at least, by another: Why do some children need severer and more frequent correction than others? In this, as in all other things, God adapts his dealings to our wants. We may suppose that such severity is not necessary for us; just so thinks the child in regard to the chastisements of its parent. Yet who would ask that the corrections of a child should be regulated according to the will and judgment of the child? The parent knows best, so God knows best.

Moreover, the severe disciplinary sufferings which sometimes come upon God's people toward the end of life, are no doubt often designed to make speedily right some lingering defect-to break down quickly some giant abnormity in the suffering christian life-to make up lost time by intensifying the process toward the ripeness of the general religious life. The time is growing so short, and there is yet so much dross among the gold of grace, that it is necessary for God in mercy to make more fiery the furnace of affliction. Some child of God has lived slowly in grace-has spent too much time in side interests; or perhaps youth and manhood in sin! Now that which should have been the work of years, must be crowded into a few months or weeks. Oh, how sorely then must the poor spirit groan and cry under the merciful strokes of that God who makes the wounds of the body to be for the eternal health and life of the soul.

Then, too, it must not be forgotten that these sufferings are to be regarded as a talent, with which God is to be glorified. How much has God's grace been honored by the meek and patient sufferings of His children. How many has Job comforted in all ages by his affliction; how many have seen in him "the end of the Lord; that the Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy."

Thus these sufferings, while they are a blessing to the sufferer himself, are to have also a direct reference to others. Especially are they designed for a blessing to those who are near to the sufferer, by the tender ties of human life-to members of the family, to relatives, and to companions. O, what a solemn sermon it is to have one of our dear friends a wife, mother, sister, father, husband, brother, lying in the furnace in our own house!

"Smitten friends

Are angels sent on errands full of love;

For us they languish, and for us they die.

And shall they languish, shall they die in vain ?
Ungrateful shall we grieve their hovering shades,
Which wait the revolution in our hearts?

Shall we disdain their silent soft address?

Tread under foot their agonies and groans,

Frustrate their anguish, and destroy their death?"

O let us learn to make the sufferings and death of our friends, as well as our own afflictions, a blessing to us. A blessing they will be to us, or a curse. They will make us harder or softer, better or worse. The furnace will either refine or consume us.

In no way does a merciful God so condescend to our infirmities in his gracious appeals. In none of his dealings does he speak in plainer language. At no other time does he so solemnly and tenderly come home to our business and bosom. The written word we may suffer to lie un

apply to others; but the circles of love we cannot To us has God spoken.

opened--the preached word we may avoid or language of sickness and death in our own avert, refuse to hear, or apply to ourselves. One of his bolts has fallen at our feet! One of His messengers, the dread angel of death, has appeared in our house, in our room, at our bed, and has said in our hearing: "Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust." O how can we close our ears against that voice and hope to be forgiven!

Behold, one more has gone from us through the gate of death. One less in the pew, one less in the family. There is another vacant chair in the house, another lonely place in the heart, another mound in the graveyard, and, as we have reason to believe, another ransomed spirit "forever with the Lord." O let the living lay to heart the solemn, glorious thought. May the thought of a parent, a mother, a near friend in heaven, stimulate those who are yet in conflict; and may any who are still out of Christ be reminded that the last look into the coffin was to them the last look forever, unless they are reconciled to God by the blood of His son, Jesus Christ.

Behold, the time is short. Behold, the judge is at the door. Behold, the shades of evening are gathering solemnly around. Sickness, death, the grave, the last judgment, heaven and hell, are crowding up toward us! "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might, for there is no work, nor decree, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest."

"Great God! is this our certain doom,

And are we yet secure:

Still marching downward to the tomb,

And yet prepare no more.

"Grant us the power of quickening grace,

And fit our souls to fly;

Then, when we drop this dying flesh
We'll rise above the sky."

THE TWILIGHT VOICES.

In the twilight faint and dreary,
Sat an old man, sad and weary,
Of his household band, he only,
Lingered here a pilgrim lonely,
Some were over the sea away,
Some within the churchyard lay,
Sighed the wind-a harper gray!
Far away!

Rising, like a dusty column,
Stood the old clock, tall and solemn,
To his thoughts still making answer,
Like a holy necromancer;

Where were hopes of Fancy born?
Where were faces bright as morn?
And the grim old clock ticked on,
"Lost and gone!"

