tly famitis
WHERE IS LOUIE ?
Where is Louie? Lo, the New Year
Cometh with the falling snow •,
Whitely gleam the solemn pine trees,
Whitely gleam the fields below.
And the summer leaves all withered
Yet still clinging to the bough,
Sway Eke an enchanted forest
Every spray of silver, now.
Softly through the house creeps . Louie,
Sometimes climbing by a chair;
Little feet, she dare not trust then,
Little hands must guide her there.
And she patter Lever lightly,
Softly as the Wow-flakes fall,
Sometimes singing, hiding, peeping,
Waiting for the mother-call,
' 'Where is Louie?"
Where is Louie? Sunny springtime
Scatters flowers o'er the land,
Do you see our little May queen,
With the blossoms in her hand, .
'Neath her feet?. She will not crush them,
Will not harm the flowers fair,
Will not even turn to kiss them,
Will not shake them from her hair.
Is that Louie?
Where is 'Louie? Where the wild vines
Of the summer loving creep,
Where thelong grass softly rustles,
Lies, the baby,.fast asleep.
Ah,' how sweet( She never wakens
When the morning sky is red,
Never wails when dusky shadows
Trail at evening round her bed.
Darling Louie l
For the birds are singing reund her
Many a dainty Tittle song,
And the wild winds, like a mother,
Rock,ker, cradle all dap long.
Gorgeom leaves brings golden autumn,
And the asters blue and white
Sometirries seem to.call good morning,
Semetimes nod a low ".goodnight,
Little Louie!"
Where is Louie? Where -the ,snow-flakes
Nestle, many a wintry night,
Wand'ring round with fairy footfall,—
' Tiny spirits all in white,
Weaving o'er the little sleeper
Marty . a light and enowy fold,
But their fingers do not wake her,
Aid she'never minds the 4eold,—
' Happy Louie,.l
Where is Louie? We shall find her
In the New Year of the skies.
Nestled inthe Saviour's bosom.
There.oor, winsome earth-flower dies.
She is waiting for our,coming.
When we reaeh that golden` shore,
When we.elasp again oar ;dealing,
We shallquestion never more,
" Wbere is Louie.?"
THE YOUNG BAVARIAN.
BY MISS S. WARNER, AUTHOR AOF DOL
LABS AND CENTS."
CHAPTER W.
It was a hot summer in New York.
The air was parched, and dead, and
stifling, till even the street trees—old
citizens as they were--drwped their
heads in a lifeless sort of way; on one
hand were clouds of dust, on the other,
damp reeking exhalations from the
foul, streets. Everything that Could go
to - .the 'country had gone long ago ;
and the best and wholesomest parts, of,
the town were well-nigh deserted.
But oh, those parts Where the poor
people lived I—were there no rich men,
haying more money than they knew
hOW to use, who could have them
cleansed and purified?—if not out of
pity, for the people, yet in gratitude. to
Him who had cast their lot in a palace
instead of a tenement house. And oh,
those tenement houses I—were they
really built and owned some of the
very worst of them—by men with '
more than heart could wish? Men
who built spacious, airy stables for
thoir horses, and superb barns for,
the# cattle; men who lived in a wil
derness of silk and velvet and gold,
an who; ,when they gave a ball, spread.
eax:pets from. the house to the carriage
way for thedelicate feet of the ladies
to pass over? Alas 1 "he that loveth
not his brother whom he hath seen,
how shall he love God whom he hath
not. seen?"
tt was a hot summer, and soon it
began to be an. unhealthy summer.
Enough people die every season, in the
close air of the city, but this year a
new enemy crept in. The choler&
came stealing along through the un
cleaned. s treets, creeping up the dismal
stairs of the tenement houses ; it began
to Flo its work with a rapid hand, and
among the very first that it, struck
down, were the old German farmer and
hikwife. A. few short hours of suffer
ingond God took them,, and they were
at rest, • •
Wig:acmely, aching hearts, -John and
his_ aunt followed than to the grave,—
not: like,,the graves, in their dear Fa
therland., In this public burial place for
strangers,. ,Shere was nothing fair nor
soothing, :no look of tenderness or
care; but, all, was arranged and man
agedcmerely on the7old sad principal,
"bury, the dead out of sight."
The)two that were left of that small
family , began the world, again alone;
livi,ng,on together, and sheering each
other `wk.:they best might. For a little
While and then cholera seized upon
the aunt' too, and John saw her carried
to ;the PE otters' field and Plaid by; the
side , OT Ids:-father: and mother, and in
all- the 'wide city he had not one hu
mandriend.
