animated many who were willing to give up their lives for their country.' I pleasantly recall the incident of the return of my wife's father, John B. Crenshaw, from a Washington visit to his Virginia home a few years after the war, and how he spoke of his gratification at meeting General Howard in the midst of his family, having been his guest over night. I have not forgotten, likewise, the circumstance of my father-in-law telling me of a conversation he had with General A. P. Hill, whose tent, with those of several other Confederate generals, was pitched upon the lawn of the homestead farm not far from Richmond. The general, who had been religiously brought up, deprecated war, but he said he had always been taught that it was right to defend one's fireside, and on that ground had gone into the struggle, and could earnestly pray for the success of the cause he had espoused. So I repeat what is affirmed with clearness in the tract to which thou hast excepted: "I do not deny that Christian men may have been soldiers, but can there be any question that the profession of arms is an occupation which the followers of Him who defended not Himself with the legions which He could have called, and who said, 'My Kingdom is not of this world, else would my servants fight,' are enjoined to come out of?"

The late Rowland B. Howard, a Congregational minister, Secretary of the American Peace Society, and brother of General Ö. O. Howard, in concluding a plea for peace not long before his death, remarked, "In a divinely created and ordered universe, there is, there must be, a better way [than that of settling disputes by the sword]. It is our duty to find it." Professing Christendom having for long forsaken the simplicity of primitive faith and practice in this regard, we need to turn now and learn anew a lesson from the freshly impressed inhabitants of "the isles afar off." When such a thing occurs as that of the Japanese envoys to England, charged with an examination into the merits and practical workings of Christianity with a view to its possible general adoption in the land of the Mikado, making report that what they had beheld in the way of preparations by the English to fight their fellowmen were so opposed to the tenets of peace which they, the Christian English, professed, as to disincline them to suggest any change in the national religion of Japan, one may conclude that there is just occasion for reviving the Apostle Paul's sorrowful impeachment, "The name of God is blasphemed among the Gentiles through you, as it is written."

Said that self-denying missionary, William Ellis, referring to the Polynesian converts, "When Christianity was adopted by the people, human sacrifices, infant murder and war entirely ceased." When that fierce marauder and murderer, Afrikaner, became a Christian, he and his people put totally away their clubs and knives, their bows and arrows and spears. What an amazing transformation was that of the cannibal Fijians, so also that of the Samoan islanders! Concerning the latter people, a most interesting statement (which also ought to be far more widely known than is the case) was made two years ago at a Conference held at Redland Park, Bristol, England.

S. J. Whitmee, a missionary, stated that when he went to Samoa in 1863, he found the native Christians in those islands so fully convinced that war was utterly inconsistent with a profession of faith in Jesus Christ, that no person who took any part in war, either in promoting it as a statesman, or in engaging in it as a soldier, could

be a member of a Christian church. From the first acceptance of Christianity in the islands, this became the rule. It was adopted, not in consequence of the teaching of the earliest English missionaries upon the subject, but as a conclusion which forced itself upon the minds of the people themselves as soon as they understood the teaching and spirit of Christ. He believed he was right in saying, the people were in advance of some of their missionary teachers on this subject. Had he not himself been persuaded of the unchristian character of carnal warfare before he went to Samoa, he believed he should have been converted by the people he went to teach.

The terrible hurricane of a few years ago that shattered and wrecked, with great accompanying loss of life, the vessels of war of professedly Christian nations that were gathered in Samoa's harbor of Apia, ought to have bid this nation halt in carrying forward the scheme then being broached for a great increase of our navy; but the lesson of the incident was not welcomed. The annals of the time do not tell us how the serious-minded among the spiritually transformed Samoans regarded this awful event.

Referring again to thy letter, I should say concerning the point raised by thee, of traders provoking war, and soldiers following on to finish up matters, that the charge has been at times true enough. But it cannot by any means be taken as a truism. The "services" are very largely represented in the British parliament, and when any serious difficulty involving another nation is reported as brewing anywhere in the circle of the Queen's dominions and dependencies, an abundance of "jingo" talk is straightway heard in the halls of parliament. During the recent Chilean trouble, there was a large expression of decided satisfaction on the part of our naval officers at the prospect of getting into a fight and showing off our prowess and upholding the country's glory. But what an arraignment of the war system is found in the fact that the most unjust contests are entered upon and waged to the bitter end, whether originating in the fault of traders or otherwise, yet not an officer will be found who shall deliver up his sword, refusing to fight, and say, "My conscience and my God forbid me to take any part in this base matter." That would be deemed little short of treason. "Theirs' not to reason why."

I should not like to answer for the shortcomings and the actual guilt of traders generally in this connection, but thou canst hardly lay the responsibility heavily upon those of them who have been Friends. The annals of our province of Pennsylvania will tell thee that when the Indians were badly worsted after a time of war, with which Friends had naught to do except to try to keep the people out of it, contributions to the extent of several thousand pounds were gathered among their members, chiefly traders, and expended by them on the Indians' behalf.-Coincident with our Revolutionary war, the English. and the French being also at war, a part owner of two British vessels which, taking out letters of marque, made several captures from the French, was a certain Friend of Falmouth. Obtaining his share of the prizes, which he could not conscientiously retain, he promptly sent his son, a physician, to Paris, to seek out and advertise for the owners of the captured property with a view to its restoration, a most unheard of procedure. The owners were eventually found, their claims proved, and the money restored.-The verdict of history is that the Crimean war was a "huge blunder," not to say a great political crime. The

WATCHING THE TONGUE.

