They clasp His hands, His garments, they cling about

His feet, And lift to Him their dewy lips to give Him kisses

sweet; But one among their number in silence walked apart, And tears fell slowly from his eyes, and sobs welled

from his heart.

And the Lady Judith wondered, “ Why is the child so

sad, When all his pretty playmates seem so full of life and

glad ?” And the Lord Christ, looking tenderly on all the chil

dren, smiled, As He held His arms extended toward the little, griev

ing child.

And soon the shining golden head is to His bosom

pressed; Why quivers thus my Lady's heart within her

throbbing breast, As thus she murmurs to herself, unheard by all save one, “Ah! my darling mourns his mother in the arms of

Mary's Son.”

But the little one is speaking, and she eager bends to

hear, For the rosy lips are pressing close to the Saviour's ear: “Dear Christ,” they trembling whisper, “will you not

let me go

To comfort my poor mother, I hear her grieving so ?
Oh ! let me go and tell her how blest the children be
Who are brought from earth to Heaven, to live and love

And she heard the Lord Christ answer, “ If you go beck

again, You must stay the time allotted unto the sons of men, You must share their bitter sorrows, mayhap their

shame and sin, And pray

and weep for Heaven's rest ere you can enter in.”

And sobbing still, the child replied, “My mother loves

me so, I hear her crying day and night; dear Christ, you'll let

me go ?” The Saviour kissed him lovingly, then placed him on

the ground, While all the children, wondering, stood in solemn

silence round.

“I'll take you to your mother now," He said, and led

the way ;

The Lady Judith shrieked aloud, “Oh! stay, my dar

ling, stay, I would not have you back again." At once my Lady

woke, And now the Christmas bells again the chamber's still

ness broke.

Again four walls confined her gaze, and Mary's pictured

face Looked down with yearning tenderness from its familiar

place. A moment wrapped in thought she lay, then, springing

from her bed, "Hail! blessed mother, blessed Son, hail! Christmas She dressed herself in richest robes, and called her

servants all, “Make haste," she cried, “ light glowing fires and deck

the banquet hall; Go forth, then bring in children, bring every child you

meet; Search all the city's byways, search every lane and street.

“Look for the homeless, friendless, for every little one Is dear to me for Jesus' sake, and for my own dear son, Who dwells with Him in Heaven and cannot happy be, Because–O Christ! have pity !--because of sinful me.” Then loudly rang the castle bells, and soon, from far and

near, The children came, and laughed, and sang, and shared

the Christmas cheer. That night, as on her pillow the Lady Judith lay, A light shone all around her, like the brightness of the

day, And she saw the happy valley and heard the children

sing: “He comes, He comes, the children's Friend, He comes,

our Lord and King." And akin to pain the rapture that filled the mother's

breast, As the voice she knew rang sweeter, and for her above

the rest;

'Twas the voice of her beloved, and she knew no sorrow

now

Weighed on his tender little heart or dimmed his shining

And evermore she walked content along life's thorny

road, With heart upraised in thankfulness to where her child

abode, And evermore on Christmas, when she heard the joy

bells ring, “ All hail !" she cried, “our blessed Lord, the children's Friend and King.”

MRS. E. V. WILSON.

EXTRACT FROM A EULOGY ON GENERAL

GRANT.

of the world will not willingly let die. A few years since, storm-clouds filled his heaven, and obloquy, slander, and bitter lies rained down upon him. The clouds are all blown away; under a serene sky General Grant laid down his life and the whole nation wept. The path to his tomb is worn by the feet of innumerable pilgrims.

The mildewed lips of slander are silent, and even criticism hesitates lest some incautious word should mar the history of the modest, gentle, magnanimous warrior. The whole nation watched his passage through humiliating misfortunes with unfeigned sympathy—the whole world sighed when his life ended. At his burial the unsworded hands of those whom he had fought lifted his bier and bore him to his tomb with love and rever

The South had laid the foundation of her industry, her commerce, and her very commonwealth upon slavery. It was slavery that inspired her councils, 'that engorged her philanthropy, that corrupted her political economy and theology, that disturbed all the ways of active politics—broke up sympathy between North and South. The hand that fired upon Sumter exploded the mine under the Flood Rock of slavery and opened the way to civilization. The spark that was there kindled fell upon the North like fire upon autumnal prairies. Men came together in the presence of this universal calamity with sudden fusion; the whole land became a military school. But the Northern armies once organized, an amiable folly of conciliation began to show itself. Some peaceable way out of the war was hoped for. Generals seemed to fight so that no one should be hurt. The South had smelted into a glowing mass; it believed in its course with an infatuation that would have been glorious if the cause had been better; it put its whole soul into it and struck hard. the war lingered, unmarked by great deeds. Lincoln, sad and sorrowful, felt the moderation of his generals and longed for a man of iron mold, who had but two words in his military vocabulary-victory or annihilation. He was coming; he was heard from at Henry and Donelson. Three great names were rising to sight, Sherman, Thomas, Sheridan, and, larger than any, Grant.

At the opening of the war his name was almost unknown. It was with difficulty he could obtain a command. Once set forward, Donelson, Shiloh, Vicksburg, Chattanooga, the Wilderness, Spottsylvania, Petersburg, Appomattox-these were his footsteps! In four years he had risen, without political favor, from the bottom to the very highest command not second to any living sommander in all the world. His plans were large, his

For two years