i The rich man did in torments, and wilt not thou in bliss ? For, sitting at the Saviour’s feet, and gazing in! .. his face, Surely thou’lt not unlearn one gentle human grace; Human and not angelic the form He deigned to wear; Of Jesus, not of angels, the likeness thou shalt bear. At rest from all the storms of life, from its night-watches drear, From the tumultuous hopes of earth, and from the aching fear, Sacred and sainted now to us is thy familiar name, High in thy sphere above us how, and yet in this the same— Together do we watch and wait for that long promised day, When the voice that rends the tombs shall call, “Arise and come away, “Hy Bride and .my, Redeemed, winter and night are past; The time of singing and of light has come to thee at lastJ” When tile Family is gathered, and the Father’s house complete, And we and thou, beloved, in our Father’s smile shalhmeet. ', . THY-’AGAIN. “0, try again, father, try again !” What a' sad, pleading voice uttered the words! What a pale little face was turned toward Peter Parsons as he sat, his elbows resting on the beer stained table, with haggard cheek and blood-shot eyes, which told too well the tale of how the last night had been spent. "It’s no use trying to give it up; I’ve tried, and I can’t do it,” was the father’s dogged, despairing reply. .“ I know the drink will be my ruin; but, if it were poison, I must have it. There’s Mr. Barker, my employer, he gave me warning yesterday ; he .said he couldn’t stand &j habits any longer ; said he was sorry to give me up, but could have none but steady men to serve him. There’s the third place I’ve lost in the same. way. I know the road I am treading; I know what lies at the end on’t. I’m going to ruin with my eyes wide open; but I can’t help it, I must have the drink!” and Peter Parsons let. his chin sink on his breast, and looked the picture of a wretched, degraded sinner. No won der that he shrunk from looking around him at what had once been a comfortable home! Where was the clock that had ticked so cheerily, given as a wedding present to his ’ wife? Where,was the neat mahogany press in which he had taken so much ‘ pride, bought with the savings of ' months of toil? Where was the val ued old family Bible, which his father and grandfather had used before him ? All at the pawnbroker’s, pledged for drink! “I have tried,” Peter muttered to himself, without raising his drooping head; "the teetotalers, they spoke.to me and urged me, and they made it as clear as; day that half the misery in the city came all along of the drink; that with every penny which I threw down at the bar of the tavern I was joying my fare to the work-house, or buying the nails for my coffin! They got me to take the pledge, and I thought the was over. I’d given my word, and I’d keep it. And for weeks all went on straight enough; money came, in, comfort came back, and my poor wife looked happy again. But then I fell into sore temptation, and it seemed as . if I’d no more strength than a babe in the claws of a lion. I woke one morning, one wretched morning, to find my pledge broken, my character disgraced, and the habit of hard drinking fifty times stronger than-ever. “And I tried -again.” Thus the mi serable man continued muttering to himself, scarcely conscious of the pres ence of the poor little girl at his side. “’Twas when my Sarah laid ailing, and I couldn’t bear to drink away the comfort she needed so much. Two days I abstained, but on the third ” Memory was like a barbed arrow in the heart of the miserable widower; nis words were choked in his throat and, instead of finishing his sentence, he uttered a .heavy groan. Esther dia. njot venture for several moments to ‘ speak; tears were fast flowing down her pale cheeks; she, like' her unhappy parent, was tempted to give way to despair; but the child had learned in her Bible "Always to pray and never to faint;” ( and though THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN THURSDAY. SEPTEMBER 24, 1865. her prayer had as yet seemed unan swered, faith whispered to her, "Try again.” " Child,” said Peter, suddenly rais ing his head and fixing his blearec eyes on his daughter, "when once a man has got into the reg’lar habits of drinking, there’s nothing as can keep him from it. It’s like a fever, like a madness! Interest can’t do it, resolves can’t do it, for no one on eartb loved a wife or child better than I have done!” " Can’t God’s grace do it ?” faltered Esther, almost afraid to speak out the words. "Don’t talk to me of such matters!” cried Peter, starting from his seat anc. 