effrttigpllbtlltt.
ERASMUS.
A SIIETCH FROM THE HISTORY OF
THE REFORMATION IN THE
NETHERLANDS.
BY N. S
(Concluded.)
The Testament of Erasmus was a
prohibited book in Cambridge. But its
light could not be hid. Priests and con
fessors, who in vain undertook to quiet
the consciences of true penitents by pre
scribing fasts and watchings, could not
restrain them from the volume that now
openly told them of Jesus Christ, who
came into the world to save sinners,
even the chief. In private chambers, in
the lecture-rooms and dining-halls, stu
dents and masters were to be seen read
ing the Greek and Latin Testament.
Animated groups were discussing the
principles of the Reformation. Some
earnest souls took it into their closets,
and there in its pages found the living
word of grace, that brought peace to
their souls. One Thomas Bilney, at
Cambridge, thus owed his conversion to
the labors of Erasmus. He never
grew weary of reading the book. He
gathered his friends around him, and
read and commented upon it, in the
glowing light of his own fresh.experi
once.
Tyndale in Oxford, too, read the cele
brated book that was attracting the
attention of all Christendom. The more
he read, the more was he struck with
its truth and strange energy. It spoke
of God, of Christ, of regeneration, with
a simplicity and .an authority which
quite mastered him. He cried out, like
the discoverer of long-sought treasures :
I have found it; and soon, around him,
too, was gathered a circle devotedly
studying the Greek and Latin Testa
ment of Erasmus. He came to Cam
bridge and joined Bilney there, where,
for many months, they kept up the young
enthusiasm for sacred learning, and fed
the earlier fires of the Reformation kin
dled by the torch of Erasmus. Tyndale
afterwards became the translator of the
first Bible that was printed in the Eng
lish tongue.
The work of Erasmus in Latin and
Greek was for the ' learned, but it
prompted this great and iron-soaled
English Reformer to give the same
Divine treasure to the people. It was
the work of his life, and it was done
in exile, whither he had been driven
by the priests, and by some of the very
friends of Erasmus, who had not aban
doned their connection with the Church
of Rome. And yet Erasmus himself
had loudly called for the translation of
the Bible into the tongue of the people.
" Perhaps it may be necessary to con
ceal the secrets of kings," he said, " but
we must publish the mysteries of Christ. .
The Holy Scriptures, translated into all
languages, should be read not only by
the Scotch and Irish, but even by Turks
and Saracens.* The husbandman should
sing them as he holds the handle of his
plough, the weaver repeat them as he
plies his shuttle, and the wearied travel
ler, halting on his journey, refresh him
under some shady tree, by these godly
narratives."
Bat Erasmus had no heart for the
heavy work of a Reformer. He had
but a superficial view of the nature of
the evils under which the Church and
the world groaned. A revival of learn
ing, a dissemination of knowledge, the
mere power of intellectual light, seemed
to him all that was needed for the refor
mation of prevailing abuses. But when
the hosts of darkness rose and raged
against the work of the simple-minded,
enthusiastic scholar, and when the Re
formation began to assume the propor
tions of a vast and world-wide struggle ;
when fires began to kindle, and chains
to clank, and dungeons to open, and
Popes to fulminate and hosts to gather
for the battle, the timid soul of the
scholar began to flutter like a frightened
bird. " Wretch that I am," he exclaim
ed, " who could have foreseen this hor
rible tempest I" It was not, by any
means, the last time that men saw the
pioneers of great reforms appalled and
dismayed, when the unavoidable results
of their doctrines appeared in fierce
struggles for the mastery in the actual
world. Erasmus furnishes a pattern of
which our own times and our own great
conflict have not wanted copies.
The philosopher of Rotterd am thought
the struggle would be Dot and brief.
His vanity led him to repose confidence
in the sagacity of his own plans. Pro
tracted strife and tumult, heavy blows,
blunt language, uncompromising and radi
cal measures he regarded as unwise and
needless. He loved personal ease and
the selfish gratifications of a life of learned
leisure too much, to be willing to make
sacrifices for the general good. He
wavered and seemed to change sides.
