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known violence, and yet were unconscious of the magnitude of their peril, and knew not from what direction to expect the impending blow. At an appointed hour the tocsin was to sound from the church steeples, the signal for the merciless and indiscriminate massacre of the Protestants, all over the realm, of every age and sex. The king himself stood at his window with his loaded musket, anxiously yet tremblingly awaiting the signal, and prepared from the security of his palace to amuse himself in shooting down the flying Huguenots. The few rays of the lamps which glim

mered in the court-yard, would aid him in his aim. Catharine stood by the side of her son to nerve his feeble soul and sustain his wavering resolution. Such was the posture of affairs at midnight, in the metropolis of France, on the 23d of June, 1572. The morning light of St. Bartholomew's day had not yet dawned. The scenes which the ensuing day witnessed, have made it memorable for ages; and through all coming time, the recital of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew will cause the ear to tingle. This narrative we reserve for our next number.

WE lately spent some time in the perusal of the Essays of Elia. We sought a high intellectual gratification, and most perfectly would we have obtained it, had their religious character been other than it is. But amidst the quaint felicities and felicitous quaintnesses of the style, and those delicate word-paintings, whose beauties are not all to be perceived without some fixed attention, and some pleasant, quiet, reflective musing, we were ever and anon grieved at the painful occurrence of some unprofitable quotation of Scripture, or some misuse of a Scripture expression, or some light, unbecoming reference to something sacred, as if the author had read the Bible very carefully, not for the sake of any good that it might do him, but to obtain a peculiar garnish for his style, and by a familiar tampering with holiest things, to impart a peculiar zest and piquancy to his thoughts. Our enjoyment was marred by this, and we envy not the reader whose enjoyment it does not mar. We found besides, in these essays, a very frequent utterance of sentiments to which no one can subscribe who really cares for the Bible as the Word of God. We cannot express the feeling of sadness awakened by the perusal of many of the reflections on subjects the most affecting to poor mortal creatures. And then, we were introduced into scenes of quiet happiness far more attractive than the world's 'gaiety. But erelong we were compelled the word is used advisedly, for it describes the case-we were compelled to estimate the quality of that happiness, and to pro

nounce it evanescent, delusive, utterly destitute of the one thing needful.

We never stood amongst the ruins of Pompeii, nor entered the house of Sallust or of Pansa, but we have often imagined ourselves admitted to behold the serenest and most peaceful hours of heathen families, and have attempted to realize the descriptions of domestic or of social enjoyment, which we found in the writings of classic antiquity. And melancholy thoughts have always arisen, such as we could well suppose to crowd into the mind of a wanderer in the desolate streets of the City of the Dead. But it is still more sad to contemplate the ungodly families of our own time and land, endeavoring to make themselves happy without God. And the less that there is of gaiety, and din, and dissipation, the more of quietness and a certain sort of serenity that seems emulously to simulate a hea venly peace, the more impressively melancholy does the scene become.

Such have been our feelings in reading the works of Charles Lamb, and we dwell upon the half-accidental illustration, because, with certain qualifications, the same remarks may be applied to the works of many other authors. In the Essays of Elia, the evil is certainly more notable than in many other cases in which it is not less real; perhaps it is aggravated by their meditative character. Alas! that the poison should be mingled in so pleasant a cup, and that such a mind should have been employed, although unintentionally, in promoting irreligion and profan

ity. What admirable contributions might have been made to our literature by such rare endowments really devoted to the service of God!. How good it were to be led along in such calm meditation on things within us and on things around, things past, and present, and to come, things earthly and things heavenly, if the mind which led us were evidently Christian! But how painful is this continual occurrence of some observation or sentiment, reminding us of all the mortality and all the misery of earth, whilst earth seems as if it were utterly cut off from heaven! Might not scenes of fairer happiness be presented, over which no cloud so dark should cast its gloom? Or rather, through the clouds which rise from and encircle earth, might we not be permitted to discern a joyful radiance poured in from above? But oh, how vain are these mere earthly fires, with their poor mockery of warmth and light! How much is it to be regretted that in so many works of genius the reader is directed to these and to no better than these for all his joy! And the lessons of genius are conveyed with an enchanting power which renders their falsehood a thousand-fold more dangerous.

We are far from wishing to restrict the range of literature. It is with literature as with conversation, which cannot be confined to mere religious subjects, but still may be in perfect harmony with religion-must not, every day, be kept within Sabbath limits, but yet ought to be always in accordance with those principles and feelings which require that the Sabbath be kept holy. From the greater prevalence of true religion would doubtless result a greater amount of conversation on religious subjects, and of such books as in general are distinctively called religious. But this would not be all. Conversation upon all other subjects would require a more religious tone; there would be a judicious and natural, an inoffensive intermingling of religion with all other themes, and everything which could not bear such fellowship would be most advantageously excluded. A corresponding improvement would take place in literature, and the very change from which it resulted would again be greatly promoted. This improvement we exceedingly desire, for we look to general literature as, even more than what is called religious literature, in dicating and affecting the general state of society. We long for more and better opportunities of Christian conversation-for hours, and evenings, and happy days of conversation such as may

