of violence and cruelty was heard mingled with the boasting of the oppressor, and the cry of the oppressed, and the complaints of the wretched; while the shouts of embattled hosts, the crash of arms, the brazen clangor of trumpets, the shrieks of the wounded, the groans of the dying, and all the horrid din of war, together with the wailings of those whom it had rendered widows and orphans, overwhelmed and drowned every sound of benevolence, praise and love. Such is the jargon which sin has introduced--such the discord which, from every quarter of our globe, has long ascended up into the ears of the Lord of hosts. THE BLUSH. By Mrs. Elizabeth Smith. The soft warm air scarcely stirred the leaves of the vine, that clustered about the bower of Eve, as she lay with pale cheek and languid limbs, her first born daughter resting upon her breast. Adam had led his sons to the field, that their sports might not disturb the repose of our first mother, and the low murmur of the tiny cascade, the monotonous hum of insects, and happy twitter of unfledged birds, all wooed her to slumber; yet she slept not. She looked with a mother's deep unutterable love upon the face of her babe, yet tears were in her eye, and anxiety upon her brow. Herself the last, the perfection of the Creator's workmanship, she still marvelled at the surprising beauty of her daughter. She looked into its dark liquid eye, and drank deep from the fountain of maternal love. She pressed its small foot and hand to her lips, hugged it to her full heart, and felt again the bitterness of transgression. She thought of Paradise, whence she had expelled her children. She thought of generations to come, who might curse her for their misery. She thought of the sweet beauty of her child on whom she had entailed sorrow, suffering and temptation. She felt it murmuring at the fountain of life while it stretched its little hand to her lips. She turned aside the thick leaves of the grape vine, and looked out upon the still blue sky, over which, scarcely moved the white thin clouds. "My daughter," she faintly articulated, "thou knowest not the evil I have done thee. Let these bitter tears attest my penitence. Let me teach thee so to live, that thou mayst hereafter obtain in another world the Paradise thou hast lost in this--lost by thy mother's guilt. O, my daughter, would that I alone might suffer, that the whole wrath of my offended Creator might fall on my head and thou, and such as thou, might escape." The tears, the penitence of Eve prevailed; a Heavenly messenger was despatched to console her, to lift her thoughts to better hopes and less gloomy anticipations.--Since the sin of our first parents, and their banishment from Paradise, these angel visits had been "few and far between," and our first mother hailed his approach with awe and pleasure. "Eve," kindly spake the divine visitant, "thy sorrow and thy penitence are all known to thy Creator, and though thy fault was great,