might I have been, had I, when a young man, settled upon the plan of life which I saw in Arthur Ashton, and thus had, for the last thirty years that "good angel walking at my side," of which he spoke?

(To be continued.)

DE REPUBLICA BENE SPERAVI.

A MILLION years ago

(Possibly more, great the uncertainty

Reading the rock-dial of history),
The earth lay hid in snow.

In mountains skyward piled
Nearest the pole, sliding thence southerly,
Blasting all life, regions now tropical
With not a floweret smiled.

The moon looked down and sighed :
"Beautiful earth! dazzling in brilliancy!
Gone are thy flowers, vanished thine animals!
Though bright, how dark!" she cried.

Ten thousand years rolled by.
Melting away slowly or rapidly,
Mountain of ice, snowfield, and glacier
Had gone; the earth was dry;

And countless graceful flowers
Sprang from her lap; over her continents
Animals roamed; man, as a sovereign,
Exulted in his powers.

The moon spake out again :

"Foolish my dream, thinking that history
Closed with the ice; 'twas the machinery
To fit the earth for men.

That awful march of ice,

Rounding the hills, smoothing the plains for them,
Grinding to loam richest materials,

Has made earth Paradise."

H. T.

REV. JAAZANIAH CROSBY, D.D.

Of all the picturesque villages which line the banks of the Connecticut, we have long thought that Charlestown, N.H., is the gem. Every traveller who has visited it, will recall the spacious street, hedged with venerable elms, which runs through the centre of the town. He will remember the neat and tasteful dwellings which gently retire from the road, and the towering peak of Ascutney, which looks down upon them, like a protecting "genius of the place."

As if courting still greater retirement, in consonance with the spirit of its inmates, there long stood, just round the corner of the noble avenue to which we have referred, a cosy two-story dwelling, nestling under the shadow of sheltering maples and elms. Hither, three and fifty years ago, as the young minister repaired, not very long after the flock at Charlestown had been given into his hands, he must have often said, "Truly the lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places."

The war with England came, and found him there; the second French Revolution came, and found him there; the third, and still he labored on in peace; the war with Mexico came, while, in his sequestered nook, he still prayed for the coming of peace and good-will among the nations. Nay, the echo of the guns pointed against Sumter still found him there, and was answered, as of old, upon the Lord's Day, by the accents of his favorite hymn:

"No longer hosts encountering hosts

Shall heaps of slain deplore:

They'll hang the trumpet in the hall,

And study war no more."

From the time, when, as a boy, his eyes dilated, as he sat down before the coveted dish of baked pumpkin and milk, "eaten from the shell" as a saucer, and then went to bed to count the stars which glimmered through that log-cabin roof at Hebron, his peace-breathing spirit was manifested; since,

even then, he seemed to be made wretched by any approach to bickerings among his brothers and sisters. In college, whither he walked all the way, with his "basket and his store," an eager pilgrim to the halls of Harvard, he was watchful of every opportunity of improvement. He had, too, the power, through the attraction of his own noble nature, to fasten to him friends, whom to know was to honor, and whose love for him, when fifty years and more had tested it, was inherited as a priceless heirloom by their families.

A man who could win such friends, could not fail, when he entered on the coveted work of the ministry, to endear himself peculiarly to the people of his charge.

Radiant with sympathy, he went from house to house, among his flock, ever ready to "rejoice with all them that do rejoice," and "weep with them that weep." The fathers, one after another, passed away. The children, whose cheeks he had patted on their way to school, became fathers in their turn, and entered into the inheritance of the same heart-felt sympathy which had gladdened an elder generation.

Indeed, his passion for the companionship of children was one of the marked traits of his character. In the parishes which he visited, when "making his exchanges," there are young people who will always delight to remember that they were among Dr. Crosby's pets.

"Clothed with humility," he was seldom heard to speak of himself; but, out of an unfailing repository, he was glad to pour forth stores of anecdotes or reminiscences for the entertainment of his friends.

"At church, with meek and unaffected grace,

His looks adorned the venerable place."

