tears. His drink lost its power on him. He came to a new mind, thought and life. He ran here and there and picked up her fruit. He took out all the cash he had and begged her to take it. He begged her to take his arm and let him guard her back safe to her home; and as he urged it he said: "Why, I should be more proud to walk home with you than with the most rich belle in New York." which he must shew his skill was at the end, for he must always contrive to finish his poem at the same time that the air was ended. This was called penillion singing, and last week at a Welsh concert I heard some of this kind by two men named Eos Ebrill and lago Beucerdd. The Welsh are very proud of their country, and think no place like Wales. The kind clergyman who took us up the That was the old dame's coal of fire. She had read of such mountain seemed so pleased to shew us his beautiful country, coals in the Good Book. But if she had not read of them there, and said how could any one like to leave those lovely scenes, if Christ had not said in words that she must give love for hate and live in the big towns of England! Sometimes the Welsh and good for ill, she would have done what she did, for the do this, but when they do their bodies are in one place and their cause that His mind was in her and must come out of her in | hearts in another; for Wales and Welsh people are all they just such acts as she did to the rough man of the sea who, in his really love, and though they learn our language, and have drink, thought it fun to wrong her and make her mad with rage. great friendships with us, yet they like to sing, Now it takes a great deal of the mind of Christ to dwell in the heart of man, boy or girl to make him or her act as did the old dame in this case. But all may have it if sought for in truth and faith. And there is no one thing that makes a man so like Christ in power as to have this mind that was in Him. Why, with it this old dame, as one might say, put a new heart in a bad man, and, it may be, led him to a new life all his days. A LETTER FROM ENGLAND TO THE CHIL- DEAR YOUNG FRIENDS:-I began to write a letter to you on the very top of a high mountain in North Wales, but I hadn't time to finish it: I had been thinking of you and of your good Peace Society, and your pretty Angel, and I thought the best way of making peace was to know and take an interest in the different countries of the world, and so as I have often written to you about England and English people, I thought this time my letter should be about Wales. It was a lovely afternoon and we started, a pleasant little party, to climb a mountain called Talyfau. A good clergyman came to show us the way, and he helped me to get to the top, which indeed I do not think I could have reached without his assistance, for it was so high and steep. From the summit we could see a long way; in front of us was the beautiful blue sea, and behind us were hills and valleys and fertile plains: while to the right was the pretty little town of Conway with its ruined castle and ancient wall, and to the left a range of mountains. Wales is one of the loveliest parts of Great Britain, and one of the most interesting. The people though speaking a.different language to the English, are yet loyal, loving subjects of our Queen, and as perhaps you know, the eldest son of the King or Queen of England is always called the Prince of Wales. Do you remember the story of the first Prince of Wales? 1 will tell it for those of you who have forgotten, or have never heard it. 66 The Welsh people years and years ago were a separate nation, they had their own prince and their own rulers, and very often there were quarrels and wars between the two countries, but at last Wales was subdued by the English King, who said to the people, "I will give you a prince who does not know a word of English ;" and then in a few days he came out to them from the castle of Caernaroon holding in his arms a little baby, his own infant son, and saying to them, "Here is your prince." The Welsh used to be a very warlike people, but now they are the most peaceful in Great Britain. They do not read many books, but they study the Bible a great deal, and even the poor people are learned in matters of religion. They love their churches and chapels, and so delight in singing God's praises that even in a small congregation the sound of voices is greater than in many much larger ones in England. Besides their hymn tunes the Welsh have a number of national airs that they are very fond of playing upon the harp, and they have a peculiar way of singing to these airs that many years ago was in constant use amongst them. At a friendly gathering one man would play a well-known air upon the harp, while another would sing words to it of what was passing around him, praising, perhaps, the beauty of some fair lady, or the chivalry of some bold knight, and the great point in "Wales, Wales, my mother's sweet home is in Wales; My longing, my hiraeth for Wales." Well, dear children, when you think of Wales you must think of a loving, friendly people, at peace with all the world, and now will you, in imagination, give them a hearty grasp of the hand, and say farewell for the present, in which peaceful act I too must join, and remain as ever, Your and their English friend, PHILIPPA. "No!" • No! "Don't you smoke cigars aglow, "No! "No!" POOR JOE. her side. He overheard her whispering something, and laying his ear closer to her, he heard the words, "I'm coming, coming, coming!" "Where are you going, mother?" he said. "To Heaven, my boy. "Please let me go with you." "I would take you in my arms if I could, but God loves you, and will send an angel