'pacing up and down the room like one who is restless from pain. "I used to think on God once, but I dare not think on him now; it is like going to judgment before the time to think on the anger of God.” ' "But mayn’t we think on the love of God?” murmured Esther, with trem bling earnestness “in’ her tone. "O, father, dear father! let me say one verse—only one little verse that the teacher gave me last Sunday to learn: 'I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.’ She said we could overcome .temptations through Him ; have our sins forgiven through him; - and that, if He gives us His Spirit, we shall be more than conquerors through ffiin /”• "Go to your school, child; go to your school!” cried Peter, half in anger and half in sorrow. "Such words may do well enough for such' as ye; I’m too old to be learning them now!” and seeing that his little girl paused, he motioned impatiently for her to leave him. Esther dared speak no more, to her father, but she could pray for him stil! to. her God. As she slipped on her rusty black bonnet and shabby cloak, preparing to go to school, her whole heart was full of prayer. “O, God for the sake of. thy blessed Son, help my poor father, save my poor father; don’t let the enemy tempt him away !” and before Esther quitted the house, with a trembling hand she placed her little Testament on the table. -Esther had often done so before, in hopes her father might read it, as he once used to read the great Bible. Esther had always found her Testament lying exactly where she had, put it, unopenj ed and untouched; but, in the spirit Of faith and hope, she determined to try again. • And, this time, Peter Parsons took up the book;; he could scarcely have said why he'did so; perhaps it was because he found any kind of employ ment more tolerable than thinking; perhaps he was scarcely conscious of what he was doing, as he carelessly turned over the leaves. His eye was first attracted -by amame dike his own 1 It rested on the account of the Lord’s appearing to His disciples, walking on the waves of. the sea. “ Ah, he, was a different Peter, in deed, who saw that sight,” thought the man; “he was a great apostle, and a holy martyr besides —and yet, if I mind me right of his story, ’twas more than once that he failed and fell. I’ll just look again at what is said in the Bible about it,” and setting himself at the table, Peter read out, half aloud, making his comments as he proceeded. “ Jesus spoke unto them, saying, Be of good cheer, it is I; be not afraid.” “ And Peter answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water. And He said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water to go to Jesus.” " Ay,” observed the reader, half closing the book, “ he was a bold man, Peter I He could walk on the sea, just as I’ve known some men go on straight and steady over temptations, never, stumbling nor sinking, firm as rock amid’all! I’ve known them to have taken the pledge, and never broken it once. Nothing would tempt them to drink. But it isn’t every man as can walk on the sea of temptation like that—it ain’t in human nature. And again the poor victim of in temperance turned to the Holy Book. "But when he saw the wind boister ous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me.” Parsons stopped for some moments, and remained with his eyes resting on the last sentence, and his mind buried in thought. ' “ What!'’ he muttered to himself, “ Peter began to sink! he had not strength to stand by himself—he—a saint—an apostle had to cry out aloud, Lord, save me! It seems that, full of faith and zeal as he was, he was but flesh and blood after all! I’ll read on. I’ll see if the Lord came at once to the drowning man’s help.” “ And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him, and said unto him, O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt ?” Parsons closed the book, rose from his seat, and again paced up and down the room. -He did _ not utter a word aloud, but if the thoughts of his heart could have been read, they would have been something like this: “The Lord heard him, the Lord cared for him, the Lord stretched out his hand to save him when he had no strength to save himself. There was mighty love shown, and mighty power. Is not the same Saviour able still to save to the uttermost? Able to save, but is He willing? What was it that the Lord said to Peter—Thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt? What if -I went to him straight, and asked him to save me from sinking going lower and lower down in the depths of sin? Would the Lore stretch out his hand to me—to me, whom all the world despises— to me, whom every one else gives up ?” Again Peter went to the table anc opened the little Testament left by his praying child. The first verse ■on which his glance fell seemed to, him almost like a message sent to him direct from God— "There