-gates of memory, and events come rushing in. When the youth is suddenly taken, around whom the morning of life has spread its halo, the short past rises before us; we turn to infancy, to childhood, and to the rich promise of opening years. We recall the first dawn of intellect, the first step, the first efforts at language; the beautiful thoughts of childhood, so natural and so striking, that shed cheerfulness and light on our way-worn path; we hear the echo of the clear ringing laugh-the joyous shout, and catch the soft low notes

of confiding love. Then comes the adventurous daring of the boy, and the mother trembles as she sees the elements become the playthings of his enterprise. How fearlessly he plunges into the water, fathoms deep, or guides his boat over its swelling waves. How little he thinks that the various instruments of his recreation and enjoyment are fraught with danger and death. Happy ignorance! Life is to the young, sunshine and flowers; and when called hence, they leave soothing and precious memories of the past to cling around the present. The present, the overwhelming present, how momentary! The breath stops, and it is gone! Yet the past still remains.

To some a longer period is given. Boyhood ripens into manhood. He who loved to lay his head in his mother's lap, has entered the arena of life. New ties and new duties are gathering round him. Human virtue is no longer a theory; he must struggle for it by sacrifices. He must give the protection he once received. His labor has begun, and he must toil while the day lasts. Then comes the contest; he puts on his whole armor and strains every nerve. How encouraging the progress! He is toiling in the vineyard of his Father, and already the harvest is ripening around. But alas! the heat of the day comes on, he faints beneath his arduous labors and lies prostrate on the bed of sickness. Again and again he rises from it; the spirit, the undying spirit, triumphs over the feeble frame. It is renewed, it mounts upward like the eagle. Words as of inspiration flow from his lips, and amid the signs of mortal decay we feel that "all is well." At length he is prostrated to rise no more. Now begin the noblest lessons of his life; now he speaks as with the tongue of angels. He bequeaths a parting legacy-" Consolation" for mourners. He teaches by example that sickness is not hard to bear—that it is not a period of inaction-that much may be accomplished while waiting the final summons. Beautiful symbols of his faith, the workmanship of his hands, become the emblems of his earthly friendships and immortal hopes. On many of his young friends these affecting relics are bestowed, and some of them may say with the poet,

"To take the cross, and follow thee
Where faith and duty lead, shall be
My portion and my praise."

This is awhile the present, but there are recollections that connect his slow decline with the past. Thus faded into life the well remembered Thacher; thus he lingered and suffered, patiently waiting his Father's will. The past connected with the present is the teaching of Providence. The good are not to vanish from the earth; their words, their example, their writings remain. The present! what is it but a canvass on which the images of the past are traced, on which we portray the living and breathing portraits of our friends?

After the past and present comes the future, and who shall talk to us of the future so eloquently as those who have lived to us in the past such men as Thacher, Buckminster, Channing, and Greenwood. While on earth, they taught us that God and religion are one, that the mind of man in its wonderful faculties and spiritual capacities proves how great must be the Author of such exquisite workmanship. They made God the witness of himself, and led us to the contemplation of the proportion, harmony and beauty of creation. They felt that knowledge of him was best imparted by the simple and direct instruction derived from his attributes and from his revelation through Jesus Christ. Like St. Paul, they laid no stress upon the doctrines or traditions of men. Theirs was a preaching well calculated to make us strive after perfection, for they believed in the regenerating power of human effort, and that the grace of God would turn effort into virtuous success. They believed that with a perfect rule, an unerring instructor, an example partaking of the divine life, erring beings endowed with reason and understanding might attain the excellence enjoined by the Saviour.

The lips are closed from which such simple and affectionate precepts flowed. The past and the present have vanished for them, and they have entered on the future. Will it not encourage and strengthen us, that minds so richly endowed, and so faithfully and conscientiously devoted to the study of the Scriptures, of the attributes of God and the harmonies of creation, have traced the clearest connection between the past, the present, and the future. Be it so! Let us ennoble the present by memories of the past, and still continue "our conversations with the excellent in heaven," even in the bosom of futurity.

H. F. L.

SONG OF THE POOR GARDENER.

FROM THE GERMAN OF GLEIM.

AM I, poor gardener, happy? Yes;
I am, and have a right to be!
Much toil and trouble, I confess,

Has God, my God allotted me;
But pleasures, also, not a few,

For which what thanks to Him belong!And heart and voice to sing them, too, As sings the lark his morning song.

As bright and early as the sun,

Up from my bed of straw I spring,
And hours and minutes, as they run,
Bring joy and gladness on their wing.
At early morn his friendly ray

Paints me the top of every tree,
And when he sinks at close of day,
Still through the twigs he blinks at me.

The birds that sing to welcome spring,
Each morning sing to welcome me!

For I have never stained a wing,

Nor robbed a nest in bush or tree. This makes each creature kind to me That hovers o'er me in the air, And worm and insect fearlessly

With me the common bounty share.

When we have sung our matin song,
Brisk to our daily work we run;
And then we sing and spring along

Back to our meal when work is done.

My table on the turf is spread,

Sweet krout and cooling mush are there;

More sweet to me my daily bread
Than to a king his costliest fare.

I snatch a hasty meal, then go

Fresh to my daily work again;
And hours of toil like minutes flow,
Sweet birds! beneath your merry strain.
Full oft I pause to hear and see

Great Nature's life-tides ripple round;
Here little gnat-choirs hum their glee,
There roam the bees o'er flowery ground.

The God who made and doth sustain
Each little life, however brief,
Makes nothing empty or in vain :

No, not the tiniest, trembling leaf.
There's not a blade of grass that grows,
My browsing lambkin leaves behind;
In vain no smallest flower-cup blows;
In every thing a use I find.

Here, for example, God has made

My digging serve his purpose, too;
For you, ye ravens! works my spade,
And, little singing birds! for you.
For you fat worms I bring to sight,
And dig up chafers from the sand;
Then on my spade you come and 'light,
And sing and pick from out my hand.

The small ground-sparrow hopping round
Looks up to me with wistful eyes,
Till some poor little worm is found,

Then hastens homeward with her prize.
Like her, I hie me home to rest,

Sweet slumber crowns my evening song,
At morn I wake with buoyant breast,
And feel both soul and body strong.

And all these pleasures with my queen
I share, my faithful gard'neress.
A king would envy me, I ween,
All that I am, could he but guess!

I am contented with my lot,

My bread is sweet, my krout is nice, I reign a monarch in my cot

My garden is a paradise.

C. T. B.