His services for the cause of truth were
indeed incalcnlabl greatoand sincerely
rendered. Many a brave word did he
utter for Luther in perilous times. " The
last spark of Christian piety," he says,
"is exting7ished, and it is this which
has moved Luther's heart. He cares
neither for money nor for honors." When
the Elector Frederick ,consulted Eras
mus upon the case of Luther, after the
Pope had anathematized him, the philo-
sopher said : The more virtuous a
man is, the less is he opposed to Luther.
Luther has only been condemned, not
* The Arabic version of the Scriptures, now
going through the'press of the American Sible
Society, at length, after three centuries, fulfills
this word of Erasmus:
proved to be in the wrong. To imprison
Luther would be a mournful commence
ment of the Emperor Charles' reign.
The world is thirsting for evangelical
truth. Let us beware of setting up a
blamable opposition." And yet, while
the Elector was taking courage froz6
these words, and strengthening in the
purpose to defend his subject from the
plots of Pope and Emperor, Erasmus
was writing the most submissive letters
to the Pope. At times he put into a
single paragraph his contradictory views
of the. Reformer. " Almost all good
men are for Luther. But I see that we
are tending toward a revolt. - I would
not have my name joined with his ' • that
would injure me, without serving him."
Erasmus could not but expect hos
tility and mistrust from both sides.' The
monks poured out all the fury which ig
norance and superstition, jealous of learn
ing and light, can manifest. They did
not and could not read his works, but
they heaped upon him every abusive
title. Playing upon his name, they
called him Errasmus for his errors ; Ar
asmus for ploughing up sacred customs;
Embalm, because he had written him
self an ass ; they called him Behemoth,
Devil, Enemy of Religion, Blasphemer of
the Virgin Mary, Schismatic, Impostor,
Forerunner of Antichrist, and Antichrist
himself. Some said he was the original
head of the Lutheran faction ; a worse
heretic than Luther himself. Some
said, Luther had gathered the fatal seed
in Erasmus' garden ; others said, Eras
mus had laid the egg of the Reformation
and Luther had hitched it. On the
other hand, the friends of the Reforma
tion blamed him for not separating from
the church of Rome. It was said that
it was his fault only, that the Pope and
papacy were not blown up at once. The
Pope himself wrote him a letter, which
Erasmus, with a touch of vanity, de
scribes as full of kindness and honora
ble testimonials.
At length, in 1526, we find him fully
identified with the enemies of the Re
formation, drawn back by a . selfish and
traitorous conservatism to the ranks,
against which he had enthusiastically
led the vanguard of Protestantism but a
dozen years before. It was one of his
inglorious declarations : "A disadvan
tageous peace is better than the most
righteous war." Again he said : "If
the corrupt morals of the Court of Rome
call for a prompt and vigorous remedy,
that is no business of mine, nor of those
who are like me." Most ignoble of all,
and yet perhaps the most candid of all,
is his confession in these words : " Let
otheri aspire to martyrdom ; as for me,
I do not think myself worthy of such an
honor."
The grand difficulty with .the Eras
muses of that and of later times, is the
nnsubdued selfishness of the carnal
heart. They seek their own personal
interest, ease and elevation, and not the
interests of truth and the glory of God.
They wish to run no risks, but to be
found on the safe and the winning side
at last. No doubt there are conserva
tives, who maintain their principles, con
sistently through every phase of a great
struggle, and who deserve the praise of
sincerity. But for the tortuous course
of those who have boldly led the van in
the commencement of such a struggle,
and who afterward appear to be bitten
by conservative fears, and who finally
identify themselves with the worst foes
of progress, and give their influence
openly in gathering and organizing a
powerful reaction, we know no better
explanatiOn than utter heartlessness and
selfishness, leading to the most execrable
forms of hypocrisy.
Sometimes a terrible punishment be
fals these renegades, even in the midst
of their schemes for selfish enjoyment.
At least they can never hope for the
pure pleasures and exalted consolations,
with which th 9 toilsome life of the true
soldier of Christ is sure to be gladdened.