hath' no temptation taken you but such as is common to men: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able, but will with the temptation also make a way to. escape, that ye may be able to bear it.” “I’ll hold by' this promise,” ex claimed Parsons, grasping the little book as he spoke. “ I’ve tried to do right,' but I’ve failed. I’ve wished to give up sin, but the habit was too strong for me. Now I’ll cast myself, just as Peter did, on the mercy and strength of the Lord, and, hoping for the help of his grace, I’ll try again; I’ll try yet again.” While Parson’s pale little girl as she walked along the gloomy streets, was silently praying all the way for her father, another little girl, in a com fortable home, was pleading the cause of poor Peter. Mr. Barker, his late employer, sat in his large red leather arm-chair, with his feet on the fender, before a blazing fire, with Clara, his youngest daughter, seated upon his knee.” " 0, papa, I wish you would try him again, only this once !” said the gentle little lady, holding her father’s banc -fast imprisoned between both of her own. -‘.'And why should I try him again ?” said Mr. Barker, amused at the earnest tone of the little pleader. “ 0, because of his poor little girl, the best girl, mamma says, in the school. She looks so pale, and-t-MP, and sad—and I’ve heard that when ‘her mother was dying, Esther watchec. and nursed her so fondly. It is not her fault that her father drinks; it is enough to break her heart!” Clara pleaded, urged and entreated, and at length won her parent tpnon sent to overlook for this once the offence of Parsons. Though shaking hjs head doubtfully, and expressing his belief that no good would result from the trial, he agreed to send wore to Parsons to call at his office on the following morning. I will not describe all the inwarc struggles of Parsons, nor the difficul ties, which he encountered from the power of an evil habit. Often was he tempted, often discouraged, often did he almost give up in despair, 'But he now\vjged; the word'of weapon; and faith in God as his shield; and. he found in the end that he who resists the devil will make him turn' and flee. When thfe long summer days bac returned Peter Parsons sat with his child, as he, Had done on the morning on which my story opened; but how changed was the {appearance of each from what it then had been! Parsons no longer hung down his head, as if ashamed to look his fellow man in the face; his eye was clear: and steady; his dress decent and clean ; and, in stead of bitter tears, there were roses on Esther’s cheek. “ Oh, father, are we not happy ?” she exclaimed. "If I be happy h.re,” said Parsons, looking with earnest thought into the golden clouds above, “or if I’ve a hope of being happy in' a better world that’s to come, I think, my Esther, that under God I owe it all to you. I was going fast on the down hill road. I was giving up all effort to stop, when your prayers, and your words, and your tears, arid the blessed book which you out in my way, made me see that there was hope even for me. They led me to try again to get back to the straight, safe path, to be a good father to you, my child, and a faithful servant to my God.” BOYS WHO THINK AND BOYS WHO DON’T THINK. “ I didn’t think,” said a sm art-look ing boy, one day, as he stood, with downcast eyes, in - the , presence of a grave-looking gentleman. "You didn’t think, eh? Then I am ruined because you are a thought less boy. You may go, sir'” replied the gentleman, in a tone of voice which expressed both sorrow and sternness. The boy silently left the room. He, too, seemed sad, and a tear glistened in the corner of his eye. . What is the matter ? What has he done? I will tell you. He was an apprentice. His trade was that of a carpenter. It had been a part of his duty to light the fire in the shop half an hour before the men came to work. One cold, windy morning, he lighted the fire as usual; but, in doing so, he left a shaving burning outside the door of the stovei r It was only one shaving. He didn’t think it would do any harm, because it was only a little shaving. But a puff of wind from beneath the door of the shop blew the shaving on the floor. There it set fire to another shaving; the fire spread, unperceived by the h°y> until it reached a pile of shav ings, and blazed up into the. room. Then he started and tried to put it out. But he was too late. It was beyond his contol. He rushed out, shouted “ Eire!” and alarmed the people. They came, but could not save the shop. It was burned down, and its owner, not being insured, was ruined. He was ruined because that boy didn’t think. THE OTHER WORLD. BY MRS. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. It lies around us like a cloud — A world we do not see ; Yet the sweet closing of an eye May bring us there to he. Its gentle breezes fan our cheek; Amid our worldly cares Its gentle voices whisper love, And mingle with our prayers. Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, Sweet helping hands are stirred, And palpitates the veil between With breathings almost heard. The silence, awful, sweet, and calm, They have no power to break; For mortal words are not for them To utter or partake. So thin, so soft, so sweet, they glide, ■ So near to press they seem — They seem to lull us to our rest, And melt into our dream. And in the hush of rest they bring, ’Tis easy now to see, How lovely and how sweet a pass The hour of death may be. To close the eye and close the ear, Wrapped in a trance of bliss, And gently drawn in loving arms, To swoon to that—from this ; Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, - Scarce asking where we are To feel all evil sink away,- All sorrow and all care. , Sweet souls around us 1 watch us still, Press nearer to our side; Into our thoughts, into our prayers, ; With gentle helpings glide. Let death between us be as naught. A dried and vanished stream; Your joy be the reality, Qur suffering life the dream. HOW TO HONOR A MOTHER. In the north of Europe is a moun tainous country call Sweden. Its win ters are long, snowy and cold. Its summers ars short] but very lovely and sweet aired, especially in the val leys between the high mountains.- , The inhabitants of that country are noted for their- industry, virtue, anc. contentment. One morning, a long while ago, a certain king of Sweden, called Gustavus the Third, was riding through a village in one of the,beauti ful valleys not far from Stockholm, the capital city. As he passed along, he saw a young girl filling her pitcher with water that gushed from the coo rocks which overshadowed the road -side. He stopped at the fountain anc asked the girl for a drink, i She knew not, the stranger,; but gracefully stepped forward an d lifted the pitcher to his lips as he sat upon his ' horse. She was evidently very , poor, but her kindness, so tenderly expressed upon her countenance, together with her -artless, unembarrassed politeness, at once attracted the king’s attention and touched his heart. Judging by her appearance that she was a child of poverty, he told her that iff she would go to the city, he would find her a plea sant home. "Ah ! good sir,” answered the girl, “Providence placed me here, and I am not anxious to change my position in life. lam content, and if I were not content, it would be impossible for me to accept your kind offer.” “Indeed! Why not?” said the king in some surprise. . “Bee use my mother is poor and sickly,” she replied.” “ And.you remain home to take care of her?” “I am her only help and compan ion,” said the girl, looking upon the ground with a genuine modesty that won the sympathies of her royal au ditor. "I am happy in my lot, and am thankful that I can take care of and comfort the one so dear to me. No offer, however tempting, could iriduce me to .leave my mother.” “ Where is your mother?” inquired the king, becoming more and more in terested in the noble girl. "In yon little hut by the side of the road,” said she, pointing toward the rumble dwelling. It was a low, thatched building, covered with moss and vines, very neat and clean, but so old and weather-worn that it afforded rut a poor shelter in time of cold and storms. Gustavus alighted from his horse, and foUowed the girl into the hut to see her mother. JEfe found her sick and suffering, lying upon a bed of straw—a pale, thin woman—sinking under her infirmities, and looking for ward only to the grate as a bed of rest. The king was almost overcome at the pitiable sight, and said, while tears came into his eyes—ah, ves, and those tears were more beautifully radi ant and glorious than the brightest daz zles that ever glanced from his crown of diamonds— “I feel sorry, mother, to find you so destitute and afflicted.” . “Yes, yes,.my dear sir,” said the lady, in a feeble voice; "but I am so glad that God has given me an affec tionate daughter. She is always try ing to relieve me, and is my constant comforter. May God in His love re member her and bless her —my dear child!” and her voice was choked back by sobs, and her face covered with tears. The good king wept with the poor widow. What a sight! How the an gels of heaven hovered over that lowly hut, breathing joy Unspeakable into three hearts —the suffering woman’s, the sympathizing king’s, and the filial daughter’s. The monarch never re ceived such a blessipg on his throne in the palace, as there in the lone hut by the wayside! He handed the daughter a purse of gold, and directed her to a better house where she and her mother might be comfortable, saying, as he departed:— “ Go on, my young friend, in your way of dutiful love and care, and you shall lack for nothing while I have the means to help you. X am your kins. Farewell!” Gustavus ever remembered the poor family, and made provision to have a sum of money regularly sent to the woman for her support; and at the mother’s death he presented the daugh ter with a handsome fortune. Young readers, not only for your parents’ sake, and Christ’s sake, but for you own sake, remember the com mand, “Honor thy father'- and thy mother.”