Then he was clerk in a dry goods store of his native village, for two years. But having an ardent desire to travel, and study nature in her various guises, he determined for the time being, to become a pedlar. Although, in this calling, he had seen society in its worst as well as better forms, he had ever wisely shuning. ned the evil and walked in the ways of honor and wisdom. He found his vocation profitable, and having placed his parent above want, he was contemplating some other pursuit more congenial to his tastes, when he was taken ill beneath the hospitable roof of Mr. Leach.

For many days he continued alarmingly ill, and was delirious,--knew not, nor appreciated the gentle care which presented the cooling draught to his feverish lips. He talked of his mother, and his favorite books, often repeating whole passages of beauty from gifted authors, in a rich and melodious voice, sometimes bringing tears to the eyes of his fair attendant.

"Our patient is certainly a little better this morning," said the physician about two weeks after he was taken ill. "I hope soon to be able to pronounce him out of danger."

In due time he was pronounced convalescent; yet the fever left him exceedingly weak, and it was several weeks ere he was able to leave the mansion of Mr. Leach and its loved inmates,one of whom he regarded almost as an angel. Ere he bade them farewell, he had told his love and been accepted, yet for various reasons the nuptials were deferred one year. But time quickly sped. Winter came with his snowy winding sheet, and whistling winds,-Spring with her birds and violets,-Summer with her roses, and long, golden day,-Autumn with its ripened grain, and delicious fruits, and with it, came again William Moreton, the affianced of Emma Browning. But he was no longer the itinerant wanderer, as when we first knew him, but a partner in the mercantile establishment of his former employer. Large was the gathering at Mr. Leach's dwelling on the morn of Emma's bridal. Mr. Preston performed the simple ceremony that united their destinies. At its close he was seen in earnest conversation with our wild cousin Nell, and I mentally prophesied another union. And so it happened.

Emma presides like a queen over her happy home in a romantic village in Western Massachusetts, while Ellen, who was never supposed to have a serious thought in her life, is duly settled in our village parsonage. Her husband

S. M. PERKINS.

THE CELESTIAL ARMY.

I STOOD by the open casement
And looked upon the night,
And saw the westward going stars
Pass slowly out of sight.

Slowly the bright procession

Went down the gleaming arch,
And my soul discerned the music
Of their long triumphal march,
Till the great celestial army,

Stretching far beyond the poles,
Became the eternal symbol
Of the mighty march of souls.
Onward, forever onward,

Red Mars led down his clan,
And the Moon, like a veiled maiden,
Was riding in the van.

And some were bright in beauty,

And some were faint and small, But these may be in their great height The noblest of them all.

Downward, forever downward,

Behind Earth's dusky shore
They passed into the unknown night,
They passed and were no more.

No more! Oh, say not so

And downward is not just; For the sight is weak and the sense is dim That looks through heated dust.

The stars and the mailed moon,

Though they seem to fall and die, Still sweep with their embattled lines The endless reach of sky.

And though the hills of Death

May hide the bright array,
The marshaled brotherhood of souls
Still keeps its upward way.

Upward, forever upward,

I see their march sublime,

WE make some extracts from an admirable address of Br. T. S. KING, at the last anniversary of the Warren Street Chapel, Boston-an institution of Christian charity under the admirable management of Rev. Mr. Barnard, embracing a Sewing School, Evening School, Sabbath School and Worship, and other instrumentalities for the moral good of the poor, with a comprehensive regard for the things of exterior comfort. Heaven help all the workers in these departments of Gospel Philanthropy !—After speaking of the Christian Law of Service, that the strong should help the weak, Mr. King said:

“God is showing us, by uncovering the horrors in our large centres of civilization, and the effects they are producing upon our welfare, that in the very warp of the social fabric is laid the law,' whether one member suffer, all the members suffer with it.'

"I remember hearing, a year or two since, the remark by one of our city missionaries, that 'we need very much in Boston a bridge from Beacon street to Broad street.' This statement is a fine symbol of our general social need. We want some passage, some bridge, some conductors-and we must have them,-between our Christian light, means and energies, and the wide wastes of physical and moral destitution. As preachers, we often say that our deepest need is of conductors between the Bible and the private heart, and it is true. But there is a vast deal of the Christian spirit that is latent and unavailable, because there are no channels in which it may flow towards the destitute; and the only way to get the strength and powers of the Bible to the lower classes is through some intermediate love and institutions that will serve as conductors from the great battery-chain. Directly, those classes cannot get the light, truths, hopes, and the life of the Gospel. It must go from us, the more favored, who have our hands upon the great electric force, and by touch

ing them, convey to them its blessed and enlivening stream.

