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We shall mention two or three examples to show that these ice accidents proceed almost always from the same cause, and are repeated from year to year in the same form, because the young are not sufficiently instructed and warned.

Two years ago, a case of thrilling interest happened on a lake in the interior of the country, the scene of stirring events in Scottish history. Three sisters were walking about on the narrow belt of firm ice that ran along the shore, followed by a small dog. The little creature, in its sport, ventured too far out where the ice was thin, and fell through. One of the young ladies ran to its assistance, and fell in. Her sister immediately advanced to the spot, and got hold of her by the hand; but as soon as her weight was increased by the attempt to draw her sister out, the ice under her feet gave way, and she too was thrown into the water. The third and only remaining sister, yielding to the sudden impulse of her love, without counting the cost, approached, in turn, the fatal spot, and sank with the rest. These three daughters of one house were carried home cold, stiff corpses! Who shall tell-who can conceive the agony that their parents endured? Who shall tell what a horror of great darkness came over the light and life of that family in one day?

On the 16th of last month, on a small lake called Auchenreoch, near Castle-Douglas, six children in succession sank through the ice, and were drowned. One boy, twelve years of age, ventured too far, and fell through the ice. His sister, aged ten, ran to his assistance. and sank beside him. Three other girls, aged respectively thirteen, twelve, and eight, followed, all to save those who had fallen in, and all sank in deep water. Another boy, brother of two sisters who had fallen in, sent by his father to bring the children home, arrived at this moment on the scene. He also rushed to the rescue; but, as soon as he caught his sister's hand, the ice gave way, and he sank with the rest. All were drowned three of one family, two of another, and one of a third. Of these, five lost their own lives in the effort to save the lives of others.

On the day following, 17th February, two boys were drowned on the ice in a quarry near Cupar in precisely the same way: one was sliding on too slender ice, and sank; the other, rushing to the rescue, sank beside him. Both were drowned.

Grown people are not so often drowned in this way, because they have more experience, and take better care. In the northern countries of America and Europe, although there the people go much more upon the ice

than we, there are not so many accidents. The reason is, that in these climates the winter is long, and the frost severe. The ice soon grows a foot thick, and there is no thaw till spring. Horses and carts go safely on the ice, and in ordinary circumstances there is no danger. The ice continues very strong till the spring, when it suddenly breaks up altogether.

In our country there is not much frost. And, because those who are fond of skating and sliding do not often enjoy the sport, they are eager to try it whenever it seems possible. Thus they are very often induced to entrust themselves to the ice too soon, lest the thaw should return and disappoint them.

So many precious young lives are lost every winter in our country, that it becomes an urgent duty to make sure that all children shall be clearly taught where the danger lies, and how they may avoid it. Forewarned is forearmed. We think that if it were enjoined on all teachers to give their scholars specific and full lessons on the subject once every year at the approach of winter, the result would be the preservation of many lives. There would, alas! be no difficulty in explaining and enforcing the warnings by a detailed narrative of fearful examples. The lesson would be listened to with rapt attention, and it could not fail to be effective.

Young people should make it a rule not to venture on ice over deep water at all by themselves. They should absolutely abstain from stepping on it till they see men of mature age on before them, and further on than they. Grown people have experience, which the young lack. It should be written on children's minds as a first principle of self-preservation, and of duty to their parents, not to venture on ice where the water is deep, except on the footsteps of men who are of full understanding.

Further, children should be clearly warned that, in case of one falling through, they should not venture near the lip of the broken ice to give assistance with their hands. Even though the ice at the edge could bear your own weight, the moment you begin to draw out the one who is in the water you double the weight on the spot where you stand, and the result will be that you will throw away your own life too. What then? In such a case should we render no help to the perishing? Yes, give help. Before you go upon the ice, get some long pole or branch, and keep it near. If an accident occur, stretch it out so that the one who has fallen in may grasp it, and hold till more assistance arrive. But on no account go forward to help with your hand; for that is only to throw away your own life, and do no good to your neighbour.

DR. GUTHRIE.

In Memoriam.