— Child's Paper. THE TWO HANDLES. An ancient philosopher says, “ Every cup has two handles, one white and the other black, and. either may be pre sented, according to the disposition of the host toward his guest.” The ancient philosopher referred to, gives this illustration. A carrier man, or in modern language, a carman, was was seen in a green lane in the suburbs of Athens, plucking the grass, and giving it to his horse. This is the simple fact, without any coloring. However, a black handle was put to it. For one person, who saw the man and what he was doing, went into the city and told an acquaintance this tale:— “I have seen a shameful sight; a man who had been sent to the city with parcels from a distant place, though he had money given him to purchase provender for his horse, had impro perly squandered away his money, and has resorted to the expedient of pluck ing grass to refresh his horse sufficient for the homeward journey.” ■ This was the black, handle of the occurrence, as it conveyed the report of the action, accompanied with the indirect accusa tion of the double offence of dishonesty to his employer and cruelty to his horse. Another person, an eye-witness of the same fact, and who knew the man and his circumstances, went into Athens, and said to a friend:—“ I have seen Anthrippon, poor fellow! he is too poor to buy provender for his horse, and instead of resting himself while his horse was feeding at the inn, he was working hard, cropping the finest of the grass, and taking good care that his beast might be well fed at small expense, that he might save the money to provide the necessaries for his large and afflicted family.” This is the same narrative with the white handle, and this embraces the true statement of the condition of the man, and the virtuous motives by which he was actuated. ' Now let every reader judge himself, and see whether he is not prone to present, or to take everything "by the blackJiandle." It is a disposition al together contrary to that charity, or Christian love, "which suffereth long and is kind, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.” A man of this spirit, while earnest for the truth, will always try to take things by the white handle. THE ADOPTED RABBITS. “We have plenty of .cats now,” said mother, ominously, as little Nellie came in with great delight, her small apron gathered up in her hands, and four blind kittens mewing in it. Jake understood that to mean that they were to be treated to a cold bath in the river; but nothing was said to tender-hearted little Nelly on the sub ject Ido not know what she would have thought of her kind mother, if she had known that she was a party to any such transaction. So it came to pass that there was a mysterious dis appearance of the. young cats that very night. Pussy was disconsolate Over her,loss, and Mrs. felt very unhappy when she heard her calling them up stairs and down. “ She will get over it in two or three days,” thought she; “ cats never cry f° r their kittens longer than that, 'hnd I am thankful they can forget their'. sorrows so; well. I would not have one killed for any thing, if she went on this way a - week.” “ Where can those kittens have gone to ?” said little, Nelly, as she searched in company with old pussy, “ up stairs and down stairs and in my lady’s" chamber.” But no kittens could they find, and little Nellie comforted old Heppy as best she could, telling her that they would likely creep out of some corner before long, glad enough to see their mother. As Jake, the enterprising farmer’s lad, was prowling about the grove, ac cording to Sis custom when off duty he came upon a little rabbit’s nest! Ihere were two tiny rabbits in it, and their mother thought she had hid them ever so nice, but I think Jake’s do<* scented them out. D “Hallo !” said Jake; "now I’ll give old-Heppy a good dinner. Maybe it will take her mind off from them kits.” His own mind had been rather ill at ease on the share he had taken in the matter, particularly since super stitious Aunt Chloe, in the kitchen, had told him