blowing it up, to prevent the entrance of the Russians. Förster hurriedly collected a number of mechanics, saying, 'It has come to this: if we mean to save it, it must be to-day; to-morrow will be too late.' Off they set with their tools, and went singing along to the bridge. The French guards were pushed aside, shovels and hatchets thrown into the Elbe, and the pavement replaced by the masons, who in the strictest sense applied plaister to the wounds of the bridge.' The crowd parted for the night, but reassembled in the morning, when a more serious skirmish took place. The French soldiers, who had resumed the work, were repulsed by the citizens and driven off the bridge, several being wounded on both sides, a squadron of Saxon cuirassiers were then brought up and ordered to disperse the people; they were about to charge, when a mason stepped forward, crying, 'Comrades! we are all brothers and countrymen-you would not cut us down? We had all much rather down with the French!' The cuirassiers sheathed their swords and rode off. Cries of 'Down with the French!' were heard on all sides; and the latter thought it better to keep in their quarters. The excited mob proceeded to break the windows of General Regnier, and order was with difficulty restored by the Burgher Guard, who at length prevailed on the people to disperse. Several mechanics, among whom was the mason who had spoken, were arrested and lodged in the fortress of Königstein. 'Our sapient town council,' observes Förster, 'have issued a most insane proclamation,-Would to Heaven the French, instead of the bridge, would blow up the corporation.'

The success of the citizens was only temporary. Some days later Förster writes again, 'Our beautiful Elbe bridge is no more. Against Regnier and his Saxons we might have held it, but he summoned Marshal Davoust to his aid with 10,000 men, and he soon formed other plans. He planted the Brühl terrace with cannon, and barricaded the bridge, and patrols secured the streets. He brought miners from Freiberg, and compelled them to sink a shaft, and never surely did their cry, "Glück auf" (success) come forth from sadder hearts.' Davoust ordered the destruction of the bridge to take place early in the morning. The night before a pious miner discovered that amid the confusion the image of the Saviour which stood on the third pillar immediately above the shaft, had been forgotten. With great difficulty permission was obtained from Davoust to secure it. Förster was present at the scene. The night was dark and silent, the flickering of fire and the flame of torches threw bright and fitful gleams around as an aged smith, mounted on a ladder placed against the cross, drew with his pincers the nails from the hands. Two stout and bearded sappers took down the image, and a couple of porters stood beneath with a bier on which they carried it away. Some ladies who were watching could not restrain their tears as the crucifix was carried past, and with it vanished the last hope of saving the bridge, for a popular saying had been current that as long as our Saviour watched the bridge neither fire nor water could injure it.

The next morning a thick pillar of smoke arose, and a hollow sound like distant thunder broke upon the ear. 'When the smoke rolled away the splendid row of pillars which had defied foaming torrents and crushing icebergs was destroyed, and a black chasm defaced the finest structure of the kind in Europe.'

Theodor Körner was at Breslau before the letter relating these events reached him. The time had come when he must act upon his determination. An attack of illness had confined him to the house in the early part of February; his health and strength being now restored, he felt that he could not delay, but must take his place among those who were preparing to battle for their country. He had been reluctant to bring anxiety to the hearts of his parents a moment sooner than was needful, but now it must be done.

On the 5th of March he had written to his mother the never-omitted birthday letter full of tender and dutiful affection. And on the 10th he wrote to his father, disclosing fully his feelings and intentions. 'Dearest Father, I write to thee respecting an event which I think from my knowledge of thee will neither shock nor surprise thee. I gave thee lately a hint of my purpose, which has now arrived at maturity. Germany is up! The Prussian eagle, beating her mighty wings, awakens in all hearts the great hope of freedom for Germany, at any rate North Germany.

'My spirit sympathises with my country, let me prove myself her worthy son. Yes, dearest father, I wish to become a soldier, and will cheerfully lay aside the happy life I enjoy here to win for myself, be it with my life, a free fatherland. Call it not levity, rashness; two years ago I might have called it so myself; but now that I know what happiness can ripen for me in life, now that fortune bestows her brightest rays upon me, it is now surely a sacred feeling which inspires me with the conviction that no sacrifice is too great to obtain our country's freedom. Shall I be content only to celebrate in poetry the deeds of my brethren, while they strive and conquer? Can I linger here writing entertainments for the theatre, when I have the chance of taking my part in earnest upon the stage of life? I know that thou wilt suffer anxiety, my mother will weep. God comfort her, I cannot spare you this trial. Either on Saturday or Monday

I must depart, and shall probably go in good company. At Breslau we shall meet the free sons of Prussia, who are gathering under the banner of their king. I have not yet decided whether to join the cavalry or the infantry.

As to my situation here, I know nothing with certainty as yet. The Prince (Lobkowitz) may give me leave of absence; if not I have assurances from Palfy of still greater advantages, should I return to Vienna. Antonia has shown me in this crisis the greatness, the nobility of her soul; she weeps, it is true, but I trust the end of the campaign may dry her tears. My mother must forgive me the pain I am causing

her; those who love me will not blame me, and thou, father, shalt find me not unworthy of thee. The Humboldts, Schlegels, and many of my friends have given me counsel in this matter. I have letters of introduction from Humboldt; will write again on Monday.'