Sinking he in his quiet slumber,
Which no earthly care might cumber,
And his inner care unfeeling,
Came a gush of music stealing
Through the twilight shadows gray,
As if loved ones far away
Murmured in that silver lay:
"Come away!"

Morning came, serenely shining;
In a dreamless rest reclining,
Strangers found the old man sleeping,
Never more earth's vigils keeping;
Loved ones from the starry dome,
Where the spirit finds its home,
Bade him never more to roam,
Welcome home!

NOTES ON NEW BOOKS.

:

THE PROTESTANT THEOLOGICAL AND ECCLESIASTICAL ENCYCLOPEDIA: Being a condensed translation of Herzog's Real Encyclopedia. With additions from other Sources. By Rev. J. H. A. Bomberger, D.D., assisted by distinguished theologians of various denominations. Part II. Phila. Lindsay & Blakiston. 1856. The Second Part-sorry the publishers did not also send us the First Partbrings forward the work to Arminius. This truly great work is abundantly certified to by the eminent names of Germany associated with it. Dr. Bomberger is rendering the American church a lasting service by getting it out in an English dress. We leave the critical examination of the execution to the Reviews; and only ask the privilege of commending it to our earnest readers as a work worthy of all accceptation. We know of no treasure any inquiring young christian could possess which in the same compass, and for the same amount of money, would enable him to inform himself so well upon all subjects connected with Theology, and the general study of the Bible and the church. Here he can turn

to any point and find all its sides brought into the light. This work is issued in parts of 128 double column pages, at 50 cents for each part. It will form when completed two super royal octavo volumes. "The numbers will be sent by mail to subscribers free of postage, upon the receipt of the subscription price in advance." Address Lindsay & Blakiston, Publishers, Philadelphia. The mechanical execution is in the usual tasty style of this enterprising publishing house.

A COLLECTION OF THIRTY THOUSAND NAMES OF GERMAN, SWISS, DUTCH, FRENCH, PORTUGUESE AND OTHER IMMIGRANTS TO PENNSYLVANIA-Chronologically arranged from 1727 to 1776. Edited by I. Daniel Rupp. Harrisburg. 1856. Our readers will recollect that we noticed the first number of this work fayorably in a former number of The Guardian. The second and third numbers are now before us, and we are more than ever convinced of the usefulness of this novel work. It is a laudable curiosity which begets in us the desire of tracing our ancestors. Here one important means of doing so is brought within our reach. Mr. Rupp, who has already received many thanks for his laborious perseverance in bringing out the local history of Pennsylvania, deserves prompt encouragement in carrying out his present undertaking. The whole work, sent in numbers to subscribers by mail, costs only $1.

MISCELLANEA. The library of the poet Rogers, which took six days to sell, has realized, after all, no very great sum; and by far the larger proportion of even this is due rather to volumes of engravings and etchings, and to those works which are decorously disguised in the catalogues under the title of "facetiæ," than to the value of the works properly so called. To indicate the extent to which the class above referred to existed in the collection, we may mention that two copies of the "Hypnerotomachia" of Poliphilus were put up for sale: one copy (an editio primaria) realized £13, and the other £7.

....In New York there are four hundred and forty-four booksellers and one hundred and thirty-three publishers, and in Pennsylvania, four hundred and two of the first and seventy-two of the last. Most of the publishing, and the largest number of the booksellers, center in the three great cities of Boston, New York, and Philadelphia, which are the leading publishing cities of the country. New York has the most capital invested in the business.

.......Bayard Taylor, who sailed in the Asia, goes to spend two or three years in Denmark, Sweden, Norway and Russia. He contemplates returning home by the route across Northern Asia, Siberia and Mantchouria to the mouth of the river Amour, whence he will take ship for Oregon or California.

...The Royal Library of Hanover has increased its collection by the purchase of 12,000 volumes, forming the library of a gentleman named Siemsen. The greater part of these works are relative to ancient German literature.

THE GUARDIAN:

A Magazine Devoted to the Interests of Young Men and Ladies.