he would have nine mis fortunes for every cat he killed. So Jake brought home the rabbits, and gave them to Heppy as a peace offering. She took them up in her mouth and carried them off to her old' basket, one by one, and then what do you think that cat did ? She snugged down on her old carpet with those rabbits, and kissed their faces and smoothed their ruffled coats, and made them just as much at home as if she were their own mother. She brought them up just as if they were her own children, only she could never teach them to catch mice. The little happy family was the curiosity of the neigh borhood. fur % Jittb f uifo* THY WILL BE DONE TN EARTH AS IN HEAVEN. xo. il. We pray that this may one day be the case, because it is not so now. The devil tempted our first parents to dis obey God, and ever, since he has kept men trespassing God’s law, and diso beying God’s will. The greater part of mankind do not know, and never ask God’s will about anything they do. Their governments,their religions,their family life, are contrary to the will of God. It is not God’s will that men should tell lies, or cheat, or swear, or break the Sabbath. He has com manded that they should not.- It, is contrary to the law of God for men-to quarrel, and covet each other’s pro perty, and steal, and fight, arid kill each other. It is hateful to God that men should get drunk, and beat their wives and children, and spend their wages on liquor, and keep their family hungry and in rags, or that people should keep saloons to make their neighbors' drunkards, or open gam bling houses to rob them of their money. God shows how he dislikes such things by fighting against wicked peo ple. He makes them unhappy in their own minds. He arranges things so that a wicked man’s neighbors do riot like him.. Then such. men generally waste their money and have to beg or steal. Many of them make themselves sick by their disobedience to God, or die of dreadful diseases. Some of them break the law and are put in prison; and some of them are tempted by Satan to horrid crimes, and rebel against the Union, and are shot down on the bat tle-field. You heard lately how some of these rebels against God and their country became so wicked that they murdered the President and were hanged. Once a great number of them rebelled against the Lord Jesus Christ when he was here, and murdered him. It is part of their punishment that God gives them their own will, as they will not obey his, and then they show every body how wicked they are. But he does not give them all their will, else this world would be a horri ble place. God rules over sinners, and is wiser than the wisest, and stronger than the strongest of them. When wicked men make plots, and lay wise plans, he laughs at their foolish wis dom, allows them to show themselves, and then breaks off their schemes in the middle. He does with them as General Grant did with the rebels in the South. He breaks up their rail roads, and burns: their bridges, and destroys their provisions, and carries away their cattle, and sets free their slaves, that they might not be able to fight against him. .Indeed all the cold of Winter, and the bad harvests, and the early frosts, and the sicknesses of this world, are so many punishments because men do not obey God. In heaven they have no' such things. There are no jails there, nor police, nor guns, nor cannons, nor soldiers shooting one another down there; be cause they all do God’s will, and love one another. When every person here does God’s will, and loves his neighbor as himself, there will be no need for locks, and watchmen, and po lice, and soldiers,- because men can trust each other. And when God can trust us to do his will, he will not need to keep his police constantly watching us, and his. courts constantly punish ing us for our sins. But till that time comes, he must keep us down under military rule, because we will not gov ern ourselves by his law. If we want to make ourselves and our neighbors happy, we must try to have God’s will done on earth, as it is in heaven. In order to do this we must know God’s will and get other people to know it. He has told us his will in the Bible, and has made a short ac count of it in the Ten Commaudments, How many of you know the Ten Commandments ? In these Ten Commandments God not only forbids us to do the very things forbidden, but any others like them, or which would lead to them. He not only forbids us to murder, but to get angry with our neighbors, be cause anger leads to quarrels, and quarrels end in murder. When he foroids us to swear falsely, he also forbids telling lies; and when he forbids us to take the name of God in vain, he forbids any kind of pro fane oath, and all bad words.