Bitter are the complaints of Erasmus of
his own condition, reminding us of those
uttered by the disconsolate Voltaire,
while surrounded by the pleasures of
the court of his royal patron, Frederic
the Great of Prussia. Erasmus a
Voltaire have been thought to resembi:
each other in a number of points. Car
lyle thus characterizes the correspon ,
deuce of Voltaire with his niece, during
the outwardly magnificent period of his
life in Berlin :
"A series of utterances remarkahle
for the misery driven into meanness
that can be read in them. 111. health,
discontent, vague terror, suspicion that
dare not go to sleep ; a strange, vague
terror, shapeless or taking all shapes; a
body diseased and a mind diseased. It
passes often (in these poor Letters) into
transient malignity, into gusts of trem
bling hatred. A man hunted by the
little devils that dwell unchained within
himself, like Acteon by his own dogs."
Little different was the condition of
Erasmus, as indicated by those bitter
tears, those painful nights of broken
sleep, that tasteless food, that loathing
even for his literary studies, which
once constituted the chief delight of his
life ; those saddened features, that pale
face, those sorrowful and downcast eyes,
that hatred of existence which he calls a
cruel life, and those longings after death
whicn the philosopher of Rotterdam also
describes in his letters to his friends.
Poor Erasmus ! He forgot the Divine
maxim which he himself had studied
and brought afresh before his contempo
raries in his Greek and Latin Testa
ment: Whosever will save his life shall
lose it, but whosoever will lose his life
for my sake shall find it.
The influence of Erasmus was not by
any -means so great in Holland, his
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY. OCTOBER 18, 1866.
native country, as in England. In fact,
he seems to have resided almost •very
where but there. We find him at Rome,
in London, and above all in Basle,
Switzerland, where he gained his living
for a time by correcting proofs for the
great printer, Trobenius, who afterward
published his own and Luther's writings.
When Luther's writings began to find
their way into his native country, we
find him at Louvain, near Brussels,
taking a keen and, at that time, favora
ble interest in their dissemination. The
prior of the Augustinian monastery at
Antwerp, who had studied at Witten
berg, read these works of his brother
monk, which Lather then was, with
eagerness. We have the testimony of
Erasmus that this prior was no blind
adherent of the papacy, but a follower
of the true primitive Christianity ; while
other monks and priests of a different
disposition, who were accustomed to.
amuse the people with the absurd stories
of the, saints, instead of preaching truth
and duty, broke out into bitter and fa
natical opposition. " I cannot describe
to you," he wrote to Luther, "the emo
tion, the truly tragic sensation, which
your writings have occasioned."
Returning to Basle, he made it his
home, until, in 1529, it was reached by
the Reformation, when he retreated to
a neighboring canton in Switzerland.
Howwer, having occasion to' return to
Bashi,* business with his printer, he
died there in a lamentable state of mind
in 1536.
But all this time the Head of the
Church had been preparing and strength
ening those chosen instruments, through
whom he designed to accomplish, with
out fail, the great work of Reformation
for which the fulness of time had come.
Not in Holland it was ordered, but in
Germany, Switzerland and France the
brave, unselfish, fervent, devoted souls
were rising, who, by the grace of God,
proved themselves capable of grasping
the true meaning of the questions now
pressing for settlement ; who found no
room for compromise with errors so vital,
with practices so atrocious and with a
system so thoroughly corrupt as Roman
ism; and who counted not their own
ease, reputation, or life dear to them, if
they could but serve the cause, of truth,
and restore the kingdom of Christ in
purity and power to the world. The
preliminary work of Erasmus was of the
highest value ; but it required the sturdy
blows of the uncompromising and radi
cal Luther, Zningle and Calvin to make
the Great Reformation a fact in the face
of an adverse world and a persecuting,
bigoted and powerful organization, claim
ing to be the only true Church of Christ.
A NARRATIVE OF A WORK OF GRACE.
It was during the summer of 1850,
that the writer, for the first time, visited
L., a beautiful, sequestered valley, exnbos
omed among the mountains. Ancient
farm-houses, which seemed the abodes
of plenty, dotted the face of this fertile
vale ; and the cabins of the poor were
seen scattered along the base of the ad
jacent mountains.
