that rules the world in the interest of righteousness, and is pledged against all wickedness. That conviction so fixed in the minds of men as to control their lives is the kingdom of God established within them; and whatever goes to awaken that conviction, or to strengthen it where it exists, is a new coming of that kingdom in strength and salvation.

This war has wrought into the minds of multitudes in the land the conviction that there are moral causes lying back of events in human society, and controlling them; the conviction that sooner or later a righteous judgment is administered upon nations; and, as a sequence of these, the conviction that there is a personal God, whose kingdom rules over the world. "The Lord hath made known his salvation. His righteousness hath he openly showed in the sight of the heathen, for he cometh to judge the earth; with righteousness shall he judge the world and the people with equity."

How grand then the outlook which this war opens for "the kingdom of our God and the power of his Christ!" We have reached a point in this gigantic struggle, this war of the nineteenth century, this conflict of the ages, at which, if we cannot see the end, we can feel it. The great upheaval and convulsion is over; and the granite foundations are laid bare. We know upon what we are standing, and we are clearing away the rubbish and debris of the shock and are preparing for a new order of things. A healthful breeze has swept over the South from the mountains to the sea. The sky is still lurid, and the way may yet be dark and bloody. But through the smoke of battle we can see the kingdom coming. Christ, who has summoned us to this conflict, will not fail of the victory. We have paid the cost, we shall receive the benefit. We have made the sacrifice, we shall have the reward. We have buried the seed, even the good seed of the kingdom, and we shall reap the harvest. Christ has not called us to take our sons from their work of preparation for the ministry, and to put them into the ranks to die in the service of their country, without designing to raise up from their graves other and more abundant laborers for His harvest. As every day brings us the conscious pang of their

loss, let it bring the evergrowing confidence and joy of gain in
the sacrifice and its fruits, in the kingdom and its glory. The
word of the Lord comes to us in all these voices of wailing
and of war. It is the word of courage and of hope; it is the
prophecy of redemption; it is a fire in our bones-that after
this whirlwind and fire shall have swept by, will be heard the
"still small voice" of God's gracious manifestation. Where-
fore "speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her
that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is par
doned; for she hath received of the Lord's hand double for all
her sins.
And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
and all flesh shall see it together; for the mouth of the Lord
hath spoken it."

ARTICLE VII.-OLD CONNECTICUT

vs.

THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.

In the first Act of "Midsummer-Night's Dream," when the players assemble to rehearse their parts, in view of the approaching nuptials of Theseus and Hippolyta, they have the proud satisfaction of knowing that they combine among themselves all the talent extant in their line of business.

"Quince-Is all our company here?"

"Bottom-You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the scrip."

"Quince-Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude."

Something like this same conceit often gets hold of little knots of men, here and there, in our own day. They seem full with the idea, that the great interests of literature have been especially entrusted to their care and keeping. They have within their circle the select few who possess all the real learning, poetry, belles lettres culture of the land; and they have no occasion to examine the credentials, or pore over the manuscripts of any one else. To be without that little circle is enough. It is evidence in itself, that the man can have done nothing worthy of attention.

But the world is large, and thought is free, and after a time, it often happens, that such men awake from their dream of self-complacency to find that what has been going on outside their contracted sphere is quite as important as the inside performances.

In the "Atlantic Monthly," for February last, appeared an Article entitled, "The Pleiades of Connecticut." The writer apparently had much the same opinion of the State of Connecticut, that the Pharisees of old had of that little corner of their land called Nazareth; and what is more, he had an

equally good reason for his opinion, as the sequel will show. We read this Article, and thought how very gratifying it must be to the two writers, who have done more than any others to establish the fame and reputation of the "Atlantic "-Oliver Wendell Holmes* and Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe-to have the little State, in which they both hold a certain life-interest, thus held up to public contempt. Mrs. Stowe is a native of Litchfield, Connecticut, and Dr. Holmes' honored father, who so long and ably filled the pulpit in old Cambridge, was a native of Woodstock, Connecticut.

But this is only the beginning of infelicities. We find in this February number, also, the opening part of a new serial which bears the title of "Doctor Johns." At the time of reading, we were not aware who was the author (for we had not then studied the cover), but had a sense, all the while, of something racy and fresh. Throughout the whole perusal we were silently asking ourselves, who writes this ?-for we have watched the Atlantic so long, that though we freely grant its general ability, yet it cannot be denied, that by reason of its limited range of writers, there is a certain peculiar tone about it, which after a while gets to be a little dull and monotonous; and any introduction of fresh talent from the wide outside world, is something of an event in its history, and is a great relief to its readers. They feel much as children do, who live a retired life, when a visitor-some far off uncle or aunt-comes to spend a few days in the family. So we hailed "Doctor Johns" with great delight-when lo and behold! the writer is a Connecticut man who appears for the first time, we believe, as a contributor in the department of fiction-Donald Grant Mitchell-whose father was an able Congregational minister of the State-himself a graduate of Yale, and still living within sight of the College towers.

"But still we gazed, and still the wonder grew!" It occurred to us, how complimentary it must be to Rose Terry, another Connecticut contributor, the cousin of the hero of Fort Fisher, to be told, after having furnished some of the

Belonging to Connecticut, moreover, on the “Brahmin Caste” theory.

better poetry of the magazine-"that the enterprising natives (of Connecticut) can turn out any article, on which a profit may be made, except poetry. That product you would say was out of the question."

Then, again, we imagined how Theodore Winthrop (whose life went out so heroically in the early days of the war, and whom the "Atlantic" had no aversion to number among its contributors) would have felt, had he lived to hear his native State, in which his own name is a grand historic name, thus made a "by-word and a hissing."

We cannot say that Fitz Hugh Ludlow, who appears as a contributor in this same February number, is a native of Connecticut. Very likely he is not; though his father was an able and earnest minister in New Haven, thirty years ago.

How much more Connecticut talent may he employed about the "Atlantic" we know not. But we are quite sure that what we have already indicated could not well be spared, unless the managers should compensate for the loss, by opening some new and hitherto untried veins.

If Connecticut stood simply on an equality with other States, in the production of eminent men, in almost every department of intellectual activity, we should pass this disparaging criticism of the "Atlantic" in perfect silence-still regarding it as a piece of impertinence, though not worthy of reply. We certainly never would dishonor the spot that gave us birth by any argument designed to show that Connecticut was equal to other States. But when we know that she is clearly and undeniably first among the States in this productive energy, we cannot tamely submit to these sneers.

The chief direct charge against the little Commonwealth seems to be that her "enterprising natives" can turn out anything almost, "except poetry." As we do not propose to make the bulk of our reply turn upon this single point, we may as well dispose of this matter at once. By the census of 1860, Massachusetts has 1,231,066 inhabitants; Connecticut has 460,147, a little more than one-third. We shall have occasion, by-and-by, to point out the comparative population of