try famitg THE CRUSE THAT FAILETH NOT. Is thy cruse of comfort wasting? rise and share it with another, And through all the years of famine it shall serve thee and thy brother Love divine will fill thy storehouse, or thy hand ful still renew Scanty fare for one will often make a royal feast for two. For the heart grows rich in giving i all its wealth is living grain, Seeds, which mildew in the garner, scattered, fill with gold the plain. Is thy burden hard and heavy? do •thy steps drag wearily? Help to bear thy brother's burden; God will bear both it and thee. Numb and weary on the mountains, wouldst thou sleero,s,midst the snow? bhr;fe'that frozen form beside thee, and together both shall glow lOie heart:a well left empty? None but God 1 'lts void can fill ; litthing but a ceaseless Fountain can its cease- :,less longings still. W `-heart a living- power? self-entwined its - 3f-r-F.-strengtb sinks low ; - It oa!kialy live in loving, and by serving, love 11 grow. Airthor of Schonberg-Cotta Family. tr iE YOUNG BAVARIAN. rinks • •B. WARNER, A.IITROR OF "DOL LARS AND CENTS." .t , ` , CHAPTER 111. They did not wait in idleness. With all the, energy of faith and of need, the poor Germans tried from day to day to make a living, but it was hard work. There were no vine-• yards in, those hot streets for the old farmer to tend, there were no fields for him to plough, and people would not even trust him with one of their little door-yard gardens. How could he know anything of flowerS, with such a queer cap on his head? and as to having such an outlandish-looking person at work abmit the place in any way, it was out of tne question ; he might steal, and do all sorts of, dread-, ful things. So thohght the, house keepers, the grocers, the mer Chants, to whom ,he applied for work. " Why don't you go West?" said some of them, "if you ,are insuch . want of a job. There's enough to do there, and plenty of room to do it in. Nobody wants you here." Ah, the West was a long way off! and the, road must be new paved with dollars for every poor stranger that goes there; even the country that lies round about New York seems far away, to those who cannot pay their travelling expenses; and though the farmer contrived to earn a little mo ney now and then, in one way or an other, still it was so very little, that the: wants of each day were• but scant ily met. There was small chance of his ever laying by enough for that long western journey. It cost so much to pay rent for his miserable lodging in the tenement house, and to buy bread; and the loaves were so small! His wife, on her part, did her best to help on. Sometimes she wrought at bits of beautiful German embroid ery; selling them for a trifle to the shopkeepers, who sold them again at a good price. Sometimes, with a•bas ket On her arm, she made her way in to the' gay bustle of Broadway, and stood there hour after hour trying to sell her wares herself. In the basket were tidies of her own knitting, and knitted Gexman lace, and little brooms made of shavings. You might see in her wistful face how eager she was to find 'a purchaser,-0 those rich ladies and gentlemen that floated and that hurried by I—they might have bought up her whole stock and gone home with fall purses. "God liveth ever I"—Here all shin lng with comfort and sunbeams, comes a nice-looking lady and her little girl, —just stepped out of a handsome car riage. The horses paw the grOund with their eager feet, and the sunlight glitters in th-bright harness as they toss their heads—flinging off white speOrs of foam like snow flakes. ,The Biivarian goes timidly towards tte lady, with what little English she knows.. "Buy a broom, lady ?" , "0 please do, mamma cries the little girl. "What do you ask for it?" the la dy aski carelessly. Cents." " W4aia ridiculous 1-Comeprice Lucy "--L-and they go into a shop to buy. pe;,rfu rnery. "TA take one," says a little boy;: just come in town for the ,day with ,bisSather, and walking, up and down, Broadway,to do his own shopping. "I'll take one, what's the price ?" V.Aly six. cents." " Tell you what, though, that's tro ll:iv:0o*, dear, when a person hasn't got bAJWP . I;tty-five I" says young mas ter; zemptying his coppers out on the doorstep to :count them. A little light •snramer jacket, white trousers, Whitigoothtif tied with , a ribbon, a brOadtt*lnied straw hat, red 'cheeks ad'd's d;ittly head,—the Bavarian looks atlthe pleasant happy picture, think-. ing •of little John at home in the tene ment house. • "Now - let's have the very best brOom- yon've got," says the' boy, choosing out the six cents and clink lug the . : . rest into- his pocke.t. "No thing will do but-the best, for it'a 'for baby; and the way she'll sweep me THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 1865. with it will be fun. Here's the mo ney." And suiting himself from the basket, he runs off. • So goes by the day ; until a pelting summer shower comes on, and drives the farmer's wife home ; very weary, and by this time thoroughly wet too. But it is home, where her husband and John - are, poor as the place may be; and in peace of heart. they, tell* over the day's adventures count their small gains, and season with thankful ness their light supper; then read. of the love of Jesus and sing their even ing hymn, and feel poor no longer. For," godliness is profitable for the life which now is," as well as for that which is to come; and the real poor that night in the great city, were those who, having everything else, knew nothing of the unsearchable riches of Christ, and had no treasure in heaVen. CHAPTER IV It was a hot summer in New, York. 