Nor many wise men, not many noble, not many mighty are called, said the great apostle, when commenting upon the worldly standing of the early converts to Christianity; and with few exceptions, it has been true in all ages and countries that distinguished moral excellence has been found, not among the worldly great and honored, but in the humblest walks of life. Not to the biographies of nobles and princes, of kings and queens, must we usually look for illustrations of that religion which is righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Ghost, and whose chief ornament is a meek and humble spirit, but rather to the "cottage and the vale," to the ignoble and the unknown. Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings God has ordained strength that he might still the enemy and the avenger; and he has hid these things from the wise and prudent and has revealed them unto babes, even because it seemed good in his sight.

In examining history for the lives and characters of the long line of English Monarchs, what do we behold? Among them all, with two or three exceptions, can we select one exemplary religious, one decidedly benevolent character even, whose yearning sympathies regardless of all difficulty, like Howard's, went forth under irrepressible impulses of compassion and love to relieve and bless afflicted humanity? Where for one thousand years is there a Howard among her kings, or an Elizabeth Fry among her queens? England for centuries has been producing multitudes of minds of the first order of human excellence, intellectual and moral, but it is striking to observe how uniformly these minds have been drawn from the lower and often lowest classes of society, from the

bench of the shoemaker, the loom of the weaver, and other yet humbler occupations of life.

The young Queen now on the throne of England, must certainly be regarded as one of the very best specimens of royalty, if we can form any correct estimate of her character through the mass of adulation and incense offered her by the English press and people. Seldom has it fallen to the lot of sovereign, male or female, to be so universally and warmly beloved. The Princess Charlotte, daughter of George the Fourth, and heir presumptive to the British throne, was, a few years ago, the idol of the nation, the admiration and pride of high and low, rich and poor, and when Providence was pleased to remove her by an early death, there was scarcely a cottage in England that did not become a house of mourning.

Queen Victoria, who is a cousin of the Princess Charlotte, seems to have imbibed the spirit and disposition of that illustrious lady, as well as to have succeeded to her place in the affections of the nation. Both of them were born to the highest temporal heirship on earth, the sovereignty of the British Empire, stretching from sea to sea and from the rising of the sun to the going down of the same; both were trained amid all the luxury and pomp of a worldly court, and exposed to all the blinding and infatuating influences that can assail the heart, and yet both seem to have remembered that they were but part and parcel of humanity, and to have cultivated the kindly feelings towards their fellow beings without regard to rank in society.

It is difficult to determine how far religious principle may have sway over the conduct of

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persons so differently educated from ourselves as the Royal Family of England. The standard of piety constantly exhibited there is so low, so much an affair of forms and outward observance, and of mere abstinence from heinous sin; and natural amiableness and kindness is so rarely distinguished from that love and its manifestations which are the fruit of the Spirit, that it is not easy to say whether religion has found a lodgment in the palace and the heart. In estimating the character of Victoria it would be difficult to find such evidence of evangelical piety, as would be regarded satisfactory in the case of any female in common life in this country. Indeed it is quite possible that the necessity of a change of heart to her personally is a truth that has never been deemed fitting for the royal ear by her spiritual advisers. Royal families have always been the worst instructed families, and we should not be surprised if the English Queen had been taught many other truths much more distinctly and thoroughly than the doctrine of human depravity, entire and universal, the doctrine of regeneration by the Spirit, and of salvation by grace alone.

And yet we discern occasional glimpses of a thoughtfulness, a sincerity, an earnestness in the path of duty, which speak loudly in her favor. The desire to be and to do right, as she understands it, manifests itself often as it would not in a mere worldling. She appears unwilling to shun her responsibilities as a woman, a wife, a mother or a sovereign. If report speaks truly, her late visit to Scotland disclosed many beautiful traits of character. Excellent common sense, a kind and amiable interest in others, a forgetfulness of self, are particularly manifest. She is evidently a reflecting woman, and for one of her years the faculties of her mind seem remarkably well balanced. It is surprising that in a country where the press is free even to licentiousness, and ever ready to catch up everything like scandal, we never hear of the queen

saying or doing a foolish thing. This indicates a very exemplary circumspection of manners. Her character, as it strikes us, may be summed up in few words. She is a woman of good sense, of good native principle, and of benevolent disposition. We would hope also that she is not an entire stranger to religious impressions and inclinations. She is by no means a brilliant woman; she has none of the masculine genius of queen Elizabeth, and it is probably for the interests of her kingdom that she has not. If she has little of the genius, she possesses also but little of the miserable vanity of Elizabeth, and is every way a far more interesting character.

