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the country. With a soil of unusual fertility, and a climate which vibrates, according to elevation, between an eternal spring and an eternal rain; with a government feeble and unprogressive, and a public treasury sustained chiefly by a monopoly in crime incitants; with an educational system which might be good were it only in the hands of energetic men, but which, as it is carried on, is a mere excuse; and a condition of agriculture, which necessarily leaves all the finest resources of the country undeveloped; and finally, with a people who seem content to live as their fathers did, who have few wants, and no aspirations-this country of Costa Rica seems a fitting field for American enterprise. This seems to have struck even our honest German, who, with all his jealousy of Californians, annexationists, and Mr. Squier, says, after summing up the characteristics of the natives: "A small band of resolute men, uniting courage with discipline, would find no difficulty in gaining and holding this entire state. It is a mystery to us why this has not yet been accomplished; . . . . and it is only by some thorough admixture with a more energetic northern race, that these people can be saved from utter demoralization."

It is curious to see how our staid, botanizing, and pipe-smoking friend, setting out on his travels an utter conservative, passes gradually and unconsciously through the various grades of progressive conservatism and conservative progressiveism, till he finally develops as a most decided and undeniable fillibustero.

HOME.

BY REV. F. S. CASSADY.

"Mid pleasures and palaces tho' we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there is no place like home."

HOME

OME! What a world of interest and happiness is crowded into that talismanic word! How the bosom swells with deepest feeling and profoundest emotion at its very mention! What hallowed memories and soul-inspiring associations cluster around that sacred shrine-our childhood's happy home! Never do our minds live in busy thought, over the scenes and remembrances of this sanctuary of our heart's purest and holiest affections. Its cheerful spirits, sunny faces, and revered forms-whatever changes time may have wrought since our severance from the old homestead-are all vividly before us, and we again seem to be living over the halcyon days of the eventful past.

We can never-no, never-forget that happy

family group, made up of father, mother, brothers, and sisters, of which in other years we formed a member. Although long years have circled away since that peaceful domestic circle were wont to gather around that familiar hearth-stone, yet the whole scene, in all its interest and naturalness, is indelibly imprinted on our minds and hearts. 'Tis mournfully true that some of the members of that household, perchance that devoted father, or pious mother, or brother, or sister, have gone down to the land of shadows and of death, but still there is a sanctity and sacredness lingering around that precious spot of earth that will ever endear it to our hearts. And why should it not be so? It was there we were born; there we spent the days of our childhood; and there for the first time, around that family altar, celestial influences operated upon our hearts, and sought to win them to the skies. With such holy and hallowing memories attaching to that sacred place, why should we not love and venerate it? Why should not mellowing and soul-touching influences play around our hearts, when

"Fond memory brings the light
Of other days around us?"

Even the old man, who has long had a home of his own, sheds the briny tear as he talks about the home and associations of his own childhood. The fountain of tears is unsealed every time that in memory he revisits those old and familiar scenes. Heaven intended that home should be a cherished spot, and man would be untrue to all the higher and nobler instincts of his being if it were not so. The love for home and kindred is the last passion that grows cold in the human breast. Even the savage, dead to sympathy as is his heart for the white man, cherishes an almost idolatrous reverence for his hunting-grounds and the graves of his forefathers. This sacred principle of veneration for home and its cherished objects, runs all through the lower and higher grades of humanity. It obtains as much in the humble cottage of the poor and unlettered, as in the splendid mansions of the opulent and the great.

The sentiment is universally received, that "there's no place like home." How sweet and beautiful are the touches of an anonymous bard upon this subject:

"I've wandered on through many a clime where flowers of beauty grew

Where all was blissful to the heart, and lovely to the

view;

I've seen them in their twilight pride, and in their dress of morn,

But none appeared so sweet to me as the spot where I was born."

LOVE IN A COTTAGE.

BY LUELLA CLARK.

JUST beyond that marble mansion,
In a fragrant field of clover,
You can see a small brown cottage,
With the hop-vines trailing over
Never at the much-worn threshold
Waits the pomp of gilded coaches;
Never on that narrow grass-walk
Any lordly step approaches.
Never through that little lattice

Floats the breath of tropic blooms; Never sound of silks and satins

Rustles round the rustic rooms.

You will listen all day vainly

For the rapturous organ's peal; Never through that crumbling casement Harmonies of harp-strings steal. Through the bars of gilded cages Drop no songs of rare, bright birds; You will hear no sweeter music

Than the fall of loving words.

