gallant warriors; again the faint-hearted forsook him and fell back, while again the enemy rejoiced. "It is yet time!" shouted, the Jarl. "Forward! and if we conquer, I vow to all the gods in Valhalla to set fire to the four corners of my castle, and it shall blaze forth in one bright funeral pile, in honor of our victory and our deliverance !" Again they desperately renewed the attack, but again were the Danes repulsed, and the enemy sent forth shouts of victory. Then the fierce Walnoth shouted again before the whole army, in words whose trumpet-tones rang out ominously: "O ye gods! Odin, Thor, and all your mighty company, let the Skulda (fate) grant us victory in this charge, and I swear to devote myself to you as a solemn sacrifice!" The wild warriors shuddered, but hastened to his summons once more; yet fortune was against them still-the boldest fell, the bravest fled, and the enemy held their own. Then, in fierce despair, Walnoth rallied the scattered band, and as all that remained of the noble, gallant array gathered around him, he spoke to them with desperate menace: "My castle and myself have I devoted to the gods for victory, and what more can I do?" The warriors gazed fiercely at him, as they resolutely replied: "Thou didst counsel this war, and thou hast been our ruin !"—and their clamor echoed in the crowd: "Yes, thou hast counseled war; thou hast been our ruin !” Then Walnoth looked defiantly into the fierce, fixed faces around him, and, wrenching off his breastplate, tore open his bosom, imploring the mighty god of thunder and fire to pierce it with his inexorable bolt, or give the victory to his army. But there came no bolt from heaven, and the squadron stood shrinking before the reckless warrior. In overwhelming despair, Walnoth exclaimed once more : "There remains only that which is dearest to me. Wife and child do I offer to thee, O thou god of armies, to give me the victory! My beautiful, beloved wife-my darling, only child-with my own hand will I sacrifice to thee, great ruler in Asgard; but, I implore thee, give me the victory!" Scarcely had the words been spoken, when clouds gathered over the combatants; and, in fearful thunderings that rolled ominously over the battle-field, Odin and Thor seemed to answer, while the Danes shouted wildly, "The gods are with us!" and, rushing forward with invincible courage, the height was carried by storm, and, with sudden shuddering, Walnoth saw the enemy flying from the field. His fatal vow had been heard and accepted. The conqueror returned home in triumph, and in all parts of his delivered country came wives and children forth, with outstretched arms, gladly greeting their husbands and fathers. But bitterly the noble Dane remembered what awaited him; and every smile of a devoted wife, every shout of a blooming child, pierced like a poisoned arrow to his anguished heart. At last the conquering legion arrived before his massive old castle, and there, at the gate, Thyra, his beautiful wife, stood smiling, with her lovely daughter by the hand, while the happy little creature bounded forward, crying eagerly, "Father, dear father !" In a land proverbial for fair women, Thyra's beauty was marked as something marvelous, blending, as it did, the soft and the regal, the physical and spiritual, into perfect harmony. Her hair fell, like a cascade of gold, over her shoulders, half concealing the beauty of her faultless form, which a dress of pale blue, trimmed with the white fur of the Arctic fox, fitly adorned. It was confined around the slender waist by a girdle of gold, clasped with precious stones. Her eyes, bright and soft as sapphires, were shaded by long, dark lashes, deepening their hue, at times, almost to blackness; but Walnoth could not meet their bright, loving gaze. He looked round on his people, as if to strengthen him. self, but only to meet sad faces, quivering lips, and eyelids drooping with bitter tears; for many of his warriors had heard his fearful vow. There would be no wassail in the castle to-night, he said, sternly, dismissing them to their homes, feeling they were happy men-he most unhappy-in their renewed union with their beloved ones. This duty done, he rode across the bridge into the castle courtyard, sprung from his horse, threw the reins to an attendant, ordered the others to their various posts, and closing the gates with a thundering clang, secured them carefully, and placed the massive key in the broad belt that held the battle-ax at his waist. Then the warrior was forgotten in the husband's anguish; and, clasping his beloved wife and child to his throbbing heart, he shed over them a torrent of tears. Thyra's beautiful eyes looked up with a wild, startled expression in his face as she clung more closely to him, earnestly asking: "What troubles you, my noble lord and husband, in this happy hour of reunion? Why do you weep?" And the little one, with frightened gaze and paling cheek, nestled to his side, whispering: "Oh, father, why do you weep ?" The warrior's head bowed like a royal oak before a mighty storm, his beautiful, stern lips quivered, and even the iron jaws trembled as he replied: "Oh, Thyra! beloved of my soul, wait yet a little while, for a burden, heavy as the stone on a grave, rests on my weary heart." There was solemn silence for a time, and then Walnoth raised his haughty