Fromm some funerals come back car
riages full of cpeople who have 'loved
the ono,fiustdaid in the grave, or who
havo' knovr,n him and honored him;
or, if has been a s9ldier, there are
glittering fdextof his fellow soldierA
and military bands playing their' sweet
munic,4l33ut John sate back allelone:'
Tkew hadibeen• - no,carriages-to wait'
on, limulgrief - ino tproces,sion ',hi d
friends; 'be was the only mourner. To
the city officials who had made all the
arrangements, it was'," nothing but - the
funeral of a poor foreigner, about
Whom they knew litAle,;a:nd,cat,:le ‘ ,,;"
to the' people ;on the'. - sideWalltF;ainong
whom John threaded his Way ?*lierae,
he was only ote , Of Vie 'cdnimoiafreet
boys, always in the way, and having
no proper place anywhere.
Was-he : only-that? did-no more ten--
der eyesfollow.hipa along the crowded
street? - Nay,' not-even a sparrow fall i - - -
eth on the ground without-our -Father;
and there was One in heaven who
watched every step of the weary child,
who heard every faltering sigh; -yes , , ,
who numbered the tears ;that some
times came too fast for even the scor
ching summer sun to dry up. And
though no clear strains rang out from
trumpet or drum, yet doubtless there
was the sweeter music of •angels' voices
and the flutter of angels' wings. For
if we are 'following God's coinmands,'
and keeping near to him, then 'we are
always marching to heavenly music,
and keeping step with that.
- And so, jostled and slighted on earth,
but watched and guarded from heaveiip
John made his way through the streets
towards his hothe. He called it home
yet, for want of a better.; and he went
in at the old door, and up the crazy
stairs to the one room where he and
ibis aunt -had lived. But everything
there was in a state of commotion.
The bed was stripped, the chairs were
in the middle of the floor, and the little
strip of rag carpet was pulled up; and
hanging out of the window.
"'O, there you are!" said a woman
who seemed to be taking care of all
this , 'confusion, "I didn't know as you
was ever coating" back. Come, you'd
best bundle up ;hat duds you've got,
and be off: There's other folks comin' H
to live here, now?'
—Boston Recorder.
The -Woman hustled about, sweeping
and talking together,_ and John stood
still without trying to interrupt -her:
Many - of her Worts he did not Under
stand, yet the meaning of all'that long
speech was plain enough. Without
s~vaiting to hear more, John began to'
- pick up' his things, 'which was a v - ery
easy task ; for, as the 'woman told him,
the landlord kindly decided to take
whatever fu.rniture and other trifles
had belonged to the rest Of the family,
for tke rent, so that all he need concern
himself about was his own. things.
They were soon
.put together, for
a few clothes- and - the old German
Bible were. - - all' John's possessions.
But where should he go? Where
should he - live ? Not a cent in his
pocket; and scarce a word of English
on his tongue. john looked once more
round the old. room, took up his bundle,
and went forth into the August ,sun
shine that, , Was filling e - ven* that poor
street with splendor.
DIARY OF MRS, KITTY TRKVYLYAN,
BY MR AUTHOR OF " CHRONICLES . 'OE THE
SCHONBERG-COTTA EMMY. '
[We 'give below; a single entry--a
specimen of the style of tte latest
issue froth the
,prOlific pen of this
gifted author'.]
WEDiarEsiAv, MaY I.st, I.74s.—Mo
ther always said 'that on the day 'T
became si#een, she would give me a,
book of My own, in Which to keep . a
Diary. I have wished for it ever since
I was ten, beCause Mother herself
keeps a Diary; and. when anything,
went wrong in the house, 77 -when Jack
was provoking," or father, was passion
ate with him, or when our niaid : Betty
more ore than usually wilful, or our
man Roger more than usually Stupid,—
she wouldretire to her own little light
closet over the porch, and 'co.& - e out
again with,a serenity on her face which
seemed to spread .over the house like
fine weather.
