wherever a trial was to be borne, and lightened the burden by partaking of the grief. Whoever was in trouble found a christian friend who could impart christian consolation. To the poor and sick, to the widow and to the stranger, Dr. Parker would freely give his attention. He sought all such opportunities of doing good. His time, his professional aid, his whole means of usefulness were at their service, whether they needed the consolations of religion, or that active charity which feeds the hungry, clothes the naked, and sets the prisoner free. No man in private life perhaps was ever more frequently called to scenes of sorrow, no one was more familiar with human suffering, yet he never shrunk from duty, he was never deterred from attempts to alleviate distress. He found himself fully equal to every call of duty here.

"God will take charge of the happiness of him who forgets self in his exertions for the welfare of others." This remark, it is believed, was made with a personal conviction of its truth. The very weakness of human nature, the mutual and constant kind offices rendered necessary by the changes and vicissitudes of life, seem designed to render more intimate the connexion of mind with mind, destined perhaps to continue in a more perfect state of being. On the strength and purity of the sympathies of our nature depend our happiness. These should flow alike with sorrow and with joy; they must connect themselves with the sufferings as well as with the happiness of others. The changes of life seem designed to furnish them with their regular and strengthening exercise, that the character may be improved, and the capabilities for enjoyment enlarged. He who weeps with those who weep can rejoice with those who rejoice; the mind, purified and exalted by scenes of distress, shall turn with increased sensibilities to connect itself with all that is cheerful and happy here, and with all the brightness of the christian's future hopes.

THE VICTOR'S CROWN.

BY MRS. S. J. HALE.

A CROWN for the Victor, a crown of light!
From a land where the flowers ne'er feel a blight,
Was gathered the wreath that around it glows,
And he who o'ercometh his treacherous foes,
That radiant crown shall gain:

A king went forth on the rebel array

That arose where a beautiful hamlet lay;

He frowned, and there's nought save ashes and blood And blackened bones where that hamlet stood,

Yet his treacherous foes he hath not slain.

A crown for the Victor, a crown of light!
Encircled with jewels so pure and bright,

Night never hath gloomed where their lustre glows,
And he who can conquer his proudest foes,
That glorious crown shall gain :

A hero came from the crimson field,
And low at his feet the pale captives kneeled;
In his might he had trodden a nation down,
But he may not challenge the glorious crown,
For his proudest foe he hath not slain.

A crown for the Victor, a crown of light!
Like the morning sun, to the raptured sight
From the night of a dungeon raised, it glows:
And he who can slay his deadliest foes,

That shining crown shall gain:

With searching eye and stealthy tread,

The man of wrath sought his enemy's bed;

Like festering wounds are the wrongs he hath borne,
And he takes the revenge his soul hath sworn,
But his deadliest foe he hath not slain.

A crown for the Victor, a crown of light!

To be worn with a robe whose spotless white
Makes darkness seem resting on Alpine snows,
And he who o'ercometh his mightiest foes
That robe and crown shall gain:

With eye upraised, and forehead bare,
A pilgrim knelt down in holy prayer;

He hath wrestled with self and with passion striven,
And to him hath the sword of the Spirit been given,
O crown him, for his foes, his sins are slain!

To this query of Isaiah the watchman replies, "That the morning cometh, and also the night." The brevity of this answer has left it involved in something of the obscurity of the season when it was given. I think that night, however sooty and ill-favored it may be pronounced by those who were born under a day-star, merits a more particular description. I feel peculiarly disposed to arrange some ideas in favor of this season. I know that the majority are literally blind to its merits; they must be prominent indeed to be discerned by the closed eyes of the snorer, who thinks that night was made for nothing but sleep. But the student and the sage are willing to believe that it was formed for higher purposes; and that it not only recruits exhausted spirits, but sometimes informs inquisitive and amends wicked ones.

Duty, as well as inclination, urges the Lay Preacher to sermonize, while others slumber. To read numerous volumes in the morning, and to observe various characters at noon, will leave but little time, except the night, to digest the one or speculate upon the other. The night, therefore, is often dedicated to composition, and while the light of the paly planets discovers at his desk the Preacher, more wan than they, he may be heard repeating emphatically with Dr. Young:

"Darkness has much divinity for me."

He is then alone, he is then at peace. No companions near, but the silent volumes on his shelf, no noise abroad, but the click of the village clock, or the bark of the village dog. The deacon has then smoked his sixth and last pipe, and asks not a question more concerning Josephus, or the church. Stillness aids study, and the sermon proceeds. Such being the obligations to night, it would be ungrateful not to acknowledge them. As my watchful eyes can discern its dim beauties, my warm heart shall feel, and my prompt pen shall describe, the uses and the pleasures of the nocturnal hour.

Watchman, what of the night? I can with propriety imagine this question addressed to myself. I am a professed lucubrator, and who so well qualified to delineate the sable hours, as

"A meagre, muse-rid mope, adust and thin?"

"He went out to He chose that sad, virtues of a beloved

However injuriously night is treated by the sleepy moderns, the vigilance of the ancients could not overlook its benefits and joys. In as early a record as the book of Genesis, I find that Isaac, though he devoted his assiduous days to action, reserved speculation till night. meditate in the field at the eventide." that solemn hour, to reflect upon the and departed mother. The tumult and glare of day suited not with the sorrow of his soul. He had lost his most amiable, most genuine friend, and his unostentatious grief was eager for privacy and shade. Sincere sorrow rarely suffers its tears to be seen. It was natural for Isaac to select a season to weep in, which should resemble "the color of his fate." The darkness, the solemnity, the stillness of the eve, were favorable to his melancholy purpose. He forsook, therefore, the bustling tents of his father, the pleasant south country," and "well of Lahairoi :" he went out and pensively meditated at the eventide.

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The Grecian and Roman philosophers firmly believed that "the dead of midnight is the noon of thought." One

of them is beautifully described by the poet, as soliciting knowledge from the skies, in private and nightly audience, and that neither his theme, nor his nightly walks were forsaken till the sun appeared and dimmed his "nobler intellectual beam." We undoubtedly owe to the studious nights of the ancients most of their elaborate and immortal productions. Among them it was necessary that every man of letters should trim the midnight lamp. The day might be given to the forum or the circus, but the night was the season for the statesman to project his schemes, and for the poet to pour his verse.

Night has likewise with great reason been considered in every age as the astronomer's day. Young observes with energy, that " an undevout astronomer is mad." The privilege of contemplating those brilliant and numerous myriads of planets which bedeck our skies is peculiar to night, and it is our duty, both as lovers of moral and natural beauty, to bless that season, when we are indulged with such a gorIt must be congeous display of glittering and useful light. fessed that the seclusion, calmness, and tranquillity of midnight is most friendly to serious, and even airy contempla

tions.

I think it treason to this sable power, who holds divided empire with day, constantly to shut our eyes at her approach. To long sleep I am decidedly a foe. As it is expressed by a quaint writer, we shall all have enough of that in the grave. Those who cannot break the silence of night by vocal throat, or eloquent tongue, may be permitted to disturb it by a snore. But he, among my readers, who possesses the power of fancy and strong thought, should be vigilant as a watchman. Let him sleep abundantly for health, but sparingly for sloth. It is better, sometimes, to consult a page of philosophy than the pillow.