It is chiefly as an example of domestic virtue in the most elevated earthly circumstances, that Victoria becomes an object of interest. Such examples have been " few and far between," a fact to be sure not to be wondered at when we consider that royal marriages have usually been based, not upon mutual affection, but upon "reasons of state." Victoria and Prince Albert married because they loved each other, and they are happy in each other and in the offspring with which Providence has blessed them, and in which they find their principal enjoyment.

The example of the Queen is a beautiful and forcible recommendation of the superior character of domestic enjoyment to any other of a temporal nature. With the whole range of worldly pleasure before her, she enters the little circle of home, and finds her happiness there. Her children and her husband are worth more to her than crown and kingdom and regal pomp.

Let the young wives and mothers in humble life consider this, and remember that all the trappings of royalty and all the wealth of a kingdom are shallow sources of joy compared with a virtuous and loving home, however homely and humble: and that this resource is theirs if they choose to improve it.

DRIVEN about for many and weary years on the world's wide sea, I have at last made harbor here in this goodly city of Gotham, better known as New York. But my heart turns often and fondly to that spot away up in the country, where my boyhood and youth were passed, where those dear to me are buried, where I first learned to read and to pray, where I thought to live and to die. It was in the old town of L-n, in the county of W- -n, in the State of M-, and those who know not the geography of that part of the world, must be told that the town is a wide fertile plain, some ten or twelve miles across, circled with hills, watered by lovely and gentle streams, and peopled by a set of independent farmers, who are well to do for this world, and the most of them have been wise enough to make provision for the world to come.

It was in this town that I had my "bringing up," such as it was; this was the scene of a thousand youthful adventures in school-boy days, and of a thousand incidents of social and domestic life, that now come back to the call of memory, like the spirits of those we have loved, pleasant to meet again, but mournful as the truth comes with them that they are gone to return no more.

But there is little that is mournful to the reader in these sketches. He shall find nothing but pleasure in the reminiscences, and as I tell him of the "Old White Meeting House," and the "Minister and his family," and the "Elders and Deacons," and "a few of the neighbors," and then go abroad in the congregation and speak of the habits of the people, their business and amusements, and enter into their church matters, and mention the quarrel they had about the old minister, how they all loved him till one of them took offence at the truth and stirred up strife and drove him away, how they quarrelled about a new minister, what kind of a one they finally got, and how they have never been prospered since-as I go over all these and fifty other things, which these will suggest as we go along, the reader will not be tempted to the melancholy mood. We will keep clear of that, though we speak of serious things in a serious way.

I could spend some time in describing "our house," and the things in and around it, and it

might not be out of the way to do so, as the natural course to matters of more public interest. There was a stream close by the door that was my resort in the trout season, and there was a grove of pines but a short distance off, into which I often in childhood wandered alone, and long before I ever heard of Coleridge, or his Hymn in the Vale of Chamouni where he says,

"Ye pine groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds,"

I had loved to sit down on the moss, and listen to the spirit-inelody of the still air among the tree tops sighing to my soul and saddening, I could not tell why, my young heart. There I used to think of communing with God and the spirits of the good in heaven, and in the solemn twilight of those deep shades, I had thoughts of loving and serving God which are now working themselves out in life's struggles, and will never be fully answered, till he who called me then, shall call me to himself. Then there was the old school house, and a hard set of boys, and I might spend an hour or a week in making chronicles of the first dozen of them that now leap up before the mind's eye, like young tigers, begging me to draw their portraits, and send them down the stream of time with these rough sketches. But the boys must wait. We have no room for them. Some of them will come in by the way, and we shall here and there set up a stone to the memory of some poor fellow, at whose fate we drop a passing tear. It is the religious life of the people that I want to bring out for the entertainment and instruction of those who may read, and unless I greatly mistake, the history will not be without its uses, although I feel full well that it will suffer much from the insufficiency of him who has ventured to be the historian.

