up stairs, and along passages, till he came to a door before which two citizens of Los Reyes were playing at euchre, to enliven the watches of the night.

"Let me pass, will you?" growled he, and pulled a key from his pocket as the two moved out of his way. He unlocked the door, went in, and locked it after him.

It was dark. Ethan was sitting at the window, looking out into the starlit night, and did not turn his head as the Judge entered.

"Who is it?" he asked, hearing the sound of steps crossing the boarded floor.

"It's only I, Smith of Miss.; kinder thought I'd look in and see how you was gettin' on."

The speech, and the off-hand tone in which it was delivered, considering the circumstances, had something almost ludicrously incongruous in them; but Ethan only said, "Thank you," and held out his hand. The Judge took it; and there was a tremble in his grasp of it, though there had been none in his voice.

"This yer," said the Judge, meditatively, "is the queerest game what ever I seed. I'd like oncommon to see your hand, Ethan."

A pause.

"Ethan Cotterill. I can't think as you've done what they say; but I don't know what to think. I never knew what a good man was till I knew you,-an' then I kinder 'low'd, I did. . . . But now Tell me now-atween you and me-did you, or not?"

For a moment Ethan's calm seemed to leave him. He wrung his hands together, and his lips and forehead worked convulsively. "I cannot tell you," he said, in a low, strangled voice of agony.

Suddenly a dim idea of the truth flashed across the Judge's mind.

"Ef you wish it," he said, "I'll never mention this here again. Just tell me the truth, now, as between you and me and God; and I swear to you, no living soul shall ever know it. Well and if you did get drawn into something, I oughtn't to be the one to say hard words to you.' "Before God, then, I say that I did not do it."

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Ah!" And the Judge drew a long breath. "An' you don't know who did?" Ethan was silent; but the Judge understood the look he gave him in the moonlight.

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"Well, well; I won't ask if you'd liever not." "And you promise me that what I have told you shall be as though it had never been told?" "I do," said Smith, taking Ethan's hand into his. And then he stood for a minute or two, as if wishing to say something, but as if words would not come. 66 Well," he broke out abruptly at last, "I reckon I'd better say good-bye." Good-bye," said Ethan. But presently he threw both arms round the Judge's neck; and all the pent-up sorrow and loneliness of the last three years, heightened beyond endurance by this day's agony, made themselves felt in the man who thought himself so strong and calm. In that hour of weakness, all the sternness and scornful pride of Pharisaism melted from him, and the heart of Ethan Cotterill became as the heart of a little child.

"I can't thank you," he gasped. "You've been very good. You don't know what years this day has seemed to me, nor what I would have given for a friend to stand by me, and speak one kind word to me. God bless you,

Smith."

:

"No, I can't," he answered, with a voice that had regained its calm and the Judge, grasping his hand again, muttered: "Ye air a brick, Ethan, and no mistake. What a fool I've been all my life! Good-bye!" and rushed out.

As he was striding along the one street of Los Reyes towards his own shanty, a man suddenly rushed up against him, and seized him by the arm, calling out,

"It's not too late! Say it ain't too late! You've not hanged him yet!"

ÖWES was not strictly a poet of the sanctuary. His pieces are poems rather than hymns. And yet in spirit they are hymn-like

full of devout thought, of Christian faith, of earnest pleading, of a kind of ethereal fire, and of tender, melting love. Of all modern hymn-writers of the Lutheran Church, he most resembles Spitta.

Henry Möwes first saw the light February 25th, 1793. Magdeburg was his native city, and here, after the death of his father, he passed at an early age to the care of an uncle. Here, too, he received his primary education, going afterwards to study theology at Göttingen. He was designed for the ministry, but for what reason it is hard to say, as, with all his outward training, his heart was far from God, and he was an entire stranger to those vital truths a knowledge and experience of which should always characterise the minister of the Gospel.