And ;in that little closet there is no
, furnitufebut the, old rocking chair, in
which mother used to rock us children,
to sleep, and a table covered with a.
white cloth, with four books pn
the Bible, ; Bishop,. Taylor's,' "Holy : '
'Living and Dying," Thomas,A., Kempis
on the ‘,‘,lmitation of Christ,' : ' and the
Diary •
• The three printed books J was
allowed"to read, but (exce,pethe Bible)
they used in my childish days to seem
very gloomy and grave, and, not at all
such as to account for that infectious
peacefulness - in thotherls face - and
I concluded, therefore, that the
magic Mustlie in the Diary, Which we
were never permitted to open, although
I had often felt sorely tempted to do
so, especially since one morning when
it lay open by accident, and I saw
„Jack's name' and father's on the 'page.
For there were blots there 'such =as
'used to defade my copy book on those
` - dOrrowful days When the legions - ap
peared particularly hard, when all the
Nvoflay. singingft - birdg; and bees, and
breezes, and 'even my Ovin fing,ers,
'beaded against 'm6; and I could not
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, JANUARY 19, 1865.
"Here ?" said the boy, feeling be
wildered.
"Ay, here," said the woman, " and
th die here too, maybe, as the last did.
Good enough place for it. Who's
going to let you. keep a room-iike 'this
without paying Tent ? Not onr land
lord; I reckon. He's hardly stood it
out till she was ilead. So you'd better
pick up your things before the new
folks brings theirs, or they may,cha,nce
to get mixed up; and that would be
ba.d.- You don't' look aSif you had,
mubh to "lose."
"And out of sight an angel bright
Went close behind, with shining feet."
help crying with vexation,--those blots
which mother used to call "
"footsteps,"
~ (for mother's
~
r ealazifatbter vacs a -I=h7guet%t, French'
4ady4rivert fromOrkhce by the cruel'
re,v6Ziation of the Edict 6f:Nantes,
inotheitaUght us French.)'
It made me wonder if mother, too,
had her hard lessons to learn, and r
-..longed7to_._peep -- and: see:— Yes, there
-were certainly tears on mother's Diary.
I wonder if "there will be any on mine.;
• - So - white and clean the - pages are
now, and the calf-skin binding.: so
bright and new I like life before nie,
liltegthe-tbrlghttworld which - looks so
new around me. -
How diffijult it is to believe the
world is so old, and has lasted so long!'
This morning when I went up offer.
the cliff behind our house to the little
croft in the hollow where the cows
are pastured, to milk Daisy for mother's
Morning cup of new milk, and the
little meadow lay blue in the early
dew before me, and each delicate blade
of grass was glittering around me,
and far beneath, the waves murmured
on the sands like some happy mother
creature making soft contented cooings
and purrings over its young; and far
away in the offing, beyond the long
shadow of the cliffs, the just risen sun
was kissing the little waves awake one
by one,—it seemed as if the sun, and
the sea, and the green earth, and I
were all young togethef, aid God, like
a father, was smiling on us all. .
And is it not true in some sense ?
Is every sunrise like a fresh Crea
tion ? and eiery morning like- the
birth of a new life,? and every night
like a hidden fountain of youth, in
which all the creatures bathe in silence,
and come fOrth again. new-born ?
It often seems so` to.;mo.- - _
Lam. so glad mother lets me nelp
Betty about the milking. At first she
thought it was hardly fit work for
father's daughter (he being of an
ancient •and honorable family), but I
likeit so much better - than any work
in-doorS, that since there are only
Betty and Roger, and we must help in
some way, she was persuaded to- let
me do what I enjoy. Mother always
says, since father chose 'poverty with
her rather than riches and honors with
his great relations, we must all do all
we can to make it easy to him. Mother
thinks it was , such a great sacrifice for
him to marry her, a poor chaplain's
daughter. But its is impossible for me
to think it a`sacrifice for any one to
have married ,mother.'
It was delicious to sit milking Daisy
-and thinking of these things, and. of
how mother would welcome me with
my cup of new 'milk
morning, on this my birth
day while every now and
then Daisy ; the ' friendly 'creature,
looked- round and thanked me with
her %teat kind motherly eyes, or rub
bed her 'rOiih- tongue on my dress.
There •is so gg g ing that goes so to my
hearvin; the' dumb` gratitude of animals.,
However, as I was walking home
with- iny milk pails; singing, I met
Toby Treffry riding his widowed ,
mother's donkey, beating, the poor
beast With a huge stick—blows which
resounded as if from' the - trunk of a
tree,--and shouting at it in those in
human kind-of savage guttUrals which
seem to be received as the only speech
comprehensible to donkeys.
It stopped my singing at-once, and,
I chid. Toby severely 'for his - cruelty
to the creature, and it so thin and
starved.