head, and spoke with unbending firm ness. "We must first prepare an offering to the gods, and then I will relate everything. Come with me now to the hearth." "Let me kindle the sacred fire," said Thyra, sweetly, "and I will quickly bring the implements for sacrifice;" while the little girl clapped her hands, and cried : "Let me come, mother-let me help you !" and bounded away with her mother. Those words of his guileless child rung like a knell in the father's ears as he heard her repeat, "Let me comelet me help, mother!" and he stood shivering by the flaming pile, his drawn sword in his trembling hand, and his wrung heart wept tears of blood as he lamented aloud over his beautiful, obedient wife and child, lovely flower of their wedded love. But all too soon Thyra returned, bringing the pitcher, perfume-pan and taper used in sacrifices, which she placed upon the hearth, and turned inquiringly on her husband her bright, soft eyes. He could not answer their mute appeal, and it passed through his mind that his vow could not find place in man's heart would the Skulda (fate) be inexorable as the gods. And there came answer in fearful peals of thunder overhead. Again Thor had spoken. "Look where the smoke and the fire contend," Walnoth muttered; "but the gods decree the sacrifice. Their thunder aided me in battle, and now it commands of the believer the performance of his vow." Again the thunder rolled angrily in echoing peals that shook the massive roof, and Thyra trembled as the terrible truth burst upon her, and she said, shivering: “Ah, Walnoth, hast thou made a vow? My husband, I see no victim. Must human blood-our blood-be given ?" Walnoth covered his face with his hands, and his giant frame shook with strong sobs, that echoed fearfully through the hall, while the terrified child clung to her mother, and wept bitterly at her father's strange grief. Thyra knew well the meaning of such vows. In ancient times they were held sacred and inexorable. She looked entreatingly to her husband, whispering : "May I remove the child ?" But he shook his head sadly, muttering hoarsely, brokenly : "Both-both-I must!" Then Thyra, with a violent effort forcing back her tears, said to the little one: "Let me bind this kerchief on thine eyes, daughter. Thy father hast brought thee a present, and will then give it to thee." But the child sighed deeply, whispering: "My father looks not as if he would give me a present, mother." And Thyra said, hurriedly: "Thou shalt see, thou shalt see, very soon, my daughter," and with trembling fingers, she fastened the bandage over the child's eyes, while hot tears were welling from her own; but she restrained them, and the little one did not know it. Then the devoted mother tore the drapery from her snow-white breast, and kneeling before the sacrificer, motioned that she should be the first victim, but spoke not. Walnoth lifted his sword, and chanted the Danish deathdirge, in stifled tones : "All free from the knot Glides the thread of the skein; And peace to the pain." But though he held the dreadful steel aloft, he struck not, and Thyra whispered softly, urgently, to the lingerer: "Be quick-only quick, before the child is frightened." Then for one fateful moment Walnoth whirled the glittering blade around his head. It was poised high in the air-in a second more it would descend, and do the death-work; but then there came a deafening peal of thunder, shaking the massive walls to their very foundations, rending the roof overhead, as the fierce lightning flashed dazzlingly through the building, wrapping it in a sea of liquid fire. The sword fell harmless from Walnoth's hand; the sacrificer and his victims were struck, stunned and speechless, to the earth. Had the Valkyes borne their spirits to Valhalla ? Not yet, for, when the soft evening breeze rushed through the broken casement, the little one revived, and raising her head, from which the bandage had fallen, she murmured, sweetly: All still lived, and nothing was destroyed but the Jarl's terrible sword, which had been melted and shivered by the avenging flash of heaven's fire. "Once more the gods have spoken !" cried the pardoned father, rising from the floor, where he had fallen; "but this time they have spoken in mercy, not in wrath." And with a gush of unutterable gratitude and love he clasped his rescued treasures to his beating heart, and the three delivered ones wept tears of joy in each other's arms. The soft twilight radiance poured on the happy group through the shattered casement, bathing them in its exquisite effulgence, while the evening star looked brightly in, like the face of a forgiving angel. And far away over the southern mountains roared the rushing tempest in its fierce fury, where, many years afterward, St. Dominick converted unbelievers to the true faith. "ONLY." BY THE REV. CHARLES F. DEEMS, LL.D. ALMOST all the evils which have obstructed the progress of Christianity since the days of the Apostles have arisen from a neglect of Paul's exhortation to the Philippians (i. 27): "Only let your conversation be as it becometh the Gospel of Christ." By degrees men felt as if the Gospel might be propagated by some other method than by the exhibition of its real and powerful effects in transforming and uplifting human lives. And this is the origin of priestcraft, which did not come so much