in this regard, is the same; and by their fruits they are known. Their purpose, jointly and severally, whether acting in concert or in seeming conflict, is to foment international strife, and fan the flame of ill-will. Their organs of expression abound with abuse of the United States on the one side, and of Great Britain on the other. Various motives prompt on the one side, and the other; but the thoughtful and clear-seeing eye will generalize the whole under one order of enemies to the true interests of both countries.

The day of peace was just dawning on this continent, when the assassin's deed threw a cloud of darkness over the rising dawn. But God rules. The rising day-spring of peace, I trust, will not be permanently clouded. I look with hope for the gradual restoration of order on this continent. But we must not be impatient, but bide the time of the Supreme Disposer. Meantime, as citizens of a Christian land, and still enjoying peace, let us follow after the things which make for peace, and wisely cherish the temper thereof. The changed situation of the parties to the present war will possibly lead before long to a changed attitude on the part of the maritime powers of Europe. Diplomatic questions may possibly arise out of the past; but none ought to lead to farther war. So far as Great Britain and the United States are concerned, I will venture to say, that no question can arise which ought not be settled amicably by commissioners mutually chosen. If this cannot be done, then I must blush for the Christianity and civilization of the English-speaking races of men. The news of President Lincoln's assassination will cause a shock of horror in Europe, as it has done in America. That murder is a blow which tells not merely on one man or one government, but on every man and every government. What man's life is safe, what ruler's life is secure, if the assassin can find his way behind him in the dark? As we stand in the present

some

shadow of this great calamity, may our hearts be moved to deeper horror of that evil temper which urges to crime. And, as death presents itself to our notice from time to time, times in quiet, and sometimes in startling form,- may we be moved to consider afresh the sanctity and significance of the life which God has given us to live!

Christian Inquirer, May 27.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN:

A SERMON PREACHED TO HIS SOCIETY IN BROOKLYN, N.Y.

BY JOHN W. CHADWICK.

A

ECCL. iv. 1: "Behold the tears of such as were oppressed."

FORTNIGHT since I went away, and left you with a joy upon your faces that was all too deep for words. To-day, I come again, and find you smitten with a grief too sad for human hearts to hold. I trust that God would have permitted me, in case I had been with you when this terrible calamity came thundering down into your common life, to speak, not altogether foolishly, according to your sorrow and your need. I trust, beside, that your own hearts have prophesied how hard it was for me not to be with you. It may be that I could have helped you just a little. But you would have given to me a great deal more than I could have bestowed. And if, to-day, my words but faintly echo that which your sad hearts keep on complaining, will you not try to feel that they would have been better spoken, if, first, I could have seen the meaning of this sorrow written upon your faces, or felt it quiver through the trembling grasp of your right hands?

"Behold the tears of such as were oppressed." Shall I tell you why I took this sentence for my text? It was because I felt, that, when the news of Abraham Lincoln's death should find its way into the streets of Charleston and Savannah, into the tents

of colored regiments, into the cabin of the planter, and the brain of Robert Small, tears would arise, from hearts all bruised and shattered, into eyes already dim with other tears, not sorrowful, more hot and scalding than ever mother shed upon the death-bed of her earliest born. Not forgetting any other sorrow whose offerings will be wreathed about his memory, I could but feel that the enfranchised negro of the South would twine for him the darkest cypress and the brightest bay. I would not be unjust to any of the countless multitude who mourn his swift departure. One's brain needs not to be badgered ere he thinks how much he was beloved. I take it that your shrouded streets but faintly symbolize the utter darkness of your inward woe. And I respect all these attempts which men and women make to help and commune with each other. It is quite terrible to see your marts and custom-houses draped so darkly and so heavily. It is altogether sweet and tender and beautiful to see the bits of blackness that the poor and starving and half-naked denizens of this and yonder city put out from their windows, even in narrow courts and crowded alleys, where only God, perhaps, can look upon them. I doubt not that these bits of crape and muslin help these poor wretches, from whose dingy homes they flit so drearily, to forget themselves a little, and that they keep away the devil for a day or for an hour. This is their recompense. Their loss, which they do not begin to understand, is gain to them in some such way as this. And what a change upon your splendid thoroughfares! How bright they were with banners scarcely a week ago! It was a feast of resurrection; and now it is as if the risen Lord had gone back into his tomb again. It made me shudder, when I came upon them suddenly a day or two ago. But what was all the crape, and what were all the drooping flags, and all the reverent devices, to the sad faces of the listless throng? And what were these to the sad hearts that tried in vain to symbolize

their bitterness? Is it too much to say, that never in the annals of our modern life was there such deep and unaffected sorrow? The death of Everett, of Harrison, of Webster, furnished no parallel. No more did that of the first Washington. To-day, the second, snatched so suddenly away, eclipses him, and every other, with the majestic sorrow that he leaves behind.

It happened that the love accorded to this man admitted of no geographical distinctions. It came from every quarter of the world, and from men of every nation and condition. I will not speak for his own land; but I am certain that in other lands his fame, ere long, will outrun that of Washington. I doubt not, that, in every nation of Europe, there are men and women to-day who pray God that they may live to see that face, which even we shall see no more for ever. How sad the bravest of the French will be, that he has not outlived the incubus which is upon their bosoms! Alas that Garibaldi could not have looked into those deep eyes, that were so beautiful that they will haunt me with their witching tenderness until my dying day! Pity, that the grandchild of that chief, who bears our Chieftain's name, could not have kissed his broad, pale forehead, though it had been but for a single time! And do you imagine that his name was never whispered in German brotherhoods and Austrian homes, if homes they can be called? The Swiss guide talks about him to the traveller. I have heard the echoes of his fame from the Valley of El Ghor, and from Jerusalem. It is marvellous, you say, that this man should have been so greatly loved, while yet so little known. No: it is not marvellous; for the whole man was of a piece. And upon the least hint it was as easy to construct him, as for the geologist to construct completed organisms from a. single bone. There was not a rotten thread, not a bit of shoddy, in the whole man. Was any thing good, it was all good. So that to know him but a little was to love him well. But to know