29,8 *
-Sjr family ®mU.
Abraham Lincoln,
flgY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
Life may be given in many ways,
And loyalty to Truth be sealed
As bravely in the closet as the field,
So generous is Fate
But then to stand beside her,
: When craven churls deride her,
To front a lie in arms and not to yield— *
Thiß shows, methinks, God’s plan
And measure of a stalwart man,
Limbed like the old heroic breeds,
K Who stands self-poisefiton. manhood’s
solid earth,
Not forced to frame excuses for his
birth,
Fed from within with all the strength he heeds.
Such was he, our Martyr-Chief,
Whom late the Nation he had led,
With ashes on her head,
Wept with the passion of an angry grief: .. ■
Forgive me, if from present things I turn
To speak what in my heart will beat and burn,
.And hang'my wreath on his world-honored urn.
Nature, they say, doth dote,
And cannot make a man
Save on some worn-out plan,
Repeating us by rote :
For him her Old-Worldmold aside she threw,
And, choosing sweet clay from the breast.
Of the unexhausted West, ,
With stuff untainted shaped a hero new.
Wise, steadfast in the strength of God, and
true.
How beautiful to see _
Once more a shepherd of mankind indeed,
Who loved his charge, but never loved to lead;
One whose meek flock the people joyed to be,
Not lured by any cheat of birth,
But by his clear-grained human worth,
And ; brave'old'wisdom of sincerity I
They knew that outward grace is dust;
They could not choose but trust
In that sure-footed mind’s unfaltering skill
And supple-tempered will
That bent like perfect steel to spring again and
thrust.
Nothing of Europe here,
Or, then, of Europe fronting mornward still,
Ere any names of Serf and Peer
Could Nature’s equal scheme deface;
Here was a type of the true elder race,
And one of Plutarch’s men talked with us face
to face.
I praise him not; it were too late;
And some innative weakness there must be
In him who condescends to victory ,
Such as the Present gives, and Cannot wait, 1
Safe in himself as in a fate.
So always firmly he:
He. knew to bide his time,
And can his fame abide,
Still patient in his simple faith sublime,
Till the,wise years decide, j, ,
Great captains, with their guns and drums,
Disturb our judgment for the hour,
But at last silence comes:
These all are gone, and, standing like a
tower, '
Our children shall behold.his.fame,
The kindly-earnest, 'braW, foreseeing
man,
Sagacious,- patient, dreading- praise, not
blame,
New birth of our new soil, the first
American.’
—Atlantic Monthly for‘September.
WHAT A FEW CAlt-RIDES CO&T.
BY MRS. P. H. PHELPS,
It was many years ago ,when the
city cars were first used in Philadel
phia, that John Benner, a boy, who
lived in the upper part- of the town,
happened to get a ride witboufepaying
for it. The car was fall, and the con
ductor passed him without taking his,
fare. At first; John thought he would
pay it as he left the car; then he re
peated to himself what he had heard
older people say:—
“I am not responsible for another
person’s mistakes. If he don’t do his
business properly,. it’s not my fault,
and I shan’t go out of my way to »do
it for him.”
A poor, worthless plea of the selfish,
who hope or wish to gain something
by. the. short comings of others.
How despicable to take advantage of
another’s weakness, or error; or. mis
fortune.
John , felt like a thief when he left
the car; his fare unpaid. He half ex>
pected to hear the conductor call , him
back; once he thought his hand was
on...his shoulder. But when he was
safe at home, he boasted of his small
knavery as if it were a virtue. . .
“I didn’t pay any thing for mv ride,
mother.”
The weak, unreflecting woman only
said, “ didn’t you ?”
And John went on boasting, “I’ve
got six cents now for something else.”
Six cents ! and that was all he Isold
his integrity and manliness for! How
many other boys have sold them for a
like trifle, making a woful bargain.
He who sacrifices one particle of virtue
or manliness or kindness.for even mil
lions of ■ money, makes a, fool’s sacri -
flee, at which-the fiends whojhatemen
laugh.
After this, John Benner obtained
other dishonest rides, not so much by
the oversight of the conductor, as his
own cunning, poor wretched trickery!
His success in this made him mean
and trickish in other things. When
he bought fruit for his parents, he pur
loined a handful from the dealer for
himself; he nibbled the cheese and
crackers at the grocery; and seemed
to think it was all gain to get anything
without paying money for it, never
considering that he was paying away
his character all the time, using him
self up-by inches. He excused these
meannesses and dishonesties to himself
by saying they were “nothing;” it
was nothing to pick up a few raisins
or a cracker lying beforeone. Nothing!
