school of virtue, called the theatre! And I challenge all the champions of the stage, without distinction of race, sex, color, or previous condition, to point to any substantial good thing ever wrought by its influence. I speak not af actors, of whom many are good, benevolent men and women. But of the stage as an institution. As long ago as in the time of that poor King Charles I., a man named Prynne made a book containing a list of authorities, almost every name of eminence in the heathen and Christian world, bearing testimony against the stage: the Acts of 54 councils and synods; 71 ancient fathers; 150 Papal and Protestant authors, philosophers and poets, and the legislative enactments of Pagan and Christian States, nations, emperors and kings. But in spite of all these testimonies the stage lives. Just as all other vices live. It is a running sore in the bosom of society. And sores are always running. So long as human nature loves evil rather than good, vice rather than virtue, a lascivious play like Camille, or a dirty opera like Traviata, will have admirers among the sons and daughters of men. But that only proves that the play is carnal, sold under sin. It always was a school of vice. The shores of time are peopled with the shades of its victims. To reform it is to break it down. Purify the stage, and as it falls its dying cry will be the words of the greatest master of the drama: “FAREWELL! OTHELLO'S OCCUPATION'S GONE." OUR FRIENDS IN HEAVEN. So many of my friends have recently gone to heaven, it is quite natural that thoughts of them and their surroundings should be frequent. And certainly they are very pleasant. If there was ever a time when religion and death and the life beyond were subjects of sad reflection, to be indulged only as a duty, such a time has passed away. It is now as cheer ing and agreeable to think of friends (and the more loved in life the more pleasant) enjoying the pleasures of the heavenly state, as to hear from others travelling in foreign lands, rejoicing in scenes and associations that satisfy their longing desires. The wisest and best of Roman moralists and philosophers enjoyed such thoughts of their friends gone before them into the unseen and eternal, and they anticipated with fond emotions a blissful reunion and refreshment in the society of the great and good. And with life and immortality brought to light by Revelation, what was to those ancient pagans a dreamy speculation scarcely worthy of being called a faith, is to us reality. Our faith is the SUBSTANCE of things hoped for, the EVIDENCE of things not seen. We have thus entered already upon the inheritance, so that we have the good of it and part of the glory, as the heir to a vast estate or a throne enjoys, long before he comes into possession, the reflected honors and pleasures awaiting. Names and faces and forms of friends who have within the past year preceded me into their rest, have been peopling the cheerful chambers of memory this evening. It is a rough night outside, and the day has been a weary one; but now a soft fire-light fills the room and the study lamp is shaded, so that the silence and shadows invite converse with the spiritual and unseen. And the departed of the year have joined themselves with the many who finished their course before them, and are now in the midst of worship and feasts and friendship in the mansions of the blest. How pleasant their memories now! How the heart gladdens with the remembrance of the joys on earth and the hopes of higher in heaven! Just about twelve years ago (it was Dec. 16, 1859) I had some friends at dinner with me: a larger number than are often gathered at my table; but they were friends, valued friends, some of them very dear. It was a feast of fat things, and six hours flew away like so many moments, in that feast of reason and flow of soul, making an evening never to be forgotten here or hereafter. And of that dinner company, EIGHTEEN men are now in another state than this, their bodies mouldering in the ground, their souls gone to God!!! Eighteen of my companions, associates in business, in the Church, in public and private life, personal friends, eating and drinking with me in one company, and now all gone! I stopped just here and went to a drawer and took out a sheet of paper, on which is a diagram of the table and the seat that each one occupied, with his name written in it. The links of memory are brightened, so that their voices, their pleasantries, their very words of wit and wisdom, sparkling and bright, come flashing and shining, as on that glad and genial evening. At my right was the stalwart Edgar of Belfast, and on my left the polished Dill of Derry; and just beyond was the elegant and