the character of abandoned sinners into that of eminent saints? It is indeed to the glory of Christianity that its disciples, after the example of their Master, have not despised the convicted malefactors and the Magdalenes of this world. The power which its teachings have often exercised over these outcasts, who are insensible to the influences whether of public sentiment or of personal shame, might with the greatest propriety be urged as an evidence of its divine origin. But to argue that wretched, shameless criminals from no higher motives than a remorse, whose very possibility their hardened character almost precludes, would hasten to put themselves under the most rigid moral obligations, is to contradict alike the teachings of our reason and our experience. If remorse were an insufficient motive to drive such a class of persons into the church, far less would a desire to support their individual and common reputation be sufficient to prevent their relapsing into their former habits. Does it not exhibit the poverty of the human reasons that can be assigned for the revolution effected in character by Christianity that such an argument should be seriously urged? Where did these abandoned sinners get such a sensitiveness to public opinion? Did they learn it while they were pursuing vocations so infamous that even from the corrupt society of Paganism they were outcasts and could find no expiation for their guilt even in the temples of the adopted Egyptian gods? Where did they acquire such a thoughtfulness for the reputation of the body to which they had been admitted? Did the thief and the assassin learn such delicate lessons at the stews and in the jails? While the Christian cannot refrain from a just indignation that the noble spirits whose virtues have lighted up the early history of the Church with a celestial radiance should be represented as notorious for their previous vices, yet the particular argument which is founded upon this assumption does not require a proof of the inaccuracy of the statement. Let it be granted that all who thronged the Christian churches till Pliny complained to the Emperor that the temples were almost deserted, were crim inals of the most abandoned type. What of it? Such a fact, if true, would only make more evident the wonderful transforming power of the Gospel. In spite of every excuse that can be alleged the advance of Christianity has been found to be attended with a reformation in morals. It has entirely annihilated some of the worst vices of the ancient world and has inspired some of the noblest virtues of modern times. It has stopped the practice of exposing infants. It has stricken off the fetters from the slave. It has elevated woman to her just rank. It has given purity to society. It has inspired philanthropy. It has substituted the security of mutual confidence in place of suspicion and fear. It has imposed self-restraint in place of license and devotion to others in place of gratification of self. It has lent a softness and charm to all the relations of the family and community. It has created a public sentiment so strong that those who do not acknowledge its authority are forced by public opinion to conform largely to its precepts. Wherever its influence goes, whether to the benighted nations of the Orient or among the depraved inhabitants of western isles, it carries civilization and virtue in its train. How shall we account for this mighty influence? Who will find human causes to explain it? Does it not point unerringly and instinctively back to its divine source? Eliminating, then, from the attractions which the belief and practice of the Christians presented, whatever cannot be shown to be independent of a divine revelation, we have left false miracles, some extravagant additions to the pure doctrine of a future life, and an asceticism displayed by some imperfect professors. These feeble arms were wielded by a zeal derived from a faith which most of the Christians had never professed and the holders of which were their bitterest persecutors, and were directed by an ambitious body of generals who came into existence after the battle was half won, and who relied upon the bribe of paltry alms to seduce the enemy from their allegiance, and upon the terror of dismissal om an irksome service to retain the devotion of their own followers. We are invited to believe that a faith thus armed and thus directed overcame the authority of antiquity, the feeling that a religion must be peculiar to a locality or race, the prejudice against its humble origin amongst a despised people, the customs and habits of a Pagan society, the pride and passion of the undisciplined human soul, and the fiery sword of persecution, and fought its way from the outskirts of the Empire into the palaces and upon the throne of the Cæsars. From such reasoning as this will not the candid enquirer turn aside, and, seeking a cause for the progress of the Christian faith, fasten his reverent gaze upon the star of God, which draws worshiping pilgrims from the most distant parts of the earth to Bethlehem, the place where the young child lay? A DAY DREAM. Once in a daylight dream I seemed to be In truth, its dark and boundless depths were food For fancy, or for fruitful reverie. But, as I thought, my eyes did chance to see, In all thy sweetness and thy majesty. Thy face from out a plenitude of light Shone down upon me like an angel's, when While all the woods and shadows whispered "gone.” F. D. R. EFFECTS OF EDUCATION EDUCATION ON THE COUNTENANCE. HE face is often quoted as an index of the heart. This, to some extent, it certainly is, though the different degree in which different men restrain their feelings, or, at least, restrain all outward expression of them, will always make its evidence unworthy of implicit trust. But whatever question there may be about this, there is no doubt that the education of a man is written in plain characters upon his countenance,-that in almost every line and mark, to the unskillful eye so meaningless, practice will enable us to detect some peculiar connection with it. Long and patiently pursued have been my investigations of the matter, and what conclusions I have come to, and what ideas I shall herein lay forth, are, I do assure you, founded upon fact, and worthy of all the credence which you may choose to give them. Of course you pre-suppose that I shall speak first and principally of the little world which centers round our classic chapel; for so has precedent decreed. And even if such decrees were disregarded by me, there could be found, you think, no place more fruitful in the example of my search than this, where education sits enthroned and faces are in great variety. Shall I then tell you of the pale, slender, spiritual, and withal self-satisfied countenance that looks embodied wisdom from beneath the broad hat of the dig? of the heavy, muscular, and usually good-humored features that ride so easily, under the shade of one protracted freckle, above the mighty shoulders of the boating man? or of the consumptive face and sallow complexion of the bummer? Or, shall I, leaving such extremes, turn to the smooth, pleasant, yet not always decided features that mark the socalled popular man. You know them all as well as I. And even if I would, I could not touch the last. For popularity, though a subject much studied, is seldom or never the result of education, and so my subject excludes it. If, then, I am denied all these, I might give you an example of a Freshman, wonderfully learned in Latin and Greek, and a mighty mathematician, in the opinion of his village friends, and may be in his own; yet verdant as the grass that grows around the village school where he was valedic. It would not be difficult to describe him. His literary nose, which hesitates whether to ascend to yet higher fields or to keep on in its present plane and gain distinction by reaching after things too far for ordinary mortals, his brilliant eye cast down in mock humility, his toes turned straight in front, that they may not wander from the path of duty, (though that has not much to do with the countenance,) his preoccupied air and conscious blush when he is suddenly addressed, and above all, his supercilious glance at upper class men,—all these things and many more are marks of his superiority. We might follow him a year or two, and watch the changes in his face and character, and see how, little by little, as he becomes aware of his mistaken estimation of himself, his new opinions will write themselves upon his countenance, and the old ones fade away. His very features will seem to alter, and each time for the better, till finally, when he settles into his proper place, and that a high place, for his talents, though exaggerated, were not ficticious-every one says that the improvement has not been in his mind alone, but also in his looks. I say I might give you such an example as this, not that I do, for my purpose is to speak of something else. I have often found it pleasant to take some young man of a little more than average ability and presence,-perhaps this same Freshman of our acquaintance, after his four years are done-and placing him by turns in each of the three learned professions, observe the different features of character and countenance which his studies and surroundings would bring out. Sometimes, when I feel particularly sober, I draw most beneficial morals from my observations; but to-day, if you will lend me your attention, we will let the morals go and take the observations by themselves. Let us then look a moment at our hero, |