Especially in this country, with our theory of the state, should we earnestly consider this social problem. Our lower classes clutch the ballot box, and we are indissolubly united with them in our interests and life. They are, every way, bone of our bone. Our highest classes, like the apex of a pyramid, are lifted up from the broader base, gradually widening below. What hope is there for us, if that base is rotting at its lowest tier, or slumping in a moral marsh? Will the pyramid stand with such insecurity of foundation? with such chemistry gnawing the bottom of its structure? It is safer, in our land, to have atheistic scholars, than a barbaric and atheistic people; as it is safer for any frame to have diseased or blinded eyes, than a canker spot on the heart.

"We know what the plan of Christian philanthropy, so far as it has been directed to the perishing classes, has hitherto been. As a general thing it has been,-the chief hope has been, -to save a few out of the thousands that are suffered to drift steadily to ruin. But plainly our aim and work should be to buttress first. Christ said, 'feed my lambs.' Surely that does not mean that we shall wait till they grow wild, and nearly starve on the mountains, and then take in and care for a few stragglers that come down near the folds in the comfortable valley. It is grand to save those that have fallen, and we do not lisp a word, of course, against those who undertake that task; but it is not just or wise that philanthropy should tend solely that way. It is glorious to visit the drunkards, the depraved, the prisons, and speak sympathy, and revive hope, and quicken the torpid conscience. Yet there has been some danger that our modern philanthropy, by not being constructive and comprehensive, might run almost wholly towards those who have fallen, and so by its partiality, be not only unwise but unjust. It is a thrilling spectacle, when some Christian word, laden with spiritual omnipotence, goes into a grave of sin, and wakens there the little life that remains, and calls forth some moral Lazarus before our eyes, who had been bound hand and foot in the grave clothes of appetite and evil habit, to attest the Gospel of the resurrection; and yet it would be better if, beforehand, we could make that spectacle impossible, and avert the terrible risk of such a miracle, by preventing that soul from going down into that deep of death.

"One part, and the most important part, of our work now, as Christian philanthropists, is to see to those that are on the edge of the precipice; we should endeavor to encircle, assist, and throw redeeming influence around the ranks of those from whom the bands of Satan are colonized. If modern society, as some think, by many of its arrangements, presses heavily on the weaker classes, let us look out for those who have thus far stood the pressure, and strengthen them. They deserve it. As states and cities, what justice is there in making provision solely for the punishment, even the reformatory punishment, of the fallen, while no care is taken, and no interest felt, for those whom guardianskip would save from giving way? Why single out the most guilty, and expend in their behalf alone, all the wisdom of our legislation, and the resources of our public treasury? Is it consistent with broad, social justice, that we should spend thousands in building model prisons, where those who have fallen, and thus shown their peculiar weakness, or peculiar guilt, are fed and cared for, as has been said, more scientifically than any Duke of England, while we are indifferent to the needs and the deserts of those who have stood thus far the terrible pressure which carried others down, and will not consider the children, who with timely assistance will be able to resist it?

"We often speak of the almighty dollar.' The omnipotence of the dollar is nowhere so forcibly revealed as in its relation to a Christian enterprise. A dollar has no more intrinsic value, in the sight of Heaven, than a pebble; but what importance it has, even in the sight of God, from the uses it may be put to. We 'cannot serve God and Mammon,' but we can serve God through Mammon, and it is only by a right consecration of the dust of Mammon, that we can advance the cause of truth and God. The dollar is something like a bow, having no virtue in itself as a weapon, but of great value as an engine, since it may send a shaft with speed and force in any direction the archer chooses. With every dollar we spend, beyond what goes for our immediate necessities, we are doing something for or against the moral interests of society. We may buy some luxury with it that only injures and enervates us; we may spend it in frivolity or dissipation; we may humor our whims with it; we may indulge our tastes with it; we may injure society deeply by the use we put it to; or we aid a poor person with it; help a good cause with it; send a printed truth to some mark with

it; make it an ally of Christ's kingdom, and a buttress of his religion.

