His wife struggles hopelessly, in the savage grasp of the abandoned ruffians, to preserve her babe. Alas! it is wantonly slaughtered, and mother and child lie bleeding on the ground; while the cruel jests, and mad merriments of their hardhearted murderers, echo through the desolated mansion. One would think that the boldest advocate for war could not look on this case as his own, without being struck with its enormity.

Nor is this a solitary scene. The same demonlike career is carried on throughout the city,-for the place" is given up to pillage;" mercy is exiled, and neither youth, beauty, wisdom, age, the infant, nor the hoary-headed, meet with compassion. Rapine, brutality, murder, and conflagration are abroad.

Reader, this is the meaning of a city "being given up to pillage!" Are you not called on then to resist, with every power you possess, that spirit of warfare which tolerates such enormities? Ought you not to bear testimony against it, leaving it on record to your children, and children's children, to do the same?

Have you a son in whom you delight, and does he thirstily drink in, as water, the lessons of instruction you bestow? Are desires gathering in his heaving breast; and hope, and enterprise, and expectation visible in his brightening eye?

It remains with you-I speak with due reverence to the Most High-whether he, by sharing such excesses as have been described, shall become a scourge to mankind; or, by the practice of virtue and humanity, be an ornament and a blessing to his race.

Have you a daughter, who is your joy and your glory? whose gentleness, tenderness, and affection are to influence, in future years, the more rugged heart of man? It remains with you whether your child, by encouraging in others the selfish dreams of ambition and pride, shall strengthen the ranks of war, and spread around desolation and death; or, by the exercise of persuasion, kindness, and mercy, prove the gentle advocate and influential promoter of peace.

Blame me not for pressing this matter on your thoughts, but rather give it the consideration it deserves. Be convinced, and try to convince others, that the only way to avoid the evils of war is to drink in the spirit of the gospel, and with earnestness, truth, and sincerity, to "follow after the things which make for peace," Rom. xiv. 19.

X

ON ASSOCIATIONS.

THOUGH it be a good thing to be plain and practical in making remarks, at times it is pleasant to indulge in imagination. However excellent a joint may be, very few people would like to sit down to it every day of the year. Whether the banquet be substantial or ideal, in either case variety is a pleasant appendage.

It is well known that the pleasure or pain we derive from many things, is altogether dependent on the associations we attach to them. Some people are more imaginative and susceptible than others. In my own case, there is hardly a sight meets my eye, or a sound salutes my ear, without bringing with it a train of associations. If you can look me tamely in the face, and ask me what I mean when I speak of associations, it is not to you that I now speak. To such of my readers only as fully comprehend my meaning the following observations are addressed.

Oh, what a goodly hoard of secret, silent, and sweet enjoyment has the susceptible and grateful

heart all to itself! When about to revel in the pleasures of association, it knows not where to begin, or how to end. I am just now in the mood to indulge my thoughts in my own wild way; and if I am too wild, if a thoughtless step should bear me beyond the boundary within which a pilgrim should walk, a reproving glance will be sufficient to bring me back again, silent, sorrowful, and grateful for the timely warning. Not willingly in my thoughts will I run into error. Riches shall not make me covetous or servile in my mental musing, nor creation's beauty lure me to idolatry. Gold shall not become my hope, nor fine gold my confidence; neither when the sun shineth, or the moon walketh in brightness, shall my heart willingly be enticed, or my hand in homage be kissed by my mouth.

I am about to put down a few of my associations. Egotist as I am, who will care for them? This is a question that I cannot answer; but as I care much for the associations of others, let me imagine that some few will care for mine. It may be, that while I appear to be drawing only on my own mind and memory, I may in reality be also calling forth the mental resources of my friends.

I have strange, yet pleasing, associations with many trifling things, such as the smell of a cedar pencil, a nasturtian flower, writing paper, and

indian rubber; the sight of a cocoa nut, and old china jar, a guinea fowl, a camel's hair pencil, and a box of water colours, and the taste of a walnut and a tamarind. These associations, however, are indefinite and undefined; I will speak of some that are more intelligible.

A rainbow is rich in association. When I think of one, it is with me a dull, dark, drenching day; care sits on my brow, and sadness in my heart; my soul is cast down, and my spirit is disquieted within me. The sun breaks forth suddenly, mine eyes are lifted up, and a glorious rainbow is in the skies; my care is scattered to the winds, my sadness is dispersed, and the bow is not set in the clouds of heaven only, but in my heart.

I have vivid, though somewhat melancholy associations with an ivy leaf. An arbour comes before me covered with ivy leaves, fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Tall and stately wild lilies are growing near. A lovely face looks up to laugh at the dancing ivy leaves. Will that face never again shine upon me but in memory and associations? Never, till this mortal shall have put on immortality. There is a green hillock in an isle of the ocean, and she that sat in the bower lies pale beneath it; but she died in the faith, and has entered, I have no doubt, into the rest prepared for the people of God.