knighthood - as when, upon the field of Zutphen, as he lay in his own blood, he waived the draught of cold spring water, that was brought to quench his mortal thirst, in favour of a dying soldier. St. Paul described a gentleman, when he exhorted the Philippian Christians: "Whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report, if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things."

-BISHOP DOANE.

THERE ARE LOYAL HEARTS

"There are loyal hearts, there are spirits brave,.
There are souls that are pure and true;

Then give to the world the best you have,

And the best will come to you.

Give love, and love to your heart will flow,

A strength in your utmost need;

Have faith, and a score of hearts will show
Their faith in your word and deed."

THE UNCONSCIOUS GREATNESS OF STONEWALL JACKSON

The greatness of Stonewall Jackson was an unconscious greatness. It was the supreme devotion to what he thought was duty. Hence he studied no dramatic effects. When among the mountains, pyramids older than those to which the first Napoleon pointed, he did not remind his men that the centuries were looking down upon them. When on the plains he drilled

no eagles to perch upon his banners, as the third Napoleon is said to have done.

The letter written to his pastor at Lexington, the day after the first battle of Manassas, gives the keynote to his character. Preceding any accurate account of that event, a crowd had gathered around the post office, awaiting with intensest interest the opening of the mail. The first letter was handed to the Rev. Dr. White. It was from General Jackson. "Now we shall know all," said his reverend friend. But he opened the letter to read:

MY DEAR PASTOR:

In my tent last night, after a fatiguing day's service, I remembered that I had failed to send you my contribution to our colored Sunday School. Inclosed you will find my check for that object.

Yours faithfully,

THOMAS J. JACKSON.

Not a word about a conflict which electrified a nation! Not an allusion to the splendid part he had taken in it! Not a reference to himself beyond the fact that it had been a fatiguing day's service! And yet that was a day ever memorable in his history memorable in all history when he received the name destined to supplant the name his parents gave him - Stonewall Jackson.

When his brigade of twenty-six hundred men had for hours withstood the iron tempest which broke upon it; when the Confederate right had been overwhelmed in the rush of resistless numbers, General Bee rode up to Jackson, and with despairing

bitterness exclaimed: "General, they are beating us back." "Then," said Jackson, "we will give them the bayonet." Bee seemed to catch the inspiration of his determined will, and galloping back to the broken fragments of his overtaxed command, exclaimed: "There is Jackson standing like a stone wall. Rally behind the Virginians!" From that time Jackson's was known as the "Stonewall Brigade," a name henceforth immortal, for the christening was in the blood of its author. And that wall of brave hearts was on every battlefield a steadfast bulwark of their country.

In the State where all that is mortal of this great hero sleeps there is a natural bridge of rock whose massive arch, fashioned with grace by the hand of God, springs lightly to the sky, spanning a chasm into whose awful depths the beholder looks down, bewildered and awe-struck. But its grandeur is not diminished because tender vines clamber over its gigantic piers, or because in every throb of h s heart there was a pulsation ineffably and exquisitely tender. The hum of bees, the fragrance of clover fields, the tender streaks of dawn, the dewy brightness of early spring, the mellow glories of matured autumn, all in turn charmed and tranquilized him. The eye that flashed amid the smoke of battle grew soft in contemplating the beauty of a flower. The ear that thrilled with the thunder of the cannonade drank in with innocent delight the songs of birds and the prattle of children's voices. The voice whose sharp and ringing tones had so often been heard uttering the command, “Give them the bayonet!" culled even from foreign tongues terms of endearment. And the man who filled two hemispheres with his fame was never so happy as when telling the colored children of his Sunday School the story of the Cross.

It was in the noontide of his glory that he fell. What a pall of sadness shrouded the whole land! And wherein the annals of the world's sorrow was there such a pathetic impersonation of a people's grief as was embodied in the old mutilated veteran of Jackson's division who, as the shades of evening fell and the doors of the Capitol were being closed for the last time, was seen anxiously pressing through the crowd to take his last look at the face of his beloved leader. They told him that he was too late, that they were closing the coffin for the last time. But the old soldier, lifting the stump of his right arm toward the heavens, and with tears running down his face, exclaimed: “By the right arm which I lost for my country, I demand the privilege of seeing my general once more." So irresistible was the appeal that the Governor ordered the ceremonies to be stayed until the humble comrade had dropped his tear upon the face of his dead leader. -HOGE.

A MODEST WIT

A supercilious nabob of the East —

Haughty, being great — purse-proud, being rich

A governor, or general, at the least,

I have forgotten which

Had in his family a humble youth

Who went from England in his patron's suite

An unassuming boy, and, in truth,

A lad of decent parts and good repute.

This youth had sense, and spirit;

Yet, with all his sense,

Excessive diffidence

Obscured his merit.

One day, at table, flushed with pride and wine,

His honor

proudly free, severely merry

Conceived it would be vastly fine

To crack a joke upon his secretary.

"Young man," he said, "by what art, craft or trade Did your good father gain a livelihood?" "He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said, "And in his line was reckoned good.'

"A saddler, eh! and taught you Greek,
Instead of teaching you to sew!
Pray, why did not your father make
A saddler, sir, of you?"

Each parasite, then, as in duty bound,

The joke applauded - and the laugh went round.

At length Modestus, bowing low,

Said, craving pardon if too free he made,

"Sir, by your leave, I fain would know

Your father's trade."

"My father's trade! By heaven, that's too bad!
My father's trade! Why, blockhead, are you mad?
My father, sir, did never stoop so low-
He was a gentleman, I'd have you know."

"Excuse the liberty I take,"

Modestus said, with archness on his brow;

"Pray, why did not your father make

A gentleman of you?"