"It h'as had a better break - fast than
I ail `like= to get, mistress," retorted
Toby surlily; "and if I was as lazy as
the brute; surely master would whack
me 'harder. And ' there's mother at
honae withoUt a crust till I come back."
Toby' is a lank, leandooking lad,
'and. 'lchid myself for not remembering
hovr his 'temper might' be tried by
poi-eity;. and thought I could do no
less to make up for my hard words' to
him tha,n offer him a drink "of' milk.
and 'a crust I'had in my pocket, and
:gently commended the beast to his
tender mercies.
MethOught the lad:was hardl s y as .
thankful' as he might have bee - Iv, in:
deed lam not sure he did not regapl
the gift as a "kind of wealeatteinpt at,
bribery. And ,§o he went, on, his way,_
and 'II on mine. But the' ourrent.of
my thoughts was Anite 'changed, and
everything around seemed changed
with them.
Beneath_ me, on the'white - sands in
the cov,.l.hy the wreck of the fishing_
smack that was lost there dast winter.
Those.sunny: waves, nowifawnintsoftly
on ,the shorp'.had not yetWashed,a-Way
thetraces ,of their own ~f ierce Work' of
destruction:-
The thought of . Toby's donkey
brought. before- me all the mute 1111=`
avenged' sufferings the harmleSs
beast Sat the handlof man. The thought=,
- of Toby's-widowed rnotherlyinglcilind
and' lonely waitingair a crust of -brea - d,-
led me down, b. step deeper into the
sorrows 'of-earth—to want, and. pain,
And - deatlr. - And'thee thought of Toby
avenging his sorrows on thepoorh elp
less beastiiled me to the lowest depth
of all; for i£ the end of all this - want,
and pain, and sorrow was to - harden.
instead of soften, to make worse instead
of 'better, What a terrible chaos -the
world and life See:rued to liel`
Thus, instead of creation seeming
the ladder of light on *lda, just be
fore, my;spirit had beep rising tO hea
ven, frdorn2 l 9ve to joy,and jqy to love,
it seemed"to have be6ome a
staircase • intO the aVyss,,froireOrrOW
to sin, and from sin to sorrow.
• Ulf •:.; • .
The matter was too hard for me, but
•• • •
resolved to ask mother, and at all
.eats to carry some bread and milk
at once to Widow Tr:e*y. •
I-therefore set dawn My pails in the
:dairy, gave them in charge to-Betty,
:cut' off a slice of the great barley'leaf,
took it with a jug of milk to Widow
. Treffry, and was back at the door of
1- mother's -- elosetn.- ritlrzher
milk scarcely after the appointed time.
Yet mother had been looking for
- me, for - when - she` - answered -- sheT - had
this beautiful Diary of 'mine all ready
beside her own.
Shefgailed'heriay fapture of delight.
But it is so very seldom that anything
new appears in our house, on account of
oiirmot,being rich, that I never can
help enj4big a new dress or a new
hood, tir even ''a new riband, as if it
made the day on which it came a high'
day and a holiday, Just as I used when
r was a child; although now, indeed,
I am a child, no longer, and ought to
estimate things, as Parson Spencer says,
with..a gravity becoming my years.
My new treasure entirely put all the
great mysterieS of toil and out
of my head, until mother, laying her
hand fondly on my head as I knelt
beside her,: said: "Your cheek is
like a fresh rose, Kitty; the draught
of Morning air. i.,5" as good for thee as
`the new milk, for me;" and then point
iug to her own old worn Diary, she
added, "Thou and thy book are as
suitable to each other as I and mine."
A passionate, fervent contradiction
was on my lips. Our precious, beau
tiful mother ! as ydnng in heart as ever.
Bukwhile I looked up in her dear thin
fac,e I could not speak; the words words
were choked in my throat, and I could
only look dOwn again and lay my
c,h_eele43.. ,, her hand
. _
"'Do-znot flatter thyself,-Mrs:-Kitty,".
she, said, with her little quiet,laugh,
"as if the comparison were all, in thy
favor. May there not be.so - mething,
in the inside of this poor worn, old
Wok worth as much as the new gildi.ng
and white emptiness of thine? -Mine
is worth more to me' than when it •was
clean and bright as thine."
I thought of the blotted page I had
once.Tseen by accident there, and I said:
"But what if there should be pages
there stained with tears ?"