Among, other things which attracted
his attention, was a plain brick church.
It had stood many years, and had evi
dently been abandoned as a place of
worship for some years. The windows
were broken, the doors stood wide open,
and as we approached, a drove of sheep,
which seemed to have taken shelter there
from the rays of the sun, ran out in
great trepidation. A melancholy sight
indeed was this old church ; its moss
covered roof ; the enclosure of its burial
ground broken down or overgrown with
rank vegetation ; its mouldering tomb
stones fallen and defaced.
On enquiry I learned the history of
this church. Deaths and removals had
so weakened the flock, that they were
no longer able to sustain a minister.
Two elders and their families were all
that remained of the original worship
pers, and they had bee& attending dis
tant churches. '
One of these elders had been present
at a series of meetings, which were in
rogress in a church in another direc
tion. The Lord was pleased to pour
out his Spirit there, and a powerful
work of grace was going on. He begged
Brother J. and myself to hold a pro
tracted meeting in that old church. We
consented. The meeting was to com
mence on Saturday, and to be continued
according to circumstances.
We came at the time appointed, but
we found that the Lord had been there
before us. A colporteur had passed
along the valley a few weeks previous,
scattering books and tracts at every
house. The good seed thus sown had
sprang up and was bearing fruit al
ready.
Col. S., one of the elders mentioned,
had a large family and many servants ;
only one of his children was pious.
Another became awakened by reading
The Dairyman's Daughter. She spoke
to some of her companions of her dis
tress of soul ; they also became anxious.
It seemed as if the faintest appeal had
the effect of rousing the slumbering con
science. On Sabbath morning the old
dilapidated church was crowded to
overflowing. During the communion
services the Spirit seemed to move on
every heart. After an interval of an
hour, service was resumed. At the
close, those who were anxious on the
subject of their soul's salvation were
requested to remain and be prayed with.
. Miss S. and four others remained for
conversation and prayer. On Monday
morning, before the hour for commenc
ing, the house was again crowded ; the
services were continued, with only 'a
short interval, till evening. I then went
to the house of Col. S. to spend the
night. His children were all now en
quiring what they should do to he saved.
After tea, other anxious souls dropped
in, until the large parlor was filled. The
writer has been through nearly a hundred
revival scenes, but he never witnessed
any to compare with what followed. The
room seemed to be filled with the at
mosphere of heaven. The Saviour was
there in his divihe love. The Holy
Spirit was moving on every heart. In the
intervals between the prayers, no sound
was heard except a deep sigh or a heart
breaking sob from some troubled soul
Observing that the distress of this
daughter of Col. S.'s was overwhelm.
ing, 1 stepped up to her, and said, " My
dear child, can't you now submit to
Christ ? He is able, and he is willing
to save you." " 0," said she, "my heart
is so hard, and I am such a sinner, I
cannot do it." I then asked all to
unite with me in prayer for her. We
knelt, but scarcely was the prayer com
menced when she sprang to her feet, and
throwing herself into her mother's arms,
exclaimed, "O, mother, I have found
my Saviour, and what a Saviour he is.
I feel that he has pardoned my sins."
The mother, who bad been agonizing in
prayer for this daughter, and withal a
quiet Presbyterian, shouted " Glory to
God !" and then swooned away for
some minutes. When she had some
what recovered, and the excitement
abated,
.her daughter-in-law, coming up
with the most heavenly •expression on
her face, and throwing her arms round
Mrs. S., said, softly, " Dear mother, I, too,
have found Jesus. I feel that he has
pardoned my soul ; blessed be his holy
name." Then this lady's husband (the
oldest son of the family,) came to her,
and embracing her said, "Mother, dear,
your prayers are answered. I e o sta now
give my heart to Jesus. I feel that he
has blessed me, too." In less than five
minutes, a niece, a gay, thoughtless wo
man, an opposer of religion, so much
so that her pious husband had seen
much trouble on her account, came for
ward, exclaiming, "0, dear aunt, the
Lord has blessed my soul, too."
