Moreover, we both thought that we could
bear the fatigue of sitting up late for
once without injury. My uncle at last
consented, and invited us to pass the even-
ing in his library, the windows of which
opened towards
Ten o'clock

armed with iron, and not made of that | which was about five miles distant. metal. The ancients used them, having a kind of scythes fastened to long axletrees on both wheels, and these mowed down men as grass of the field. Formidable in assault, they furnished no common means of defence. Hence the sacred historian says: "The Lord was with Judah; and he drave out the inhabitants of the mountain; but could not drive out the inhabitants of the valley, because they had chariots of iron," Judges i. 19. The chariots of princes and heroes were intended for ornament as well as service, being frequently richly embossed with gold and other metals. Homer describes that of Rhesus as adorned with a profusion of gold and silver, and Lycaon's chariot as furnished with splendid curtains, expanded like the wings of a bird. Solomon, the richest and most magnificent sovereign of his time, had chariots of proportionate taste and splendour.

"The chariots of God," says the psalmist, "are twenty thousand, even thousands of angels ;" and similar imagery is employed when he says, in words so frequently used in supplication: "Gird thy sword upon thy thigh, O most mighty, with thy glory and thy majesty. And in thy majesty ride prosperously because of truth and meekness and righteousness; and thy right hand shall teach thee terrible things," Psalm xlv. 3, 4.

NEW YEAR'S PEAL.-UNCLE BARNABY'S
CHAPTER OF MORTALITY.

Ir was the last day of the year
when Frank and myself petitioned my
uncle's permission to sit up and hear the
midnight peal. It is a pretty general
custom, I know not whether it is univer-
sal, to ring the church bells half an
hour before and after twelve o'clock
at night. This is called, ringing out
the old year, and ringing in the new
one. Uncle said he thought we should
miss our rest, and be unfitted for the
engagements of the next day. Beside, as
the village peal consisted only of three
bells, one of them wofully cracked, so
that there was not much more harmony
than in the clacking of an old woman's
broken pattens, he thought we should
not find much entertainment. But Frank
felt sure, as the night was still, and what
little wind there was, was in the right di-
rection, that we should hear the numerous
and fine-toned bells of the city of

was the hour at which the family usually separated, and at that time we were assembled around a blazing fire. Frank asked my uncle if he knew the origin of the custom of bell-ringing at that season. Uncle said he did not, but that it always struck him as very incongruous; the season, he thought, demanded serious reflection rather than noisy mirth. "I don't know," said he, "how it may be with you young ones; but to an old man like me, the merry peal sounds plaintive rather than joyous. It seems, as one of our poets has said,

"But the knell of my departed hours;' and the knell, too, of my departed friendships. I have been accustomed for many years to keep a sort of obituary of friendship, and oh how rapidly the list extends! and were it not for a few dear young ones rising up around me, how very small would be my remaining circle! How few can I number now among my living friends that were such when I began this list of the departed, and how soon will my own name be added to the latter class! As there is still an hour and a half before the peal will strike up, perhaps we may find it an interesting though mournful employ to look through my register."

We were both delighted with the proposal, and the book being produced, we drew still closer around the fire, and uncle began reading over his list, occasionally making a remark on the character of the deceased person, or informing us of the degree of relationship in which they stood to the family. We thus became possessed of many interesting family anecdotes, and gathered from my uncle's observations some useful practical hints: a few of them I may, perhaps, be able to recollect and present to the reader.

"My first entry," said my uncle, "is the death of a younger brother, one that came between your father and me, Frank. This was the first time I had known real sorrow. Ronald was my constant companion and playfellow. We were seized with the measles together. He was taken, and I left. The distress of all the family at losing him was extreme; for he was a lovely child, and beloved by all. His