for you soon. And she convulsively pressed him to her bosom and died. And when the husband came home, drunk as usual, the horrible picture presented itself to him of a dead mother embracing a living child. The scene sobered him, and he vowed to do better, but, alas! so much had the demon drink got the mastery of him, that all his resolutions were like ropes of sand, and a few weeks found him at the inevitable ale-house; and so thoroughly insensate did he become, that he even sold the straw mattress for a copper or two to buy drink. Poor Joe! the old vigils were renewed, and then he felt what it was to have no mother. Sometimes he was overheard saying to himself, "I wish God would send the angels to take me to Heaven where mother is, for the frre is nearly out, and I'm afraid to stay in the dark, and it's so cold." Occasionally the neighbors took him in, and at other times he would hover about the doors of public-houses waiting for his father. It was a fearful night. The frost was keen and biting, the north wind drove the drifting snow before it like a maddening fury, mothers drew the window blinds closer, children huddled together in bed and pitied man or beast that might be out in the blast. Two gentlemen going for the village doctor, with lamps in their hands, happened to shed a ray of light on something like a boy, sitting cowering against the door-step of an ale-house; there was the voice of noise and revelry within, and high over all was heard the well-known shout of Blackey Lee; the boy was Joe! The gentleman knew him well; a stranger came up at the time, poked him gently with the stick, and said, "Go "His mother is dead, sir," said the gentleman. "That's him shouting so, and singing." "Poor boy," said the stranger, "well for him if he were dead too." Mary Lee was as decent a woman as the village could produce, but she had a brute of a husband. Not content with starving her and her child with hunger and cold, he added in-home to your mother, my lad." sult to injury, and cowardly blows to desertion and neglect. Most of his money was spent at the public-house. And those whom nature and solemn vows would prompt him to cherish, were left to starve or beg. But it was not long, for Mary was not strong at the best, and all this told powerfully on her slender frame, and brought her to the gates of death; happily for her, they were also the gates of heaven. But it was a terrible struggle for her to part with her darling boy, for Joe had been the constant companion of all her griefs, and shared in all her woes; in fact, they were to each other the only oasis that earth possessed,-all beside was sterile wilderness and barren sand. Their work during the day was to do anything to earn a crust of bread, to keep them from utter starvation, and at night to sit in a dark, damp, dismal room, and watch the flickering embers in the grate till they died away, and then to creep to an old straw mattress that lay in a corner, and await the coming of him whose very foot should have had "Music in't a-coming up the stairs." But oh! the coming, the sad coming! woes, for the coming! 'They could bear the surly blast as it howled around the house like a hungry wolf; they could bear the snow as it drifted in through the broken windows, and wound around them like a winding sheet; they could bear gaunt hunger that gnawed at their hearts like a greedy bear; but the footfall of an incarnate devil maddened with drink sent a thrill of horror through and through them, like an intensified agony, and they clung closer together, drew the thin bed clothes tighter around them, and awaited the fiery ordeal. But the blackest cloud will burst, and the darkest night will give place to the dawning day. But the parting! How could she go, and leave her darling child to bear it all himself, with no hand to shield him, and no tender eye to watch over him? Ah! she would gladly have stayed, but could not, for life was fast ebbing away, and the mortal struggle was at hand. The only thought that consoled her was that he would soon follow; and the hollow cheek and sunken eye that caused her so much sorrow before, she now looked at with complacency and pleasure. And yet the thought haunted her that perhaps he might die alone, with no one to hold his aching head or close his sightless eyes. The struggle came at last, and there she lay on a pallet of straw and Joe by They took hold of his hand; it was stiff and cold; they touched his face, it was like ice; they took him up-he was dead. He sat beside the ale-house door, The night was bleak, and cold, and wild; Over that child? His torn robes flapped before the blast, The poor lost child. We venture to say that no juvenile paper in the land wears a more lovely face or teaches purer lessons of "peace and good will" than our good Angel. We now publish, separate from the Advocate, sixteen thousand copies per month, and desire to double the number by the first of January, and this we shall be able to do if all the friends of the noble cause of peace will lend a helping hand. No better illustrated tract can be scattered broadcast in city and country. We call special attention to our terms and invite all who love the things that make for peace to aid us in giving the Angel of Peace to the millions who will be active for good or evil when the fathers and mothers have passed away. D. LITTLE TOMMY HAWK. BY JOSEPHINE POLLARD. Little Tommy Hawk Is the terror of New York, And his war paint, And his blood and thunder talk! His mother stops her ears When Tommy Hawk appears. For white men are his foes, And every way, Until weary of the noise That a savage long enjoys, For those splashes of red chalk, And that blood-and-thunder talk, A savage chief But those who sneer and scoff, Their warlike plumes, To wash the war-paint off, And for any cause will fight, Although their skins are white. "Will you shovel my walk when the next snow falls?" Ned's face was radiant as he answered. "All winter, sir. I'll do it every time, and more too, sir. I'll do anything." "Well, that's enough; and do you know why I let you off so easy? Well, it's because you are not afraid to tell the truth. I like a boy that tells the truth always. When the next snow falls be sure you come to me." "I will, sir." "We'll all help him!" shouted the others; and, as they turned away, three hearty cheers rose for Mr. Kendrick, and three more for the boy that dared not run away.