To one whose heart is rightly attuned to the sweet influences of sanctified friendship, there is an indescribable pleasure in discovering a little world of blood relations who, though branches of the same parent stem, have long since disappeared in the hazy distance of the Past. The discovery of a vein of gold, or of a new world, may gratify the heart of avarice or ambition, but the discovery of a mine of friends, in whom we can trace the lineaments of kindred descent, touches new chords and opens new fountains in the breast, from which issues a stream of the most exquisite delight.

Will I meet with relatives in the Old World? This was a question of which I daily thought on land and sea. Twenty years had elapsed since they were last heard from. In little more than twenty years a generation passes away. My mind oscillated between hope and doubt. Early on a pleasant Saturday morning I left Coblentz with the steamer for Bingen. Soon after three o'clock the sun already gilded the lofty summit of Ehrenbreitstein, and the pleasant groves were vocal with the songs of many warblers, whose familiar notes had become pleasant household tones around our American homestead. As I parted from mine host, who seemed pleasantly concerned for the issue of that day's journey, he fondly hoped that I might be welcomed by many kind and happy hearts. Between Coblentz and Bingen the Rhine is surpassingly beautiful. No tongue can adequately tell its merits. My heart leaped for joy as our boat floated swan-like through this world of wonders. But ever and anon would mind and heart dart away from these enchanting scenes, to the terminus of evening. When we passed the Mouse Thurm, whose legend has beguiled many a long winter evening of my childhood, I felt as though I should leap ashore and strike a near cut across the fields. The boat landed, and I, heedless of all the nameless beauties of Bingen and its environs, pushed my way through the crowd

into a coach for Kreuznach, which I reached in a few hours. My impatience would scarcely allow me to take a little refreshment before I set out for Freilanbersheim, a distance of five miles. The road wound through a rolling succession of little hills, which reminded me at every turn of the broad fields of my native Lancaster. A mile before I reached the village the road was arched with trees. When I came to the old graveyard beside the church, I leaned against the wall and yielded to a short spell of meditation. Even (so reasoned I) should I meet no living relatives, it is a source of some pleasure at least to stand by the dust of my ancestors and see the church in which they worshipped. At an inn I made inquiries with circuitous questions, that provoked curious questions, which I evaded so as not to let the news of my arrival run before me. Finally I was told that my paternal uncle was still living. I repaired to his dwelling, where I was received by his son. I inquired after a man from a neighboring village who formerly lived in America. He knew him not, and seemed rather unwilling to have much to do with me. And I must confess that, after climbing mountains for several days through rain and mud, I had somewhat neglected the outward man, so that my appearance was rather against me. Then came his father tottering under the weight of almost four score years, but bearing such a marked resemblance to an old friend of mine, "and more than friend to me," that I could with difficulty conceal my emotion. He knew nothing of the person inquired for; asked me where I was from, and said that he formerly had brother in America, but evidently must have died, as he had not heard from him for twenty-one years. His son replied that there could be little doubt of his death. I asked where he had lived. I then handed him my father's likeness and asked whether he had ever seen that man. The old gentleman could no longer see it. His son looked at it, then at his father, for it looked so much like him, then at me, while his face expressed a mingled feeling of wonder, joy and regret. I handed him a letter from father, and the sequel I must here let the reader to imagine. In a few moments I was surrounded with a cluster of newly-discovered kindred, and a flock of prattling little cherubs, who seemed unspeakably happy in the acquisition of a new uncle.

The Castle

There are several interesting ruins near Freilanbersheim. of Rheingrafenstein, perched on the pinnacle of a rock six hundred feet high, having one side more than perpendicular. Near this is the Castle of Ebernburg, which formerly belonged to Franz von Sickingen, the Knight of the Reformation, and the last of the knights-errant. From here he hurled destruction at the enemies of the Reformation, sheltering within these impregnable heights Melancthon, Bucer and Ecolampadius. And Ulric von Hutten wrote several of his works within its protecting walls. In the immediate vicinity are extensive saline springs and works. They are composed of a collection of long, lofty sheds, filled with faggots. The salt water is raised to the top and repeatedly made to trickle through these so as to evaporate. After this it is boiled in large cauldrons and converted in salt.

The rural life of Germany is very different from that of the United States. Here the farmers all live in villages. The country is entirely clear of scattered farm houses. The farms lie in little patches over