from the desire of some men to obtain power over their fellow-men, using religion as an instrument for the accomplishment of that design, as it did from the fact that there have always been such multitudes of men who were very glad to have any fellow-man take the responsibility of their salvation upon himself. If this willingness were not widespread throughout the community, no priestcraft could have a soil in which to grow. Men are perfectly willing that some man shall do their repenting and their believing and their Christian work for them, and therefore they are very easily persuaded into the belief that some one has official authority to do this. Few people prefer to work their passage to heaven. Most people prefer to take a through ticket, and pay extra for a sleeping-car. Now, if in religious matters a man can be persuaded that some one has authority to grant him these privileges, and yields to that authority, that very moment the person to whom he yields has the power of priest over his soul, and he necessarily becomes priest-ridden. A review of the facts of history in the light of this wellknown propensity of human nature ought to stir all who call themselves Christians to a most earnest effort to embody in their lives the injunction of the Apostle. All who love Christ and Christ's pure and spiritual religion are deeply interested in that which is indispensable to their having any part in the final success of Christianity. Obedience to this injunction being indispensably necessary, it is proper that we inquire into the meaning of the "Mother, dear, what present has my father brought terms which the Apostle employs. me ?" Her soft voice and tender touch were like magic, rousing both her parents from that death-seeming trance, whose fearful power had for a time paralyzed them. Walnoth was forgiven for the fatal vow; his crime the mighty gods had condoned, and the victims were saved from the sacrifice. Ordinarily by "conversation" we now mean the interchange of opinions orally between two or more persons; but the word, as used when our version of the Bible was made, conveyed to the mind of the hearer what the Greek word which it translates implies, viz. : the whole life of a man, his whole intercourse with all to whom he stands related. The exhortation of the Apostle appeals to all that a nan can do for himself to make himself a good citizen of the kingdom of Heaven. It speaks to the inmost soul of a man, to that personality which is conscious of a will. It is as if one spoke to the pilot of a steamer and said, "Only carry your vessel above such a latitude, or beyond such a longitude." The phraseology in our English version implies a tameness which is not in Paul's Greek. It is not "let your conversation be" in the sense of "permit your Let us now examine the Scriptures to learn what this Gospel is, that we may see what a life would be that was shaped according thereunto. We need not go far from Paul's exhortation for our instruction. Let us look into the chapter which contains it. The Apostle, in praying for that beloved church at Philippi, would certainly ask of God the very things which he has supposed to be necessary for its continuance and growth and beneficial influence. Happily, conversation drift, to go with the current of the Gospel" | but it is a direct appeal to us so to govern our conversation as that it shall be in accordance with the Gospel; as if the Apostle had said, "Strive to make your conversation be as becometh the Gospel." It is an exhortation to the culture of one's habits of thought, habits of feeling and habits of action. That culture is to be carried forward, not according to the spirit of the age, not according to the teachings of the philosophy of men, but according to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. in this chapter he tells us what those things are for which he prayed. In v. 9 he says, "And this I pray, that your love may abound yet more and more." The basis and spirit, therefore, of a Christian life must be lovingness; your life must be a life of love, There is a very great difference between natural amiableness, easiness of temper and disposition, on the one side, and Christian lovingness on the other. The first may come of nature. There are very many people who, without striving to be Christians, are very sweet in their gen Christian is one who loves God just as He is, and just for what He is loves Him, not only for His love, not only for His beneficence, but loves Him as well for His justice and His holiness. Paganism is a religion founded on the fear of God in the sinister sense of that word, viz., a fear of offending God in such a way as to bring punishment on the offender. Christianity is a religion founded on the fear of God in its higher sense, the sense of fearing to give offense to the One whom we love above all others. Paganism looks to the effect of sin upon ourselves; Christianity to the effect of sin upon God. Paganism has reference to the pain which sin may give the sinner; Christianity has reference to the pain which sin may give the Heavenly Father. Judaism is an intermediate religion; it trained mankind, through fear, to be ready for the consummation of all religion in love. Sinai shows the one, Calvary the other. A RUSSIAN VILLAGE MAIDEN. OUR illustration represents a type of that vast peasant