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 livedl—were there no rich men, having more money than they knevr.how to use, who could have, them cleansed and purified 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 —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 their horses, and superb barns for their cattle;'men who lived in a wil derness of silk and. velvet and gold, and. who, when they gave a ball, spread carpets from the house to the carriage way Tor the delicate feet of the ladies to pass over? Alas! "he that loveth not MS brother whom he hath seen, how shall ire love God whom he hath not seen ::?n It 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 cholera came stealing through the unCleaned streets, creeping up the, dismal stairs of the tenement-houses; it began to do its work . witli : ".a rapid hand, and, among the verytifirst,that it struck down.were the old German farmer and his wife. A few shorthours of suffering, and Gpd took thei#, and they were at rest. The tV;that were left of that small family began the world again alone ; living on 4gether, and cheering each other as thfly,:best might. For a little while: and :then cholera seized upon the aunt toond John saw her carried to the PotteysOteld and laid by the side of his Wher,,and mother, and in all the wide city* had not one human friend. , From some funerals come back car riages full of peopte r who have loved the one just laid , blithe grave, or who have known him;d;. honored him; or, if he has been: - alsbldier, there are glittering files of hiellellow soldiers, and military bands playing their sweet music. But John cameback all alone. There had been no carfiages to wait on his grief, no procession, of kind friends; he was , the only , inourner. To the city officials, who had, made all the arrangements, it was nothing but the funeral of a poor . foreigner,;, about whom they knew little and..dired less; to the people on the sidewtilk Among whom John threaded his viay home, he was only one of the common - street boys, always in the way, and , :having no proper place anywhere. And so, jostled and slighted on earth, but watcned and guarded from heairen, John made his way through the streets, towards his home. He called it lidine yet, for want of better; and he went in at the old door, and up the craty stairs to the one room where he aid. his aunt had lived. But everything there was in a state of commotion.- The bed was stripped, the chairs were in tl3,e middle of the floor, and the little strip of rag carpet was pulled up; and hang in.,b out of the window. "0, there you are !" said a woman who seemed to be taking care of Fall this confusion, "I didn't know as you was ever corning back. Come, you'd best bundle up what duds you've got, and be off: There's other folks comic:' to live-her, now." "Here?" said the boy, feeling be - - wildered. "Ay, Mere," said the Woman, "and to die here, too, maybe, as the last did. Good enough place for it,. Who's going to, let you ke,,cp a room. like this with out paying rent? NOt our landlord, I, reckon. He's hardly stood it : out till she was dead. So you'd better pick up your things before the new folks bring theirs, or they may chance to get mixed up.; and that, would be bad. You don't, look ;as if you - had much to lose." The woman hustled about, sweeping and talking together, and John stood still, without trying, to interrupt >her. Many of her words he did not.under stand, yet the meaning of all that long speech was plain enough. Without waiting to hear more, John began to pick up his things which was a very easy task; for,;as the woman told him, 'the landlord kindly decided to take, whatever furniture "and other trifles had belonged to the rest of the family, for the 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 sunshine that - wa* filling even that poor street, with splendor. " And out_of_sight_an angel hright- Went close behind, with shining feet." A MOTHER'S MORNING THOUGHTS. Little bird-like voices are carolling a morning song in an adjoining room. Two sweet children, in all the fresh ness, of health and vigor, greet:the-re turning day with words of praise. One, a dear little pet of less than two win ters, lies asleep on nu' arm. And these treasures are mine—given