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BY C. E. A.

WHAT music in the sound; what volumes in that word. How full of meaning, how fraught with bright and hallowed recollections. The very name sends a thrill of joy to the heart and inspires the soul with new hopes and brighter prospects, to go forward in the path that duty has marked out for us, and we go onward, and onward, still trusting in Him, without whose notice not even a sparrow falls to the ground. The very thought that we are away from our Father's house, has a tendency to bring into the heart, a feeling of loneliness, and almost sadness. And though we meet with kind words, and loving smiles at every step, still thoughts of home will come "booming across the ocean of memory, and steal into the heart, and pervade it, as gentle zephyrs play among the summer leaves. And in fancy, we go back again, to the loved home, and live over our childish days, and then again comes the parting scene; we feel the pressure of the parting kiss, and the warm grasp of the hand, and hear the trembling farewells spoken; and then we awake from our senses to find us still away from home, a wanderer in a strange land, without a friend to encourage us, or help us to bear the burden that presses with crushing weight upon the weary heart. Ah! 'tis then, when friends forsake us, and turn coldly from us, that this weary homesick feeling comes over the soul, such utter loneliness, and we are found to cry out in the bitterness of our hearts, let me go home, and we ardently long for the hour of our departure, when we can say, I am going home. "Home, sweet home, there is no place like home;" this is the song that flows spontaneously from every heart; and how often we have experienced its solemn teachings. Oh! in a cold world like this, how often we miss the little kindnesses of home; they are little in themselves, but they add, oh so much to our happiness. How we miss a mother's tender care, and soothing words, when sickness and affliction lay their hand upon us; and when wearied, worn out nature sinks beneath its load, how few to minister to our relief; scarcely a smile is given, in this selfish world of ours, but it must be paid for, if not in dollars and cents, it is required in stern, cruel labor, and from those too, who call themselves friends, and even christians. Oh! what a violation of the plain commands of a pure and holy God, Love to God and our fellow men, or even of the golden rule. They forget the greatest of all Christian graces-charity-without which all others will profit nothing. Oh! how man is degenerating from year to year. Selfishness and gain, seems written on almost every face, as he presses forward in the eager pursuit of gold. Sometimes in our eagerness to see the world," and go forth to partake of its pleasures, that we hold out so temptingly, we forget, and indeed are unwilling to believe that this feeling of delight will not continue always. We forget that every earthly pleasure has its sorrow, every rose its thorn. We are apt to judge the feelings of others, by our own hearts. But alas, "all is not gold that glitters."

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Sad experience soon teaches us a sterner lesson; soon gives us to understand that we are looked upon as intruders, by those to whom, in the simplicity of our hearts, we have looked up for a home, and a place in their hearts as our rightful due. Ah! how soon we feel the change as we pass the warm embraces of our parents, out upon the world's broad stage, to engage in the battle of life; how soon we are thrown upon our own resources, to struggle and toil for the meagre pittance that is grudgingly allowed us for incessant labor. Oh! cruel, cold hearted world, how seldom, we find one in all thy crowded thoroughfares, who can feel as they ought for the friendless, homeless one; or who ever desires to know the bitter sorrows and disappointments to which they are continually exposed. Few know, with what crusbing weight a cold or thoughtless word falls upon the already bleeding heart, as it sadly whispers— away from him.

No wonder then, that the heart pines for home, and memories of the past will come crowding in upon us, like a strange, wild dream. Or come welling up within the soul, like a clear pure fountain, filling us with joy, and peace, amid firmer hope of reaching, after all our sorrows and toil, "our Father's house." And so it is with the weary Christian here on life's tempestuous sea. How often this frail bark of ours seems lost beneath the waves of sorrow and disappointment, the little star that guides seems hidden in the distance, and we fear and tremble; but soon the star of hope appears, and we mount upon the waves, and sail calmly amidst the roaring breakers and the dashing billows, for our father is at the helm; we hear his voice above the noisy tempest, and he will guide us safely to the home of eternal rest, "our Father's house."