eloquent Potts; and next to him the courtly and splendid Bethune; S. E. and R. C. Morse, three years sundered by death, but just now reunited to be sundered never again; and there was Krebs, himself a host, my companion in foreign travel and a most delightful friend; and Murray, the "Kirwan" of the Observer, brightening the brightest with the humor of his native isle; and Cooke, who was with me in Switzerland; and that wonderful astronomer, Mitchell, who now looks down to study the stars; and my friend Hoge, with love like that of woman; and my brother, P. E. Stevenson. [Since I first wrote these lines, my guests have continued to go to heaven; and I have now to add the names of Prof. S. F. B. Morse, J. R. Davison, James Stuart, Alexander Stuart, Joel Parker, D.D., G. D. Abbott, D.D., John Laidlaw, and Rev. William Adams, D.D., L.LD.] A brilliant company; an acquisition to the skies; stars all of them; who finished their course with joy, and then entered into the joy of their Lord. It would seem that the earth could not spare all those men, and keep right on. But they are in fitting company, with the Lamb in the midst of them. And there is a younger company. All these were heroes and prophets and kings, but the children who have gone up there are children always. O blessed thought! They were with us long years ago, and they are in our hearts the same playful little ones they were when the Father of us all asked them to come to his house. And they are his children and our children forever. That little one to whom David said he should go, is still the child of David, not an infant of days, for there are no days nor nights in heaven, but the saint-child radiant in immortal beauty. "O! when a mother meets on high The babe she lost in infancy, Hath she not, then, for pains and fears, An overpayment of delight?" Heaven's floor is covered with them. Of such is its kingdom. They have been going there-flying before they could walk, carried there by the angels-all these thousands of years. Yours are there. There, did I say? We do not know where the place is, nor what a place is for spirits to dwell in. They may be near us, around us, ministering spirits sent forth to do us good, to strengthen us. They, or thoughts of them, have been so pleasantly with me to-night, that it is good to be here. It would be good, doubtless better, to be with them where they are, and with Him who has them near His face. There is nothing sad, depressing, in such communion. hearth. But it is getting late. The fire is low on the To-morrow will soon be here; its duties require fresh life: and as death brings life eternal, so sleep makes new life for the day to come. WHEN NOT TO LAUGH, Walter Scott, the great novelist and poet, the prince of genial good fellows, as fond of humor and hearty laughter as any man, on his dying bed, said to his son-in-law, "Lockhart, read to me." "What book shall I read ?" asked his son. "There is but one book for a dying man," replied the poet; "read from the Bible." Walter Scott was fond of fun, he enjoyed humor, was a splendid story teller; and he was a Christian believer, and his inner sense was enlightened to know and feel the fitness of things, the proprieties of time and place. To ask for a funny story, for something to make him laugh when he was dying, would have been as abhorrent to the tastes of Walter Scott, as to hear a joke cracked at his mother's funeral. Rev. Robert Collyer, in a recently published sermon on "Faith and Fear," closes up with the following story: Talking the other day about some grand, old saints that we had known, we spoke of one now dead, and a brother said, "Did you hear how he died? He was a long time sick, you know, and in great pain, and when he felt the end had come, he sent for his two sons. "Boys,' he said, 'I am nearly through. I just wanted to see you and say good-bye.' 66 'They sat down beside his bed, and then he said, 'One of you read to me.' "So one of them got the Bible. 'Nay, not that,' the old man said, quietly, I don't need that now. I got it all into my heart years ago. My feet are planted on the promises. Everything that Book teaches for me has come clear. My trunk is packed, my ticket all right, and I am just going to start; but now will you not get something new, pleasant and bright? I have had a hard struggle with my pain, and would like to laugh just another time. I know it will do me good.' "And so one of the boys got some bit of sweet humor and read that; and it was so, that while the light was shining in his eyes at the pleasant thoughts, they changed and caught the light that flashes from the immanent glory, and he was with the angels." Grand old man! I was glad to hear that story. Trunk packed, ticket |