"I read recently, Mr. Chairman, in a sermon lately published, that we might read evidence of the increasing worldliness of Boston, in the fact that the stores in some of the streets overtop the churches. But we will not measure the worth nor the power of Christian institutions by the splendor of the buildings erected in their honor. If, sir, a traveler had gone, eighteen hundred years ago, into Corinth of Greece, or Ephesus in Asia Minor, he would have seen splendid temples, gorgeous palaces, great theatres, temples of justice, and shrines of art. But if he had a poetic or a prophetic eye, he would have seen that the most important and glorious edifice of all, was the humble abode where a Jew, 'named Paul, worked daily and nightly, through the week, as a tent-maker, to earn a support that would enable him to preach the Gospel, without charge, to the poor believers that gathered to hear him on the Sabbath. And in Rome, thirty years after the Crucifixion, the house where Paul was guarded, and where he preached his truth every Sabbath, was the centre of a greater glory and greater power, than dwelt in the Emperor's palace and the Senate hall. For, from that lowly roof was steadily going forth the energy of a truth, unknown to Nero, his captains, his consuls, and his court, which would save human civilization against the blight of heathenism and the corruptions of the capital, which would be the only remaining force to sustain society, when the Cæsar's throne and all the witnesses of that imperial grandeur should be swept away.

"In this city, too, we have great buildings, buildings that represent great forces and great ideas; the proud temple of law that crowns the summit of our highest hill; the halls of commerce that testify to our industrial prosperity; the libraries that bear witness to our taste and culture; the churches that enfold our stated and orderly worship. But among them all, none is nobler, none is grander, none is doing such a work for society, civilization and Christ, as this humble Chapel in which we are gathered, that lifts no spire, and makes no pretension in the landscape of the city. It is dearer, I have no doubt, to the heart of the Redeemer, than the most costly church that has been reared in our streets. It is the centre of a steady and branching Christian influence among those who need that influence most. It reaches the intellect, the habits, the manners, the conscience, and the hearts of the poor."

THE INDIAN MAID'S LAMENT.

SOFTER grew the tone, and lower
Of the dark-browed Indian rower,
As the light canoe went gliding
O'er the breezy waters riding-
Flinging kisses to the shore.
Tender, soft, yet sorrow-laden,

Breathed the low strains of the maiden-
And her eye grew bright, and brighter,
And her voice grew low, and lighter
As she gazed upon the shore.
Plaintive, like the haunting whisper
Of the night-bird's last low vesper,
Floating upward towards Heaven
On the star-tipped wing of even,

Stole that music to the shore.
Thus she sang; the while reclining
Lightly on the dripping oar,-
As she watched the star-beams shining
Faintly through the wild-vines, twining
All along the moss-fringed shore.

Calmly the moon looks down
From the far-off Heaven-

Gently and purely sweet

Fall the dews of even ;

Cool, comes the night-wind's breath,
Balmy with straying

Through all the scented woods,-
With the flower-buds playing.
Yet there's a lonely shade,

When the moon is brightest ;
Sad seems the zephyr's tone,
When its wing is lightest.
All that my heart has loved,
All that it cherished-
'Neath the destroyer's hand,
Uncared-for, has perished.
Yonder, where nestled once
In the bosomed wildwood-
Lowly, and humbly sweet,

The home of my childhood,-
Yonder, where proudly towers
Steeple, and dome,

There, has the white man come,
There, made his home.
There, do my fathers sleep,

Silent, and lone;
Far to the spirit-land

All, all are gone.
None there are left to bless,
None, now to love;

Oh let me haste to meet

The blest ones above."

Softer grows the tone, and lower
Of the dark-browed Indian rower,
Till the sad strain she is singing,
Fainter o'er the waters ringing-
Dies in echoes on the shore.
Then, with long dark tresses flowing,
Eyes,upraised, and wildly glowing,
Lips apart, and bosom heaving,
As her bark the still waves cleaving,
Fast whirls by the flowery shore,-

Stands she, as some spell were o'er her-
While the foaming falls before her
Raise their thunders loud, and louder,
Yet she draws her proud form prouder,
Till the cloudy mists enshroud her
And the ripples kiss the shore.

In the previous chapter frequent allusions were made to things which it will be necessary to explain in the present. The life of Clarence Nelson had not been without frequent and thrilling incidents and adventures, as the remarks of Wau-sha-ra, the Ottawa chief, would indicate. Rarely does a trader escape having some perils, and rarely does he succeed in his traffic with the Indians without showing some marks of confidence in them, from which a refined and sensitive mind would at first instinctively shrink. The traders, almost if not quite universally being unmarried men, take to themselves, after the Indian custom, a woman from the tribe, who shall be recognized as their wife. They are careful not to attach themselves by the ceremony of the whites; consequently should inclination or interest demand a dissolution of the engagement, they do not hesitate to send away their woman, always with presents sufficient to secure them against hostilities from the relatives of the repudiated one. Nelson, after having resigned all intention of returning to his native land, had followed the example of the other traders to a certain extent; and now in his lodge dwelt as beautiful a young creature as ever pressed her moccasined foot upon the shores of Mackinaw. We will do him the justice to say that he took her from no mercenary motive; but if there was any right in such a transaction, he