All day long the blessed sunshine

Lingers round the brown old eaves,
Rambling through the narrow windows,
Curtained only by the leaves;
Trickles through the broken lattice,
Enters at the open door,
Climbs the parlor wall unhindered,
Sleeps in peace upon the floor;
Wandering where it will, bestowing
Unrebuked its glowing graces;
Showering unforbidden kisses
On the cheery children's faces.
Children's faces! gayly gliding

In and out the humble door;
Laughing, earnest, lustrous, loving,
Gleams of gladness evermore.
Murmuring through the maple branches,
All the morning's dewy hours,
Brings the breeze the benediction
Of the newly-opened flowers.
In the apple-tree the robin

Lives and loves the summer long,
From his home of quiet gladness
Dropping silvery notes of song.
Thus, beyond the portal, kindly
Nature's ministration falls;
Birds and breezes, bloom and brightness:
What is life within the walls?

Not an aimless dream of pleasure;
Not an empty strife for power;
Life hath there a blessed meaning,
Precious every jeweled hour.
There are days of patient labor,

Anxious thought, and hours of care;
Yet life's most unwelcome burdens
Turn, through love, to blessings there-

Love that hopes, believes, nor murmurs—
Love that time can not destroy,
Kindling light from desolation,
Gilding grief with lasting joy.
Love no weariness can weaken,
Danger deaden, pain appall;
To delight ennobling duty-
Love enriching, crowning all.
You will seek in many a mansion
Vainly for a higher bliss;
Hoarded treasures, hearts unloving,
Make no happier home than this.

I PRAY FOR THEE.

BY H. N. POWERS.

I PRAY for thee when first the silent charm
Of balmy sleep, that slid from tend'rest skies
Into my frame, unclasped its soothing arm,
And dews of dreams make morning in thine eyes;
And thy young spirit, innocent of guile,
Sees time expand in one benignant smile.

I pray for thee in night's most sacred hour,
When Joy breathes sweet and Grief forgets her ills,
And thy heart slumbers like a folded flower,

Clasping the fragrance which thy love distills!
And o'er the lawns of Sleep's enchanted land
The souls which love seem walking hand in hand.
I pray for thee when noontide glory falls
On paths where pause the pilgrim's weary feet,
And brief rest comes in Labor's jarring halls,

And o'er the way the sunbeams play more sweet-
For earth to thee still wears its morning charms,
And life goes crowned with garland-bearing arms.
I pray for thee when bent o'er volumes old,
Some throbbing word lays bare the heart's desire—
Its visioned bliss-Hope's coming age of gold-
All that for which my burning thoughts aspire
And in the wide and glowing view, I see
All that is precious garnered up in thee.

I pray for thee in many a woven dream,

In slumbers when my fond heart will not sleep;
When, as the stars glow in a midnight stream,
So in the river of my dream I keep
Thy imaged worth, throughout the hazy night,
And angels gaze enamored of the sight!

My life for thee is one upspringing prayer;

Keep fresh thy spirit's dew and bloom, I pray; May naught around thee taint the charmed air! May no false voice allure thy feet astray! May every thought which comes to be thy guest, Be like a dove with light upon its breast!

May God's own love illumine love's pure place;
May God's own arms about thee always lie!
And life be touched each day with lovelier grace,
And o'er thy heart brood joy's unfathomed sky!
And if upon thine eyelids comes a tear,
May Heaven be mirrored in its crystal sphere!

EDITOR'S REPOSITORY.

Scripture Cabinet.

THE INTERCESSION OF THE HOLY SPIRIT.-" Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities; for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which can not be uttered. And He that searcheth the hearts, knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God." Romans viii, 26, 27.

Devout men have differed greatly in their explanation of the ministry of the Holy Spirit; the reason of this difference lying chiefly, perhaps, in their attempting to conceive of the mode of that ministry, which Scripture reveals as a fact, but does not attempt to explain. On one point, however, the importance of the work of the Spirit of God, there is a happy and almost universal agreement among Christians. How, indeed, should it be otherwise? With the Bible as our rule, it seems impossible to doubt that the gift of God's free Spirit is to be most earnestly desired and sought.

In early times men of God were moved by the Holy Ghost to utter truths divine, which no human wisdom could have discerned; and to foretell things future, which man had no power to foresee. And at the Christian era, when the great work of redemption had been accomplished by the death of Christ, and the risen Savior had ascended to the right hand of God, the same spirit qualified the Galileeans, his followers, to preach Christ to the world, and to write the Christian Scriptures. Timid and ignorant, they were wholly unfit to confront an unbelieving world, and be the teachers of all nations, till their Master's pledge was fulfilled by their receiving the promise of the Father. Christianity, as a remedial scheme for the world, would assuredly have perished in the bud but for the interposition of the Spirit. Nor is this holy and mighty ministry limited to inspired men. In its direct as its indirect form, it is a permanent gift to mankind. All believers are taught to ask for it and expect it, as a means of illumination, strength, purity, and joy.