"The, pages blotted, with tears are
not alWays , the darkest to look back
on," , she said.
Then the thought flashed on me,
-"Perhaps it may be the same with the
world's history. - The tear-stained
pages, nay, the blood-stained pages,
may not be the darkest to read by-and
by,'and I ;said so, and told mother
also abont Toby and the donkey, and
Widow Treffry. .
She pansed a moment, as if to read
my thought to the end, and then she
said; in a low, calm voice:
"One page of • the world's history
stained - with the bitterest tears ever,
shed on earth; and. steeped in, guiltless
bloOd, :is not the darkest to read.
Child, it is in. the light of- that sorrow
and that sin thou must learn to , under,'
stand all the rest, All these hard and
bitter questions are answered there to
the lowly heart, and nowhere else, and
to none else, as far as I have seen.
-But each. of us must learn it for him'-
self,' and learn it' there.. I cannot
teach it thee, darling,,nor, I think, can
God himself teach it, thee; in oneles
- But.-;he is never weary of teadb.-
ing;-child; only be thou never -weary
of learning; and. hereafter, wheh all
the lesSons are learned, and we wake
up int , His likeness; thou: and :I *rin
sing together the Halleluiahs and/ the:
Amens it took usiso-l'ong todearr4-and
then we shall be'satisfted.u. -` - • n
THE LAST. READING.
The Bible 'giVe,s 'guidance'' and com
fort in life to all. who love it, and in a
'dying hoUr gives`,support which can
be had from no - Other' soitice.' - The
followinginbident is a beautiful`
,tration:
In one of the coal:rah:Les in England,
a youth about fifteen years of age was
*diking by the side of his father,' *ho
was a piOuS Man • and governed arid:
educate,d his family according to the
Ntrord of God '
The father, was in the habit of eaKry
ing with him a small pocket Bible, and
the son, who had recetied one at the
Sabbath School, iinitated his father 'in
this. Thiis he always had the=sacred'
volume with him, and whenever enjoy=
ing a season'of test'from label-, he read.
it by the light of his Lamp. They
Worked together in a newly 'Opened'
section of the Mine - , and the father had
fiat stepped aside to procure tog,
when the, ;arch above suddenly fell be
fwe.On ; so that the father Op
poSed his child to be 'crushed: He ran t
toward the place and i ealled to his sea,
wh? j , at length responded undera
dense mass of earth and coal:
ablyed 'son ' cried - the the father, "are
J. Y °u
living ?"
" Yes 'father but my legs are Under.
rQek."
"Where is your lamp, son?"
"fit is still' burning, father,"
"What are yOU doing, my dear
son:? , ; `' .
"I am reading my Bible, father,
and the IJord strengthens 14.7_
These were the.. last words of that
Sabbath School scholar he was suffo
cated.
Tittrrift alwiyg It is always
congruous, and agrees - with itself: _
Weryittuth ihtheunive`r`se also agrees'
with all others:
NEVER MIND,
•
Though thy clothes are old and mended,
And thy hat is far from new, (1, -- -
Though thy boots are not first-raters, • ~
Thou can'at call them ventilators
If thou'rt happy never mind—
Happiness . belongs.to fewl
Though thy friends (I mean aCquaintance
Pass thee by without a nod, -
It were best that thou should'st sever
- Friendship from-euok folWerever ;
It ihou'rt happy, never Mind:—
All are equal 'neath the sod !
If thy-house is old and. shaky, -
While thy neighbor's house is new,
Let not such a thing perplex thee,
Perhaps a higher rent would vex thee ;
If-thoulrt happy,:.-neVer mind
Try and save a pound or two.
Many things will taunt and vex thee,
In the rear and in the van ;
Through the march of life be firmer,
Never tarry; never murmur ;
If thou'rt steadfast, never mind—
Be thou true to God and man!
PAID IN. YOUR- OWN COIN.
"Grandmother, I hate to go away
from you; , you like m.e, and nobbdy
else does. Last night George Redin
and I had a quarreL I struck him
and he struck me. Ntibody likea nie:"
Peter Jones said-this as 4 9 , was sit
ting on his trunk, ready, - to set out for
home...
"He only paid you in your own
coin," said grandmother; "people gen
erally do---a bloW for a blow, cross
words for cross words, hate for hate."
"I don't know but it is so," said
Peter; looking - very sorry ; "but it is
very poor sort of coin, I think."