Keep a watch on your words, dear children,
For words are wonderful things;
They are sweet, like the bees' fresh honey,
Like bees, they have terrible stings:
They can bless like the warm glad sunshine,
And brighten the lonely life;
They can cut in the strife of anger,
Yes, cut like a two-edged knife.

Let them pass through your lips unchallenged
If their errand be true and kind-

If they come to support the weary,
To comfort and help the blind:

If a bitter, revengeful spirit

Prompt the words, let them be unsaid:

They may flash through the brain like lightning Or fall on the heart like lead.

Keep them back if they're cold and cruel,

Under bar and lock and seal :

The wounds they make, dear children,

Are always slow to heal.
May Christ guard your lips and ever
From the time of your early youth,
May the words that you daily utter,

Be the words of the beautiful truth.

-Selected.

"I DON'T LIKE THE WAY THEY DO IT."

BY COUSIN PAUL.

April Fool's Day, how jolly! This was Ben, and his sister Grace echoed his sentiments. They had planned many fine jokes and were eager to carry them out.

Cousin Clara who was ten years older than Ben had helped them fix up some letters which they had mailed so that they would be delivered in the morning post. The very nicest of these, written as nearly as possible in Aunt

No. 4

The

May's handwriting, was to come to their mama. very oldest paper they could find had been marked and remailed to their papa at his office.

There were numerous packages done up ready to be left at the door of friends here and there through the town. These packages contained nothing of value and were intended to remind those who received them that they need not expect to get anything but rags and paper on the first of April.

Aunt Jane, who lives with these little people, thought she was going to escape having one of their pranks played on her, and really felt happy about it, when quite unexpectedly her turn came.

A spool of thread was placed in Ben's inside jacket pocket and the end threaded out through the back of his coat and laid on his shoulder so as to look like a long ravelling. Aunt Jane is very neat and particular about having every thing clean, so she came along and attempted to pull off the thread and was surprised to find it so long, just as Ben, Grace and cousin Clara knew she would be.

All these amusements are innocent enough and they have not really hurt any one although a good many people have been disappointed. Even papa anticipated something from his paper which he did not get.

But here is a true story that I read years ago of a little girl who wished to disappoint some one in a pleasant way. The story of the April Fool and what came of it is told by the little girl's mama.

"I may do whatever I please with my little dollar, mayn't I, mama?" said Nellie as she held up a gold piece that she had received for a Christmas present and had been saving until she could decide what to do with it.

"Yes, dear, whatever you please, for mama is sure you will please to do quite right."

"Well, you see, mama," she said, "all the children are trying to fool somebody to-day and I don't exactly

me!"

"I think I have,' he said, looking down the street: 'but it was the day I was born, Nelly, and I s'pose I'll be a fool all my life, nothing but scold, scold, at home and nothing but saw, saw, away!'. This last as though to himself and not seeming to mind me at all. I am so sorry for him, mama, and since I may do what I please with my dollar, I am going to fool Jim Markham with it." "And how will you manage, little plotter?" "Why if you will let me have the little ring-box that papa gave you for your birth-day. You remember, do you?"

"Yes, I remember," smiling as I looked down at the ring on my finger," I remember."

It is just deep enough for the coin, I will wrap it in, oh, ever so many papers, and then when he takes them off, expecting to find nothing, and sees that dear little dollar, won't he be fooled?"

Five minutes later Nelly laid a rather bulky package in James Markham's hand, and flew like a bird up the wood-house stairs through the kitchen, the hall and up into my room again.

She dropped on the sofa all of a tremble and looking so happy.

"It is more blessed to give than to receive," she whispered. "I am so happy, mama, God is so good!"

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"Please, marm, it's just Jim Markham, but he says, he must see Miss Nelly. I told him it warn't for the likes o' him to be troublin' the ladies, but he says, If you don't start I'll go myself,' as peart as you please!"

"Never mind, Maggie, you may show him up, Nelly will see him here. I guess.'

"Oh, mama, I don't want to be thanked, and that is what he is coming for," said Nelly.

But I had a curiosity to see the lad to whom the gift of life had been so unwelcome, and presently he stood in the door, lifting his hat with a grace not always to be found outside the ranks of poverty.

"Excuse me, but there must have been a mistake," he said, looking from me to the child on the sofa, who sat blushing and smiling.

"I found this inside your paper, Miss Nelly," and he held up the box from which peeped the bright edge of the

coin

Nelly did not reply, and I said, going to him and laying my hand on his head, "There is no mistake, my little girl wished to give you the gold piece, not so much for its value as because it will speak to you sometimes when you are sorrowful, for such times come to all, of one who cared enough to make you happy, to give you her Christmas present."

