A murmur of the restless deep
Was blent with every strain,

A voice of winds that would not sleep-
-He never smiled again!

Hearts in that time, closed o'er the trace
Of vows once fondly poured,

And strangers took the kinsman's place

At many a joyous board;

Graves, which true love had bathed with tears,

Were left to heaven's bright rain,

Fresh hopes were borne for other years-
-He never smiled again!

THE CHILDREN'S CHURCH.

[FROM THE GERMAN OF PAUL gerok.]

The bells of the churches are ringing-
Papa and mamma have both gone-
And their little children sit singing
Together this still Sunday morn.

While the bells toll away in the steeple,
Though too small to sit still in a pew,
These busy religious small people

Determined to have their church too.

So, as free as the birds, or the breezes
By which their fair ringlets are fanned,
Each rogue sings away as he pleases,
With book upside down in his hand.

Their hymn has no sense in its letter,
Their music no rhythm nor tune:
Our worship, perhaps, may be better-
But theirs reaches God quite as soon.

Their angels stand close to the Father;

His heaven is made bright by these flowers; And the dear God above us would rather

Hear praise from their lips than from ours.

Sing on, little children-your voices

Fill the air with contentment and love;

All nature around you rejoices,

And the birds warble sweetly above.

Sing on-for the proudest orations,
The liturgies sacred and long,

The anthems and worships of nations,
Are poor to your innocent song.

Sing on our devotion is colder,

Though wisely our prayers may be planned,
For often, we, too, who are older,

Hold our book the wrong way in our hand.

Sing on-our harmonic inventions
We study with labor and pain;

Yet often our angry contentions

Take the harmony out of our strain.

Sing on our struggle and battle,

Our cry, when most deep and sincere-
What are they? A child's simple prattle,

A breath in the Infinite Ear.

JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE, in Harper's Magazine for August.

est.

AN OLD TORTOISE OR LAND TURTLE.

BY THE EDITOR.

We have from a boy felt a deep interest in this singular animal. It carries its house on its back, as some silly people carry their fortunes. And its house is well-built and water proof and warm. It is without beauty, and, as some erroneously suppose, without feeling. No one has any sympathy or care for it. It leads a very roving sort of life, and strolls over the people's premises without asking their consent. Leading a sort of gypsy life, but more honIt has a general license to go whither and do what it pleases. Often was our boy curiosity puzzled with its habits. We could see naught but the head, feet and tips of the tail. How did the other part of the body look? What did it eat? where abide in winter? How old was it? Many readers of the Guardian know how eagerly one seizes the newly found turtle, and searches for some date on its nether side. What a sense of triumph we felt when the date carved there would run forty or fifty years back! And that would set one a pondering. Who carved the date there? Was it a boy, or perhaps an old man? Is he still living? And where was he then living? And where has the poor speechless turtle been all this time? The following about " An old Tortoise" taken from Notes and Queries we read with interest:

In the hall of the Episcopal Palace of Peterborough, England, there is preserved under a glass case the shell of a large tortoise, which appears to have been a double "centenarian." Besides the shell there lies a description of this remarkable animal, a copy of which the Lord Bishop of Peterborough kindly permits me to send to Notes and Queries:

"THE PETERBOROUGH TORTOISE.

"It is well ascertained that this tortoise must have lived about two hundred and twenty years. Bishop Parsons had remembered it for more than sixty years, and had not recognized in it any visible change. Bishop Marsh (in whose time it died) was the seventh who had worn the mitre during its sojourn here. Its shell was perforated (as is seen) in order to attach it to a tree, to keep it from, or rather to limit its ravages among the strawberries, of which it was excessively fond. It ate all kinds of fruit, and sometimes a pint of gooseberries at a time, but it made the greatest havoc among the strawberries. It knew the gardeners well (of whom it had seen many,) and would always keep near them when they were gathering fruit, etc. It could bear almost any weight; sometimes as much as eighteen stone was laid upon its back. About October it used to bury itself, in a particular spot of the garden, at a depth of one or two feet, according to the severity of the approaching season, where it would remain without food until the following April, when it would again emerge from its hidingplace.

"Palace Peterborough, March, 1842.

"The bishops during whose time it lived were: 1. John Thomas, 1747-1757; 2. Richard Terrick, 1757; 3. Robert Lamb, 1764; 4. John Hinchcliffe, 1769; 5. Spencer Madan, 1794; 6. John Parsons, 1813; 7. Herbert Marsh, 1819-1839.-Notes and Queries.

FARMER OR DOCTOR-WHICH ?

