"Ar

from their homes, may now be seen to weep like a child under the influence of that spirit of heavenly peace and love, which makes men a little lower than the angels. Hear this former terror of the land, now a meek and humble follower of the Lamb: "What have I now," said he, "of all the battles I have fought and all the property I destroyed, but shame and remorse?" And the hero of Europe's battle-fields might have asked himself amid the solitudes of St. Helena, What have I now of all of the battles fought, and victories won, and spoils gained in strife? riving at Pella," says Mr. Moffatt, "we had a feast fit for heaven-born souls and subjects, to which the seraphim above might have tuned their golden lyres. Men met, who had not seen each other since they had joined in mutual combat for each other's destruction; met-warrior with warrior, bearing in their hands the olive-branch, secure under the panoply of peace and love. They talked of Him who had subdued both, without a sword or spear, and each bosom swelled with purest friendship, and exhibited another trophy destined to adorn the triumph of the Prince of Peace, under whose banner each was promoting that reign in which

Africaner lay upon his death-bed. He called his

people around him: "We are not," said he, "what we were, savages, but men professing to be taught according to the Gospel. Let us, then, do accordingly. Live peaceably with all men, if possible; and consult those who are placed over you before you engage in any thing. Behave to any teacher sent to you, as one sent of God, as I have great hope that God will bless you in this respect when I am gone to heaven. I feel that I love God, and that he has done much for me, of which I am totally unworthy. My former life is stained with blood, but I trust I am pardoned by the Lord Jesus Christ and am going to heaven."

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But we must close our illustrations and remarks, although the theme is far from being exhausted of its interest; the contrast exhibited between the two conditions of peace and war, will never be fully portrayed till the arrival of that great day for which all other days were made, when there shall stand before the great white throne" the conqueror and the conquered; the leaders of armed hosts, and their myriads of slain victims: then, but not till then, will it be possible to learn, in all its vast extent, the importance of the Gospel of peace, with its heaven-appointed ministrant ;-one of whose glorious predictions it is, that the nations shall learn war no more.

Pocahontas.

BY W. GILMORE SIMMS.

I.

LIGHT was the heart and sweet the smile,
Of her, the maid of forest-bower,

Ere yet the stranger's step of guile
Bore one soft beauty from the flower;
The wild girl of an Indian vale,

A child, with all of woman's seeming,
And if her cheek be less than pale,

"Twas with the life-blood through it streaming;

Soft was the light that fill'd her eye,

And grace was in her every motion,
Her tone was touching, like the sigh,
When young love first becomes devotion,-
And worship still was hers-her sire
Beloved and fear'd, a prince of power,
Whose simplest word or glance of ire

Still made a thousand chieftains cower.
Not such her sway,-yet not the less,
Because it better pleased to bless,
And won its rule by gentleness:

Among a savage people, still

She kept from savage moods apart, And thought of crime and dream of ill Had never sway'd her maiden heart. A milder tutor had been there,

And, midst wild scenes and wilder men, Her spirit, like her form, was fair, And gracious was its guidance then. Her sire, that fierce old forest king, Himself had ruled that she should be A meek, and ever gentle thing,

To clip his neck, to clasp his knee;
To bring his cup when, from the chase,
He came, o'erwearied with its toils;
To cheer him by her girlish grace,
To sooth him by her sunniest smiles-
For these, she dwelt a thing apart
From deeds that make the savage mirth,
And haply thus she kept her heart

As fresh and feeling as at birth;
A Christian heart, though by its creed
Untaught, yet in her native wild,
Free from all taint of thought or deed,
A sweet, and fond, and spotless child;
Scarce woman yet, but haply nigh

The unconscious changes of the hour
When youth is sad, unknowing why,-
The bud dilating to the flower,
And sighing with the expanding birth

Of passionate hopes that, born to bless, May yet, superior still to earth,

Make happy with their pure impress. Such, in her childhood, ere the blight Of failing fortunes touch'd her race, Was Pocahontas still,-a bright

And blessing form of youth and grace,Beloved of all, her father's pride,

His passion, from the rest apart, A love for which he still had died, The very life-blood of his heart.

II.

The king would seek the chase to-day,
And mighty is the wild array

That gathers nigh in savage play,—

A nation yields its ear;

A bison herd-so goes the tale-
Is trampling down the cultured vale,
And none who love the land may

fail

To gather when they hear.
He goes, the father from his child,
To seek the monster of the wild,
But, in his fond embraces caught,
Ere yet he goes, he hears her thought,—
Her wish, the spotted fawn, his prize,
The pet most dear to girlhood's eyes,
Long promised, which the chase denies.

"