But some of th.se nothings have a
queer way of growing somethings. ■
When John rode ih the cars without
paying fare, he never thought of any
noticing him except the—conductor,
and if he hr.d, would no doubt have
said, "Who cares? It’s nobody’s
business but the conductor’s; anc,
mine.” A good Quaker, noticed him,
notwithstanding, and felt that, it was
his business to give him a check. So
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN. THURSDAY. SEPTEMBER 21, 1865.
one day when he had just left the car,
and was still in plain sight, he said to
the conductor :
"Conductor, I think thee is helping
to make a villain of that boy. I have
seen that he too often escapes thee in
paying his fare. Thee had best be
more mindful in future.”
The conductor marked the boy, with
whose look he was already familiar.
It was not long after that the young
rogue had an invitation to be one of a_
party who were to have a festival in
"a fine grove on the New Jersey side Of
the Delaware, which they were to cross
in the Camden ferry-boat. He was
delighted in anticipation of the plea
sure he should have. When the day
came, and he had started to join the
party, he found that he was late. But
if he took the first car he might be in
time. It ' came, and he beckoned for
it to stop. The conductor saw him
beckon, huts never touched. the bell.
John screamed “Hallo!” in vain. The
conductor*had recognized him, and
took no further Dotice of him. John
ran to overtake the car, and leap upon
it. He failed, and there was nothing
for him but to .walk as fast as he could
to the ferry. He even ran. It was
midsummer, and the' heat Was over
powering. Tired’ and panting, the
sweat’ standing in great drops on his
crimson face, he reached the-wharf to
see the, boat loaded with its merry
party, already half way to the Jersey
shore. He was disappointed, angry,
ready to cry. “ Why didn’t that car
stop for me ?” he growled, He was
paying ‘for some of his rides then.
How many was that 0 pleasant festival
worth ?
It came to be time for him to go
into a store. He was on the lookout
for one where he ;conld have suitable
employment with , a good prospect,
when he saw. an .advertisement that,a
boy. wanted in one of the largest
warehouses on the wharf. “That
would just suit me,” said John. " I
should like of all things to be down
there near the shipping.”
He applied at the place, and was
sent into the counting-room to the
hiead of the .firm, a middle-aged. man
with a keen, gray eye, whicii he fixed
on John in a way to' make him turn
pale.
"Does thee want a place in my
store ? l l he said. j . '
" Yes, sir,” John answered..
* “ What is thy ; name?” ■ •
John told his: name.
“ Where does thee live ?”. •
" On T- street.”
“ I think I know* thee. I think I’ve
seen thee in the horse-cars.” -
“ John was* silent; and* the gentle
man added, "Thee aint just the .boy I.
want. I don’t believe I can f give thee
a place in my store.”
John started to go, and had reached
; thev counting-room door, when the
merchant called him back.
~ “Perhaps I’d better tell .thee why
thee won’t do ■ for me. I’ve > got. an.
idea that a. boy who steals his rides,
might perhaps steal something else.;'- if
a person’s : . honor and honesty aint.
worth more to him than a trifling fip,
they aint worth enough for my pur
poses.”
John could not say a word, and left
the store. He felt badly as he went
away. He was now paying altogether
too much for his rides. He felt it still
more when an acquaintance, of* his,.
James Jarvis, told him. that he had
obtained the place denied to him. ' ;
“ It’s one of the' best places in the
city;, everybody says so,” said James.
“ Everybody says Pm, lucky to get .it.”.
“How came you to?” asked' John.
" They wouldn’t take me there.”
“ Why not?.”, . v i i
John did not care to tell why, and:
changed the subject
; But his, par/rides were npt yefc fully,
paid for; they.will- cost; him; during,
his whole life, npt only in.' self-respect
and. honor and confidence,/but even in.
money, and a .heavy sum too.-
, After having obtained situations in.
several stores, - , and. filled them for. a
time without winning much favor in
any, lie wanted to begin business.for
him self; thinking' his; cUnning would,
bring him large success; and withmuch
self-confidence, proposed, to his old -ac
quaintance, Jarvis, to form a partner
ship with him. Jarvis did not hesitate
for an answer, y
“No, John,” he said, "we do not
think alike.”
"Why not?” urged John,
“ What yofu call a good bargain, I
think the, very worst. So we could
never agree.” v
" How is that ?”
" You call it a good bargain when
you,put off upon another what you
would not take yourself, or take from
him more than you would give. I
call it a good bargain when the parties
are equally favored and equally satis
fied, when each man knows the other
is fair, and can trust him in future
dealings. I don’t want to make new
friends and new customers every day.
Old faces please me best. You like a
sharp trade, and the advantage on
your side, so you must keep dealing
with strangers, unless a few fools
should happen to come in your way.
No shrewd man will give you the ad
vantage twice."