A living embodiment of the love which "beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things," his simple and pertinent counsels could not have been lost upon the successive generations of his hearers.

Well do we recall the earnest solemnity of his manner, as he preached, some ten years since, the only sermon we ever heard him deliver, from the words, "Never man spake like this man." Dr. Crosby's manuscripts, moreover, down to

his latest days, were singularly neat; and there was a peculiar felicity in his way of expressing his thoughts, even in writing the simplest note of friendship. Thus the delicacy of his tastes seemed to be impressed upon the slightest work which he undertook.

When fifty years of this Christian laborer's loving service had gone by, his parishioners and friends gathered around him in thankful recognition of the guileless manners, the unwearied cheerfulness, the stability of purpose, and the Christian integrity, which had made him such a cherished pillar in the house of the Lord.

"Ah!" one of the unthinking may say, "it is easy enough to stay on so, hidden away in that peaceful vale, no storms to shake his peace: how would this quiet spirit have borne peril and hardship?"

As if to anticipate this carping questioner, behold how a sharp, stern trial of his faith and patience comes, and in a way his friends might have least expected! The dim daybreak of a bleak December morning discloses the pleasant parsonage in flames, and the inmates, scantily clad, fleeing from it at the peril of their lives. Yet, once again, the patriarch encounters the stifling smoke and thickening flames, that he may rescue something which is prized by his best friend; and then,

"They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld

Of Paradise, so late their happy seat

Waved over by that flaming brand : . . .

Some natural tears they dropped, then wiped them soon;"
Then, "hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,

Through Eden took their solitary way.

The world was all before them where to choose

Their place of rest, and Providence their guide."

And now, from a neighboring window, our good doctor beholds books, sermons, raiment, rapidly perishing, only to recall some genial anecdote, and to tell it in his own simplehearted way. Truly he did not "think it strange concerning the fiery trial which was to try him, as though some strange thing had happened unto him, but could "rejoice, inasmuch as" he was "partaker of Christ's sufferings."

The kindred and friends, the faithful flock, moreover, who had felt as if there were a peculiar atmosphere of joy and welcome about that house, "made with hands," the home of three and fifty years, were now enabled to see how much more noble than ever seemed the inmates of that dwelling, when torn away from those smoking ruins.

Truly "the fire" which "shall try every man's work, of what sort it is," had bravely tested theirs.

And when, a fortnight after, in a son's house, in another State, the crumbling walls of the house of clay fell also to the ground, who can doubt, that, to the glorified intelligences of another sphere, the spirit once enshrined within them bore the test of this sterner separation, and soared away peacefully into an atmosphere of love congenial to itself?

Dr. Crosby died Dec. 30, 1864. On the succeeding Tuesday, Jan. 3, 1865, the village gathered itself once more (as if no schism of theology had ever intervened) within the walls of the South Parish.

The services of commemoration ended, borne by the hands of men, as in the simple, primitive times, the bier is taken to the wooded cemetery on the hill-side.

There, may there be many to find that he "being dead, yet speaketh," as they seem to hear the waving branches tell, in the words of Scripture, the lesson of his life: "Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God, as a little child, shall in no wise enter therein."

W.

NOTE. Jaazaniah Crosby, son of Jaazaniah and Elizabeth (Gilson) Crosby, was born in Hebron, N.H., April 8, 1780. He graduated at Harvard College, in the class of 1804; studied theology with Rev. Jesse Appleton, D.D., at Hampton, N.H.; was ordained over the South Parish, in Charlestown, N.H., Oct. 17, 1810, and retained his connection with the society until his death, a period of nearly fifty-five years. He received the degree of Doctor of Divinity from Harvard College in 1853. In June, 1855, he was relieved from the active duties of the parish, by the settlement of a colleague, Rev. Adams Ayer, who resigned his charge after a little more than four years. In June, 1864, Mr. Livingston Stone was ordained as colleague, and is now sole pastor.

Dr. Crosby died, Dec. 30, 1864, in Cambridge, Mass., at the residence of his eldest son.

• A very appropriate sketch of Dr. Crosby's character was given on this occasion by his colleague, Rev. L. Stone.