And as coldness, and hardship, and false friends cause us to long and pine for our earthly home, so the trials and heart-chilling disappointments of this life, only drive us nearer to Him, who, in tender accents hath said, "Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest." "Lo I am with thee always, I will never leave thee nor forsake thee." Oh! what precious, soul-cheering promises; how sweet, how encouraging to the weary, fainting pilgrim. And how his faith brightens; his hope becomes stronger, his step firmer, as he thinks of his Father's house, his home above, where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest.

And

What though we must toil here, and struggle hard to win the prize, it will only make our rest more sweet, our songs of praise loftier. did not the sinless Son of God himself toil and suffer here in the same cold world? And was it not for us, who were his enemies, he died and rose again? And now he speaks to us in cheering words, "fear not, for I have overcome the world," and 'tis your Father's good pleasure to give you the Kingdom. O, why do we sometimes repine, and think our lot is hard? Can we not endure a little for the glory that awaits us, in a brighter world, in the home above. How meekly, how uncomplainingly, the Saviour suffered all for us. Oh! why can we not ever say, "Thy will be done."

Let us try to bear with patience and resignation, all the ills of life; knowing that all will work together, for good to those who love the Lord, and when our toils and cares should end on earth, we shall be welcomed home to our Father's house.

THE SILENT WEEK.

BY THE EDITOR.

When thou hadst overcome the sharpness of death,

Thou didst open the kingdom of heaven to all believers.

"Die Stille Woche "-the Silent Week, is the expressive name given by our forefathers to the week preceeding Easter, the solemn week which includes in it Good Friday, the day which commemorates our Saviour's suffering on the cross. It was regarded proper by them that this memorable week should be spent in silent meditation and in solemn, deep fellowship with our Saviour's sufferings. Nothing becomes us so well at this season as silence. "Commune with thine own heart and be still,” is an exhortation always appropriate; but it is especially so when we gather in humble penitence and adoring faith around the cross.

The sufferings of Christ are too great for words. No scene is more difficult to describe; and the most eloquent attempt is often felt to be the greatest failure. It is but little we can assist one another in this way. The height and the depth of that amazing mystery is not to be reached by our poor words. The holy Evangelists, themselves, make no attempt to describe the scene beyond the solemn simplicity of narrating the facts. It is well; for all embellishment of language would only have obscured what it would thus have attempted to reveal. The same must be true, in a still greater degree of any endeavors on the part of aninspired lips and pens. As in many other cases, still more truly here, is silence far more expressive than the best chosen words.

How appropriately then is this solemn time named the Silent Week. Let it be a time for silent devotion-for silent penitential grief on account of these sins "which nailed Him to the tree "-for silent adoration in view of that love which caused the favorite of heaven to become on earth a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief-for silent sympathy with the sorrows of Him who for us became obedient to death, even the death of the cross. Let it be a time for silent meditation on His strong crying and tears, the heavy troubles of His life, the grief and anguish of his soul, His agony and bloddy sweat, His cross and passion, His bonds and scourgings, His crown of thorns and ignominious crucifixion, His sacred words and precious blood, His atoning death, rest in the grave, and glorious resurrection.

When the solemu anniversary day of Christ's passion can be regarded as an ordinary day, to be spent in the ordinary spirit of secular life, there is reason to fear that a true sense of the reality of His suffering is sadly absent. If in a civil point of view, national anniversaries are the conservators of the national patriotism, how much more so must these days which commemorate the sublime facts of redemption have a living connection of the reality of those events in our faith and feeling. As Calvary, the spot on which those sufferings transpired can never be an ordinary spot to the believing heart, though long desecrated by unhallowed feet, so the day which commemorates the annual return of those suf

ferings can never become to the Christian heart an ordinary day. It is a want of the pious heart toward which it will ever turn; and sympathy with the thoughts and feelings it brings will ever be pleasant though mournful to the soul.

