and sometimes as a woman. Flora Macdonald, a Scotch lady, thus led him from place to place. At one time he committed himself into the hands of a band of highland robbers, and after many hairbreadth escapes he got on board a French vessel, September 20, and arrived safe in that country. The king of France received him at first with great kindness and distinction, but presently his vanity and folly were so obnoxious, and his conduct so dissipated and licentious, that he was removed by force out of the country, and after an ignoble and illspent life, he went the way of all the earth. His younger brother Henry became a Romish Cardinal. He lived to a great age; for the writer recollects, when a youth, reading of his death in the public papers-the last of his line!

In person, Prince Charles Edward Stuart was handsome and noble-the very image and pattern of royalty, and his manners were courteous and very fascinating. All who saw him admired him. But, alas, this pleasing and imposing exterior covered a mind debased and depraved. Many have been disposed to sympathize with the young adventurer. But was he deserving their sympathy? We think not.

One thing we cannot but remark. His ancestors on the throne of England had been the

bitter persecutors of the people of God: hundreds, yea thousands, of English nonconformists suffered, during their reigns, the loss of property, liberty, and life. It was, for instance, during the reign of a Stuart that John Bunyan was sent to Bedford goal twelve years for preaching the gospel in a cottage and there he wrote the Pilgrim's Progress. The Stuarts were the cold-hearted kings who sanctioned the cruel Claverhouse in hunting and shooting down the covenanters of Scotland like partridges on their mountains.

But, see!-one hundred years pass not away ere we behold one of the last of this Royal House an outcast and an outlaw in the land of his fathers, with a price set on his head. And now the whole race is extinct! "So let all thine enemies perish, O Lord but let them that love Him be as the sun when he goeth forth in his might."

This was the last war in England. War has ever been the curse of the world.

War is a game which were their subjects wise,
Kings would not play at.

Our prayer should be, "Scatter the men who delight in war." For a hundred years we have had peace in our borders. Let us be thankful, and pray that truth, and peace, and love, may be universal and perpetual.

Haste, happy day!

I was but five years old when my mother died; but her image is as distinct to my recollection, now that twelve years have elapsed, as it was at the time of her death. I remember her as a pale, beautiful, gentle being, with a sweet smile, and a voice that was soft and cheerful when she praised me, and when I erred-for I was a wild, thoughtless child-there was a trembling mildness about it, that always went to my little heart. And then she was so kind, so patient; methinks I can now see her large blue eyes moist with sorrow, because of my childish waywardness, and hear her repeat, "My child, how can you grieve me so ?" I recol

lect she had for a long time been pale and feeble, and that sometimes there would come a bright spot on her cheek, which made her look so lovely, that I thought she must be well. But then she sometimes spoke of dying, and pressed me to her bosom, and told me to be good when she was gone, and to love my father a great deal, and be kind to him, for he would have no one else to love. I recollect she was very sick all day, and my little hobby-horse and whip were laid aside, and I tried to be very quiet. I did not see her for the whole day, and it seemed very long. At night they told me my mother was too sick to kiss me, as she always used to do before I went to bed, and I must go without it. But I could not. I stole into the room, and laying my lips close to hers, whispered, "Mother, mother, wont you kiss me?" Her lips were very cold; and when she put her arm around me, laid my head upon her bosom, and one hand upon my cheek, I felt a cold shuddering creep all over me. My father carried me from the room, but he could not speak. After they put me in bed, I lay a long while thinking. I feared that my mother would indeed die, for her cheek felt as cold as my little sister's did when she died, and they laid her in the ground. But the impressions of mortality are always indistinct in childhood, and I soon fell

asleep. In the morning I hastened to my mother's room. A white napkin covered her face. I removed it-it was just as I feared. Her eyes were closed; her cheek was cold and hard, and only the lovely expression that always rested upon her lips remained. In an instant all the little faults for which she had so often reproved me, rushed upon my mind. I longed to tell her how good I would always be if she would remain with me. She was buried; but my remembrance of the funeral is indistinct. I only retain the impressions which her precepts and example left upon my mind. I was a passionate, headstrong boy; but I never yielded to this turn of my disposition, without fancying I saw her mild, tearful eye fixed upon me just as she used to do in life, And then, when I had succeeded in overcoming it, her sweet smile of approbation beamed upon me, and I was happy. My whole character underwent a change, even from the moment of her death. Her spirit was for ever with me, strengthening me in my good resolutions, and weakening my propensity to do evil. I felt that it would grieve her gentle spirit, to see me err, and I could not, would not, do it. I was the child of her affection; I knew she had prayed and wept over me, and that, even on the threshold of eternity, her affection for me had caused her