-Child at Home. THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. Once there was a good mother whose chief prayer for her little boy in his cradle was that he might have a loving heart. She did not pray that he might be wise or rich or handsome or happy or learned, or that others might love him, but only that he might love. When that little boy, whose name was Edward grew up, it seemed as if his mother's prayer had been answered, and that, in making it, she had been wiser than she knew or dreamed. She had not prayed that he might be wise; but somehow the love in his heart seemed to make him wise, and to lead him to choose what is best, and to remember all the good things he was taught. She had not prayed that he might be rich; but it turned out that he was so anxious to help and serve others, that he found the only way to do that was to get the means of helping; and so he became diligent, thrifty, and prompt in business, till at last he had the means he sought. Edward's mother had not prayed that he might be handsome; but there was so much love and good will manifested in his face, that people loved to look on it; and its expression made it handsome, for beauty attends love like its shadow. The prayer had not been that he might be happy; but-dear me! how can there be love in the heart without happiness? Edward had no time for moping discontent, for revenge, or anger. He was too busy thinking what he might do for others; and, in seeking their happiness, he found his own. But was he learned? Of course, when he found it pleased his parents to have him attend to his studies, he did his best ; and though there were many boys quicker and apter than he, yet Edward generally caught up with them at last; for love made him attentive and earnest. But last of all, though Edward loved others, did others love. him? That is the simplest question. of all. You must first give love if you would get it. Yes; everybody loved Edward, simply because he loved everybody. And so I advise those little boys and girls who think they are not loved, to put to themselves the question, "But do you love?"-Emily Carter, in the Nursery. lips.beautiful paper, at the rate of 50 cents a hundred. We will send for gratuitous distribution copies of the Ange', a fresh and The door opened, and an angry face appeared. "Who did this?" came in fierce tones from the owner's "Who did this, I say?" he shouted as no one answered. The trembling, shrinking boy drew near; the little, delicatelooking culprit faced the angry man, and in tones of truth, replied, "I did it, sir." "And you dare tell me of it?""" "I dare not deny it, sir; I dare not tell a lie." The reply was unexpected. The stern man paused; he saw the pale cheek, the frightened eyes wherein the soul of truth and true courage shone, and his heart was touched. "Come here, sir; what's your name?" "Edward Howe, sir. Oh! what can I do to pay you? I'll do anything," his eyes filled with tears,-" only don't make my mother pay for it, sir?" Letters in relation to publications, donations, agencies, etc., from the Eastern Sintes, should be directed to Rev. J. B. Miles, Secretary; or Rev. H. C. Dunham, Office Agent, at No. 1 Somerset St., Boston POSTAGE. Postage always paid at the office of delivery-twelve cents per year per single copy; for Clubs, one cent for every four ounces. CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICERS AM. PEACE SOCIETY. HON. EDWARD S. TOBEY, of Boston, President. PROF. ALPHEUS CROSBY, Chairman of Executive Committee. $5.00 SOMETHING TO BE DONE. All friends of Peace who receive the following petitions, prepared by the Executive Committee of the American Peace 2 00 Society, are requested to procure their insertion in the newspapers of their vicinities, with this paragraph preceding and then, attach half a sheet or more of common-sized paper, date it, rule it for names, Post Offices and States, circulate the petitions for 200 signatures, or at least leave them in public places for the same, and send them to Howard C. Dunham, Office Agent of the American Peace Society, at No. 1 Somerset Street, Boston. These petitions will then be forwarded to Washington and 2 co placed in the hands of some interested and able Member of Congress for presentation and advocacy. Let men, women and 10 00 children be invited to sign them, (for all are sufferers from war,) and let us send up to our Legislators an appeal for peare, urged by so many that it will be heard and heeded. We shall have War with its horrors, or Peace with its blessings, as public sentiment preponderates for one or the other. 5 00 QUINCY. James McGrath...... 5.00 PITTSFIELD. John McGrath.. 5 00 W. P. Martin.... WORCESTER. Henry Goddard.. Orange S. Brotherton....... 3 00 Anthony Chace.. Joseph Pratt ...... $356 13 For Publications.. 