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of sorrow. May that sorrow which is shadowed forth in our hats be sanctified to our hearts, and then it will be a blessing to us both." This Christian remark had my hearty Amen! and the crape on my hat has often, since then, brought it into my mind.

Whatever be our opinions about dress, it is not, I think, wise to affect singularity. Were a man tc dress himself up in a Merry Andrew's cap and bells, or a harlequin's jacket, he might set the neigbourhood grinning around him, but he would add thereby neither to his comfort nor his reputation. But, after all, weakness is more pardonable than ill-nature; and, therefore, though I hold with no extremes, I dislike the extreme of fashion less than the extreme of fault-finding.

THE BITTER FRUITS OF WAR.

THE Surgeon who would cure a wound must probe it to the bottom, if it be requisite; and he that would produce a hatred of war, must not be afraid to make manifest its enormities.

"The field of battle (Borodino) had all the appearance of an extinguished volcano. The ground

THE BITTER FRUITS OF WAR.

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was covered all around with fragments of helmets and cuirasses, broken drums, gun-stocks, tatters of uniforms, and standards dyed with blood. On this spot lay thirty thousand half-devoured corses. The emperor (Napoleon) passed quickly, nobody stopped; cold, hunger, and the enemy urged us on: we merely turned our faces as we proceeded, to take a last melancholy look at the vast grave of so many companions in arms uselessly sacrificed."-SEGUR'S Russian Campaign.

Read, ye fathers! Are ye ready thus to sacrifice your sons? Is this the fame and the glory ye desire for them? Are ye quite content that the flesh of your flesh, and bone of your bone should thus be made an untimely banquet for birds and beasts of prey?

"Multitudes of these desolate fugitives lost their speech; others were seized with frenzy, and many were so maddened with the extremes of pain and hunger, that they tore the dead bodies of their comrades to pieces, and feasted on the disgusting remains."-SIR ROBERT KER PORTER.

Read, ye mothers! and ask yourselves if it was for this that ye nourished and brought up your children tenderly for this that ye watched and wept over them, and taught them to lisp their infant prayers?

"In the hospitals of Wilna, were above nineteen thousand dead and dying, frozen and freezing; the bodies of the former broken up, served to stop the

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THE BITTER FRUITS OF WAR.

cavities in windows, floors, and walls; but in one of the corridors of the great convent, above fifteen hundred bodies were piled up transversely, as pigs of lead or iron. In the roads, men were collected around the burning ruins of the cottages which a mad spirit of destruction had fired, picking and eating the burnt bodies of their fellow-men."-SIR ROBERT WILSON.

Read, ye fathers and mothers! ye wives and husbands. Read in the bitterness of your spirit, and instead of railing on the culpable demerits of others that delight in war, call to mind your own. I would fain put these questions to your hearts and your souls. Have you ever reflected on the sin and the sorrows of war? Have you ever lifted up your voice on high among your friends, or whispered into the ears of your children, denouncing war as a curse to mankind? Have you ever put up a prayer to the High and Holy One, that the sword might be scabbarded for ever? Have you, in short, done any thing in thought, word, or deed, to extend on earth the blessings of peace, and to diminish the guilt and misery of war?

THE SETTING SUN.

DID our emotions at all correspond with the wonders around us, then would our hands, our eyes, and our hearts be continually lifted up towards heaven. What a goodly sight is that of the retiring orb of day! The sunset that I have just seen is not to be described; but as fair and glowing landscapes are sometimes tolerably depicted in Indian ink, so my poor expressions may shadow forth some faint resemblance of the glorious spectacle on which I have so recently gazed.

Blue was the wide firmament in the east, the north, and the south: it was in the west alone that the kindling beams of the retiring sun were visible, gradually increasing in intensity till the overpowered sight could no longer endure the brightness that in one point concentrated itself in an apparent blaze. A change came over the scene, and dark, gilt-edged clouds in broken masses assumed the appearance of rocks, through which floods of light found their way. Another change. The rocks 'became darker, and the glowing light brighter. It was a transition from loveliness to excessive beauty, from grandeur to magnificence unutterable. I could only give a rapid glance at the overpowering scene; but in that glance what glory was visible! The

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THE SETTING SUN.

floods of light were as cascades of silvery streams, cataracts of molten gold, and tumbling torrents of liquid diamonds.

In this imperfect state of being, how much of rapture may be enjoyed! but in a more glorious existence a thousand new senses may be given us, and ten thousand new sources of delight.

A SABBATH PASSED IN A DITCH.

In moving among mankind, we are very sure, every now and then, unexpectedly to fall in with those who are grateful for the means of grace, and the hope of glory, who read the Bible, value the sabbath, and love the Saviour.

Not long ago, I met with a stranger, who, in conversation with me, spoke thus on the subject of the Christian sabbath :—“ Though there is doubtless much of ungodliness in England, yet when compared with the sabbaths on the continent, a sabbath here is a delightful season. No one can truly value that blessed day until he has been deprived of its enjoyment. When in the army, I felt this deprivation: we had misery in every shape; for, in the Peninsular war, toil, danger, disease, and death, were con

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