And their return!-with their oldest boy
Along with them! Why, their happiness
Spread abroad till it grew a joy

Universal-It even reached

And thrilled the town till the Church was stirred
Into suspecting that wrong was wrong!-
And it stayed awake as the preacher preached
A Real "Love "-text that he had not long
To ransack for in the Holy Word.

And the son, restored, and welcomed so,
Found service readily in the town;
And, with the parents, sure and slow,
"saltin' de cole cash down."

He went

So with the next boy-and each one
In turn, till four of the five at last

Had been brought back; and, in each case,
With steady work and good homes not
Far from the parents, they chipped in

To the family fund, with an equal grace.

Thus they managed and planned and wrought,
And the old folks throve-Till the night before
They were to start for the lone last son
In the rainy dawn-their money fast
Hid away in the house,-two mean,
Murderous robbers burst the door.

. . . Then, in the dark, was a scuffle-a fall— An old man's gasping cry-and then

A woman's fife-like shriek.

Splashing by on horseback heard

The summons: and in an instant all
Sprung to their duty, with scarce a word.
And they were in time-not only to save
The lives of the old folks, but to bag

Both the robbers, and buck-and-gag
And land them safe in the county jail-
Or, as Aunty said, with a blended awe
And subtlety," Safe in de calaboose whah
De dawgs caint bite 'em!"'

-So prevail

The faithful! So had the Lord upheld
His servants of both deed and prayer,-
His the glory unparalleled-

Theirs the reward, -their every son
Free, at last, as the parents were!
And, as the driver ended there

In front of the little house, I said,
All fervently, "Well done! well done!"
At which he smiled, and turned his head
And pulled on the leaders' lines and-" See!"
He said, "you can read old Aunty's sign.

Scarce hear myself for laugh and shout
Of children—a glad multitude

Of little people, swarming out

Of the picnic-grounds I spoke about.—
And in their rapturous midst I see
Again through mists of memory-
A black old negress laughing up

At the driver, with her broad lips rolled
Back from her teeth, chalk-white, and gums
Redder than reddest red-ripe plums.

He took from her hand the lifted cup

Of clear spring-water, pure and cold,

And passed it to me: And I raised my hat
And drank to her with a reverence that

My conscience knew was justly due
The old black face, and the old eyes, too-

The old black head, with its mossy mat

Of hair, set under its cap and frills
White as the snows on Alpine hills;
Drank to the old black smile, but yet
Bright as the sun on the violet,—

Drank to the gnarled and knuckled old

Black hands whose palms had ached and bled
And pitilessly been worn pale

And white almost as the palms that hold
Slavery's lash while the victim's wail

Fails as a crippled prayer might fail.
Ay, with a reverence infinite,

I drank to the old black face and head—
The old black breast with its life of light-
The old black hide with its heart of gold.

THE TRUE POWER OF A NATION

By EDWIN HUBBELL CHAPIN, Preacher, Lecturer, Essayist. Born at Union Village, N. Y., 1814; died in New York City, 1880.

Selected, by permission of the publishers, from Chapin's "Living Words," published in 1869, by the Universalist Publishing Co., Boston, Mass.

What is the

66

the vocal

One after

Christianity is the true conserving and developing power of a nation. All time demonstrates this truth. source of progress and safety to a people? Let earth, let the graves of buried nations, answer. another they have arisen,—they have built their towers of strength, and fortified their lofty walls,-they have opened their sources of wealth, and hardened their sinews of power; and for what object? For perpetuity and success. Go linger around the desolate spot where stood Chaldea,—go question the fallen columns of Tadmor,-go seek the mystic pyramids of Egypt,—go ask the Acropolis or the Capitol;— go speak to one or all of these, and they will tell you that the hearts which have withered to ashes beneath their ruins, that the minds which were their pride and their glory, that the hands which strengthened their power, were all moved

by the great idea of adding to their prosperity and greatness, and perpetuating their station in the earth. Surely, then, here in this pillared past we may ascertain the source of a nation's prosperity and conservation; at least we may ascertain what it is not.

Is it wealth? Where is Lydia? Its inhabitants possessed a fertile territory and a profusion of silver." But its vast treasures were no walls of defense; the riches of Gyges and Croesus were not its safeguards. It was swept by the sword of Cyrus, trampled under foot by the victorious hordes of Persia.

Has intellectual excellence alone secured perpetuity and progress to empire? Where is Greece? Its very soil is animate with mind, and its every pillar, like ancient Memnon, breathes music to the sun. Its moldering altars are garlanded with poetry, and eloquence and philosophy kindle amid its desolations. The home of Socrates and Plato, Demosthenes and Eschylus, Pericles and Homer, what is it? Did its intellectual greatness, its glorious poetry, its lofty philosophy, its burning eloquence, its glowing canvas, its lifelike marble save it from the dust? Did Spartan heroism gather around it in the hour of peril? Did Attic genius flash up from its altars, like guardian flame? down at last; the wave of desolation rolls over it.

It went

Can power insure prosperity and safety to a nation? Where is ancient Rome? Where is the crowned and imperial city that sat upon her seven hills, and sent her armies through the earth? Her "eagle flag unrolled, and froze by the icy streams of the north; the bones of her legions covered the burning sands like drifting snow; her triumphant shouts pealed up from the hills of Gaul and the chalky cliffs of Britain, and were answered by her hosts from far Jerusalem and Damascus. Over the face of the known world, you entered no walled city where stood not a Roman sentinel, you passed no crowd in which was not heard the Latin tongue. Where is the proud city of the Capitol? Where

Did her power

are the mailed hand and the kingly brow? start forth from the tomb of Julius, did her ancient renown appear in the person of Augustus, when the eager hordes of Goth and Hun rushed upon her palaces, quenched the light on her altars, shattered her glorious marbles, and trampled with barbaric exultation on her purple pride? Her very tomb is crumbling beneath the breath of time.

I know that these references are trite; yet would I urge you to seize upon the deep burden of their meaning, to feel their cogency. They demonstrate that wealth, knowledge, power, without a controlling influence,-without a right motive for their direction,— -are not the sources of conservation and true progress.

REVERENCE FOR THE FLAG

By HORACE PORTER, Brigadier-General, Lecturer, Author; United States Ambassador to France, 1897-. Born in Huntington, Penn., 1837.

From a speech at a banquet of the New England Society in New York, December 22, 1891. See New York Tribune, Dec. 23, 1891.

In preserving among the sons that spirit of patriotism which has been handed down from the sires, I know of no better method of inculcating this sentiment in the minds of the youth of the rising generation than an effort to inspire them with a still more exalted respect and reverence for the flag-that symbol of national supremacy, that emblem of the country's glory. They should be taught that that flag is not simply a banner for holiday display; that it is not merely a piece of bunting which can be purchased for a few shillings in the nearest shop, but that it is the proud emblem of dignity, authority, power; that if insulted, millions will spring to its defense. They should be taught that as that flag is composed of and derives its chief beauty from its different colors, so should its ample folds cover and protect its citizens of different color.