Intercession is usually understood to mean interposition on behalf of another, not by him: as when in the wilderness, Moses interceded for the Israelites; or Christ, on the same night in which he was betrayed, for the apostles. In the former case it was the work of Moses alone; not of Moses and the Israelites also: in the latter case, of Christ alone; not of Christ and the apostles in conjunction. Such intercession is ascribed to the Mediator of the New Covenant, in his state of exaltation; but never to the Holy Spirit: whose work it is to prompt our prayers, not to pray for us.

In understanding by the intercession of the Spirit those intense yearnings after the blessings of the adoption, of which the Holy Spirit is the author, and believers are the conscious and voluntary subjects and exponents, we are but adopting a rule of interpretation which VOL. XVII.-28

is sustained by many other parts of Scripture, when describing the work of the Spirit in the saints. For example, the apostles were instructed not to trouble themselves with the preparation of any defense when summoned before the civil tribunals, because the Spirit of their Father would speak in them: so that, when afterward they said, "We ought to obey God rather than men," the Holy Spirit pleaded for them, by teaching them how to order their speech. Again: God sent forth the Spirit of his Son into the hearts of the primitive believers, and they cried, "Abba, Father." The cry rose from their lips and their hearts, but its cause was Divine. And, in the Epistle to the Colossians i, 29, Paul speaks of himself as preaching and teaching that he might present every man perfect, whereunto, he proceeds to say, "I strive, agonizing according to his energy which worketh in me mightily." Paul was the willing instrument, but God worked in him. Clearly, then, it is quite Scriptural to represent the strongest desires which strain the Christian's mind, and express themselves in his prayers or his groans, as enkindled by the Holy Spirit-desires wrought for him and wrought in him by the Spirit. Comparing Scripture with Scripture, we need find no difficulty in this singular phrase, "the Spirit maketh intercession for us with groanings which can not be uttered."

Far less easy of interpretation is the verse which immediately follows these words, and which reads in our Bible thus: "And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God."

The clew to the sense of this verse is to be sought in its middle clause, which refers to the mind of the believer, not of the Holy Spirit. It is the saint, not the Sanctifier, that is read by Him that searcheth the hearts. Precisely the same words as are here used occur also in the sixth verse, and are there translated, "to be spiritually-minded." It may, therefore, be rendered thus: "And he, searching the hearts, comprehendeth spiritual-mindedness, since he maketh intercession for the saints according to God."

The several clauses of the verse teem with meaning, and it is very difficult to compress their full import into any translation. The phrase, "according to God," includes more than our translators have given as its import, and seems to mean, "according to all that God, in the wonderful economy of grace, has provided for the struggling saint:" as though the apostle had said, "Words-an imperfect vehicle of thought, but far more imperfect as an exponent of feeling-fail to express your intense desires: but though your groanings can find no utterance in spoken language, yet He who inspired the ineffable desire knows your hearts, their exact condition and wants, and knows also all the riches of Divine grace."

Two qualifications for helping our infirmities are here

ascribed, in the Scripture before us, to the omniscience amiss." Neither men nor angels are qualified to direct of the Holy Spirit: our supplications. There is but one competent Guide in

1. Searching the hearts, he knows what is their actual prayer-namely, the Holy Spirit of God; and whenever

state.

2. Knowing, not only what human hearts are, but how God would make them what they should be, he is able to carry on his ministry in those hearts in exactest accordance with the whole economy of grace. He knows what our hearts are, what they should be, and by what means they are to become what they should be.

The writer was once asked to draw up a prayer for a Christian laboring under doubts and much depression, but declined to do so because he could but very imperfectly judge of the real state of that burdened mind. He thought it far better to leave it to breathe out its own sorrows and desires, than to venture on an interference between that soul and God, which might through his ignorance be inappropriate and hurtful. The complaint of that Christian was, "I know not what to pray for as I ought:" and the friend into whose ear that complaint was breathed, could not but feel how unable was a fellow-creature to help that infirmity.