Sammie B. Wells, Jr., writes us the following: "I take the American Agriculturist, and as I see that you advise boys, please give me a little advice. Had I better be a doctor or a farmer? My father wishes me to be a farmer, and my oldest brother, who is a doctor, wishes me to be a doctor. Which is the best business? I think I prefer farming. Please answer me in the next Agriculturist."—Answer you-why, you have answered yourself. Your own preferences are in accordance with your father's wishes, and what can be better? The only point to be answered is-which is the best business, that of the doctor or farmer? There is no doubt that a successful physician may accumulate money more rapidly than most farmers are able to, but his is a hard life, and, as far as comfort goes, that of the farmer is much to be preferred. But a small share of those who are educated as physicians are successful.

Their reward, when it comes, if it come at all, is only after a long struggle. Then no one could become a physician unless he feels a strong inclination toward the profession. It should not be taken up as a mere business. With all respect to the "old st brother," we say, if your inclinations are to be a farmer, follow them. It is a calling in which you can invest all the talent you may possess, and be at least sure of a good living, without the inconveniences that attend the physician's life. Of course, these remarks are made on general principles, and without knowing any thing of the persons. There are too many poor doctors, and not near enough good farmers, and we always look upon it as a fortunate thing when a farmer's son himself desires to be a farmer.

THE WAY TO THE END.

No one, child or adult, ever becomes a Christian, or afterwards performs the service of a Christian, without more or less of appropriate feeling. Awakened feeling operates directly upon the will, and necessarily precedes all voluntary action. To move the heart, therefore, is no small part of Sunday-school work. But how shall this be done most effectually? A writer in the August number of the S. S. Journal gives the following answer:

"It is a mistake to use the emotion which you have excited in yourself by thought, by study, by prayer, as the chief means of exciting emotion in your pupils. Emotion begets emotion, it is true; but it is the emotion of sympathy that is thus forgotten. What you want is emotion of intelligence. The emotion of sympathy is transient. It is a reflection, which vanishes when the emotion that produced it is withdrawn. Besides, it is not a fruitful emotion. It is emotion and nothing else. It even tends to impoverish instead of enriching. The heart is not fed-the heart is exhausted by it. On the contrary, the emotion of intelligence is as durable as emotion can be or ought to be. It does not depend upon the presence of other emotion in some one else. It springs from within, and not from without. It is a product of thought.

"Therefore, teach the children. Feed them with knowledge. Set them to thinking. Thinking will make them feel. Consider how you came yourself to feel as you do in meeting your class. You had used your mind. That is subject to your will. Your heart is not. You cannot feel by willing to feel. But you can think by willing to think. And after thinking, with thinking, feeling comes without willing-nay, against willing even.

"It is natural to want a straight road to the heart. And the mind lies between. You must not seek generally to apply your

own emotion to awaken emotion. To excite emotion in another without first exciting thought is like lighting a fire without using kindling. Thought is the kindling for setting emotion in a blaze. So aim to lead your class through a course of thought similar to that by which you were yourself led to feeling as you do. Teach, brethren and sisters, teach. Again I say, teach.

"Christ was a teacher. For all that appears, he was himself outwardly calm when taught. He trusted to the truth. You must trust to the truth. Never fear but if you reach the mind of your pupil with gospel truth-gospel truth, remember-the mind in turn will reach the heart with it. Sanctify them through thy truth,' was Christ's prayer. The mind is the heart's mouth. Thrust truth into the child's mind. If it is the bread of life to the child. it will not stay in his mind; it will sink down deeper. It will go to his heart. And the hunger of the heart will grow more and more forever. 'Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness.' Why? Because they will eventually cease from hungering and thirsting for righteousness? Not at all. That would be no blessing. It would be a curse. But because they shall be filled, and keep on hungering and thirsting, to be filled again and again. Feed the sheep. Feed the lambs. Truth is the bread of life. Truth is the water of life. The mind is the mouth to the heart. Put truth into the mind. Teach, teach, teach!"

A BENEFACTOR OF THE YOUNG.

BY THE EDITOR.

To many readers of the GUARDIAN, the name of Dr. John Todd is familiar. His many books for children are among the very best to be found, and are eagerly sought after in all our Sunday-schools. He was born in Rutland Vermont, October 9th, 1800. At twenty-two years of age, he graduated in Yale College, at twenty-seven in Andover Seminary. Soon after he was ordained to the ministry in the Congregational Church, in which he labored with unabated zeal until his retirement from his active ministerial duties a few years ago.

We question whether there is a writer in this country who has written so much for the young and so well. His volumes are numbered by the dozen. Todd's Student's Manual, no student can afford to leave unread. In 1855, 150,000 copies of this work had been sold in England alone. Many of his volumes have been trauslanted into German, French, Dutch, Greek and Tamil.