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and grand-daughter of Nathan Rothschild ; and Lionel again-M. P. for London-gave his hand, in 1836, to his first cousin Charlotte, the daughter of Charles Rothschild, of Naples.

It is unnecessary to say that, although these matrimonial alliances have kept the millions wonderfully together, they have not improved the race of old Mayer Anselm of the red shield. Al. ready signs of physical weakness are becoming visible in the great family. So at least hint the French papers in their meagre notices about the Rothschild Congress at Paris From all that can be gathered out of a wilderness of canards, thin faces and thick fiction, it appears that the sovereigns of the Stock Exchange met in conference for the double purpose of centralizing their money power and widening their matrimonial realm. In other words, the five reigning kings, descendants, according to the law of pri. mogeniture, of the five sons of Mayer Anselm, came to the decision to reduce their number to four, by cutting off the Neapolitan branch of Charles Rothschild, while it was likewise decided tbat permission should be given to the younger members of the family to marry, for the benefit of the race, beyond the range of first cousinship.

What has led to the exclusion of the Neapolitan line of Rothschild seems to have been the constant exercise of a highly blameable liberality unheard of in the annals of the family. Charles, the prodigal son of Mayer Anselm, actually presented, in the year 1846, 10,000 ducats to the orphan asylum of St. Carlo, at Naples, and the son and heir of Cbarles, Gustavus, has given repeated signs of his inclination to follow in the footsteps of his father. Such conduct, utterly unbecoming the policy of the house of Rothschild, could not be allowed to pass unnoticed, and, accordinglywe quote the rumor of Paris journalism—the déchéance of the Neapolitan line has been pronounced. However, Baron Gustavus de Rothschild is not to retire into private life, like famous Charles V., with only a cassock on his shoulders and a prayer-book in his band, but is allowed to take with him a small fortune of 150,000,000 francs, or about six millions sterling-a mere crumb from tho table of the descendants of poor Mayer Anselm, who wandered shoeless through the electorate of good King George the Third. It is certain that no romance of royalty is equal to the romance of the house of Rothschild.

Prince, as Rothschild, has been among the rich; he is about to lose his crown. At least so it pleases the good people of Paris to state ; for they have just heard that there exists in India a nabob worth a trillion, which, represented in figures, would be 1,000,000,000,000.

The marriage ring of Martin Luther has come into the possession of a Berlin artisan. The Royal Museuin will buy it. There appears to be no doubt of the relic being genuine.

THE CHILD'S LITTLE EVENING PRAYER.

BY THE EDITOR.

“Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
It I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.”

IX OUR LITTLE PRAYER AMONG THE SOLDIERS. No doubt, could they be known, the last hours of many of our brave men who are now offering their lives for the fatberland, would reveal many touching incidents of the blessed influence of our little prayer.

The New York Sun reports a touching incident related in the meeting of a dying soldier on the field of Mexico. He was found mortally wounded, and was carried off by a comrade and laid un. der a tree. As the poor wounded man saw the life blood flowing rapidly a way, he said to his comrade, “Talk to me! why do you not talk to me!" meaning to ask for some spiritual direction. The comrade was not a religious man, and could not give it. At length he remembered some words which he had learned at bis mother's knee, and he began repeating, and the wounded man repeated after him, that well known prayer:

"Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
If I should die before I wake,

I pray the Lord my soul to take." But in pronouncing the last word the poor soldier's spirit took its eternal flight.

THE DYING SOLDIER'S LAST PRAYER. It was the evening after a great battle. All day long the din of strife had echoed far, and thickly strewn lay the shattered forms of those so lately erect and exultant in the flush and strength of manhood. Among the many who bowed to the conqueror, Death, that night, was a youth in the first freshness of mature life. The strong limbs lay listless, and the dark hair was matted with gore on the pale broad forehead. His eyes were closed. As one who ministered to the sufferer bent over him, be at first thought him dead; but the white lips moved, and slowly in weak tones he repeated :

"Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.”

As he finished, be opened his eyes, and meeting the pitying gaze of a brother soldier, he exclaimed : “My mother taught me that when I was a little boy, and I have said it every night since I can remember. Before the morning dawns, I believe God will take my soul for Jesus sake; but before I bid adieu to earth I want to send a message to my mother.”

He was carried to a temporary hospital, and a letter was written lo bis Mother, which he dictated, full of Christian faith and filial love. He was calm and peaceful. Just as the sun arose, his spirit went home, his last articulate words being

"I pray the Lord my soul to take;

And this I ask for Jesus sake.' So died William B-., of the Massachusetts Volunteers. The prayer of childhood was the prayer of manbood. He learned it at his mother's knee in his distant northern homo, and he whispered it in dying, when his young life ebbed away on a southern battle. field. It was his nightly petition in life, and the angel who bore his spirit home to heaven, bore the sweet prayer his soul loved so well.

God bless the saintly words, alike loved and repeated by high and low, rich and poor, wise and ignorant, old and young, only second to the Lord's Prayer in beauty and simplicity. Happy the soul that can repeat it with the fervor of our dying soldier.