The youth of Möwes was spent amid some of the stirring scenes and momentous struggles which distinguished the early years of the present century, and it would have been strange had his ardent mind shown a lack of sympathy with the cause of his oppressed and afflicted country. The return of Napoleon from Elba, in 1814, roused his enthusiasm to the highest pitch. He doffed the student's gown, and donned the garb of the soldier, joining the Westphalian Rifle Corps. He fought bravely in several battles, and only laid down the sword when the war was ended, the tyrant crushed, and peace restored to distracted Europe.

He now resumed his sacred calling, if indeed we may so speak of a ministry where the first conditions of a true and faithful servant of Christ were wanting. He was possessed of many other excellences, was a young man of good morals, and a kind friend; but he was not converted. He had not found salvation, nor did he know his lost estate. So that he was equally unfit to "persuade men," as "knowing the terror (fear) of the Lord," or to "win souls, as constrained by the love of Christ. He settled, however, as pastor in Angern, and did at least one good thing in marrying the sister. of his bosom friend Blum.

Gradually he came to feel the responsibility of his calling, the solemnity of his own condition, and to see that he needed to be every way a different man. He read and studied the Holy Scriptures carefully, and with earnest prayer for Divine teaching. The Holy Spirit was at work with him. Little by little the light broke upon his mind, and the power of the new life became more and more apparent in his cordial acceptance of Christ as his Saviour, in his earnest and faithful preaching, and in those other evidences of the translation of a soul out of the "kingdom of darkness into the kingdom of God's dear Son."

The new life, and the newly-found love and joy, found utterance, not only in his eloquent sermons, brimming over with the love of Christ, by which many were attracted to the Saviour, but in the voice of song. but in the voice of song. We are reminded of the joyful outburst of the Psalmist :-"I love the Lord, because He hath heard my voice and my supplications. Because He hath inclined His ear unto me, therefore will I call upon Him as long as I live.' And the text which is placed at the head of the hymn, -"If any man be in Christ he is a new creature "-with the initial line of each verse:- "Ich glaube, Hallelujah!"-show how thoroughly he comprehended the character of the change, and what were the means of its accomplishmentfaith in the atoning Lamb..

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Hallelujah! I believe !

Now the giddy world stands fast;
Now my soul has found an anchor,
Till the night of storm is past.
All the gloomy mists are rising,
And a clue is in my hand,
Through earth's labyrinth to guide me
To a bright and heavenly land.
"Hallelujah! I believe !

Sorrow's bitterness is o'er,
And affliction's heavy burden
Weighs my spirit down no more.
On the cross the mystic writing,
Now reveal'd before me lies;
And I read the words of comfort,
'As a Father I chastise.'

He had been toiling up the Hill Difficulty, groping his way out of darkness into light, staggering under the burden of sin, struggling to get free from his mental and legal entanglements, and to rise into the liberty and joy and peace of the Gospel. The day of freedom came at length, and he sings for very gladness,— "Hallelujah! I believe!

Now no longer on my soul

All the debt of sin is lying,

One great Friend has paid the whole !
Ice-bound fields of legal labour

I have left, with all their toil;
While the fruits of love are growing,
From a new and genial soil.
"Hallelujah! I believe !

Now life's mystery is gone:
Gladly through its fleeting shadows,
To the end I journey on.
Through the tempest, or the sunshine,
Over flowers or ruins led;

Still the path is homeward hasting,

Where all sorrows shall have fled."

Grasping the promise of his Saviour, laying hold of Christ with the firm grip of "I believe!" the tide of sacred joy swelled through his soul and his whole being was led captive by Love Divine.

"Hallelujah! I believe!

Now, O Love, I know thy power; Thine no false or fragile fetters,

Not the rose-wreaths of an hour! Christian bonds of holy union,

Death itself does not destroy; Yes, to live, and love for ever,

Is our heritage of joy !"