We know, it is true, much more of our own spiritual state than it is possible we should know of our Christian brethren; and yet how exceedingly imperfect is our selfknowledge! How far are we from understanding what is the discipline which will best qualify us for our duties on earth, and best prepare us for paradise and judgment! To Abraham the salvation of the cities of the plain once seemed an object greatly to be desired for the manifestation of the Divine character. To Moses the permission to go over the Jordan was the subject of earnest prayer. John the Baptist fulfilled his ministry among a people who, from their youth up, had been instructed to pray to the God of their fathers; yet he found it necessary to teach his own disciples to pray. Our Lord did the same, yet afterward was compelled to rebuke the supplications which some of them offered: "Ye know not what ye ask." Paul was left to endure a trial which he prayed thrice to have removed, but which, when more enlight ened, he gloried in. In short, it is a very instructive fact, that many of the most eminent servants of God, of whom we read in the Bible, have made great mistakes in prayer. We can not now go to the great Teacher as the apostles did, and say, "Lord, teach us to pray;" but before he left the world he gave the promise of a perpetual monitor, and in the light of that promise we read such words as these, "Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit;" "Ye beloved, building yourselves up on your most holy faith, praying in the Holy Ghost" "The Spirit also helpeth our infirmities, for we know not what we should pray for as we ought."

And if we had a perfect knowledge of ourselves, we should not be thereby qualified to ask aright, but should require, in addition, a complete acquaintance with the means by which our education for eternity may be best promoted. A physician is but half accomplished by a knowledge of diseases. Not loss requisite to him is a knowledge of remedies. The Holy Spirit can aid our infirmities, because, searching not only our hearts but also "the deep things of God," he can make intercession for us "according to God."

The foregoing remarks elucidate the following passage, deeply interesting, because of the importance which in Scripture is assigned to prayer. "Ye have not, because ye ask not; ye ask, and do not receive, because ye ask

we grieve that Spirit, we deprive ourselves of the proffered illumination, and clouds and darkness are about the mercy-seat. Now, "the fruit of the Spirit" is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance; and, considering how far most Christians are from being thus fruitful in every good word and work, our astonishment will be, not that the multitude of our prayers is not more " effectual," but that the Holy Spirit forsakes us not utterly. The dispensations of grace are in this world, as truly as they will be in the day of judgment, according to our works. He who would pray in the Spirit, must walk in the Spirit; for "to him that hath shall be given, but from him that hath not, shall be taken away even that which he hath."

The human mind, the scene of the Holy Spirit's ministry, is dark, bewildered, corrupt. Self-love leads us to tolerate these evils in ourselves, but we do not readily tolerate them in our fellows. We are constantly turning away from those around us, by reason of qualities in them which excite dislike, perhaps disgust. All men are declaiming against the hollowness, the pettiness, the unattractiveness, or repulsiveness of human character; and, under the influence of disappointment and vexation, not unfrequently has man given utterance to the wish that he could take the wings of a dove and fly away from human nature in its worthlessness, and be at rest in communion with the fields, and the mountains, and the stars. Yet the Holy Spirit stoops to be the minister of grace in human hearts; nor on special occasions only and at distant intervals, but habitually and throughout all ages, and more so under the Christian dispensation than at any previous period. We have heard of a Moravian missionary going out to the West Indies with the intention of selling himself into slavery, that he might gain access to the enslaved negroes; and of others going to Greenland, and intending, as timber grows not there, to dig holes in the ground, and so live among the people, seeking their salvation. But how far distant are all human examples of condescension and love from "the love of the Spirit," who, stooping from the purity and glory of heaven, has deigned, age after age, to make human hearts, notwithstanding all their loathsomeness, the chosen scene of his sanctifying ministry! Let the reader think of his own heart, what it has been, what it is, in its littleness, perversity, and pollutions; let him extend the thought to a world of such hearts, and learn to admire the unexhausted and infinite love of that good Spirit, who, instead of forsaking men, still waits to bless us all; nor admire it only, but exercise a like forbearance, love, and perseverance in his efforts to seek and save that which is lost.

LET THE RIGHTEOUS SMITE ME.-"Let the righteous smite me, it shall be a kindness; and let him reprove me, it shall be an excellent oil, which shall not break head." Psalm cæli, 5.

my

It is related in the "Life of Mrs. Savage," an excellent sister of the Rev. Matthew Henry, that when some respectable, pious gentlemen were one Sabbath evening assembled together, they unhappily engaged in conversation unsuitable to the day. Betty Parsons, a good old woman, overhearing them, said, "Sirs, you are making work for repentance." This short and seasonable rebuke restrained them, and turned their conversation into a better channel.

Literary Correspondence from London.