"How different it would be if your
pockets were full of the right sort of
coin;" said grandmother.
"What kind?" said Peter.
"The coin of kindness," said his
grandmother. "If the great pockets
of 'Yoiir heart were fill of' that sort of
dorn, the 'mo re you paid away the
more you'd get back; for you aregen
erally paidin your own coin, yon know,
then Tow happy you would be."
• "The coin of kindness," repeated
-Peter, , ,slowly; "that is a good coin,
`isn't it? I wish my pockets were full`
-of it, grandmother: If I'd be kind to
the boys, they'd be kind to me."
"Just so," said grandmother.
Peter's•own motiterhad died. After
that he was sent to grandmother's, for
he. had a quarrelsome, fretful temper,
and his aunt could not manage him
with the other children. His grand
mother dealt kindly and patiently with
him, and helped him to improve him
self. Peter now had a new mother;
and his father had sent for him to
come home. Peter did:not want.to go.
He, felt sure he should not like his
new Mother, and that she would not
like him:
"That depends upon yourself , Peter,"
said grandmother ; " carry love and,
kindness in your - pocke,t; and you'll
Ind'ilo difficulty."
The idea struck the - boy's mind.
He Wished:he could, he said.,
'"`And the best of it is," said his
grandmother, "if you once begin pay
ing it out, your pockets will never be
empty, for you'll be paid in your own
coin. Be kind, and you'll be treated
kindly; love; and you'll be loved."
"I wish I 'could,' said Peter.
All the way libme, more or less, he
thought of Ids grandmother.'s advice.
I do not know about= his welcome
home, or what his father and. mother.'
said to
, ,
The next Morning he arose early, as
he Nvas used to dO at grandmother's,
and came -down stairs, when, every
thing being new, he felt very strange
and lonel
know I shan't be contented:here,"
he said to hinaself, "I know I shan't.
T'th afraid there'S not a bit of, love in
Fly
However, in a little while his mo
ther,-came down, when Pwr, with a
pleakant smile; ran np to her'and:Said,
"Mother, what can, t do to help
you 7 11 " •
dear - boy," she said, kissing
hiiii ; clit the forehead,
." howlhoughtful
you are! I thank you for.your kind.
offer; and what can I do to =help you?
for I'arm afraid you will be lonely here
at first; Coming from '.your dear, good
,grandinother', •
What a sweet kiss was that! It
madehim 'so happy. "That's .paying
me in more than my Own cdin,"
thought Peter:. -Then -he knew he
ahonld- love • phis new, mother; and
from that &OA hour Teter's pockets
began,,t,O' fill with .
the beautiful, bright'
•
coin Of kindness, which is the best
"Ismail change" in the, world. Keep
your pOelets full `Of it, iboys'and girls,
and youlwilt ;Auer be in Want 7 --viTle
versa le 17:0trucer. • •
THE .TWGr NBIREPORS.
“Skylark, come' hunt with Me to
day,”` said little Bunni.e Brown, peep,
ing out .of his hole in thebreezy tree
top. "It's just the day to find plenty
of nuts. The frosrand.' the wind will'
scatter'' theM far 'and near.'Le_ t;
hurry off before .the boys come."
But giddy little Skylark paid no
heed to - the counsel of his pludent,dpu
sin frisked, abOut from branch t 6(
bran as gay and light As a biid and
, ,
said there was food enough -to' be had
without the trouble of gtorineitihw4:
"Yes; but there 'will not be : when
winter , Comes," Said
..
"0, • that's some of your croaking:
nonsense langhed l .6kyldiic who wag"
yet only one Sumnier old. "You hays,
been hstenijng to ,oldVe4dqr:lßies,
andtheard- him groan over , ' the hard
'times` I shonld'irtvonder if
,‘,- t
his mice would run short, a w t; don't
much care if theY do, sucVal4incOL
fortable old croaker as he is."
