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She dressed herself in richest robes, and called her

servants all, “Make haste," she cried, " light glowing fires and deck

the banquet hall; Go forth, then bring in children, bring every child you

meet; Search all the city's byways, search every lane and street.

"Look for the homeless, friendless, for every little one Is dear to me for Jesus' sake, and for my own dear son, Who dwells with Him in Heaven and cannot happy be, Because–O Christ! have pity !-because of sinful me." Then loudly rang the castle bells, and soon, from far and

near, The children came, and laughed, and sang, and shared

the Christmas cheer. That night, as on her pillow the Lady Judith lay, A light shone all around her, like the brightness of the

day, And she saw the happy valley and heard the children

sing: “ He comes, He comes, the children's Friend, He comes,

our Lord and King.” And akin to pain the rapture that filled the mother's

breast, As the voice she knew rang sweeter, and for her above

the rest;

'Twas the voice of her beloved, and she knew no sorrow


Weighed on his tender little heart or dimmed his shining


And evermore she walked content along life's thorny

road, With heart upraised in thankfulness to where her child

abode, And evermore on Christmas, when she heard the joy

bells ring, “All hail !" she cried, “our blessed Lord, the children's Friend and King."





NOTHER name is added to the roll of those whom

the world will not willingly let die. A few years since, storm-clouds filled his heaven, and obloquy, slander, and bitter lies rained down upon him. The clouds are all blown away; under a serene sky General Grant laid down his life and the whole nation wept. The path to his tomb is worn by the feet of innumerable pilgrims.

The mildewed lips of slander are silent, and even criticism hesitates lest some incautious word should mar the history of the modest, gentle, magnanimous warrior. The whole nation watched his passage through humili. ating misfortunes with unfeigned sympathy—the whole world sighed when his life ended. At his burial the unsworded hands of those whom he had fought lifted his bier and bore him to his tomb with love and rever





The South had laid the foundation of her industry, her commerce, and her very commonwealth upon slavery. It was slavery that inspired her councils, 'that engorged her philanthropy, that corrupted her political economy and theology, that disturbed all the ways of active politics—broke up sympathy between North and South. The hand that fired upon Sumter exploded the mine under the Flood Rock of slavery and opened the way to civilization. The spark that was there kindled fell upon the North like fire upon autumnal prairies. Men came together in the presence of this universal calamity with sudden fusion; the whole land became a military school. But the Northern armies once organized, an amiable folly of conciliation began to show itself. Some peaceable way out of the war was hoped for. Generals seemed to fight so that no one should be hurt. The South had smelted into a glowing mass; it believed in its course with an infatuation that would have been glorious if the cause had been better; it put its whole soul into it and struck hard. the war lingered, unmarked by great deeds. Lincoln, sad and sorrowful, felt the moderation of his generals and longed for a man of iron mold, who had but two words in his military vocabulary-victory or annihilation. He was coming; he was heard from at Henry and Donelson. Three great names were rising to sight, Sherman, Thomas, Sheridan, and, larger than any, Grant. .

At the opening of the war his name was almost un. known. It was with difficulty he could obtain a command. Once set forward, Donelson, Shiloh, Vicksburg, Chattanooga, the Wilderness, Spottsylvania, Petersburg, Appomattox—these were his footsteps ! In four years he had risen, without political favor, from the bottom to the very highest command-not second to any living sommander in all the world. His plans were large, his

For two years

undiscouraged will was patient to obduracy. He was not fighting for reputation, nor for the display of generalship, nor for a future Presidency. He had but one motive, and that as intense as life itself-the subjugation of the rebellion and the restoration of the broken Union. He embodied the feelings of the common people; he was their perfect representative. The war was waged for the maintenance of the Union, the suppression of armed resistance, and, at length, for the eradication of slavery. Every step, from Donelson to Appomattox, evinced with increasing intensity this, his one terrible purpose. He never wavered, turned aside, or dallied ; he waded through blood to the horses' bridles.

The moment that the South lay panting and helpless upon the ground, Grant carried himself with magnanimous and sympathetic consideration. He imposed no humiliating conditions, spared the feelings of his antagonists, sent home the disbanded Southern men with food and with horses for working their crops, and when a revengeful spirit in the Executive chair showed itself, and threatened the chief Southern generals, Grant, with a holy indignation, interposed himself and compelled his superior to relinquish his rash purpose. He never forgot that the South was a part of the country.

The tidings of his death, long expected, gave a shock to the whole world. Governments, rulers, eminent statesmen, and scholars from all civilized nations gave sincere tokens of sympathy. For the hour sympathy rolled as a wave over all our own land. It closed the last furrow of war, it extinguished the last prejudice, it effaced the last vestige of hatred, and cursed be the hand that shall bring them back!

Johnson and Buckner on one side, Sherman and Sheridan upon the other, of his bier, he went to his tomb, a silent symbol that liberty had conquered slavery, patriotism rebellion, and peace war. He rests in peace, . No drum or cannon shall disturb his rest. Sleep, hero, until another trumpet shall shake the heavens and the earth-then come forth to glory in immortality!




EEN out in the lifeboat often ? Ay, ay, sir, oft

enough. When it's rougher than this? Why, bless you! this

ain't what we calls rough! It's when there's a gale a-blowin', and the waves run in

and break On the shore with a roar like thunder and the white

cliffs seem to shake; When the sea is a storm of waters, and the bravest

holds his breath As he hears the cry for the lifeboat—his summons

maybe to death That's when we call it rough, sir; but, if we can get

her afloat, There's always enough brave fellows ready to man the


You've heard of the Royal Helen, the ship as was

wrecked last year? Yon be the rock she struck on the boat as went out

be here;

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