XI. THE GREAT INFLUENCE OF LITTLE TUINGS. Very truly has Dr. Dodd said : "The man who wrote the four simple lines, beginning with, Now I lay me down to sleep,' seemed to do a small thing. He wrote four lines for his little child. His name has not come dowu to us, but he has done more for the good of his race than if he commanded the victorious army at Waterloo. The little fires which a good man kindles here and there, on the shores of time, never go out; but ever and anon they flame up and throw a light upon the pilgrim's path. There is hardly anything so fearful, to my mind, as the mind reaching into the coming ages, and writing itself upon the minds of unborn generations."

ANTICIPATING THE END.—A very general impression prevails among Mohammedans that great changes are soon to take place. by which Christianity wiil triumph over and supersede their religion A missionary of the Church of England at Nazareth, writes, “Most remarkable is the general faith of the Mohammedans in the speedy advent of Christ from heaven to destroy anti-christ; the belief that the time will not be far distant when the Sultan will be obliged to retire to Egypt, and when the Christians will even enter Mecca.Rev. Dr. Perkins, the veteran missionary to the Nestorians, in a recent letter states that he was visited by one of the highest nobles of the country, who alluded to the changes and commotions in the world, and very thoughtfully added, “Do you know what these things mean? I do. Jesus Christ is about to come.”

THE ALPINE HYMN.

FROM THE GERMAN BY THE EDITOR.

On the high Alps
Our Father also lives ;
To morn its glories gives,
The flowerets white and blue

He freshens with the dew.
On the high Alps our loving Father lives.

On the high Alps
From flowery fragrant heights
The lovely air delights
To waft its odors free;

May this God's breathing be?
On the high Alps our loving Father lives

On the high Alps
His soft light from above,
Kisses the vales in love ;
The glacier fields of ice

Shine like a paradise.
On the high Alps our loving Father lives

On the high Alps
The silvery cascade blinks;
The daring chamois drinks,
At the kind father's call,

From the steep rocky wall.
On the high Alps our loving Father lives.

On the high Alps
White flocks, in postures green,
Of sheep and goats are seen;
Without their toil or care

Their daily food is there;
On the high Alps our loving Father lives,

On the high Alps
Ilis flock the shepherd sees,
His heart in God at ease;
For He who all things feeds

Will give him all he needs.
On the high Alps our loving Father lives

PRACTICAL WISDOM acts in the mind as gravitation does in the material world : combining, keeping tbings in their places, and maintaining a mutual dependence among the various parts of our system. It is forever reminding us wbere we are, and what we can do, not in fancy, but in real life. It does not permit us to wait for duties, pleasant to the imagination; but insists upon our doing those which are before us.--Helps.

HOPE IN THE DEATH OF THE LITTLE ONES.

BY THE EDITOR.

The voice of parental sorrow, which more than eighteen hun. dred years ago, sounded in the homes of Bethlehem over the first infant martyrs of the holy Jesus, has been heard in every generation since. There is scarce “a flock, however fed and tended, but one dead lamb is there.” Many Rachels, under the stunning stroke of their tribulation, are weeping for their children, and will not be conforted, because they are not.

It would be strange indeed, if Christianity afforded, no consola. tion for grief so great and so universal. “Yearly bills of mortality in and near London, show that more than one third part of the race of man die before the age of two years, and nearly half before fire.” Owing to want of care, skill in treating diseases, and a general undervaluation of infant life, the number is still larger in Pagan cities and lands. It would be enough to condemn the Chris. tian system, which proposes salvation for man in all circumstances and conditions of life, were it found that it has left no consoling provision for so large a, portion of the race cut down in infancy. Can it does it-suffer all these buds so early nipped, to be blighted hopelessly and forever? God forbid.

"They are not !” said Rachel But this was the extremo lan. guage of excessive grief. It is the utterance of the first impulse of a dark and desperate sorrow. It is the desponding first thought when a cherished treasure has suddenly vanished from their em. brace. A second thought will correct and modify it. The reed swept over by the overwhelming current lies fluttened to the earth, overpowered and helpless. But when the flood has wasted its strength it will appear tbat the reed has only been bent, not broken. When the genial sun from above shall fall upon it again, it will revive; the gentle friendly air will lift it; its own inward plastic recuperative power will reassert its supremacy, and it will stand erect in the very path over which the flood has passed. Yea, it will be found, that the deep waters that had submerged it, have refreshed the soil in which it stands, and deposited a rich sediment for its nurture around its roots Thus wbat seemed to be destruc tion is in fact the means of new vigor and life.

It is just so in our bereavements. What seems to be a taking away is in truth a giving. Wbat seems to be death is life. Tho tear that for a while dims and darkens the eye, is in fact a refresh. ing dew to the heart. The death of the child is not only its own passage into a higher life, but needs only to be rightly viewed and used, to become the means and the motive to a higher life in the experience of the parent.

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