At this juncture of affairs, Col. S.,
who had been absent, returned. As he
entered the gate, some fifty feet in front
of the house, his little daughter met
him. "0, pa, Jesus has taken away
my sins." In a moment all the converts
were around the good old man, and
telling him of what Christ had done for
them. He knelt on the green sward,
with all these happy souls about him,
and returned thanks to God for his infi
nite love in saving his children, and at
the close of his prayer said, " And now
let thy servant depart in peace, for mine
eyes have seen thy salvation."
The mothet of Col. S., now ninety
years old, and who had been a member
of the church upwards of seventy
years, had all this time been walking
the room, staff in hand, every little
while (dela:truing, "Mr. C., are we in
heaven? surely this is-like heaven ; my
soul is full of glory, I can hold no more."
Then she said, "Now won't you preach
to the negroes ? Here they are, all in the
dining-room. They have souls to save,
too, and they are crying for mercy. 0,
Mr. C., white and black are all alike to
the Lord, and their souls are as precious
in his sight as ours." I found the
dining-room full of these sable sons and
daughters of Africa, and as the room,
though large, could not contain all,
many had their heads stuck in through
the windows.
I stood in the door betwen the parlor
and dining-room. The old lady held
me by the arm to stay herself up. "Be
hold I bring you glad tidings of great
joy, which shall be to all people." This
text I repeated two or three times, and
then went on with the sermon, which I
tried to make as appropriate : to my au
dience as possible. This meeting lasted
till nearly midnight; many of the color
ed people professed conversion, and I
trust that many of them really did pass
from death unto life.
The next day the congregation was
still larger, many of the most hardened
sinners in, the valley were present.
During the afternoon services, the old
churlh was literally a place of weeping.
Two young men particularly attracted
my attention. On enquiry, I learned
that they were wealthy and highly edu
cated, but gay and dissipated ; both ap
peared to be deeply awakened. An in
cident at this moment occurred, which
seemed to be fatal to them. A man in
the gallery uttered a fearful scream.
The startled crowd rushed for the doors
and windows. The man had fallen in a
fit. He was carried out, and the scat
tered audience in a few minutes re
turned to their seats; but nothing could
induce those two young men, to return ;
their pious friends used every argument,
but in vain. They said if they returned
they must yield to the strivings of the
Spirit, which they were' determined not
to do for a while yet. They went to
the tavern and got drunk that same eve
ning, and, sad to tell, they went on from
bad to worse, and both died of delirium,
tremens within three years. .When ex
postulated with on the folly and mad
ness of their course, they were heard to
say, " It is of no use now. We sealed
our fate that day we left the church."
We continued the meetings for a
week ; many , were added to the church;
so many that they set to work, renovated
the old church, repaired the burial
ground, called a pastor, and in a short
time a flourishing church was in, opera
tion. One of the converts became a
minister of the Gospel.
Seven years after the events recorded
above, the writer, travelling in a stage
'coach, passed near this place. The
driver stopped to water his horses at a
stream ; near by two men were at work.
As I looked out, one of. the men seeing
me smiled, and coming up, extended his
hand, saying, " Mr. C., I suppose you
do not know me, but I recollect you
well. I was converted at that meeting
you and Mr. J. held at the L. B.
Church." Then the other man came
up, using almost the same words. How
delighted they seemed to be, and so
thankful to - God for his mercies, in thus
calling them from darkness into light.
Some time after, while on a journey in
another direction, I met a lady who re
cognized me, and with a joyful smile
said, " I was led to embrace the Saviour
at L. B. Church, during that delightful
meeting which you held there." The
results of this meeting could be traced
much further, showing how marvelous
are God's works of grace in , bringing out
great results from very small causes.
THE REFUGEE'S COFFIN,
A STORY OF KANSAS..