Theodor rightly judged his father's feeling. Christian Körner sympathised heart and soul with the movement; he was among the first in Dresden who openly avowed the cause; and from his resources, already diminished by the pressure of the times, he contributed large sums for the equipment of volunteers.

He could now only verify Theodor's words, that no sacrifice was too great for such a cause, by not withholding his only son from the impending strife; but the three loving women, mother, sister, and aunt, who had watched the career of their boy with a glad and tender pride, could not acquiesce without sinking hearts and dark forebodings of sorrow. 'My father is satisfied with me, the others weep,' said Theodor, when a few weeks later his duty allowed him a brief but precious visit to his home.

A few hasty days of preparation, of arrangements with publishers and theatrical directors, receiving from the latter a promise in writing that he should resume his post when he wished, and then came the dreaded hour of parting from Antonia, and of bidding a farewell, which he well knew might be for ever, to the city which had been his second home. 'The leaving Vienna lies heavily on my heart,' he wrote on the 13th. "Would that it were over. Why must the course of duty pitilessly tread down many a flower? Please write something comforting to Antonia; in particular I want mother to advise her about her health-poor child, she grows quite thin. On Friday I hope to be in Breslau. Heaven preserve you, and oh! bless me, my father, even if some tears mingle with thy blessing.'

(To be continued.)

'WAITING FOR HELP.'

'And Jesus, when He came out, saw much people, and was moved with compassion toward them, because they were as sheep not having a shepherd.'-ST. MARK Vi. 34.

NOT yet! not yet! to-morrow I will rest.
But for to-day, are there not fainting hands
Stretched out impatient for the bread of life?
Are there not wandering feet seeking the path
Hidden by weeds? and wistful eyes that strain
After the light that hath not dawned for them?
Are there not wild despairing souls to calm?
Weak souls, and sad, to strengthen and to soothe ?
And dying to absolve? Babes to be bless'd?
Let me work on? To-morrow I will rest.

Not yet! not yet! I cannot rest to-day.
They must not perish through my negligence-
These thousands dead in trespasses and sins—
Living for greed or pleasure-not for God.
These are the sheep for whom the Shepherd died,
And He would have me seek and bring them back,
And stand between the living and the dead,
Swinging the golden censer of my prayers,
If for a little space the Lord relent,
And give the sinner leisure to repent.

Not yet! not yet! To-morrow I will rest;
But just to-night they tell me that a man
Has been brought home, mangled and bruised, to die,
Who, through the whole of a degraded life,
Has scoffed at Jesus and His boundless love.
My God! what misery hath he heaped on me!
Now my dear Lord this message sends to him-
Believe, repent, and live, and trust the love,
Waiting through death to bear thee into light.
To-morrow rest! Let me go forth to-night.

Only to-day, thou say'st, for those I love
In my dear household gathering. Oh, my God,
Are there not wretched wives tempted to sin?
And hopeless mothers hardened by despair?

And fair young girls, who tread life's dangerous ways,
Without a safeguard from the tempter's power?

And tender children growing up in sin,
Or dying in the city's fever haunts?
Knowing all this, how can I bear to stay
E'en midst my loved ones? Let me work to-day.
Not yet! not yet! To-morrow I will rest
The weary head and limbs, but not to-day.
When on the grassy slopes of that far sea
The fainting thousands sat in groups, and He-
Himself, the bread of life, gave thanks and brake,
And passed to His Apostles-what if they
Had said, 'Dear Master, we are hungry too,
And faint with toil,' had He not answered them,
I came to serve, not to be served; and ye,
If ye would do My work, must serve like Me.'
Only a broken vessel! It is true!

No golden bowl fit for the Master's use;

But stained and soiled, with scarce a semblance left
Of the dear Image-all the brightness gone--

Only a potsherd with the Maker's brand,
Holding the wine of Life, yet wasting it,
Through flaws and imperfections and defects;
Scarce strength or spirit left to cope with sin;
Yet pledged to combat-harassed and distrest-
Let me fight on. To-morrow I will rest!

Let me fight on. To morrow I will rest!
How he will choose, what matters it to me.
When the tired hands and brain can toil no more,
The weary limbs their day's work shall have done,
Then from the Captain of the Host shall come
The welcome order to lie down and sleep.

And I, unworthy servant that I am,
Shall win on battle-field the Victor's Crown,
For simply doing His beloved behest-
Let me work on. To-morrow I will rest!

No other hope for rest? Yes, one besides!
And at the very thought my heart beats high.
Are there not loving hands who long to give
Of their abundance, knew they but the need?
Are there not ardent souls who wait the call
To yield their lives to Him who died for them?
Perhaps our tender Lord by such e'en now
May send me help and comfort e'er I faint.
Then Heaven itself were scarce more fully bless'd;
To live were Christ-to work were perfect Rest.

M. E. B.