Besides, meditations on the sufferings of Christ must ever constitute a main element in a healthy piety. There is reason to fear that this feature of sound piety has in the latest times too much yielded to mere religious sentimentalism. The latter sermons and practical writings do not so much abound in it as was the case in former times. How precious in this particular is the old wine compared with the new. How the old Hymns abound in deep sympathy with our Saviour's passion! As. a specimen we may take several verses from the celebrated Passion Hymn of Gerhardt.

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BOOK NOTICES.

APPLETON'S NEW AMERICAN CYCLOPEDIA. VOL V. From Chartreuse-Cougar. Edited by Gorge Ripley and Charles Dana: New York, Appleton & Co. and Loudon: 16 Little Britain. 1859. pp. 770.

No one eis n can know all things-not even a Master of Arts. This fact we have firmly believed ever since the time we first discovered that there were some things which even "the Schoolmaster" did not know. If this has been so thus far, the case is daily becoming more hopeless, as the world, with its arts. sciences, and various circles of human k owledge, is nlarging at a rate u precedented in our previous history. We are inclined to think that Masters of Arts will become fewer in numbers ever day; and that the time is coming, yea now is, when M. S, Master of Somethings, will be a title suffici ntly honorable for most of persons. For the reason now stated, we hail Cyclopedias as true friends of the care worn student-and especialy this NEW one, which brings down its subjects so fully to the present time. Many thanks to the laborious Editors who hire furuish us within comfortable reach the vast treasures of past and present wisdom. A feeling of comfort comes over us as one volume after another of this magnificent work (each volume treating over two thousand subjects) takes its place on our shelves. have examined the present volume with great satisfaction; and finding those subjects in regard to which we feel ourselves best qualified to judge, full, correct, and judicious, our confi ence in the integrity of the whole work is firmly estab lished. This gooi opinion is farther confirmed by the list of contributors to the first five volumes, which is given in this volume, covering six pages, including many of the best known scholars in this country and England. This fact, as well as the character of the articles, gives assurance that this is not an ephemeral work, but destined to the honor and place of a standard Cyclopedia Its merits justify

We

us in recommending it to scholars as a most important work of reference, and to general readers, whose library resources re limited, as a library in itself. The work can be procured, as each volume appears, from Elias Barr & Co., Lancaster, Pa.

INFANT SALVATION IN ITS RELATion to Infant DEPRAVITY, INFANT REGENERATION AND INFANT BAPTISM. By J. H. A. Bomberger, D. D. Philadelp ia, Lindsay & Blakiston, 1859, pp. 182.

This little work furnishes a practical discussion of the four subjects indicate in the the title in as many sections. The subjects treated, are in themselves deeply interesting, especially to parents, and have lately atracted fresh attention The relation of Christianity to the infant world in it- various bearings has, during a few ears past, been made the subject of earnest articles in the Theological Reviews of different denominations, and also the subject of a number of lately published books. These last have been rather of a consol story than theological character, while the former, more scientific, have narrowed to much around single points of controversy to be of much theological value. This treatise of Dr Bomberger, though as we have said, practical in its aims, discusses several theological points connected wit the general subjects which have been too much overlooked It is gotten up in beautiful style, printed on large clear te and good paper, whic renders it very agre able to the eye; and the plain popu ar style in which the author treats his subjects, and the many important practical thoughts in which it abounds cannot fail to make it profitable to the reader Christian parents, whether their children are still with them, or have departed, will find instruction and consolation in these pages.

ENDLESS PUNISHMENT. A Special Discourse delivered February 6, 1859. By Rev. D. Gans, Harrisburg, Pa. Harrisburg, 1859. pp. 32.

This is an able discourse, and we are not surprised that the congregation which Leard it desired its ublication Mr. Gans la s firm and heav, strokes on that lo se, practical infidelity which, in a careless and irresponsible way, hangs fist to mere fragments of truth, ignoring the whole from which the fragmen has been

broken.

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