BY ELLEN DEREY
In a number of the Art Journal, I
think, I once saw an engraving of a
piece of American sculpture, a group of
Southern refugees. It touched me
much. The sorrowful attitude and ex
pression were just what one would
imagine in the case of a father and his
family driven from their home, and made
destitute wanderers on the face of the
earth. But I have since seen that which
went to my heart as no piece of sculp
ture or master-piece of the engraver's
art could. It had been no uncommon
thing, for months, to see here long Gov
ernment trains passing my school-room
windows, filled with downcast, despair
ing refugees, black and white, and our
hearts and purses have, again and
again, been taxed for sympathy and
material aid for them. But one day
as I had dismissed my school, and wag'
preparing to take up the lighter occupa
tions of the day, I was called upon to
witness a new development of this fea
ture of our institutions. The young
ladies and little misses, lovely, delicate
girls, who would be ornaments to any
Eastern school, and whose young hearts
have by no means been made callous by
the triple baptism of blood and fire
through which this martyr city of their
adoption has passed, came 'locking back
into the schoobroom, with pity and
horror in their face. "0, Miss B—,
there is a little coffin right out on the
prairie. Do come and look." I went,
and saw the little black coffin upon the
ground, and round it a group of women
and children, sitting on some lumber or
on the ground. Two of the elder girls
were at once deputed, according to their
own earnest desire, to ascertain whether
it would be expedient to offer a shelter
for the little coffin in one of the back
school-rooms, until a place could be
found for it in the earth. They came
back with the report that the child had
died of no contagious disease, and so,
while we hurried the little ones out of
the way lest they should be frightened,
the young ladies went back, and told the
man he might bring the coffin into the
house.
I stood in the door, wondering a little
'whether they would consider the offer a
kindness or an officious interference, and
whether their sensibilities were as much
shocked as mine would have been to
have found myself so situated, with the
cqrpse of one whom I held dear. Pre
sently I saw one of the party coming,
with the little coffin in his arms.
He was a tall man, and, in looks and
bearing, strikingly reminded me of the
principal figure in the sculptured group
I hitve mentioned. He told me, • with a
strange mingling of piide, humility, and
sorrow, that the child had died in their
flight, that some one in the last town
where they had stopped had, made the
coffin, put the child into it, and told
them to bring it along. So they had
brought it thus far, and, now the mother
had gone to find some one to bury it.
"We're much obliged to ye for your
accommodation," concluded he, and
went back to the group of wanderers on
the prairie.
Presently the city undertaker came,
and, I am glad to say, with as, tender
and reverential an air as he would have
shown 'at -any funeral, placed the little
coffin in a light wagon, and carried it
away to its nameless grave.
I could not help thinking that he, as
well as my pupils, had shown far more
sympathy and tenderness, more deep
and earnest feeling, than I should have
seen in the community in New York,
where my home was before I came
West. And yet, in that place, there
was no lack of kind hearts and noble
deeds of charity. The difference lay in
that tenderness of heart which makes
the suffering of another its own, and
literally " weeps with those that weep."
I had noticed that before in the people
of this city. Shortly after my arrival
here, while yet a stranger in a strange
land, two of my brothers, on two con
secutive days, had fallen into soldiers'
graves. The feeling manifested by the
people of the city toward us caused my
father to remark, that they had suffered
so much themselves, that they had grown
very sympathizing toward any who
were similarly afflicted.
Six months later, he followed his sons
into the everlasting rest, and many a
time since, have those of the sadly
broken family who were left, had occa-
sion to remember his words concerning
the people of Lawrence. I thought of
them again, as I reviewed the group of
fair young faces, whose owners had
shown so much interest in the little re
fugee coffin. Their fathers, most of
them, had come West for the express
purpose of helping to settle the disputed
question, whether freedom or slavery
should bear rule in Kansas ; and had
been hunted like wild beasts, because of
their determination that Kansas should
be free. Three times had some of those
children seen their homes reduced to
ashes by the followers of slavery and of
.treason. More than one martyr had
been stretched upon their hearthstones;
and the grass had scarcely yet begun to
grow on the long and terrible trench
where lie one hundred and fifty victims
of the Quantrell raid.