THE OLD WHITE MEETING HOUSE. So it was called, and by this name it was known all over the county. Not but that there were other white meeting houses in that region, but this was by way of eminence the White Meeting House, as the largest, and oldest, and most respectable, and when a political meeting, or general training, or a show, was to be held at the tavern opposite, the notice was

given that the gathering was to be at the White Meeting House corners, and everybody for a dozen miles around, knew at once where it was to be.

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It was a large square building, with a steeple whose lofty spire gave me my first and strongest impressions of "amazing height;" and now as I look at "Trinity" here in Broadway, and the men dwindled into dwarfs on its all but cloud-capt towers," it does not look half as tall as that steeple, with a fish for a weathercock, wheeling in the breeze. How often have I lain on "the green" in front of that church, and wondered how in the world they ever got that fish away up there; or who hitched the lightning rod to that spire, and how any one ever dared to shingle the roof of that awful steeple almost to the very summit. And sometimes in the night when I had "bad dreams,” I fancied that I was clasping that steeple in my little arms, and sliding slowly down, the steeple widening, and my hold relaxing, till at length down I came, down, down, and just as I was to strike the ground, I would wake in terror, and be afraid to go to sleep again, lest I should repeat that terrible slide.

The church had square pews, with high partitions and sash-work between, which were great inlets of amusement to the children who would be always thrusting their arms through, and sometimes their heads, in the midst of sermon, but more particularly in prayer-time, for then they were more likely to escape observation. These square pews the minister always was free to say he regarded as an invention of the devil, and there was some reason to believe that the devil had the right to a patent. As half of the congregation must sit with their backs to the preacher, it was customary for the parents to place the children in this position, and it is easy to see that thus situated, it would be next to impossible to secure their attention to the services of the sanctuary. Of course the devil would be pleased with an arrangement which so effectually prevents the young from becoming interested in divine truth, and I do not therefore wonder at the good minister's notice of the origin of the plan.

The pulpit was like unto an immense barrel supported on a single post. Its interior was gained by a lofty flight of steps, and the preacher once in possession, had certainly a most commanding position. I can recollect often thinking how easy it would be with a saw to cut away the pillar on which this old pulpit tottered, and then what a tremendous crash it

would make, coming down with the minister in it. And this reminds me of one of the minister's boys, an arch rogue, about five years old, who was so much in the habit of misbehaving in meeting, that he had to be punished. often and soundly but with no sanative consequences. His father threatened frequently to take him into the pulpit with him if he did not behave better, but the youngster never believed that he was serious in the threat, or if he was, Dick had a very natural idea that there was as much chance for fun in the pulpit behind his father's back, as there was in the pew before him. At length the pastor was as good as his word, and one Sunday morning, to the surprise of the people, he led his roguish boy up into the pulpit, and proceeded with the service. Richard began to be uneasy, but remained comfortably quiet until the long prayer began; then he fidgeted up on the seat, and peaked over upon the congregation below; and, finally as a sudden thought struck him, he threw one leg over the pulpit, and there sat astride of the sacred desk, drumming with his little heels upon the boards. The good pastor was at prayer, and could not turn aside to dismount his hopeful boy, but between his fears that the child should fall, and the indications of mirth among the young folks in the church, the minister had more than he could do to keep his thoughts on the service, and he therefore speedily brought his petitions to a close, and seized the youthful Richard in the midst of his ride. We never saw Dick in the pulpit again, and a marked improvement in his manners gave us reason to believe that certain domestic appliances were resorted to, which have the recommendation of the wisest of men, as useful in cases of this desperate nature.

The old church was the haunt of swallows that built their nests under its eaves; and it was no unusual. thing for one of those swiftwinged birds to dart into the open window on a summer Sabbath, and by some strange perversity, to persist in flying everywhere but out of the window again, till wearied with flying to and fro it would light on the sounding-board over the minister's head. These gyrations were quite an amusement to the children, and I remember that on one of these occasions, the same young Richard, who has already been introduced, thought he had hit upon something smart when he turned up the 84th Psalm in Watts:

"And wandering swallows long
To find their wonted rest."