He looked sadly at the crape I wore. "God knows best, but I can't help wishing she was here to-day to see how changed I am. She gave me new life, new hope and ambition to be a man that she need not be ashamed of." "Who shall say she is not here?"

He smiled a little hopeful smile, and saying, "I will be a brave, true. good man for her sake and for yours," lifted my hand to his lips and again was gone.

THE CHILDREN.

A FRIEND.

We shall not be always children,

We shall leave our school some day, May the thought assist to study, May it banish thoughts of play. We shall need our education,

When life's busy path we tread, Some may help to rule the Nation, Some be crowned the Nation's head. We shall not be always children, Yet when school days are all o'er, We shall find that life has lessons, Though we study here no more. Labor on in life's fair morning,

Truth to learn and wisdom gain, So when older years are dawning, A useful place we may attain.

WHITTIER'S "ROBIN ADAIR.”

During one of Mr. Whittier's recent birth-day celebrations, he entertained at his home a famous American singer. After dinner she was requested to sing, and seating herself at the piano began the well-known ballad of Robin Adair, rendering it with all the pathos appropriate to the words and music. She had just begun it when the poet's pet dog entered the room, and taking his accustomed place at his master's side paid marked attention, unusual in an animal. Finally he arose, took his position by the piano, and every time the words "Robin Adair sung, he wagged his tail with evident satisfaction. When she finished her song, he put his paw into her hand and licked her face, thus expressed his appreciation.

were

"Robin takes that song as a tribute to himself," explained Mr. Whittier to his amused guests, "he also is named Robin Adair.”

From that moment he became the singer's devoted attendant, remaining by her side indoors and accompanyWhenever she took her seat at

the piano he was by her side asking (by his expressive licking and rubbing) for his song. When the singer took her departure, Robin carried her satchel to the gate, and showed in every way his distress at parting from her.

It is a very curious coincidence that he only listened to the song of Robin Adair, and whenever she began another he quietly left the room. How like some people! Attentive when their own interest is concerned, and when otherwise, like the dog, they quietly depart.

CABAL In Our Animal Friends.

JESSIE'S TRAMP.

happened to be the only one at home. She opened the door and saw the supposed tramp.

She was not afraid, her mama having taught her that when she was a good girl she had nothing to fear. At first she did not know whether to ask him to come in, but when she thought of a nice pan of milk and some bread she could get, she said, "Come in poor tramp, and I will get you something to eat," in her most old-fashioned way. The tramp almost laughed out loud.

When she brought the milk to the tramp, he did not look very hungry, except that he looked like a tramp, and, you know, tramps are always supposed to be hungry. Then she sat down and began to talk about her friends. "You make me think of my Uncle Henry," she said, "he is a nice gentleman, and I love him very much. He gives me candy, but I should think just as much of him if he was poor and hungry like you. Are you kind and nice like my Uncle Henry, Mr. Tramp?" The tramp wanted to laugh again. "My Uncle Henry takes me to his house sometimes. Have you any home?" It did not seem quite right for a tramp to have a home, and yet this nice tramp did not want to tell anything that was not true. He was just thinking what he should say while pretending to be very busy eating, when the door opened and in came Jessie's She stood a moment astonished at what she saw, but on taking a second look she smiled and said, "Well, Jessie, you have a real live tramp this time." "Hush, mama, I thick he feels badly because he hasn't any home." Then mama laughed again, and the tramp laughed, and took off his glasses and his cap.

If Jessie had been asked what she had rather do than anything else, almost any morning, she would have answered, "Go down to Uncle Henry's." That was such a delightful visit every time. Good Mrs. Uncle Henry made such nice cakes and she always remembered that little girls liked cake, and, fresh or stale, the best she had was sure to be offered.

mama.

Jessie ran to him and climbed upon his knee and asked him "why he had done that way." He told her that he

He often came to Jessie's house, and Jessie would manage to get a chance to whisper to him: "Ask mama to let me go home with you." This the kind old man gladly did, never saying to mama, Jessie asked me to say it. The little girl was desirous he should invite her in this way for mama always said she might go then.

One day her friend thought he would visit Jessie, and see how she would receive him when she did not know that he was "Uncle Henry."

He dressed himself up in a great army cloak, Uncle Henry had never been in a battle, he said he thought it wicked to fight but he went and took care of the poor wounded men and so had this cloak. He put on green glasses and an old fur cap, that Jessie had never seen him wear before. When he knocked at the door, Jessie

whether she would be just as kind if she knew the people or not. Mama said that Jessie would have known him if she had seen him when he came home with the army, for he looked just the same. They both agreed that he was nicer as plain Uncle Henry than he would be as a general of the army. He said he was glad that he never tried to kill anybody, but always to make them well again. Then to Jessie before he went away he said, "Dear little girl, always be as careful to say good things about your friends, when you think they do not hear, as you were about me to-day. We do not know what little bird will carry it to them and make them unhappy if you say unkind things."

Jessie said she would try to love all her friends and think kind thoughts about them, then she could not say unkind words.