44 19 MEMBERSHIP. The payment of any sum between $2.00 and $20.00 constitutes a person a member of the American Peace Society for one year, $20.00 a life member, $50.00 a life director, and $100.00 an honorary member. The Advocate of Peace is sent free to annual members for one year, and to life members and directors during life. If one is not able to give the full amount of a membership, or directorship at once, he can apply whatever he does give on it, with the understanding that the remainder is to be paid at one or more times in the future. The Advocate is sent gratuitously to the reading rooms of Colleges and Theological Seminaries-to Young Men's Christian Associations—to every pastor who preaches on the Cause of Peace and takes a collection for it. Also, to prominent individuals, both ministers and laymen, with the hope that they will become subscribers or donors, and induce others to become such. To subscribers it is sent until a request to discontinue is received with the payment of all arrearages. John Hemmenway.-A most remarkable book of one of the THE APOSTLE OF PEACE.-Memoir of William Ladd.-By greatest and best men that ever lived, well spiced with anecdotes, will be read with lively interest by the old and the young, and should be in every family and Sunday school in the land. This contains about 300 pages, with a fine likeness of Mr. Ladd. Substantially bound in muslin, $1.00. Will be sent by mail, postage paid, on reception of the price. Address Rev. H. C. Dunham, No. 1 Somerset St., Boston. PLEASE READ! The Angel of Peace of which a specimen may be seen in the Advocate will be sent postage paid to any who desire to do good and help inould a generation of peace-makers, at the rate of 50 cents per hundred copies by addressing Rev. H. C. Dunham, 1 Somerset St., Boston. For the better accommodation of his numerous patrons, our friend, T. H. Johnston, has opened a new Tea Store in a central location, and will serve all who give him a call in the most satisfactory manner. See Advertisement. THE ADVOCATE OF PEACE. Published the first of every month by the American Peace Society. No. 1 Somerset St., Boston, Mass. TERMS, $1.00 a year in advance; to ministers, 75 cents. Postage twelve cents a year. EDITED BY THE SECRETARY. EDITORIAL CONTRIBUTORS. HON. AMASA WALKER, North Brookfield, Mass. ELIHU BURRITT, Esq., New Britain, Conn. REV. J. H. BAYLISS, Chicago, Ill. ABEL STEVENS, LL. D., Brooklyn, N. Y. JULIA WARD Howe, Boston, Mass. "REASON VERSUS THE SWORD!" To the Editor of The Advocate of Peace: But DEAR SIR-One of the greatest wants that I have felt in my peace labors for the past five years is a good supply of peace literature to put into the hands of reading and thinking men, that will have sufficient moral and literary weight, to command the attention of the most profound. The tracts and pamphlets we have had have been good-have indeed, many of them been jewels worth their weight in gold. hitherto nearly all our documents have been small. subject is of sufficient magnitude to occupy many octavo volumes to give but a moderate discussion of its merits. And one of the most encouraging signs is the announcement of the new volumes on peace that we have recently heard of both in this country and in Europe. I am glad to add one more to the list. But our G. P. Putnam's Sons, of New York, have just issued a volume of 470 pages, entitled Reason and the Gospel against the Sword." I have made arrangements to give away about two or three hundred copies to leading journalists and literary men of the country, for investigation and criticism. I shall be surprised if this volume does not make some stir in the literary world. This work can be had of the Publishers, G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York City, or of the undersigned, for $2.00 per copy. Men who wish to be up with the times will do well to purchase and read every new work on this living theme. WM. G. HUBBARD, COLUMBUS, OHIO. ADVERTISEMENT. Address American Peace Society, Boston, sent by mail 25 for 15 cents, 100 for 50 cents, 250 for $1.00, 1000 for $3.00. Use them. which we are sure will be regarded as one of the most beautiWe present above a specimen of a new pictorial envelope, ful and expressive things of the kind. The Society has now four kinds of envelopes, three pictorial, and the object of Peace Societies. They are not only enveland one other containing brief paragraphs in relation to war opes, but peace tracts in miniature, and their use will promote the Cause perhaps a hundred or a thousand miles away. The price of these envelopes has been reduced to 15 cents a package, 50 cents a hundred, $ 1.00 for two hundred and fifty, and $3.00 per thousand. Being so cheap, and what almost every one has to purchase somewhere, we are selling thousands every week, and those who buy them are sending these messages of Peace all over the Continent. SAVE YOUR MONEY! do good, to send to our office in Boston for these kinds, which Everybody should Buy the CHOICEST TEAS AND COFFEES AT JOHNSTON'S TEA STORE, We respectfully request all who use envelopes and wish to will be sent by mail at the prices named without cost to them for postage. DYMOND ON WAR. This remarkable work is receiving unwonted attention from the reading public. Orders come to the office almost daily for it. We are indebted to Mr. Robert Lindley Murray, one of the Trustees of the Lindley Murray Fund, of New York city, for a new grant of several hundred copies of this most excellent Peace Document. We call the special attention of ministers to Corner of Shawmut Avenue and Indiana Place, the fact that it will be sent to them free, whenever they remit (Opposite Morgan's Chapel,) BOSTON. six cents postage. It is a book of 124 octavo pages. Its retail price 50 cents. Address all your orders to Rev. H. C. Dunham, No. 1 Somerset St., Boston. |