me in solemn trust by my ,heavenly, Father. Nor are.they all. For nearly ten years their father has cared for :me, and by his tendet-love <has made my pathway "blossom like the:rose." And I have loving parents, brothers ' sisters, and friends innumerable, whose kindnessi is without measure. Earthlas mna. l of .joy for me. Lifeis - sweet 77 -,:and, yet, this life, with all its- happiness, do* not satisfy the cravings .of the immortal.. spirit:- I accept it,with thankful ness as long ,as I can' nerve. God living, but 7 I -Ion& 0h,,1 long for, the; sight of a blessed Friend, who , "not having seen,l love ;". a Friend.i, whose presence .is- "fullness -of joy and at whose right hand, there are easures forevermore." Alrearthly loves fade in the light of this heavenly love, even as the morning star ,melts away ini the light of the sun. This heavenly Friend "most sweet, yea, he is altpgether lovely," and I can never be atisfied until I " awake in his likenessi" So it pains me not, on this calm winter's morning, to know that the, hectic deepens on. my cheek—that death has set its seal upon my brow. There has been a _struggle—but it is past—a - struggle at the thoilght of leaving my little ones in their tender infancy without a mother's care; but the voice of my Beloved has spoken to my heart—"l will .watak `rover them with more than a mother's care; I will love them with more than a mother's love." Theil I gave them trustfully into the lands of My Saviour', and; 'my last care at, rest, I listened to the sweet words, "In . lmy. Fathe;'s house are many mansi4ns; I go, to =prepare ,a place for yous I .will come gain and re- ceive you unto myself; that where I am there you may be also;".until my whole soul responded, "Come, Lord Jesus, come quie,kly\"-- Congregationalist. HOW TO PICK HUCKLEBERRIES. BY JOHN TODD D. D • When I. f&rst knew Mr. John Horse ley he was an old white-haired , man, and very rich. As he seemed never to have been in any great b4iness, such as merchants and speculators nOw en gage in, and as he was never accused of being a dishonest man, it Was always a mystery tonme, how he became to be so rich. r knew that his fa,ther was a poor country clergyman, and that John could _have received: no, roperty from• him. •Meeting my fri nd.one` day, when our 'conversation . h ppened to turn on the subject of gathting pro perty, I ventured 'to ask) hi how it was that he had been so sucfessful in life. "When I was a boy," said he, "my father was a poor minister. We lived very plain, and dressn,d very plain, but that never, trouned us. We always had enough of soMething to eat, and my mother wascl i ne who would contrive to, have her 4t dressed neatly, if not richly. due day, when I was a little fellow, "several lit 'tie boys and girls came along, im their way to pick huckleberries. ilthey in vited me to go with them. A d when I_savi:their bright faces, and thi.ir little baskets, and the bright .after i noon,- wanted, to, go with them. my mother. I went into the, house and asked my mother. I saw she SyMpathized with Me, but said I must go and ask father. " 'And where is father?' 1 " ‘Up in the study, of course. "Up bounded, hat in hahl, and gently knocked at his door. H 6 bade me come in Well, Johnny, what your wish?' I, I want, sir, to go with the children and pick huckleberries. " 'Where are they going?' ;1 " 'Only to Johnson's hill, sir.' "'How many children are there?' , "'Seven, besides myself. Please let me go.' t) " 'Well, you, may, go. Be a t ',good boy, and use no bad words.' , "Away I scampered, and haii, just got to the bottom of the stairs, t iffhen , my father called me back. 'O, dear it's all over now. He's going to ' take it all b4ek,' I said to myself. I, a g ain stood in the door-way, expecting:to have the permission with drawn. • " 'Johnny,? said my father, with a peculiar smile, have a word of ad vice to give you. You will find the berries growing_ op. bushes stansling in, clumps, all over the lot. The children will.pick-a few minutes at one place, and then go off to another, in hopes of finding better picking, and thus.'S.hey will spend half of the afternoon• in roaming from one place to a,nc4her- - Now my advice to you is, that when you find pretty fair picking, stick to that spot, and keep picking there. Your bas ket at night will show whether my ad vice is good or not.' "Well, sir, I followed my father's advice, and though the children would wander about and cry out, ' 0, Johnny, here's a world of theni,' and 'here is splendid picking,' and 'here - you Gan fill your basket in less than no time,' yet I stuck to my 'fair picking' place. W hen we got through at night, to the astonishment of- every one, and my own no less, it was found that I had nearly twice as many berries as any other one. They all wondered how it was. But I knew. And that was the lesson that made me a ich man. Whenever I have found 'fair picking' I haVe stuck to it. Others have- changed occupations and busip,o, and have moved from one laaceloAnother. I hav i e never don9,,,#R e and I atpiii? - ate .all my susmaorithe l_esson-by which I learli, e‘tp,pick-hu.ckleberries I/ faye recalled ; this conversation, t?t , all .1 . 