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really "minister that godly edifying which is in faith;"'-we long to listen to the flow of Christian fervor pouring forth, as from depths newly fathomed, a fresh abundance of Christian thought; we long to participate in intercourse elevating ourselves to think as we might never otherwise have been able to think, whilst conversation, turning to all subjects really deserving of attention, and accommodating itself to all various moods of mind, shall still maintain its Christian character and tone, without affectation, without constraint. And, in like manner, we desire not only to see good religious books multiplied, till the very aspect of our literature be changed by them, as the face of the ocean by the multitude of rain-drops when the shower begins to fall, but also to see all genius consecrated to the service of Christ, and works not professedly religious in their character, yet really religious by their perfect harmony with religious principle and their adaptation to the ordinary feelings of a sanctified heart. We long to be free from the necessity of exploring the utmost limits of good morality with scrutinizing niceness, in order to appreciate the moral character of what we read, and ere we can tell whether to approve or to condemn. We wish to see minds of the highest order practically acknowledging their responsibility to the Great Giver of all gifts. We lament the unbaptized condition of our literature, and we long to see it baptized at last with a truly Christian baptism.

Genius, we fear, has been more frequently misemployed than talent of any other kind; we know no reason why the efforts of genius should not be directed to the promotion of truth, virtue, and holiness. Instances are not wanting to illustrate the possibility; nor has genius ever appeared to greater advantage than when thus consecrated to the service of the sanctuary. Such instances, indeed, are lamentably few; talent of every other kind, and learning, and science, and philosophy, have been more frequently seen in conjunction with true piety, than that most exquisite gift, genius. In these days religion has enjoyed the benefit of great acquirements presented in free-will offering upon her altar; but genius is still too generally reserved for the mere worship of nature, or devoted to a miserable idolatry of itself, or prostituted to the service of unhallowed passions, to which it is perhaps made an excuse for yielding, and which it is basely employed to stimulate in those whose aberrations from virtue must lack even that excuse.

How frequent, how surprising, how true, that we "know not what a day may bring forth!" In the affairs of common life and of private individuals, how different, often, are the realities of the present from the expectations that were indulged in the past! The pleasure that was in anticipation has been turned into sorrow. The riches that were confidently expected, have vanished. The wealth, honor, and power which had long been enjoyed, by one reverse rotation in the wheel of Providence have all fallen into the dust. Or, on the other hand, he who was yesterday pining in want, is to-day in affluence. He who, but a short time since, was unhonored, untitled, and unknown, is now holding the sceptre of an empire. For changes come over nations as surely, and sometimes as suddenly, as they overtake individuals. He who goes to sleep a king, not thinking but that he shall wear his crown for many years, and then leave it to his son, awakes sceptreless and almost friendless, to become a fugitive in the earth. The nation that in former years was mistress of the world, is now in the feeblest vassalage, or has ceased to be. The people who a century since were no people, are now famed the world wide, and second to no nation on earth. Institutions whose deep-settled foundations were considered immovable, and which had been revered for centuries, have, by a single blow of revolutionary power, been scattered to the winds, and the place where they were is no longer known. Opinions and doctrines which have been honored by the sages of many generations, are exploded and contemned. Axioms in science are found to be no axioms. Almost the only fixed law which men acknowledge, is mutation.

The most changeable of all things are men themselves. There is loveliness in an infant; it is soon changed into loveliness and interest in the animated countenance of youth. That passes,

and we have the more staid, matured, and thoughtful face of manhood. But it is gone, and there are the wrinkles and imbecilities of old age. Poets love to sing the praises of female beauty. Why do they not tell us that it fades like the flower?-passes away like a wreath of morning mist. Men boast of their consistency; yet scarce an hour passes in which their conduct does not contradict their professed principles, and not a year goes away in which a change is not manifest in their professions. He who does not change, is neither a wise nor good man. The truly great and good are constantly discovering their own errors in judgment and conduct, and are profiting from their discoveries. It is for the ignorant, prejudiced, obstinate, and self-conceited, to boast of their infallibility, and that they never change their opinions. It is for the slothful, and unbelieving, and self-righteous to be satisfied to remain as they are, having no desires for amendment, because they conceive that they have no need.

Yes, the world fadeth, and all its glory passeth away. And it is best that it should be so. Let us remember it, and let us profit from the reflection. Let us not have the folly to set our hearts on it. We fade; we pass away. Remembering it, let us be earnest in looking for things which are unfading and imperishable, and preparing for an estate which will be unchanging and eternal. There is One who does not change; it is not desirable that he should. He is perfect. Well is it for mankind that with him there is "neither variableness, nor shadow of turning." "I am the Lord, I change not; therefore, ye sons of Jacob are not consumed." Yes, praise his holy name. "For his mercy endureth for ever." "The world passeth away, and the lust thereof; but he that doeth the will of God, abideth for ever."