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