4 6 _form, o,,tpy ;old Mend, who h J,Ong_since passed away, to impress - I ' I 4P?xL ~tI P :PF.9O, . 9 iPd--uPn the itOacher that a single sentence_ of in fOroAdn ,may shape the course of the whole life.ot, the child now under his ,qa f re., ) ,N4Rnly did property and sue ic,eks,l4llg•.94 the old minister's hint, bntAi r shaping of his son's whole char- Actig- - 4or ,life, , and perhaps forever. 491y- j p.; . ,p34 wisdom we need to be able to smth° right thing at the right timel And no less urgently do I want to . ~ imp Tess th 6 lesson on the child, that if he is doing pretty well Where he is, if his teacher does well by him, don't change, or try another class, or another school. If your advantages are less than you could wish,, stick to them, and make the most of them. The, stone that rolls the least gathers the most moss. What was wise in picking huckleberries, is wise in every attempt to learn and gather what is valuable.— Sunday-school Times. BRINGING OUR SHEAVES WITH US. The time for toil has passed, the night has come, ,The . last ,and saddest of the harvest-eves ; Wiirt out with laborilong and wearisome, Drooping and faint, the reapers hasten home, Each laden with his sheaves. Lett of the laborers, Thy feet I gain, Lord , of the harvest! and my spirit grieves That .I am burdened .not so, much with grain A.s . With.a heaviness of heart and brain .- - YaSter / "behold My'sheaves ! • Few, light and worthless—yet their weight Through all My frame a weary aching leaies ; For long I struggled-with my helpless fate;' And staid and toiled till it was dark and late,; Yet these are, all my sheaves. Full well I know'lhavemore tares than wheat; Brambles and flowers, dry, stalks and withered l'hie'refore I blush and weep as at Thy feet I kneel down reverently, and repeat " Master, behold my sheaves.' Yet do I gather strength and hope anew; For weal know. Thy patient love perceives Nor what I did, but what I strove to do— And though the few ripe ears be sadly few, Thou wilt accept my sheaves. —Atlantic Monthly. THE TWO. BEARS. I remember reading; not long ago, about a man and his wife who were known to live very unhappily together. 'They Were said to be the, most quarrel some people 'in the whole village in which they liVed. They wouldn't bear the least thing from each other. Like cat and clog, there was a constant snarling, and growling, and quarrelling, between them. But all at once it'was observed by some of their neighbors, that a great change hid passed over them: They didn't quarrel any more. No harsh, cross words passed - between_ thern:. Instead of this, they were ()la, scrVedlo be gentle arid kind to each 'other, and' their-house, from being a a scene of constant strife;- becarne Ithe. hoine* Of peaoe and hippines,s/ . 0f course this excited a good deal of sur prise in the neighborho'od. Everybody was wondering what had happened to the old couple. - - ' At last-an old. lady-in the' neighbor-, hood, whom we may call Miss Inquisi tive, felt that she couldn't stand it any longer. She muaf find out what it was.. So she paid a- visit to their house; and said, ".Mrs. Snarling,. everybody in the_ village is talking about the wonderful change which has, come, over you arid. your husband. But; nobody seems to, know what it is owing to; so I thought I would come in,and ask you what it is which has produced this change?" _ " I am glad to see you, Miss Inquisi7 tive,"- said Mrs. Snarling . ; "I, assure, you the change has been a, very happy one to Ifs. , It has 'been brought about, 'by two,bears." • . "Two bears!" exclaimed Miss In quisitive, lifting_ - up her hands •in as tonishment. , • "Yes, two bears; and-I am very glad they ever, came into our house." "But What in the world do you mean?" .1 "I mean two Scripture; bears:" "Two Scripture bears! why, you puzzle me more and i"lt's true, though." "I don't remember reading in ; ,the Scriptures of any two bears; except - those that ate-up tbe wicked children who mocked the prophet Elisha; and they must have been dead long ago." -• "Yea; .but there are,two other bears mentioned in Scripture." "Pray tell me where they are spoken of—for I don't recollect them."' "We read about -one. of them in Gal. vi. 2, where it says, 'Bear ye one another's burdens.' And we read about the other in Ephes. iv. 2,'where it says, `Forbearing one another in love.' Their names are Bear and Forbear." "Well, I'm sure!" said Miss Inquisi tive, and away. She went home. The simple meaning of it was, that Mr. and Mrs. Snarling had become Christians, and had taken these two Scripture bears home to live with them. llow I wish you would all take these two bears home with you, my young friends. Yes, and keep them there. Let them