BY THE EDITOR.

T is not our part to write the life of Dr. Guthrie: we leave that task for fitter hands, and a future day. Yet we would not willingly forego the pensive pleasure of uniting with a great number scattered over this and other lands in paying an articulate tribute to his worth, and reverently casting, as it were, a wreath upon his grave. Such was his moral and social stature, that his form was seen from afar. There is probably no Scotchman now living in any sphere whose removal would leave so large a blank.

While he was, in full conviction and frank profession, a Presbyterian and a Free Churchman, he was so large-hearted and liberal that he was acknowledged as a brother in all the branches of the great Christian family. His liberality was not a policy; it was a nature and a passion. He could not have acted the rôle of a narrow Churchman, whatever might have been the strength of the motives presented. That was not in the man, and could not have been drawn out of him.

In the earlier years of his ministry his great success was due to a combination of two qualities -great eloquence in preaching, and great pains in excavating. But these two were in secret allied to each other, like the supporting roots and the supported tree. The tenderness of heart which sent him into the dwellings of the poor, and the experience that he obtained there, went as constituent elements into his oratory. Indeed, bis sympathy with sufferers, and his efforts to alleviate human misery and arrest human sin, were the real roots which nourished the power of his public ministry. Those who flocked on the Sabbath to his church, that they might luxuriate in the fervour and pathos of his sermon, as they

might at other times and places luxuriate over luscious fruit served at the tables of the rich, little knew of the dark, damp depths of human vice and suffering into which the preacher had plunged, and out of which he drew his power. If he had not gone down so deeply into the lower strata of society, he would not have towered so high in the view of its elevated classes.

We think the chief element of Dr. Guthrie's power sprang from his compassion. The affections of his heart gravitated to the lowest, in condition and character, as water gravitates to the lowest in place. But it was his nature to seek ever downward, as a root seeks downward, not for the sake of being down, but in order by the descent to draw up and spread abroad an abundant wealth of reformation and comfort and charity. At one time the ministers of the Church of Scotland and their families, suddenly ejected from their manses over all the land, and suffering for want of homes, attracted his heart and opened his lips. Into that work he threw his whole soul for the time. He traversed the country, and innoculated it with his own passion. As a result, there arose in a short time, as if by magic, the comfortable manses that stud the country, side by side with the Free Churches, contributing not a little to the loveliness of the Scottish landscape. It is believed that the effort then made sowed the seeds of the disease which shortened his work and his days.

At another time, it was the sin and misery of drunkards that took hold of his heart and held him. He laboured in the fires with these men, and for them. His spoken and printed appeals for these classes largely contributed, with the kindred efforts of fellow-workers, to generate the

more healthy public opinion, of which we now begin to enjoy the benefit. In connection with the profligacy or poverty of the parents, he was brought into contact with the sufferings of the neglected little ones; and hence sprang what became the largest and most characteristic labour of his life-the Ragged School. The story of Dr. Guthrie's life will exhibit, in a large measure, the ise and progress of these institutions. They need not become permanent in our educational system. The national measure now enacted ought, in process of time, to supersede them. But they have served a mighty purpose in the transition state. They have done much to save the nation from sinking altogether in the horrors of the middle passage. Indeed, the efforts made to save the lost little ones went far to reveal the numbers and wretchedness of the outcasts, and so to arouse the nation from its supine slumber, and compel it to put forth its own arm to save. Dr. Guthrie's Ragged School, and the passionate appeals whereby he supported it, did much to wring the national system of education from the sectarianism and the parsimony of a short-sighted generation.

We observe that the organs of the more secular sections of the community admire the talents and character of Dr. Guthrie, and pay a hearty tribute of respect to his memory. Some of them, at the same time, through a mental perversity, allied to colour-blindness, refuse to recognize the fountain where the stream of his charities sprang. They own the greatness of his benevolent work, but knowingly intimate, that in order to perform these blessed services to the community, he came out of his theological circle, and left his Calvinism behind him. This is precisely the contrary of the truth.

