We find this desire for a distinctively christian burial common and strong in all ages. We have already seen how Abraham, with a solemn vow, declined the offer of the choice sepulchres of the Hittites for the burial of his dead, and insisted on buying it as his own. We have seen how earnestly Jacob gave charge: "Bury me not, I pray thee, in Egypt: but I will lie with my fathers, and thou shalt carry me out of Egypt, and bury me in their burying place." We have seen how Joseph, when he died, gave commandment concerning his bones. All this means: Bury me not among the Pagans, but among the pious. We have seen, also, how carefully it is mentioned that the tomb in which our Saviour was laid belonged to one who was pious, a disciple, who waited for the kingdom of God. It was a wonderful Providence, and the fact is deeply significant, that though he died like a malefactor, yet no wrath of his enemies could doom his sacred body to the potter's field. He sanctified not the field of blood, but the graves of the pious.

All our associations, as connected with the dead, must, in order to be pleasant, be connected also with religion and the church. Profess what we will, deny what we may in religion, our thoughts will take a pious direction at the graves of those whom we love. Whatever was holiest in their lives will come out most prominently and pleasantly to our memory. We wish not to think of their sins and follies-we wish not to see them in their secular or worldly social life. We wish only the religious side of their life to come up before us. We see this desire come out in notices of deaths, in resolutions of condolence, in obituaries, and in the conversations of the bereaved. The associations which bind us to the dead must be religious-must cluster around the church-must call up the devotions of life: and every object that catches our eye, and every thought that stirs our bosoms in a cemetery must be the same as those which are produced by the church. It is easy to see that the more direct and intimate is the connection between the grave-yard and the church, the stronger and holier will these associations be.

It is only by keeping up this connection that cemetaries can have their legitimate moral and religious influence. Men ought to feel the powers of the world to come when they stand among the dead-it ought to be to them a solemn exhortation to piety. It ought to awaken in their minds no mere vague sentimental emotions; but earnest and holy purposes. Their meditations ought to direct them to the importance of a dedication of themselves to God in union with the church. They ought to feel that neither their souls nor their bodies are on consecrated ground, and in a position of hope, except in the bosom of the church. They ought to feel, when they stand at the grave of their dead, that Christ the resurrection is only in the church, which is His body, the home of the spirit, the mother of grace, the ark of safety amid the flood, and that such as live not in her grace die not in her arms, rest not in her communion of hope, will be confounded instead of comforted by the voice which awakes the dead.

There are certain proprieties to be observed in christian burials, and a certain sanctity to be guarded in christian cemetaries, which are only effectively maintained where the spirit of the church reigns. There are classes of persons to whom the church in all ages has denied christian burial: as, for instance, whoremongers, harlots, illegitimates, suicides,

and murderers, were not allowed burial in the ground of the church; nor was the minister allowed to officiate; nor was the bier allowed to be used; nor was the bell allowed to be tolled-" Kein Klang, und Kein Gesang." This law reigned in all ages; it has stood enacted and reenacted in the congregation which the Editor serves for one hundred and twenty years.

This is not the place to vindicate this rigid law; it is enough to remark that it has too long and too universally reigned to need vindication. The world may not be convinced-a christian asks no reason in regard to that which is at once repugnant to all the delicacies of his heart. Who that has the cultivation of piety would wish to lie in death within one foot of a harlot or a murderer. This thought is shocking. It is not to be endured. The church respects this feeling, and solemnly guards against offense to it in all her burial places. This safeguard is not, and cannot be maintained in cemetaries that stand not in connection with the church, and in burials where the christian element is not predominant.

We have, moreover, no adequate assurance in regard to the preservation and perpetuation of a burial place except in connection with the church. No where are there lodged such principles of perpetuation. This is the only tabernacle that shall not be taken down. No where else are there found such high motives to care for the remains of the departed. It has been shown that colleges do not flourish, but waste away, where they are not under the care of the church. It is the same with all other interests. The world has no permanent vitality outside of christianity. Nations, systems, families, and individuals go to wreck and ruin when they have not this salt of the earth. It is the same spirit of piety which blesses the living that protects the tombs of the dead. The spirit of the world, like the Roman watch at our Saviour's sepulchre, falls asleep when it is set to watch the dead; and while they sleep the tide of the world steals away the memorials of the departed. Give this holy business into the hands of the Church, and she will set over it her devout Mary's, her vigilant Peter's, and her John's, faithful in love.