stay in the nursery—in the dining-room. Take them with you when you go to school—make them your companions wherever you go. They make no noise. They cost noth ing to keep. They can do no harm— but they may do a great deal of good. Oh, if these two bears were only al .lo pd to compAqto ; every house, amt • wel)lthe,re, how much -trouble and sorrol,Ait would prevent! anci hOw much good it would d 0,1.. ReICDr. NEVER FRIGHTEN CHILDREN. A schoolmistress, for some trifling offence, most foolishly put a child into, a dark cellar for an hour. The child was greatly terrified and. cried bitterly. Upon returning to her parents in the evening, she , burst into tears, and begged thatshe might not be put into the cellar. The parents thought this extremely odd, and assured her that there was no danger of their being guilty of so great an act of cruelty, but it was difficult to pacify her, and when put to bed she passed a restless night. On the following day she had fever, during which she frequently ex- Claimed, "Do not put me in the cellar." ,The fourth day after, she was taken to Sir A. Cooper, in a high state of fever, with delirium, frequently muttering, " Pray, don't put me in the cellar." When Sir Astley inquired the reason, he found that the parents had learnt the punishment to which she had been subjected. He ordered what was likely to relieve her• but she died a week after this unfeeling conduct. Another case from the same authority may here be cited. It is the case of a child, ten yea.rs of age, who, wanting to write her exercise, and to scrape her slate-pencil, went into the school in the dark to fetch her knife, when one of her schoolfellows burst from behind the door to;frighten her. She 1 . :was much terrified, and her head ached. * On the following day she became deaf; and, on the next, so much so as not to hear the loudest talking. Sir. Astley saw her three months after this had happened, and she ` continued in the same deplorable: state of deafness. A - boy, fifteen years of age, was ad mitted an inmate Of the Dundee Luna tic Asylum, 'having become imbecile from fright. When twelve years of age he was apprenticed to a light busi ness; and some trifling article being one day missing, he was along with others locked up in a dark cellar. The -'children were much alarmed ; and all were let out with the exception of this poor boy,.wh6 was detained until past midnight He became from this time nervous and melanchOly • and sunk into a state, of insensibility, from which he will never recover. The missing artiele was found the - following exeulpating the boy from the.guilt with which he had been charged, Ex. Papen A NEGRO MOTHER'S FAITH. Not far from the ~Capitol lives an old negro woman, whose only boy enlisted last spring in the negro recriment,or ganized in this city. He took part in. the, action., of-July path in fri:mt. , of Peterstnrg, and was, one of those who fell woundek near the famous crater. ilad,ly,wounded and in the handi of the rebels" w,as the word that came to his mother. That was in August. The autumn montts came and went in suc ,cessipn, but, brought „no word of this_ only . son of his mother, and she a widow. His friends generally - believed him dead._ It did.. not seem probable_ that he had surviVed his wounds, yet no,„onethad the heart to Say as much to' his .mother. -She continually said, ; "I t trust in de good Lord." .She did not, appear, to think it _possible, that,her boy,would die: Much effort was made in the half of November and the first half ,of .Pecember to get word . frozn , him .but all to, 1L53 avail. "Some One .9:u.gf;Lt to tell hisznother," was often re -marked among, those who were lute restefl in the,case, yet no one spOke.l dispouraginglystoher. Who. could do it.? She wonder - ed "Nerhy, she ,did not hear from him - she never. -wearied in . ,devising crude and simple plans for ,com.municating -:with, him.A week, ago, she said,. ",_l)e Lord, He, win per-. vide, an' I shall hear from him, bime-. -by," Thiawas on rtneid:ay last. Thurs day afternoon., he opened the door of his old mother's little house, and. walked in and threw hiiarms around her neck ! Wasn't that,a, royal ,Qhristmas et for the - trustful old soul? ;Half an hOur later she burst, into, the house .ok friends who had. aided , .her, with only, " boy's come! ,my, boy's camel"- He had not been, wounded, but was taken prisoner and sent to Libby, wh,ere he, months., Oneas servant for about three onths. One afternoon when. he, was sent out for wood--" 0, golly," says he, "I jus' den forgot de, , way back!" H,g., was near three weeks in making his, way overland from Richmond to. Washing ton, and, brought through three negro women, five children, and. two, Men.