The stream of his benevolence flowed from the well-spring of his faith. It was the love of Christ that constrained him to visit the widows and orphans in their affliction.

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into which they were falling. For our part, we frankly give the secularists credit for the magnanimity that rejoices over such facts, by whomsoever brought about. But while their hearts rejoice in the facts, their minds are puzzled to account for them. They must have a theory, and here it is. In a dry and sultry season they have seen a canal led over the pasture fields, full of water to the brim, and refreshing all the ground by its beneficent overflow. Well done the canal! they exclaim. Canals for ever! They do all the real work. But, don't you see, the water must leave the springs and the rivers behind when it does any good to the ground. Up with the canals, but down with the springs and rivers: they are useless. But oh, my philosophic brother, how could the canal ever have done any good to the parched land if it had not been filled from the spring and the river. You think Dr. Guthrie had to leave his dogmatic religion behind when he came forth upon the field of human misery to save the perishing. Yes; but it was the dogma he believed that pressed him out to that work of benevolence, and kept him going. His faith was the fountain of his charity.

It pleased the Lord to give to his servant—as he sometimes even in this climate gives to his suna brilliant and beautiful setting. Some eminent and devoted Christians are permitted to set under a cloud or in a storm. Even so, Father, for so it seemeth good in thy sight. Their rising in the morning of eternal life will not be a whit less glorious because of the mists that hung on the horizon the evening before. In this case, however, the mists cleared away before sunset, and this good servant could see clearly around him, and could be seen by the surrounding circle departing in blessed peace and joy. He waited wakeful, expectant, and joyful, with his loins girt and his lamp trimmed, for the Bridegroom's approach. One of his sayings when the end was near, besides constituting evidence that his faith and hope remained firm and clear to the last, strikes us as a fine proof that Dr. Guthrie's constant and affluent employment of natural analogies in his discourses was not an art which he cultivated for effect, but a nature to which he yielded-that the spring of analogy lay in his being, and he simply left it to flow without obstruction as an

element of power for his work. It has been publicly intimated-and we doubt not the intimation is completely authentic-that when it was discovered, in the progress of the disease, that his eyesight was partially impeded by spots and mists, and when an attendant expressed the opinion that the symptom was of little consequence, "Ah," said the dying man, "it has much meaning. When land-birds begin to fly round the rigging, and alight upon the spars, the passengers know that, though the land is as yet invisible, the land ⚫ is near." He loved to remain here and work, for his presence was needful on the field; but he loved also to depart and to be with Christ, which is far better. Blessed balance: willing to wait, but ready to go.

In the decease of Dr. Guthrie the community has suffered a great bereavement; and the community, as represented by the citizens of Edinburgh on the day of the funeral, fully acknowledged the fact. The road from the house to the cemetery, a distance of about three-quarters of a mile, consists for the most part of one long straight street of considerable breadth, running through a succession of villas and gardens. This telescope passage was lined through all its length, and on both sides, by a very great number of the citizens. The sea of faces was an impressive and encouraging sight. Much soundness remains at the heart of a community that can spontaneously and to such an extent appreciate its own loss, and combine to pay a fitting tribute to the illustrious dead. This seemly act we look upon as a symptom of soundness, and a means of further good. It will react with a favourable influence upon society.

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As we walked immediately behind the pallbearers we had an opportunity of observing the demeanour of the spectators, who found themselves successively in the inmediate presence of the dust that they had assembled to honour. As the vehicle that bore the bier, exposed to view under an open canopy, advanced in slow procession along the telescopic avenue, the crowd on either side seemed to be stricken by some mysterious influence, and bent their heads like flowers on their stalks. Many hats were raised, and many moistened eyes bent down. The whole line seemed instinct with reverence for the dead, and drooped in succession as the body passed by.

