332 FROM T. C. UPHAM'S PRIZE ESSAY ON War.

of Peace! Will not the Arab and the Mohammedan point to the ruins of Jaffa and St. Jean d' Acre? Will they not point to the bones of their slaughtered countrymen, and say, and with reason to," We have have no confidence in your Gospel?" The Christian public may depend upon it that the world will not be converted, nor will any marked success attend the missionary cause,—until this great question is settled. Some perhaps will say, "These are solitary cases, and that a great portion of the heathen world are not thus acquainted with the vices and crimes of Christians." We wish it were so but it is not. The roar of Christian cannon, and the flash of Christian musketry, and the hyena cry of the Christian military onset, have been heard and seen wherever there are men.

The untutored African will experience the greatest difficulty in satisfactorily solving the problem of the direct contradiction between alledged Christian principles and known Christian practice and so long as this is the case, it cannot be expected that their hearts will be thrown fully and frankly open to the reception of Divine Truth." We give you the Gospel" says the missionary: "we come to you in peace and we pray you to listen to us, and become Christians." "Oh," says the bereaved and heart-broken mother, "give me rather my wretched sons and daughters, whom you Christians have torn shrieking from my arms and have plunged into the ocean, or enslaved in foreign lands."

And now, what is to be done? Have we not erected a Chinese wall in the way of the progress of the Gospel? We must not suppose that the world will be converted without our taking this great stumbling-block out of the way. Ships of war must be laid up armies must be disbanded: the militia system must be given up fortifications must be demolished : cannon must be melted into bells for Churches: swords must be beaten into plough-shares, and spears into pruning hooks: and then, what light will beam from the brow of the missionary as he stands, the messenger of the Prince of Peace, on heathen soil! T. C. UPHAM.

Che Angels of Buena Vista.

A LETTER Writer from Mexico states that at the terrible fight of Buena Vista, Mexican women were seen hovering near the field of death, for the purpose of giving aid and succour to the wounded. One poor woman was found surrounded by the maimed and suffering of both armies, ministering to the wants of Americans as well as Mexicans with impartial tenderness. "SPEAK and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away, O'er the camp of the invaders, o'er the Mexican array,

Who is losing? who is winning? are they far, or come they

near?

Look abroad, and tell us, sister, whither rolls the storm we hear.”

"Down the hills of Angostura still the storm of battle rolls; Blood is flowing, men are dying; God have mercy on their souls!"

"Who is losing; who is winning?"—"Over hill and over plain, I see but smoke of cannon clouding through the mountain

rain."

"Holy Mother! keep our brothers! Look, Ximena, look once more :"

"Still I see the fearful whirlwind rolling darkly as before, Bearing on, in strange confusion, friend and foeman, foot and

horse,

Like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down its mountain course."

"Look forth once more, Ximena !" "Ah the smoke has rolled

away;

And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of grey. Hark! that sudden blast of bugles! there the troop of Minon

wheels;

There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at their

heels."

334

THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA.

"Jesu, pity! how it thickens! now retreat and now advance! Right against the blazing cannon shivers Puebla's charging lance!

Down they go, the brave young riders; horse and foot together fall;

Like a ploughshare in its fallow, through them ploughs the Northern ball."

Nearer came the storm, and nearer, rolling fast and frightful

on :

"Speak, Ximena, speak and tell us, who has lost and who has

won.

"Alas! alas! I know not; friend and foe together fall,

O'er the dying rush the living; pray, my sisters, for them all!"

"Lo! the wind the smoke is lifting: Blessed Mother, save my brain'

I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps of slain. Now they stagger, blind and bleeding; now they fall and strive

to rise;

Hasten, sisters, haste and save them, lest they die before our eyes!"

"Oh my heart's love! oh my dear one! lay thy poor head on my knee;

Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? Canst thou hear me, canst thou see?

Oh my husband, brave and gentle! oh my Bernal, look once

more

On the blessed Cross before thee! Mercy! mercy! all is o'er."

"Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena; lay thy dear one down to rest;

Let his hands be meekly folded; lay the Cross upon his breast;

THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA.

335

Let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral masses said; To-day, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid."

Close beside her, faintly moaning, fair and young, a soldier lay, Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow his life away;

But, as tenderly before him the lorn Ximena knelt,

She saw the Northern eagle shining on his pistol belt.

With a stifled cry of horror, straight she turned away her head; With a sad and bitter feeling looked she back upon her dead; But she heard the youth's low moaning, and his struggling breath of pain,

And she raised the cooling water to his parching lips again.

Whispered low the dying soldier, pressed her hand, and faintly

smiled:

Was that pitying face his mother's? did she watch beside her child?

All his stranger words with meaning her woman's heart sup

plied!

With her kiss upon his forehead, "Mother!" murmered he, and died!

"A bitter curse upon them, poor boy, who led thee forth, From some gentle, sad-eyed mother, weeping lonely in the North!"

Spake the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with her

dead,

And turned to soothe the living, and bind the wounds which bled.

"Look forth once more, Ximena!" "Like a cloud before the wind Rolls the battle down the mountains, leaving blood and death

behind;