The fact is capable of abundant proof from history that no name, or fame, or position, insures honor and care to the tombs of individuals that are not watched over by the devout heart, and the diligent, tender hands of the church. Take one striking example. We refer to the grave of Jefferson at Monticello. If the world ever had a fair opportunity to show her loyalty to the dead, it was when Jefferson entrusted his bones to its care. The framer of the Declaration of Independence-the Third President of the United States, having no faith in christianity commits his fame and his grave to the protection of patriotism. Surely so great a man may safely do this. Surely his country will bless the sod around his tomb, and keep it well watered and green by the tears of patriotic affection! So we would suppose. But hear the facts as stated

by the venerable Iraneus Prime, who visited the spot in 1847: "As you descend the mountain, you pass an enclosure without a gate! that contains the grave of Jefferson; and a more neglected, wretched burial-place you will seek in vain. If Campbell's "last man" had been buried here,

he could not have been less cared for.

"A granite obilisk, battered by Democratic pilgrims, but without a

name or epitaph, is doubtless the monument of Jefferson. It was here placed by his executor; and the panel on which was to be inscribed the epitaph which he wrote for himself, has never been inserted in the stone! I was told that it is lying with the iron gates designed for the enclosure on the bank of the river where they were landed, and that no man has troubled himself to see that they reach their destination!"

After such a specimen of its tender mercies, and devotion to the remains of its dead by the world, who will commit to its care the homes of the departed? No, the Spirit of the world is the Spirit of Judas: it begrudges the pence which piety freely devotes to the purchase of precious ointment, with which to anoint the bodies of loved ones for their burial.

A BUD.

BY THE EDITOR.

"A thing of beauty, is a joy forever."

A beautiful child!

In form tender,

In aspect mild.

Thanks to the Sender,

Said the parents, and smiled
On the promising child.

As it grows each day,
In size and beauty,
The parents' pray
The pleasant duty,
Of caring for it, may
Not be taken away.
Soft lustre and light
Beam from its eyes
Meekly and bright:
So dawns from the skies,
On the wanderer's sight,
Sweet morn out of fight.

As clouds in the morning
Hang like an awning
Around the sun,

And turn, at its dawning,

Bright sides to the light,

Round the bosom of night:

So turn to that child,
Hearts that now know,
By its love,

What it can bestow.
For it is THE bright sun,
And hope's dawn is begun.

Joy to the sweet child,
So young and Sender,
So meek and mild.
Thanks to the Sender,

Said the parents, and smiled
On the beautiful child.

THE INSTABILITY OF HUMAN GREATNESS.

BY REV. W. E. LOCKE,

Principal of the Lancaster Female Collegiate Institute.

BUT comparatively few of the great and noble, as commonly denominated among men, have been actuated in the achievment of their famous exploits by a higher motive than the desire of popular applause. To obtain this, various means are taken, and different courses are pursued. The warrior aims to acquit himself "gloriously" on the field of battlethe lawyer seeks pre-eminence in the judgment hall, and the statesman in the council chamber-the scholar desires to be distinguished for his learning the orator for his eloquence-and the philosopher for his wisdom. 'Glory" is the great object for which most men are laboring-the praise of their fellow men. This hungering and thirsting is not confined to men of exalted rank. The poor and illiterate oftentimes feel its force as powerfully as those who are more elevated in society. It distinguished Diogenes in his tub as clearly as it did Alexander on his throne. And surely the angelic host, who witness this ambitious strife, must be pained in heart at the ignorance, vanity and folly of man, who thus wastes his existence at chasing a shadow. A noble mind should scorn to place reliance merely on the acclamations of the populace. The idol of their affections may be highly exalted, only to receive a more terrific fall. The huzzas of the multitude may shake the forum, only to be followed by angry sneers and serpent hisses. The page of history presents numerous instances of individuals, elevating themselves above the masses of men, and encircling themselves with a radiant halo, which promised to increase in brightness through all time. But, in a short period storms arose ; dark clouds enveloped the popular demi-god-the elements raged, and the rising meteor vanished, or fell, like Lucifer to the earth, to muse over defeat and anticipated ignominy.