It reminded us of a tender scene that we had seen in the domain of nature. A sensitive plant exhibits a large fine leaf like a fern, consisting of one central stem with beautiful frondlets extending in pairs on either side with elegant regularity. Such is the nature of the plant, that if you touch the great leaf generally the whole folds and droops, every joint falling as if in a faint. But if you touch very gently only the first pair of twin leaflets at the root of the leaf stem, that pair only will collapse and fold into each other's embrace, and lie down in a slow and pensive manner and Swoon away. Let now a small caterpillar be introduced, and let it creep slowly up the leaf stem in the hollow between the two opposite rows of leaflets; these leaflets will collapse, pair by pair, in succession as the head of the caterpillar advances to touch their roots. Before the moving insect, the leaves stand erect and still, each opposite its mate; opposite the insect, the leaves have fallen as dead; behind it, after a brief interval, they begin to stand erect again.

Such was the scene as the mortal remains of this great philanthropist moved slowly through the ranks of the citizens. Sensitive to the presence of the honoured dead-not by signal or prearrangement, but by silent instinct-they bent their uncovered heads. We have thought it worth while to record the fact, for we considered the symptom good and reassuring.

On either side of the grave the Lord Provost and Magistrates of the city, in their official robes, were ranked; and close by stood in two groups the children of the Ragged School, each boy wearing a small belt of crape on the arm of his white fustian jacket. It seemed a large family of helpless orphans mourning the loss of a father. The municipal authorities, with the insignia of their office, and the Ragged School children in their coarse and cheap, but clean and whole attire, constituted the two extremes of society, and seemed silently representative of society at large mourning their bereavement and honouring the dead.

The sun shone brightly, and the air was absolutely still. The prayer offered at the grave was distinctly heard by the great assembly; and the "Happy Land," sung by the poor children, closed the simple ceremonial. The throng then gently and silently melted away.

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A WATCHWORD FOR THE NIGHT.

"It is I; be not afraid."-MARK vi. 45–51; JOHN vi. 16-21; Matthew xiv. 22-27.

HE midst of the sea," the dead of the night!
Alone; all alone. No pilot, no light;
Tossed like a leaf by the waves in their
might!

"Toiling in rowing," each nerve on the strain; Failing, aye failing, yet striving again. Ceasing not, resting not; toiling in vain!

Contrary the wind," a dirge in its moan;
Wails of despair in its shivering groan;
Pæans of triumph its full rushing tone!

Tempest and darkness. Alas for the bark!
Alas for the life to be quenched as a spark!
Drop the oar-toil no more— -hope is o'er. Hark!

Hark! o'er the waters, a voice, "It is I;
Be not afraid; it is I, it is I."
Angel-harps sound not so sweet as that cry.

Angel-forms rise not so grand as that form,
Treading majestic where foam-bubbles swarm-
Lowly in manhood, yet ruling the storm.

"Gladly received;" at his word of command

There is "a great calm." Winds, billows sink; and
Instant and wondrous, the ship is "at land."

"At land;" at the haven where't would be: at last

Sails furled-anchor dropped-storms o'er-dangers

past

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IMPRESSIONS OF CHRISTIAN LIFE AND WORK IN AMERICA,
BY PROFESSOR J. L. PORTER, AUTHOR OF “THE GIANT CITIES OF BASHAN," ETC

THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON.

T seven o'clock on a cloudless morning, | early in May, I embarked at the port of Washington, en route for Richmond. The sail down the Potomac was charming. My fellow voyagers were chiefly Southerners-courteous, gentlemanly men, whose nationality, but for a somewhat free use of tobacco, it might have been hard to determine. There were also a few genuine Yankees on board, of a type I had heard of but had not met hitherto.

Carpet - baggers," whispered a Southern gentleman in my ear, when he saw me looking, probably with an air of curiosity, at a little knot of four or five tall, lank, bronze-featured, keen

eyed men, who were standing apart and intently scanning the shores of Virginia. "They are going south to fill government posts, and buy up the estates of ruined planters at a tenth of their value," my friend added with much bitterness. It was probably true. There has been too much of that preying upon the vanquished; yet the vanquished themselves are apt to forget, in the intensity of their sufferings, that by their treatment of the poor negroes they largely contributed to bring these calamities upon their country.

The picturesque slopes of Arlington were in full view on the right bank of the broad river— formerly the residence and hereditary estate of

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