There was one fair-haired little girl,
busy as a bee among her school-mates,
whose father, a distinguished Senator,
had escaped death at the hands of the ruf
fians by hiding in a corn-field, and had
afterward ridden away at the head of a
band of men in pursuit of the gang,
leaving his family shelterless in the
yard, to console themselves as best they
might by the light of their burning
home.
A MISSIONAIIY
There was another, blacked-haired
and rosy-cheeked, whose sister laugh
ingly tells how the poor child, left with
out a suit of clothing, failed to realize
the desolation that had come upon them,
until, among the ruins of their home,
she found her broken china dolls. Then
the magnitude of the whole thing burst
upon her, and she wept aloud ; but she
understands the matter now.
There is another, slender and fair ;
who lost two brothers in the Quantrell
raid, and whose mother, in the earlier
history of the territory, was frequently
obliged to defend her home from bands
of ruffians searching for her husband—a
marked man—by the use of scalding
water, and such other weapons as will
naturally come to the band of a strong
minded, courageous woman, fighting for
those she loves. And, allow me to add,
she generally found the rascals cowardly
enough to retreat before her. But I
cannot stop to particularize further here.
Not one of all that lovely group but
has seen and suffered enough to leave
deep wounds in the young heart, which
bled anew and freely at every touch of
grief or call for sympathy. Lively and
happy as they were, the very suggestion
of the possibility that Quantrell was
coming again,%puld blanch their cheeks
and lips, antrifile terrible " long roll,"
sounding from the block-house, would
cause their hearts to sink with an ap
preciation of the danger utterly unknown
to the children of the East.
But the graces of sympathy and chari
ty, and the keen Sasceptibility to fear, are
not the only traits developed by the scenes
through which this people have passed.
I have beard many a group of New York
children sing, John Brown's body lies
mouldering in the grave," etc., but never
with such a thrill as is given by the
emphasis with which these Kansas chil
dren sing, " We'll hang Jeff Davis on a
sour apple tree." They know what it
means. Carelessly ask one of their
fathers, or elder brothers, what would
be done if Quantrell or any-of his gang
could be caught by the Lawrence people,
and for reply, you will get an ominous
shake of the head, and a look that will
make your - very blood run cold. The
bare mention of the thing will bring
silence into any circle. And yet, we
hope the chastening hand of the Lord
will not again be needed, in an exhibi
tion of fire and blood, to punish the peo
ple for this deep feeling of revenge.
Even while I write, there is a constant
watchfulness pervading the city, (April,
1866,) and a great deal of still but
stern preparation to resist a threatened
invasion. of bushwackers, who, it is
rumored, will take this city in their way
to escape to the wilds of Mexico. God
grant that we may be left to practise in
peace the gentler lessons taught by the
terrible scenes through which we have
passed 1
THE CONDEMNATION OF THE LAW.
Sinners, you that groan under the heavy
load of your crimes, who feel your misery
and perceive the cords of that damnation in
which the law entangles you, come to the
cross of Christ, and you shall find rest to
your souls. Your consciences accuse you,
and compel you to subscribe your own con
demnation, acknowledging the justice there
of. But, however just it may be, the cross
of Jesus frees you from it; inasmuch as it
has fully satisfied for you. Beware of the
error of both the ancient and the modern
Pharisees, who pretend ability to pay what
they owe, and even more than they owe,
and to justify themselves by their works,
that is, by the law. The law is the instru
ment of our condemnation and the minis
tration of our death ; and a man who would
le justified by the law commits no less an
extravagance than he who, to prove that
he owes nothing, should produce in judg
ment the bills and bonds he has given to
his creditors. Confess your debts, divest
yourselves of all confidence in your own
righteousness, declare that, of yourselves,
you are bound over to eternal malediction,
that you have deserved it, and present
yourselves naked before God, who justifies
the ungodly, and he will clothe you with
the righteousness of his Sot:L.—Dail/es
Exposition of the Colossians.
THE real design of education is to give
children resources that will endure as long
as life endures;. habits that time will not
ameliorate nor destroy; occupation that
will render sickness tolerable, solitude plea
sant, age venerable; life more
dignified
and useful, and death less terrible.