Passover remained our consecrated milestone, that inspires us to heroic endurance and perseverance in the cause of truth, and the hopes of a brighter dawn on the horizon of mankind. Passing over the streams and mighty rivers of time, and from milestone to milestone, set by grief or joy, it was the ever-cheering voice of Israel's songs that drowned all sorrow and aroused anew our vigor, marching to tempo of time's tread, ever nearer and nearer to Israel's goal. The old and withering walls of the middle ages began to crumble into dust under the heavy stroke of the advancing age of reason. With every breach a new passageway was made to the advanced hosts of humanitarians. The Jew amongst them entered the cause dearest to him, and on every battlefield he proved that the heroism of the Maccabees was still abiding in his race. The final glory, however, has not yet come. The battle is still going on. Here and there and everywhere social questions await its final solution. In the heat of the combat strange revelations of human nature are brought about. Amongst these, the old prejudice has concentrated itself in the opposition to Jewish freedom, honestly won in the last 2000 years. But this, too, will succumb, and the last blot against mankind will be wiped out. Meanwhile we must not desert Israel's old camping grounds. Our holy days must never degenerate into mere feasting days. These must more than ever become the high watchtowers from which to hail the sign of ages, and from which shall float forever the old banner of Judaism, cheering the old and the young, and summoning the true and brave to the old song of the Passover: "O give thanks to the Eternal, for he is good, for unto eternity endureth his kindness." -Rabbi Bloch. WAR. 'Extract from an editorial upon the threatened war with Chili.) Man, in all ages, has been the most destructive and turbulent animal on the globe. He has always delighted more in excitement and war than in peace and the pursuits of learning, morality and harmonious development. The world is one great field of carnage where the armies of countless ages have marched to battle and where millions and hundreds of millions have been slain and their bones strewn, layer upon layer, over every continent and at the bottom of every sea. One war has followed another, in regular succession, in all civilized and savage nations, as one wave follows another * the ocean. over * * The United States has been the most peaceable, intelligent and progressive nation of which history gives any account. But the spirit of war, the rattle of drums, the sound of bugles, the neighing of prancing steeds, the clashing of steel, the roar of artillery and all the symbols of war of ancient times thrill the hearts of the American people far beyond any other passion or sentiment. The spirit of war, which has desolated the earth in all ages, is not dead but only slumbering in our people. We have already had several wars during our brief national existence and may have many more. The people worship warriors-great fighters-for more than they do the greatest intellectual and moral giants the world has ever produced. No man, however great he may have been intellectually and morally, has ever been elected president of the United States over any kind of a military hero. And no party or man has ever opposed a war in this country, just or unjust, without having been swept out of power by popular indignation. -Hon. Harrison R. Kincaid. ROSES AND LILIES. The ruddy rose, amid the thorns Although her rough companions pierce, The rose unsullied lives and dies As do the brave, the true, the wise. And though in life one oft receives 'Tis sweet to know that roses bloom Midst winds and rain and thorns and gloom. From out their bosoms pure as snow, The lilies of the valley grow; Their leaves are still; their heads they bow, As if to heaven they make a vow. Since from the heart the actions grow, A duty to ourselves we owe, To do the right, and that in love, The rose adds beauty to her thorns; The lily pastures green adorns; The world conceals its faults to please, While innocence and lilies abound in the leas. Aromas from these flowers unite, And lure our prayers to yonder height, Where mingling in sweet bliss and praiseEnriching heaven through endless days. Bloom on, bloom on, thou lily pale, In meadow green and fertile vale; A tender look of modesty. Blush on, blush cn, thou ruddy rose; THE MONEY GETTER. The gold that with the sunlight lies In bursting heaps at dawn, The silver spilling from the skies At night to walk upon, The diamonds gleaming in the dew He never saw, he never knew. He got some gold dug from the mud, Some silver crushed from stones; But the gold was red with the dead man's blood, The silver black with groans; And when he died he moaned aloud, "They'll make no pocket in my shroud." -Joaquin Miller. THE HOME OF ART. There is an old poetic land Of purple vales and violet heights, Where sculptors wrought and marble breathed And thought took wildest, widest flights, A sea-girt land whose crystal airs |