His ministry now became a power, and strong affection bound him to it and to his people. In 1822 he removed to another charge in Altenhausen. Here he was very happy in his work and in his family. But his trials were many. Tender ties were broken by the ruthless hand of death. First he lost his early friend and brother-in-law, Carl Blum, then his wife's mother, who, in the absence of his own mother, had become doubly endeared to him. His verses on her death are overflowing with tenderness, sweetness, and Christian faith and hope. We place ourselves in imagination in the dying chamber, and hear the loving colloquy, fragrant as the flowers of Paradise, and calm as the hush of eventide:

"Never could'st thou bear to grieve us :
Dearest mother, why to-day?
Wherefore wilt thou thus forsake us?
Why, oh why, refuse to stay?"

"Were it but our Father's will,
Gladly had I tarried still."

"Mother, see the bursting anguish
Of thy dear ones, loved so well;
See our eyes with grief o'erflowing.
Grief which words refuse to tell!"

Children, bid me not remain.
Let me see our Carl again!"

"Ah! and art thou really going

To that dark and distant shore?
All our cares, our joys, our sorrows,
All forgotten-shared no more!"

"Children, think not, say not so.
To the land of love I go."

"From the circle of affection,
Mother, must thou next depart?
Ah how many a link is broken,
Once uniting heart to heart!"

"Closer draw that gentle chain

Round the loved who yet remain."

"Canst thou, then, so gladly leave us?
Is our grief unheeded now?
For thine eye is brightly beaming,
Calm and cloudless is thy brow.'

"Yes, for faith, and hope, and love,
Draw me to my Lord above."

"Yet even there, in bliss undying,
When thou numberest thine own,
Mother, shall not we be wanting,
We who here in bondage groan?"

Come, beloved! quickly come, Join me in our heavenly home!" This painful trial was followed by another: his own health gave way. Pulmonary disease, the seeds of which had been sown in all probability during his campaigns when a soldier, began to develop itself, and gained such power that, with the greatest reluctance and the deepest grief, he was compelled to resign his pastorate to his successor. This he did with the words "Feed thy flock and mine." The pain of parting from his flock brought on a crisis of his disease. It was then he wrote the verses on "Submission," under the heading " It is the Lord; let Him do what seemeth Him good." The piece is too long to quote in its entirety, though for its excellence and its fitness to comfort those who bear the yoke of affliction, it ought to be made widely known. We give the first and second stanzas :

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Thus saith the Lord-"Thy days of health are over!"
And, like the mist, my vigour fled away,
Till but a feeble shadow was remaining,
A fragile form, fast hastening to decay.
The May of life, with all its blooming flowers-
The joys of life, in colours bright arrayed-
The hopes of life, with all their airy promise-
I saw them in the distance slowly fade:

Then sighs of sorrow in my soul would rise,
Then silent tears would overflow my eyes!
But a warm sunbeam, from a higher sphere,
Stole through the gloom, and dried up every tear.
Is this Thy will, good Lord? the strife is o'er,
Thy servant weeps no more.

"Thy cherished flock thou mayest feed no longer!"
Thus saith the Lord, who gave them to my hand;
Nor even was my sinking heart permitted
To ask the reason of the stern command.
The Shepherd's rod had been so gladly carried,
The flock had followed long, and loved it well:
Alas! the hour was dark, the stroke was heavy,
When sudden from my nerveless grasp it fell.

Then sighs of sorrow in my soul would rise,
Then rushing tears would overflow my eyes!
But I beheld Thee, O my Lord and God,
Beneath the Cross, lay down the Shepherd's rod;
Is this Thy will, good Lord! the strife is o'er,
Thy servant weeps no more.