"I listen to the advice of my pa
rents," said Burnie Brown, rather in
dignantly. "They-tell me the-Ism:10w
will be sure to come, and that it will
be long and sharp this year. They'd
ways know best, and now they have
Set me up in a house of my own,.and.>
I mean. to lay by in store enough to
live in peace and comfort, especially
when there--is enough to be had for
the gathering::
But all this had no effect on silly
Skylaxk..• He kept on chasing - some'
g - Ay little squirrels up one tree and
down another, iaitting about as kitj as
a robin amongiike swaying branches„ _
and - thins lie 'frittered away all the pre
cious seasons, while induStrious squir
rels were filling their store-houses. At
last a heavy fall of snow' came on un
usually early. 0 how bleak,it looked
to poor Skylark as he-peeped out on
the buried earth. He had found it a
hard matter to pick up a living. fcir
some time, now all hope was at an end:
"Bunnie is good natured," hethotight„
"I will just borrow a double 'acorn of_
him for my breakfast, and may be the
snow will go off before dinner. ,
But alas for such hopes The snow'
did not go off for aweek, and Skylark
was obliged to live altogether on char
ity. He found it a great deal harder'
Work begging than it was gathering
nuts in sunshiny weather, and many
were the resolves that he made for
mending when another fall came'"
around, At last he wore out the pa='
tience of his friends, as all spongers
are sure to do, and he had to resort' tb.
a great many_ expedients to get eliongh
food to live on. He nibbled the young
bark off the fruit trees, and gathered
up any odds . and ends about the farice--
yard that a poor distressed squirrel;
could eat. These foraging expeditions
soon attracted the attention of Jakef':
the /farmer's man, and on one unhicky - ;
morning -he spied the little depredithi
himself. Before poor Skylark could
take himself out of sight, the sharp
crack of a rifle was hea.rd, and hi
frivolous little life was ended. Truly
"the idle soul shall suffer hunger." It
is just as true of boys and girls as it is
of squirrels., If they' idle away all the
summer time of life the winter will
dreary and needy.- Chronicle.
THE TRUE KING.
Where a person that is poor, that is
out of health; that is surrounded by
many discouragements, and 'that is
made to suffer in various ways, lifts.-
himself above his misfortunes, and
cheers his companion and childreni::
and fights want on this side and. da
that, and bears humiliation, putting it
- tinder his, feet without losing faith in,
•
God, and saying to all the world, "I
can be poor, and yet be a' man." O.
crown him! You pass him by; but
you• do not know what you are pass-'
mg. by. :Kings sometimes walk in--
eognito, and then they do not wear
crowns.,, There are kings in your
streets. There are men, walking about
in your midst that Wear crowns in their
hearts, which, if they were: to put
them on their' heads, would shine so
bright that you would think-that . twi
light had• -dawned. • There` are thou
sands who understand and obey the
,
injunction, •of , the apostle, when he
says, "Quit.you like men, be strong."'
I tell you r -they are beroes • and angels
knowit,. if 'you do not. heroes:;
angels
,know what to write down:, When
you laid the- foundation of that •big
house, they forgot - to record that in.
heaven. And when the walls went up,
and the beautiful apartments werefin
iihed, andthe,whole magnificent struc- =
ture was completed, of the arehiUr,-: -
ture of. which you.were so proud, at
sure as you live they forgot to put
, that down. And when you unrolled.
your rich carpet, and hung your fine
pictures, they forgot to make. - &note
of that. • But when that man went
down out of his splendid mansion Tinto
a fourth class house, in.:-an,;,obscure
street, shedding, it may be; some teal*
as a 'tribute, of nature, and gathered
his little flock on the ,first evening
around the fire; and made the'rooms
bright with love r and faith, and piayei, - ;
,you niay be certain that they ,put that
down. They remember that: Andla.
when that .man went on from day-tom
'day, and , grom Week', to week; theric
wa:s not one noble heart-beaValeree7
-wad not one generous , • purpOse
fidelity, there was not, one thing - thato
madehim a man in his trouble tha j tc
God did not see, that angels did:inotw
behold, and thatby , and-by will , notbe
stingin glory in--heaven:-Beecher. :.
LIGHT" THE VALLEY.
Widowhood and old age :_make a
otreary stage in life without Christ, but
with biM see
.Whatand what
cheer r An aged. widow, seventy-four Seventy-four
years of age, in remittik,five dollars
to a sister docie,ty,'Says "For more
thalf fifty 'years 'raj . Saviour has suf
ferred put in my mites. Until
1839,'_1_ resided in New England, and
was tl:tere when the Foreign Missionary
.Society was commenced, in the region
where our *ills, Newell, Hall and
,Judo - n began their glorious work. I
have watched its progress and results.
Now, standing on the borders of eter
nity,;l„ eseem it the highest" privilege
of life :that I have a few,
times Been permitted to give a few
.miteS, to send the news - ss.l.74tion,te
thiA lost 'iribrid"-L- Cloisttaii: Al**.