class which forms so large a proportion of the sixty millions of people inhabiting the domains of the Czar. The Russian peasantry are, in general, a quiet, hard-working race, whose | simple lives pass peacefully enough, whose wants are few, and who seem to find contentment in their humble homes. The Nihilistic movement, which has recently crowned its work of plotting, intimidation and assassination by the murder of the Emperor Alexander II., found little sympathy and drew few recruits from the peasant class. The dress of the Russian peasant-girl is quite showy, consisting of a bright crimson, green or yellow brocaded silk petticoat, a white linen chemise, with full sleeves, and a kind of strap or braces across the shoulders, of the same material as the petticoat; the pavoinik, or headdress, is composed of satin or velvet, and is gayly embroidered with gold or pearl beads; huge necklaces of amber, pearl, or some other showy beads, and immense earrings. In all wealthy houses the nurses-usually chosen from the moujik class-are half smothered by the quantity of necklaces they wear, as the bright, gaudy colors are thought to be pleasing to their infant charges. When they go out a pelisse of some bright-colored cloth or damask, trimmed with fur, completes their costume, and certainly the most showy and attractive people in the promenades of St. Petersburg on a Winter's afternoon are the nurses of the Imperial family, and those of the nobility. The female peasantry never become servants in any other capacity. WIT, WISDOM, AND PATHOS OF CHILDHOOD. [We shall thank our friends for original contributions to this Department.] LITTLE Bessie, aged four years, has often heard the moon spoken of as God's lamp. Early one Winter morning, after the lights had been blown out in the house, she went to the window, and seeing the moon still shining, she exclaimed: "Oh, mamma! Dod hasn't blowed his lamp out yet." On another occasion her parents, who lived in a town in which many of the sidewalks were very rough, took her out to ride some distance in the country. As they were crossing a long corduroy bridge, the child, becoming tired of the jolting, said, with great emphasis: "There's too much sidewalk here, papa." Little Myrtie had been very naughty, and there were tears in her mamma's eyes. Myrtie took her handkerchief and wiped the tears away. Her mamma said: "Myrtie can wipe them from my eyes, but not off my heart." "Won't they run off, mamma ?" asked Myrtie. She learned "The Sweet By-and-by" at school, as follows: "There's a land that is fairer than hay, Minnie was two years old. She asked for some water one night. When it was brought, she said: "Papa, can't you get me some fresh water? this tastes a little withered." Annie has great faith in prayer. One Summer evening she took a notion that she must have some bread and jelly. As the jelly had all been used up, her asking was in vain. Soon I heard her say, "Dod, please sank you for a piece of bread and jelly." This was too good; and a short time after, while writing to her aunt, I mentioned the fact. A day or two after this her aunt came down, bringing with her a glass of jelly for Annie. Soon after the bread and jelly were given her, she went up to a sister older than herself and said to her: "Hum! don't you wish you had some jelly? If you'd prayed for some you would have some too." One day one of the farm animals fell into a All the family but Annie ran to the well to see or well. help. Annie being asked why she also did not come, answered: "Oh, I had to stay at home and pray for the mule." too much for his own good, it was refused him; whereupon Leroy wanted some fruit, and, as he had already had he threw himself on the floor and began to cry in a fine fashion. Directly he suddenly stopped, and coming to the affirmative, he exclaimed: "Well, I don't want Him me, inquired: "Does Dod see me?" Being answered in to see me. Let's stop up the cracks so He can't see me." While looking at the moon one night, when it was in quarter, he said that some man had cut a piece of the moon off. And another time, when the moon was not visible, he exclaimed: "Dod hasn't made any moon to-night." His uncle Will came by one evening and took him riding. Soon after I found him lying on the floor, very devoutly saying over to himself: "Dod bless Will; Dod bless Will." Here are two items which my four-year-old "got off" when her uncle, with his wife and baby, made her a visit. Baby was troubled with "toothache," and crying very amazingly, as usual, with teething. Ellener, the fouryear-old, remarked that "if Gracie (the baby) did not like the house she could go out again, and her mother, too, if she didn't like it." In the midst of her play she suddenly said to the visitors: "Oh, my grandma's dead." "Where did she go to ?" her aunt asked. "To heaven." "Don't you want to go to heaven, too?" "No, I don't," very saucily; "but I know where I want to go to." "Where ?" "To the Isle of Wight," she replied, emphatically. We hope to convince her, a little later, that heaven is good for her soul, and that the island will do very well for the body. Sinnie had been teased until she delighted in quarreling. One day her mother would not answer her, and finding no one would quarrel with her, she broke out with, “I do think I have the baddest ma! I do wish I had a stepmudder." |