We have read of the Carthagenian hero, who, assembling his hordes of mercenary allies, like the agile chamois, leaped over the snow-crested Alps, and, as a sweeping mountain torrent, poured his numerous legions upon the Latin plains. As if riding upon the winds, he swept all before him, almost to the very gates of Rome. The scene changes, and the same Hannibal, expelled from his own country, is seen an humble suppliant at the feet of Antiochus; or swallowing a poisonous drug, and perishing ignominiously in the obscure kingdom of Bithynia.

History makes mention of one, who, from the lower rank of life, ascended to the highest pinnacle of power. Exalted far above his compeers he seemed to meditate supreme dominion. But, fortune frowned, and the Pope's most noble Cardinal, the prime minister of his "majesty," King Henry VIII. of England, and the renowned favorite of the French and Spanish courts, was hurried from the presence of his king to his private palace, from thence to the tower, and to his grave.

But a few years have passed since the Corsican Chief trampled upon the destinies of Europe. The frosts of Russia, as well as the heated sands of Egypt, witnessed his tremendous power. He went forth the

idol of the French nation, the terror of the rest of Europe, and the wonder of the world. But, what was his end? The dilapidated walls of a solitary cottage on the sea-belt rock of St. Helena give answer. “He was, but is not." He has passed away like a dream of the night. His name is handed down to posterity, as a warning to political aspirants and ambitious heroes. But few of the vast number, who have been highly exalted in worldly honor-from Nimrod the mighty Hunter to Napoleon the scourge of nations, abode the final sentence of their own age, much less that of succeeding generations Their names, they may have engraved upon the page of history, but their glory has departed.

Human greatness may charm the carnal fancy of men, but like the apples of Sodom, it shall reward him who obtains the glittering prize with only worthless ashes.

There are two kinds of nobility among men-hereditary and self-acquired. The former descending upon the heirs of noble parents, is marked by high sounding and empty titles. Individuals of this class, by a physiological fiction, are supposed to be of nobler blood than the humbler mass; but real elevation of character, vigor of intellect and all the characteristics of a truly noble mind are, by no means, the uniform attendants of this "noble blood."

By far the most of those who have astonished the world by the efforts of a powerful intellect and a wonderful genius, have ascended by their own exertions, to inscribe their names on the "Temple of Fame." It is true that we have had an Aristotle, a Bacon and a Byron, ennobled by the rank and fortune of their ancestors; and in whose sphere of intellectual attainment, very few, if any, have ever been able to surpass them. Yet the list of those who have attained to lofty eminence from the lower ranks of society is vastly greater. Among these may be named a Homer, a Demosthenes, a Horace, a Shakspeare, a Johnson, a Franklin and a Fulton. If any deserve the appellation of "great," these are they, who, by dint of mental energy, in the face of numerous obstacles and immense difficulties, ascend to the lofty summit of popular favor. The public approbation may follow the names of such men down the stream of time, and invest them with an honored dignity upon the page of history; but could even they return from the other world, they would join in earnestly exhorting the young to set up before them a nobler aim than the acquisition of mere worldly fame, a beautiful, but empty bubble! to be relied upon by no one-to be earnestly sought for by no honorable mind.

If we inquire into the causes for this instability of human greatness, we shall find that jealousy and envy have much influence. Self-love is a predominant feeling in the human breast. It may be manifested in the exertions of an individual to exalt himself, or in causing the downfall of those above him. He, whose feelings are controlled by this passion, cannot look upon the efforts of his inferiors to elevate themselves without jealousy, or upon the noble achievments of his superiors without envy. Every splendid action of the former class especially, sounds in his ear as a reproof to his sluggishness or mental imbecility. Let one such ascend the ladder of popular favor-let him deck his brow with the victor's laurel, the ivy or the olive, and a host of antagonists will arise to drag him down to their own level, and to riot over his fall. Some, perhaps, beholding his success, and burning with an ardent desire for distinction,