LONDON was "out of town at a period of the year formerly described in this correspondence. According to the course of nature and of fashion the British metropolis-meaning thereby, not its bricks and mortar, nor even its living population at large, but that portion of the latter which constitutes the porcelain of society in these parts as distinguished from the common earthenwareshould be now "in town." Both houses of the new Parliament are now in full session; the earlier levees and drawing-rooms have been held-this season by Prince Albert, as representing the Queen, in consequence of the interesting event which has added another princess to the royal household-and the later ones have just been announced to take place on her Majesty's return from the Isle of Wight, whither she has gone to recruit for a fortnight or three weeks; and in all matters pertaining to the court, the legislature, art, science, law, and literature, we are just now at the very hight of the London season. Yet one-half of London-that is, fashionable Londonis at this moment in the provinces; while, as a counterbalance to this, one-half of the well-to-do population of the provinces is at present in London; and both London and the provinces are, at the present writing, in the very crisis of an art-fever.

In explaining this state of affairs, metropolitan matters, of course, take precedence of provincial ones; and, equally, of course, in a literary periodical like the Ladies' Repository, those creations of art which are immediately and essentially associated with literature, take precedence of those objects of interest whose attractions are exclusively artistic. On these grounds the most spacious, the most gorgeous, and, in all the essentials to the successful prosecution of literary pursuits, the most comfortable, convenient, and best-furnished study in the world-in other words, the new Reading-Room of the British Museum Library, in which these lines are written-demands here the foremost place. Before proceeding briefly to describe it, a few words will serve to explain the enormous immigration of the provincials into the metropolis referred to above. The session of Parliament always secures a large accession to the population of London at the commencement of summer. "The sacred month" of May brings to town a vast assemblage of all the Churches of the land to participate in their anniversary festivals, the celebration of which in the structure so famous in connection with such demonstrations was described by our most brilliant essayist, Macaulay, as "the bray of Exeter Hall"-a phrase which cost him his seat in Parliament at the next election for Edinburgh. The religious anniversaries over, the great bulk of the country attendants upon them have been detained in town, and scores of thousands of others have crowded and are still crowding to the metropolis, to inspect the artistic attractions which it presents just now, but chiefly that which I have already named, and of which I proceed to give

you some details.

The Library of the British Museum contains nearly six hundred thousand bound volumes, exclusive of pamphlets, manuscripts, maps, atlases, and tracts. The extent and variety of the catalogues of its contents are at

present perfectly bewildering to the student; but a general catalogue, classifying the entire in one alphabetical series, has been, for several years past, in course of prepa. ration. The entire catalogue will occupy about five hundred folio volumes. Of the rate at which the Library increases some idea may be formed from the fact that 10,434 complete volumes were added to it in the past year; while the total number of articles added in that period, including parts of volumes, maps, music, etc., amounted to 42,639.

The old reading-rooms, which the new and gorgeous chamber just opened has superseded, were a couple of oblong, ill-lighted, ill-ventilated, dusty, and murky apartments, a short sitting in which induced, in most readers, a sickly languor and drowsiness, popularly designated by the frequenters "the Museum headache," and the general arrangements were inconvenient and uncomfortable in every respect and to the last degree. Even the entrance to them was wretchedly mean and squalid, the access being by a narrow lane in the rear of the premises, nearly half a mile from the glorious facade which the front of the Museum presents to Russel-street. All this has been reversed. The new reading-room consists of a single circular chamber, erected in the central quadrangle of the Museum, and the access to it is by the main entrance of the structure, beneath a portico the grandeur of which is not unworthy the treasures of art, science, and literature to which it forms the vestibule. In fact, the front of the Museum, by which the frequenter of the reading-room now enters, instead of sneaking in at the rear in Montague-place, presents the noblest facade in England, Sir Charles Barry and the river terrace of the new house of Parliament to the contrary notwithstanding.

The new reading room is circular, as already stated, and is lighted wholly from above by a dome one hundred and forty feet in diameter and one hundred and six feet high. The grandeur of these dimensions will be better understood by comparison. The diameter of the dome of the Pantheon at Rome is only two feet more; St. Peter's is less, being only one hundred and thirty-nine feet; and that of St. Paul's Cathedral, in our own metropolis, is twenty-eight feet less. It is constructed of brick and iron, with a copper roof. Ranged on shelves against the wall throughout the entire circumference of the chamber, and occupying three distinct galleries rising one above another from the floor to the spring of the dome, are 80,000 volumes, consisting chiefly of encyclopedias and dictionaries in all languages, biographies, topographical and geographical works, histories, serials, state publications, and other books of a character generally used for reference, to which the reader has access himself without the formality of filling a ticket and requiring the assistance of an attendant. This formality, however, must be gone through when works are required from the general library, the shelves of which, in the new arrangement, extend in linear measurement for twenty-five miles. This general library adjoins the reading-room, but is, of course, exterior to it.

The ornamentation of the reading-room is worthy of

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