iterated repetition of the acts of the good Samaritans, even to our wounded enemies, in the swelling stream of treasure that pours into the coffers of the Sanitary and Christian Commissions, and in the relief proffered without stint to our distressed prisoners at Richmond, coming from our people all over the land. And this is because the invocations of the press have been listened to and responded to at the hearth-stones of the American people. So also is the development of manly patriotism. We have all read in our childhood of the injunction of the Spartan mother to her son, on going out to battle, 'Come back with your shield, or upon it;' and have there not been words of similar import uttered by thousands and tens of thousands of people through all the loyal States during the war in which we were engaged? We have seen mothers sending out their first-born, who could have said, like the lad in the olden time, 'My sword is too short.' And have not these same mothers acted in the spirit of the famous reply, 'Add a step to it, and it will be long enough.' And thus the young and dearly cherished have gone from family and from home, even when scarcely matured, to endure the privations of the camp and field, because their country was in danger, and they could die to save it.

"For much of this ennobling patriotism, for these marked developments of humanity, I bless to-night the American press. [Applause.]

“And, again, you have another duty to perform. It is the inculcation of morality among that large circle of people you thus reach. If the fountain is poisoned, the water that flows from it shall be poisoned too; and those that drink of that water will have poison in their veins instead of the pure blood that gives health and strength.

It is your duty to see that not by your aid shall these poisons reach your patrons, to spread moral miasma within the circle of your influences. Having thus, at greater length than I intended, alluded to the duties devolved upon us as journalists, I must again, before I resume my seat, warmly and gratefully thank you for your kindness manifested to me here. This night shall be marked with a white stone in the history of my life. And as I look back, in the days that are to come, if God spares my life, I shall never forget these hours we have so happily passed together.

"For the great honor you have done me to-night, for such a reception as you have given me, I feel, with the Irish orator, like saying, 'My heart would shake hands with all of you.' [Laughter and applause.] And I beg leave to give you a sentiment as a platform on which all of us can safely stand:

"THE AMERICAN PRESS: If inspired by patriotism, morality, and humanity, it cannot fail to develop a constantly increasing vigor, power, and consequent independence." [Loud and continued applause.]

CHAPTER XVIII

KINDNESS OF MR. COLFAX-HOMILY FOR THE THOUGHTFUL-OBLIGATIONS OF JOURNALISTS-USE OF EXPERIENCE SOCIAL DUTIES-INCIDENT FROM ARNOLD'S LINCOLN AND SLAVERY "-LASTING FRIENDSHIP.

MR. WILKESON, in his speech at the "Press Dinner," speaks of the kindness of Mr. Colfax. It is a characteristic of his nature. Kindness, gentleness and abounding benevolence he has abundantly exemplified, and often warmly and eloquently advocated. A Homily for the Thoughtful, written early in his editorial life, and winningly persuasive of excellent things, was but a keynote of what has pervaded his whole career. It is here given as a specimen of what, besides that which was political, found its way into the editorial columns of the Register:

A HOMILY FOR THE THOUGHTFUL.

"The public journalist, who, with his single pen, writes to his hundreds or thousands of readers, who does not sometimes, at least, point their attention and direct their thoughts to social as well as political duties and responsibilities, fails to fill up the sphere of his vocation-neglects one of his most palpable and imperative obligations. We have preferred waiting until this, the last month of winter's reign-which, if the analogy of the seasons with the eras of actual life is as marked and as instructive as we think it is, should be the last month of the year-to ask a moment's attention to themes, which none will say are hackneyed in our columns.

"We live but vainly, idly, uselessly, if the lessons of the past fail to make us wiser. We live, not like reasoning, intelligent beings, if we draw a thick veil over that portion of our life, which is beyond our reach, and thus prevent the light of its experience from illumining the yet untrodden pathway of the future. Each beat of our pulse-each throbbing of our heart-brings us nearer to the grave. And, though sects may differ as to its realities, each night that passes away in its dream of forgetfulness, leaves us one day less of our span of being-and hurries us forward, towards that innumerable company that have passed away from earth's busy scenes forever. We proffer, therefore, no apology to any, for striving to direct, if possible, a moment's thought upon a few of the social duties which, as responsible beings, we owe to the community in which we dwell.

"How many of those whose eyes are glancing over these sentences have made the world happier for their presence in the last twelvemonth? Whose woes have you alleviated? Whose miseries have you soothed? Whose hard and rigorous lot have you softened? Whose sick-bed have you attended? Whose sufferings have you mitigated? Cast your thoughts backward, and pause as faithful memory presents to you her tablets. Are they all blank? Is there not one tear dried up-one heart made happier, to redeem them from their vacant nothingness? If so, heed the counsels and pledge the resolves that the still, small voice within commends, at this moment, for your adoption. The busy cares of life-the toils of traffic and of business-too often cause us all to forget and neglect these duties. But they are duties and obligations still, which can neither be denied or evaded. The glittering stars that gem the firmament

at night still shine above us when the sun rides high in the heavens; and though his glare obscures them from our view, they are still there as brilliant and as numerous as ever. So it is with our duties. Though obscured or hidden by the press of business, the toils of life, or the burthen of domestic cares, still, if we would turn our thoughts and eyes upon our hearts-if we would dissipate the clouds that darken our consciences, we would see these obligations as clearly as we can discern the constellations of heaven when they gladden our vision with their undimmed brilliancy. He who has realized in his heart, as well as in his judgment, that we are sent here together the rich and the poor, the learned and the unlearned, the noble and the humble-not as cumberers of the earth, but as bearers of each other's burdens, has learned one of the great truths of life.

"Have you been just to all men? Not honest only -not upright only-but JUST in the widest and fullest acceptance of the word. Art thou wealthy, and hast thou acted the miser? The poorest man on earth is a more valued citizen. If there is one who reads this, whose pattern and whose model is a Shylock-who has oppressed the hireling in his wages-who has laid a heavy hand upon the honest, but impoverished debtor —the earth is not happier for his presence. If there is one whose impulses of humanity have been petrified by the lust for gold, whose generosity has dried up into avarice, and who knows from hearsay only and not from experience, that charity twice blesses-blessing both him that gives and him that takes the earth is not happier for his presence. But to turn the subject into the channel of business life, the man who takes advantage of his creditor's forgetfulness, has not been