— Letter from Washington. REFUGE. There's not a care but what I cut on God; When amid pain and anguish deep I feel A peaceful quiet o'er my bosom steal; And with affection I can kiss the rod. Long years ago this thorny earth was trod By one who thither came from heaven to bear For our poor race, sin, sadness sorrow, care; Sad seeds that ripen on earth's blighted sod. What He bore then, He's mighty to bear now; My heavy sins I'hang upon His cross 4 My.pains I see upon His pallid brow_.:..; Beneath the trouble that would often toss My tempted. 50u1,.1 see His meek head.bow ; And all the strength I gain is gathered from His loss "OUR, YOUNG FOLKS." " Tell our young folks to live for God." Such was the last message of a pastor's wife to the youth, among whom she had held, only a few months, a high, and it seemed to, her, a sacred relation. May- his wish of A glorified friend never be forgotten - by the yonng peo ple of until it shall beOkti,busly -realized! • - = -- There are youth in - .iv 11. whose future is 'dear to Goa *ld to men. The writer feels warned . by the voice of the dead, to "Tell the young folks, everywhere, to live for God." And why ? Because no object of life, lower than God, will truly satisfy them. The ex periment has been repeatedly tried, and failed as often. Ask the pleasure seeker, the night-reveller; ask the gay dancer, the votary of wealth and fame ; ask the absorbed student, "do these pursuits satisfy?" Compelled, they will all reply, "not yet." Ask the witty, the wise, the petted Talleyrand. For four-score years, with an ambition worthy of a nobler object, he served himself. He was chief minis ter of State, and the central idol of the gayest society of France. But, dying, he confessed:—" Behold, eighty-three years have passed away ! * * and with no results, except great fatigue of body and mind, a piofound sentiment of discouragement for the future, and disgust, for the past." Even the brilliant and. admired Ches terfield, when king_ of the world of fashion and letters, which he had as pired to rue, _-wrote to a friend:--" I have run the silly rounds of bnsiness and pleasure, and I have done with them all." And to the same friend he declares, his morbid purpose with re gard to the remaining years of his life : " I am resolved to sleep in the carriage during.the rest of the journey." When a nation, almost a world, wag at the feet of Voltaire, he sighed wea rily, "I wish I had never been born." W hat a great mistake did these men make! How desolate do their confessions sound, when we remember the dying eestacy of Payson:—"l re joice! I triumph!" or the sublime re view of the great apostle—"l have fought a, good fight. I have finished my course. I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness." There is a prejudice on the part of many young men and young women against living and laboring for God. But let the question be seriously asked, is, there any better investment of youth ful strength, than to convert it into of charity, into works of love, into prayers and labors for immortal souls ? This is the work of the church ; and will any other use . of the gift of youth yield. ,in return a deeper . peace in this life, ,and equal satisfaction in another ?—Congreptionalist. A' - STORY FOR -TEACHERS "I wish ..I could go to Willie's school, mother." my son ; you have , a good school now, an t . yqu „axe l not advanced enough, to enter - Willies school:" "1„kilow it : mother, but my teacher is so .cross to me! He - calls me, a blocklit9ad,' a 'young rascal,' and a good many ether. names; ,and, to-day, when I w laughing as alsorrieihiug fun ny, he told me he would fling out of the window." 'No wonder little Charley was tired of going to school to, be called'hy such names ; but it is a wonder to usthat any ..twher,whg, is in, the hqpit of using such - language to.his scholars, should be allowed the charge of a school. Charley was not a bad boy - he was full of.4fe and fun, and at his ,age— ;nine 7p,s ; no , easy matter for him to sit through two long sessions a day, and.reMain perfectly quiet, espe cially When. his quick eye detected ;some, roguery,going on in the room. Hard names from a schoolmate, though unpleasant„ areentire .differ ent from the same coming from, a, , • teacher, or any l one to whom the child is accustomed to look up with - respect. Such'wOrds, to him are like _the elec tric shOck, causing the whole frame to quiver_ But worili of kindness and sympathy will make_ him a captive at There is nothing more Pleasing to a child than to be, noticed` with "kind ness lay hie superiors. This the-child has a right to expect from his teacher -the 9,9 , e uncles whose influence, he is - theell‘ater part of the day, and much of whOse character will enter into, And form part' of, the character - of the . child. We well remember the .surprise we felt some years since, - when hearing the language quoted above from a teacher with whom we, had been terms_of friendship it lessenedonr, es ,timate Of his charader, and'wp could no longer esteem que who wasAllet ed to such a habit. Rhoads Island Schoohnasti.r. -CdrolineJfay
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers