Cljt gamily girds.
"REMEMBER ME."
BY EDWARD EVERETT.
[The following lines were written by the late Mr.
Everett, in his youthful days, but never published un
til since his decease. They wore addressed to a ten
derly loved sister, on the occasion of his leaving home
for a prolonged absence.]
Yei, dear, one 1 to the envied tram
Of those around, thy moments pay,
But wilt thou never kindly deign
To think of him that's far away?
Thy form, thine eye, thine angel smile,
For weary years I may not see;
But wilt thou not sometimes the while,
My sister dear, Remember Me?
But not in fashion's brilliant hall,
Surrounded by the gay and fair,
And thou the fairest of them all,—
Oh, think not, think not of me there;
But when the thoughtless crowd is gone,
And hushed the voice of senseless glee,
And all is silent, still and lone,
And thou art sad, Remember Me
Remember me; but loveliest, ne'er,
When in his orbit fair and high,
The morning's glowing charioteer ,
Rides proudly up the blushing sky;
But when the waning moonbeam sleeps
At midnight on the lonely Bea,
And nature's pensive spirit weeps
In all her dews, Remember Me
Remember me, I pray,—but not
In Flora's gay and blooming hour,
When every brake hath found its note,
And sunshine smiles in every flower;
But when the falling leaf is sere,
And withers sadly from - the tree,
And o'er the ruins of the year
Cold autumn sighs, Remember Mel
Remember Me : but choose not, dear,
The hour when, on the gentle lake,.
The sportive wavelets, blue and clear,
Soft rippling to the margin, break ;
But when the deafening billows foam
In madness o'er the pathless sea,
Then let thy pilgrim fancy roam
Across them, and Remember Me!
Remember me, but not to join,
If haply some thy friend should praise;.
'Tis far too dear, that voice of thine,
To echo what the stranger says:
They knolir us not; but should'st thou meet
Some faithful friend of me and thee,
Softly, sometimes,
to him repeat
My name, and then Remember Me !
Remember me : not, I entreat,
In scenes of festal, week•day joy,
For then it were not kind or meet
My thoughts thy pleasure should alloy:
But on the sacred, solemn day,
And, dearest, on thy bended knee,
When thou for those thou lov'st dost pray,
Sweet spirit, then Remember Me
Remember me; but not as I
On thee forever, ever dwell,
With anxious heart, and drooping eye,
And doubts ' twould grieve theel should tell
But in thy calm, unclouded heart,
Whence dark and gloomy visions flee,
Oh, then, my sister! be my part,
And kindly then REMEMBER, ME!
THE RED-CROSS KNIGHT.
From " Christian's Panoply;" a new "A. L
0. E." book, just published by Carter.
There have been many schoOl-teach
ers more clever than Ned. Franks, the
one-armed sailor, many possessing
deeper knowledge, and' greater power
of imparting it to' others; but there
have been but few who could make
thenaselves more popular with their
pupils. It was not merely that Ned
was ready with a story upon every
subject, that after school hours were
over he would tell anecdotes of life at
sea ; but that his genial, kindly nature
drew the young around him with a
power resembling that by which nee
dles are drawn to a magnet. The se
cret of thin influence was—Ned was
beloved because he loved. He did
not go through his duties as a task,
thankful when they were over, merely
performing the work for the salary
which it brought him. Ned Franks
rejoiced in the work itself; what he
did, he did as unto the Lord. In all
his label's of love, Ned looked to his
Saviour for wisdom to guide him, for
hope to cheer, for the blessing- which
gives success. There was not a boy
in his school whom Franks did not re-
member by name in prayer; but few
to whom he had not spoken in private
on the subject of religion. Most of
them looked upon him as a friend and
counsellor in need ; and a grave look
from the sailor had more effect than a
blow from another man might have
had.
" Come, teacher, now for a story !"
exclaimed Stephen White, on one win
try day, when torrents of rain were
descending, when the howling blast
rattled the window-frames and shrieked
in the chimneys, and dashed the shower
against the panes, while ever and anon
the growl of the thunder was heard.
Slates and well-thumbed books had
been hurried back into their places,
for Ned delighted in order, and tried
to introduce into the school something
of the neatness and discipline which
he had learned on board a man-of-war.
" Well, my hearties," said the cheer
ful young sailor, "as this is not weather
for cricket or foot-ball, I'm ready to
spin one of my yarns, if you're willing
to it." A general stamping of boots
and clapping of hands was the answer.
" What shall it be about?" continued
the sailor, passing his hand through
his curly brown locks.
"Something about battles and blows,"
cried a youthful voice from one of the
farther benches.
"I have it," said Franks; "I'll tell
you the story of the shield ; not just
- because it amused myself when I was
a boy, but because I've thought on it
many and many a time since, and it
seems to my mind that it bears right
on the subject which the vicar bade
you all prepare for his next Bible
class."
The boys were quite accustomed to
Ned's habit of drawing a lesson from
what at first seemed only meant for
amusement. He liked to accustom
them to think. "Sea-weeds," he would
say, "float on the surface, but we must
dive for the pearls; there be -many
stories from which we can draw a pre
cious moral, if Ive but . care to go deep
enough down to find it."
The lads soon took their, places, some
on the forms, some on the floor, to be
nearer their favorite teacher, who, rest-_
ing his single arm on the desk before
him, leant forward; and thus began:—•
" When I was a younker like your
selves, before I'd ever crossed the salt
sea, I remember that my good father
once took. me to see an old castle in
Wales. There is not much about it
that I can recollect now ; I've a dim
notion of old stone walls, overgrown
with lichen, a portcullis with its rusty
chains that was hung dyer the gate
way, and little slits of holes through
which the archers shot, long before
guns were invented. But there was
one thing in the gray chapel which I
remember well ; 'twas an old battered
shield that hung there, with a red cross
painted upon it, and I shall never for
get the legend told of that ancient
shield. It had been carried to the
Holy Land many hundred years ago,
by a crusading knight who followed
Richard the First. The knight's name
has escaped my memory, but we will
call him St. George.
" Many and great were the perils
and hardships encountered by the bold
knight. Mounted on his strong war
horse, with his lance in rest, often would
he charge the Saracen foe. Where
the battle was hottest, there would the
sunshine flash on his glittering shield,
and its red cross might ever be seen
in the thick of the fight.
" One day, I forget by what acci
dent, St. George had dropped astern of
the rest of the Christian host, and found
himself riding all alone on a glowing
sandy plain. Suddenly two Saracens
hove in sight, bearing down upon him,
the sand under their horses' hoofs ris
ing like a light cloud ; St. George ut
tered a short prayer—he was a brave
and pious knight—then couched his
lance, :set spurs to his steed, and rode
to meet the foe. His spear laid the
foremost low, but snapped itself in the.
shook. St. George drew his sword,
and dashed at the second Moslem, who
was a man of giant strength.
" The struggle was long and fierce.
Blows came so thick and. fast that
sparks flew from the whirling swords.
Well was it for St. George that his
shield was of metaal tried and tempered.
Thrice it saved him from blows that
would have cleft his skull. The third
time the scimitar of the enemy was
shivered against that shield. The Sar
acen, thus disarmed, turned his rein
and fled across the desert. St. George
had no power to give chase: his horse
had been sorely wounded, and scarcely
had the Moslem enemy disappeared in
the distance, before the-faithful charger
sank dying upon the sand.
"St. George grieved for his brave
steed ; and he grieved for his own deso
late state, adrift on that weary desert,
with no port of safety in view, and the
sun b crlarinc , down upon him till the
sand under his feet, and the very air
that he breathed, seemed from a burn
' ing fiery furnace. St. George saw a
few palm trees in' the distance, lifting
their feathery tops athwart the clear
blue sky, and he steered his course to
wards them• ' but, heavily laden with
helm, hauberk, and shield, the weary,
foot-sore traveller made but slow way :
it seemed as if he would never gain
the shade of those few trees. Sorely
tempted, then, was St. George to fling
away the shield that hung so heavily
on his arm, even though other enemies
might be cruising on his lee ; once and
again he resolved to drop it down on
the sand, but the sight of the red cross
upon it changed the purpose of the
knight.
" Ho !' quoth St. George, 'no infi
del foot shall ever be able to trample
on that sign of my holy faith. Come
weal, come woe, I'll never fling it away,
or leave my shield in the dust
"At length, almost exhausted, the
knight dragged his weary limbs as far
as the little isle—oasis, I should say
in the desert. He threw himself down
to rest under the welcome shade of the
palms, pillowed his head on his shield,
and speedily dropped asleep.
"Presently he opened his eyes; the
broad fiery sun was sinking in a red
haze on the horizon of the desert, flat
and rounded as a sea-line ; St. George
felt very desolate and lonely. He
looked down on his shield, perhaps to
cheer up his courage with the sight of
the cross upon it. The metal was
smooth, polished, and bright, and shone
like a mirror, save where here and.
there the e'nemy - 's steel had left a scratch
or a dent. St. George could see the
green feathery top of a palm reflected
in it ; he could see its slim-fluted stem,
and he could see something besides
which startled even his bold spirit.
In the shield he saw a serpent with
forked tongue Wand gleaming fangs,
coiled round the reflected trunk, as if
just in act to spring. Warned in time,
the knight started aside as the venom
ous creature darted down. It missed
its prey, and the next moment was
crushed beneath the 'weight of the
shield, which the knight dashed with
force upon it.
" God be praised !' cried the pious
knight, as he looked on the lifeless
serpent; 'had I not seen that deadly
creature reflected in my bright shield,
I would soon have been lying where
it now lies, slain by its poisonous; fang.
Well was it for me that I cast not
aside my red-cross shield'
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, MARCH 16, 1865.
" Again sleep overcame the exhaust
ed man, though : anxious to .keep watch
through the night, lest new dangers
should come upon him, he would not
again rest his head on his shield. It
lay beside him in the position in which
it had crushed the serpent, with the
arm fastening upturned,; the:red ,cross
pressing the sand. '
"Long and deeply slumbered the
knight, so deeply that he was, not even
roused by a sudden storm which came
down during the night, though the
noise of it mixed with his dreams.
Parched as he was—almost dying of
thirst—St. George dreamed that the
skies were pouring down their showers
upon him, but that fast as they fell
they were sucked in by the barren
sand. He was wet, yet perishing for
want of water. At length he awoke,
to find that his dream had been but
too true. The storm had come, and
had gone; the sand was steaming, the
palm trees were wet, drops hung on
the feathery leaves, the knight's mantle
was damp and dank ; but where could
he find one draught of water to slake
his feverish thirst ?
" Oh !' cried the knight, as he tried
to gain a wretched relief, by pressing
his own damp mantle to his lips, 'one
cup of cold water now were worth a
king's ransom to me I'
"It was then just on the hour of
dawn, and the first' ray of light that
streamed over the - desert fell on the
down-turned shield. The heavy drops
had fallen on the hollow buckler, it
had caught and it had kept them within
its shallow round.. The men of the
East speak of water still as the gift of
Lod; never had it seemed more truly
to deserve the name ; never had it
been more like life to a perishing soul
than when the knight drank it, sweet
and pure, out of his red-cross shield.
"That draught gave St. George
strength to rise and go on his way.
He was miles astern of the camping
ground of the Christian host; but be
fore the day was over, he sighted white
tents and waving pennons, and his sig
nals of distress were noticed at last by
his mates. He was brought into camp
half dead with heat, thirst,. ankt ex
haustion ; but there, with food and rest,
he soon recovered his strength. The
knight lived to strike many a. good
blow for the cause which he thought
s° holy.
When the crusade was over, and
St. George re-crossed the seas and came
back to his country and friends, he
hung up his shield in the chapel where
I saw it when I was a child. He had
carried it in troubles and dangers, it
had been his defence through them all,
it had guarded him from open assault,
it had saved from the serpent's bite, it
had relieved his thirst :in• the desert;
and now,' cried St. George, 'whenever
I worship God in this chapel,, the sight
of it will serve to remind me of all I
owe to His mercy; and when aly days
are ended, and my dust lies in the
vault, the shield that . I bore in battle
shall .hang there over my tomb."
THE BLUE ROSE.
A famous horticulturalist had roses
of all sorts in his garden, from the
pearliest white to the' deepestgarnet';
from the faintest cream color to the
brightest canary ; a rose that passed
for purple, and another called out of
courtesy a black rose ; but all their
exquisite fragrance and beauty were
wasted on the gardener, who' was ab
sorbed in one idea, that was, to pro
duce a blue rose. So all possible ex
pedients were tried. Chemistry and
botany were besieged to try and get
upon nature's blind side and induce
her to bring forth this anomaly.
Now this gardener was not alone in
his discontent. There are a host of
people' in the world searching after
blue roses. They have enough and to
spare of others far more beautiful, but
all of them profit nothing so long as
the coveted one is still beyond their
reach. It was not by any means be
cause the blue rose was the prettiest
that it was desired, but because it
could not be had.
The joys that we have are never
considered of half as much worth as
those we do not have. God gives us
great occasions of happiness very sel
dom,in our life-time; but there is a
rich undergrowth of small enjoyments
springing up in almost every pathway,
which may be ours only for the gath
ering. It is of no use to wait, for hap
piness to come to us. We must take
that which we find at •our hand. We
must stop searching for blue roses.
Do not imagine you would be at 'f:11
satisfied if you did get the object you
most covet. Just as soon as the gar
dener got his blue rose, he would be
just as uneasy as ever until he got a
blue tulip or a blue dahlia. The only
surety you have that you, would be
satisfied' with future possessions is that
you are happy over those you now
posses. "Contentment with godliness
is great gain."—S. S. Times.
AFFECTIoNATE intercourse with the
young is a help against the too rapid
invasion of old age. A gentleman of
our acquaintance is accustomed to re
peat the saying of a distinguished man:.
"If you would avoid growing old, as
sociate with the yOung ;" assigning as
a reason, that the old are so apt to in
crease their own and others' infirmities
by talking them over, while the cheer
fulness of the young will do something
to enliven the failing spirits of our de
clining years. There is sense and vrls
dow in the rule thus suggested.
SACRED LYRICS.
GOD'S GOODNESS EXTOLLED.
0 for a thousand hearts to feel
The goodness of any God!
0 for a thousand tongues to tell,
That goodness all abroad!
Yet thousand - hearts would be too few,
A thousand tongues too weak,
To feel the gratitude that's dUe,
That gratitude to split:.
The robes I wear, the food I eat,
Are what His hands bestow,
Yea, life, and ev'ry blessing meet,
From Kim my Father flow.
Unnumbered blessings thus bestow'd,
Unbounded praise demand:
To give a tithe of what is ow''d
Would all my life command.
But when I view the wondrous love,
The vast unbounded grace,'
That sent the. Saviour from above—
. How poor is all my praise !
Then how shall. I attempt to sing?
Or how approach Thy throne?
My heart is all Thoud'st have me bring
0, take it as Thine own!
RED WING, MINN.
OUR SOLDIER.
Another little private
Mustered in
The army of temptation
And of sin 1
Another soldier arming
For the strife,
To fight the toilsome battles
Of a life.
Another little sentry,
Who will stand
On guard, while evils prowl
On every hand.
Lord! out little darling
Guide and save,
'Mid the perils of the march
To the grave!
ONLY GO.
Among the many conversions in.
connection with the revival in B—,
Mass., are several sea captains, which
give the most convincing proof of the
power of divine grace. One of these
captains had followed the sea, and. bu
sine,ss connected with the sea, for more
than forty years. His wife was a pray
ing woman, and had been a professor
of religion twenty-eight years.
When the daily prayer-meetings
commenced, he did not think very
favorably of them. He told his wife
that they would not amount to any
thing, that a few would go a few days,
get" discouraged, see a great failure,
and that would be the end. of it. His
wife wanted him to go to the meetings,
but he said he should not go to the
lecture-room. He was a large man,
and needed a larger place to'sit in than
that. He • said that when they had
them in the church he would go, not
dreaming that they would ever be held
there, as it was the largest church in
the place.
At the end of the first week, the
prayer-meetings oecame so thronged,
Ahat_it _was_ 9.nnounced that hereafter
they would be held in the church, a:
large building, • capable of holding
many hundred people. The opening
of the church became a necessity. He
then thought he must go, but resolved
to finish up by going once or' twice,
simply to comply with the letter of his
promise. The time drew near, and he
felt ashamed to go ; and to get rid of
it, he told his wife he would not go
unless he could go just as he was, with
out changing his dress. He supposed
she would object to that ; but she
answered: "Go any way, only go."
He started, and felt so ashamed, that
he would have denied it, if any one
had asked, on the way, if he was go
ing to the-prayer-meeting.
At the first meeting his mind was
somewhat interested. But he did not
intend to go again. Indeed, he made
up his mind that he would not. In
conversing with another sea captain,
he found him somewhat interested in
the prayer-meeting, and they agreed
to go together the next day. At this
meeting of the next day he was more
interested still. He went again next
day, and had more feeling. As his
feelings deepened, be tried to keep clear
of the other captain, but did not suc
ceed. In conversing together, he found
that they had similar feelings and
anxieties. Still he was ashamed to be
seen on his way to the prayer-meetings.
In' the course of a week he had deeper
convictions than he had ever had be
fore. He could not sleep, and his
family wondered what was the matter.
He endeavored to divert attention from
his case by saying it was the spring of
the year; and he did not feel very well.
Medicine was recommended, but he
knew he needed medicine for the soul,
though he studiously avoided letting
any one - know that he felt religious
anxiety. He would not even tell his
wife--but after she was asleep he
would weep and pray all night. He
had not shed a tear for twenty years,
and was not 'easily moved to tears.
His eyes we - re now literally fountains
of tears.
At length he resolved to tell his
faithful, praying wife just how he felt,
but could not. He did, however, tell
the other sea captain, and they wept
together. Both of these men endea
vored to get' up in. the meeting and
ask for prayers, but both failed. They
seemed to be unable to rise from their
seats. As his conviction deepened, he
felt that he must tell his wife. He
entered his house again and again,
fully resolved to do so, but his courage
failed. He wanted to read the Bible,
but could not do so without it being
known to the wholehouse. He started
to go up stairs that he might not be
seen, but was hindered by the fear that
some one would follow •him. So he
left the house in greater distress than
ever.
_ .
He went into the, fields outside of
the town, and sat down and wept
bitterly. What oppressive sorrow
weighed like a mountain lead upon
him. A few days more and he made
known his feelings to his anxious wife,
who all this time was praying for him.
The result was a great increase of ten
derness of heart and conscience, but
no relief. M s„ey es poured forth floods
of tears. His sense of sin was per
fectly overwhelming. He was so over
powered after a night of weeping, that
the next day he was completely ex
hausted. As the hour of prayer drew
near he longed for the moments to fly
more swiftly so that he might - go—
though he knew not why he should
, feel so. At the meeting he waS greatly
distressed. The meeting was nearly
ended and brought no relief to his
agonized spirit. He felt as if he should
really die. At length the meeting was
closing, when a pious sea captain—
q•
uite out of time, as it then seemed
all—begged the privilege of saying to a
few words. ,He said that the way of
salvation was plain. All could make
their passage straight to heaven. " See
what we have," said he, in his earnest,
blunt manner, " see what we have!
We have a book of directions; we I
have a compass ; we have a chart ; we
have all the rocks and shoals laid
down ; we have our course laid straight
to heaven. No sailor was ever half so
well provided. He must be a poor
sea captain that cannot get his vessel
into port." And he sat down.
Oh ! what words to this poor, anx
ious, distressed captain. " They were
apples of gold in pictures of silver."
Blessed words sent of the Holy Spirit
—the Comforter. The rays of light
shot into that hitherto dark mind and
heart. He thought how he had shaped
and steered his course for almost every
port on the face of the globe. "I who
always knew I could get into port,
felt confident I could—shall I give up
in despair ? What if I am in mid
ocean, and have been drifting about
all my days—l will lay my course now
—I will follow my 'directions'—l will
make straight for heaven." Light
gleamed into his mind. The burden
on his heart was lifted up ! He went
home to read his Bible, and consult
that book of directions which he had
neglected so long that he had not read
ten chapters in ten years.
As he was leaving the house, he
promised that he would go home and
pray with his wife that night. This
promise was kept He read the Bible,
and then they kneeled down to pray.
After she had prayed, he attempted to
I pray, and . all he could say was, "God
'be merciful to me a sinner." This he
repeated more than fifty times !
He could not go to sleep that night,
- Coiltinued to weep and pray;
hearing the clock strike and tick till
near morning. Every tick of the
clock seemed to say, " Jesus lives!
Jesus lives !" Suddenly he found him
self walking the room in an ecstasy of
delight—and, as he looked out of the
window, such beauty never met his
eyes 'before. He longed for the morn
ing to come, so that he might tell of
his Saviour, and how he had found
him, and what a blessedness there
was in believing in him. From
that time, he had light and joy in his
soul, and he shed the light all around
him. He became a most active Chris
tian spending all his time in recom
mending Christ, and seeking the salva
tion of others.—Power of Prayer.
A WORD TO BOYS.
Make yourself indispensable to your
employer ; that is the golden path to
success. Be so industrious, so prompt,
so careful, that if you are absent one
hour of the usual time, you will be
missed, and he in whose service you
are shall say, "I did not dream M
was so useful." Make your employer
your friend by. performing ' with
minuteness whatever task he sets be
fore you, and above all, be not too nice
to lend a hand, however repugnant to
your sense of neatness it, may be. The
success of your business in after life
depends upon how you deport your
selves now. If you are really good
for anything, you are for a great deal.
Be energetic; put your manners into
your business ; look, as well as act,
with alacrity. Appear to feel an in
terest ; make your master's success
your own, if you have an honest one.
Let your eye light up at his request,
and your feet be nimble. There are
some that look so dull and heavy, and
go with so slow and lazy pace, that it
is irksome to ask what it is your right
to demand of them. Be not like
these.
NICKNAME.—The derivation of this
word seems to be ; Agnomen, ekename,
neken.ame. The final letter, n, is
made the initial letter. The Romans
had usually three names: the individ
ual, the clan, and the surname. Some
times, because of some illustrious
action or remarkable event, a fourth
name was added, called Agnomen, from
ad and nomen. In our own day, the
Roman custom is sometimes literally
followed,. as in giving the name Path
finder to Fremont But usually we
give the additional name in social fa
miliarity, or in ridicule.—.Y. Y. Ob.
server.
GRANDMOTHER'S POCKET.
BY MAUD BIRLAND
There's a little vision come up to-night,
From the depth of years long past;
And it makes me grieve that things so bright
Can never be made to last.
It seems but a year—no, scarcely so long,
Since grandmother sat m her chair ;
And we, an eager expectant throng,
Would gather around her there.
I can see this moment, her wrinkled hand,
As it searched in the folds of her gown
And how a motionless group we would stand,!
Till her storehouse pocket was found.
Then her dear blue eyes would wander o'er all;
And plan how it was best to divide.;
Till at last on her own heart's pet darling they'd
fall,
And her pocket would open out wide.
And then I can see a white, plump little hand,
With dimples all set in a row,
Give out to each one of that bright little band,
The treasures she found here below;
Here something was stored to please the boys,
And there was a prize for the girls ;
And this was to crown the simple joys
Of her pet with the golden curls.
Dear grandmother ! sweetly she's sleeping
there,
Under the bright green sod
Weary of life, and toil, and care,
She gave herself back to God. -
May the children who loved her all meet her
again;
To them- is the sweet promise given—
She will gather them fondly around her then,
" For of such is the kingdom of heaven."
—Little Pilgrim.
MRS. GRUNDY SPOILS OUR GIRLS,
Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, who, by
the way, is a good teacher, giV - es some
good advice about girls, and it is a
pity his counsels could not be heeded.
By-and-by there will be no girls and
children, they , will all be women from
ten to twenty years old. Mr. Beecher
says:—
"A girl is not allowed to be a girl
after she is ten years old. If you treat
her as though she Were one, she will
ask you what you mean. If she 'starts
to run across the street, she is brought
back to the nursery to listen to a lec
ture on the propriety of womanhood.
Now, it seems to me that a girl should
be nothing but a girl until she is seven
teen. Of course there are proprieties
about her sex which it is fitting for
her to observe, but it seems to me that,
aside from these, she ought to have
the utmost latitude. She ought to be
encouraged to do much out of doors,
to run and exercise in all those ways
which are calculated to develope the
muscular frame. What is true of
boys, in the matter of bodily health,
is eminently so of girls. It is all ira
portant that women should be healthy,
well developed. Man votes, writes,
does business, etc., but woman is the
teacher and mother of the world; and
anything that deteriorates woman is a
comprehensive plague on human life
itself. Health among women is a thing
that every man, who is wise and con
siderate for his race, should earnestly
seek and promote.
A HOME.
Have you a home, my child, a fire
to keep you warm, a bed to sleep in,
a kind roof over your head, to shelter
you from the snow and cold, clothes to
cover over your little body, and food
to eat ? Thank God for these bless
ings. Thank God that the iron hand
of war has not laid its destroying touch
upon your home, with its comforts and
enjoyments; for it has made homeless
thousands and thousands of little chil
dren that were once happy like you in
a happy home. Their homes are burnt,
their food is taken; they are ragged
and cold; they are wanderers and fu
gitives. They sleep in the woods, in
caves, behind piles of rubbish, in sheds,
and by the camp-fires, and their little
hearts are full of sorrow by day and
terror by night.
RemenTher their pitiful state when
mother tucks you into your snug warm
bed at night, praise God for his good
ness to you, and pray for the homeless
ones, that he would comfort their
hearts with his love.
And, my children, ask your parents
if there is not some way you can help
them. lam sure you will willingly
share your warm clothes, your bread
and butter, or your money-box with
them. Above all, pray that God will
once more spread his peace over this
sorrowing land.—Child's Paper.
JOE PUTS, THE INDIAN GUIDE,
" Suppose I should take you in a
dark night, right - up here into the
middle of the woods a hundred miles,
set you down and turn you round
quickly twenty times—could you steer
straight to Oldtown ?" "0, yes," said
•he, "have done pretty much the same
thing. I will tell you. Some years
ago I met an old white hunter at Mil
linocdet ; very good hunter. He said
he could go anywhere in the woods.
He wanted to hunt with me that day,
so we start. We chase a moose all
the forenoon, round and round, till
middle of afternoon, when we kill him.
Then I said to him, now you go
straight to camp. Don't go round and
round where we've been, but go
straight. He said, I can't do that, I
dont know where I am. Where you
think camp? I asked. He pointed so.
Then I laugh at him. I take the lead
and go right off the other way, cross
our tracks many - limes, straight camp."
" How. do you do that ?" asked I. "0,
I can't tell you," he replied. " Great
difference between me and white man."
--Thorecas Maine Woods.
Tme, ashes of a cigar are little thought
of—those of a man scarcely more.