After his resignation, he removed to his native city, Magdeburg, but affliction followed him in the loss of a little daughter, which drew from him the touching piece, "Our Eliza." His health was subject to constant changes, now better and then worse, but the intervals of improvement found him actively engaged in promoting the Kingdom of God; especially was he zealous in promoting the cause of Christian

missions, attempting with his pen what he could not hope to do with his voice. His hymn, entitled "The Missionary's Farewell," is a specimen of the Christian fervour with which he advocated the cause of the heathen and the claims of the devoted labourer in the Gospel field. After two years' residence in Magdeburg, he returned in 1832 to Altenhausen, to end his days amidst his former people. In 1834 he became much worse, and the end was evidently near. His sufferings were very great, and he longed for release from all his burdens and pains. Shortly before his end, in one of the intervals of relief, he wrote the hymn entitled "A Pastor's Parting Words," heading it "To me to live is Christ, and to die is gain":

"Hear me, my friends! the hour has come,
Soon I must leave you and hasten home;
Then, ere our Father shall call me to rest,
Hear my last wishes, my last request.
When my last moments on earth draw near,
When my own voice you no longer hear,
Then gather round me, and sing the song
We have sung together, and loved so long.
Sing of His love who has died to save,
Him who has entered and spoiled the grave;
Sing with glad accents and grateful heart,
Sing till my spirit in peace depart."

The simplicity of his faith in Christ is seen in the last verse but one, and the strength of his attachment to his people in the final lines. After describing the peaceful departure and the "sowing of the mortal body in hope," he says:"Carve but these words on the simple stoneLiving and dying of Jesus alone

Ever he spoke in the Church beneath,

Sweet to him, therefore, was life and death.

When ye re-visit the peaceful spot,

Come with soft tears and with tender thought;
Look up to heaven in hope and prayer,
Jesus again will unite us there.'

At last the Master came and called for him. He departed in peace and in hope of eternal life, whilst his wife was reading a hymn to him,

"Yes, there remaineth yet a rest."

His hymns were published at Berlin in 1836, four years after his death, those which we have quoted and a few others having been since translated into English, and published in a compilation, which we have the greatest pleasure in Hymns from the Land of Luther.

*

recommending as one of the best of all the translations from the German hymn-writers.

In Möwes' hymns there is great tenderness of feeling, simplicity of faith, and fervour of devotion, and if they are less deep than those of Gerhardt and Tersteergen, and less bold and strong than those of the oldest Lutheran poets ; they are also less rugged, entirely free from anything approaching to harshness, and, above all things, more sweet and simple. They are not wanting, however, in distinctness; and in setting forth the way of peace, the life of the true Christian, and the contrast between the way of the wicked and the path of the righteous, they give no uncertain sound. He seems to have delighted in the colloquial style, as may be seen in the following, which will serve to show also how clearly he traced the difference between "him that serveth God, and him that serveth Him not "

'Whither, oh, whither!-With blindfolded eyes, Down a wild torrent under stormy skies,

A gulf between two dark eternities—
Drifting, we know not where !

Whither, oh, whither!-To a land of light,
A home of loveliness, serene and bright,
Joyfully hastening, with steady flight-

Our hearts before us there!

Whither, oh, whither ?-Life's short pleasures past,
Hope's funeral knell the sound on every blast,
Heaven's entrance closed, to ruin hurried fast-
A leaf before the wind!

Whither, oh, whither ?-Pilgrims near their home,
No longer in a foreign land to roam;
Bright and beloved ones waiting till we come-
All sorrow left behind!

Whither, oh, whither ?-Who the path can say
To where some star will lend a cheering ray?
Or through earth's labyrinth direct our way,
So wildly sought in vain.

Whither, oh, whither!-Christ, the Risen One,
Through life and death, hath now to glory gone ;
He sends His messengers to lead us on,

The way is broad and plain!

Whither, oh, whither ?-Terrible reply
From yon White Throne of Judgment in the sky :
Depart, accursed! from My presence fly
For ever,-awful word!

Whither, oh, whither!--Washed from earthly stain,
No more to wander or to fall again :
For ever with the Father to remain.
For ever with the Lord!"