Jarvis and Benner went into differ
ent partnerships in the same branch of
trade, and it is-interesting as well as
instructive, to see how different their
positions already—Jarvis_ respected
and trusted by every one, especially
.by those who have bad business with
him; but men shrug their shoulders,,
and look knowing, when they warn
each other to keep a good look out for
Benner. The one has already earned
the name of "an honest naan,”; the
other that .of "a sly dog.” Benner’s
income is not more than half so much
as that of Jarvis, for he has not one
third the number of customers, and
with all his unscrupulous art cannot
make so much profit on one sharp
trade as Jarvis with less time and toil
makes on three fair ones. Those car
rides to T——— street had-‘far better
paid for in poor
bits at the time.— Gongregdtionalist.' "
A TIME-KEEPING DOG.
A good sensible dog was Pry, as
became one brought up in a strict
Quaker family; but there was one
trick they found it hard to break him
of. He would go to weekly meeting
every Thursday, though it was held
two miles away, in a lonesome by
place. Up hill and down dale he
would chase after woodchucks, and
race after squirrels, in anything but a
sober-minded way. Still, that could
have been put up with, if it had been
his only impropreity; but, hot only
must he follow the family wagon, but
he must follow the family- into the
church, and snug down by the warm
stove in winter, , and sit at his master’s
feet in summer. Though he was
never known to be moved to bark'by
any provocation, yet it was' not
thought very decorous for a dog to sit
in such a grave assemblage. r
, “ Thee must tie up Pry to-day,
Isaac,” said the * mistress, in the early
morning, to the servingman. So the
poor doggie w;as made prisoner in the
barn, until the return of the family.
.He spent his time in anything but
-profitable reflection, if one might judge
from his, howls. The next week he
fared nobetter; but after that he made
up. his mind to be even with them.
; “ Thee’ll find me, man Isaac, where
thee can,”;was the private!.remark- as
he jogged over the cow-pasture, and
stationed, himself at a convenient look
out post. By what process he had
discovered it was Thursday morning,
was unknown only to himself. Pry
valued his meeting privileges too much
to give them up, even if he had to go
without his breakfast for them. About
half way on the road he joined the
serious ‘ company, in great good humor
with them . and : all the rest of the
I world. The good Friend, seeing the
dog so set on his w;ay, finally gave up.
his opposition;, and Pry was not, slow
to see the change in his sentiments,
and bounded on joyfully when the
wagon first set out.— Presbyterian.
REST,
"I am so tired, mamma,” said Harry
Lee, as he threw himself into his moth
er’s arms, at the. close of a long
mer’s day, when warned by the gath:
ering twilight, he had sought his home,
a spot deaf to, the heart of every little
boy and- girl. "'~
; “S’o tired?” said Mrs. Lee, taking off
Harry’s cap, and pushing back the
damp hair from his forehead; “ and
what hasmy little son. been doing to
cause this,weariness?”
•••< “ Oh! mamma,” said Harry, /'.I went
with Sammy Lawson, Charlie Clark,
arid several other boy’s to' ' Green’s
Hollow’ to see the. birds. The trees
are full of them; and such' heaps of
eggs'!”
“ I hope you did not rob the mother
birds of their nests, my son ?”*said his
mother, interrupting him.
- “ Oh! no, mamma,” said Harry, as
his eyes,fided with tears;.“ I would not
do that fo.r,the world,”
; " I rejoice to hear you say that, my
son,” said his, mother. with a smile;;
“ well, what did you do, then ? This'
didmot dcSuby all of ttiiA ‘
S' "Then, mamm’a,” said Harry, “I
twent with Willie Brown to see Widow
Meeks;-she had no wood; so Willie
and I went, to the forest, and brought
her a great, pile; she said that we were:
her good angels,; which.made me feel,
very happy. Then, dear mamma,. I
came home to see you.”
- In saying these last words, Hairy
looked up with a smile into his moth :
er’s face, and tightened his clasp around
her neck. : . -i ...
; ; “'.God bless.you, my son,”- said Mrs.
Lee, as she lifted her eyes to Him who
had given her ,such a treasure in her
dear and only child. "My little Har
ry will be often weary while treading'
life’s journey,” said Mrs. Lee; “but,
my boy, that Friend of whom I have
so often told you, will give you ‘rest,’
if you early seek and find him.”
“ Mamma,” said Harry, whose droop
ing head showed bat too plainly,how
wearied was his little frame, rousing
at these words, " I do love Jesus, he
kept me from disturbing the little
birds, and made me glad to help
Widow Meeks, did he not, mamma?”
Many year’s have passed away since
that summer’s evening. Harry is now
a man. He hears no more the voice of
his gentle mother, who sleeps the
dreamless sleep beneath the,,flowery
turf of the village church-yard. Has
Harry not been often weary during
these years? Ah! yes, but the re
membrance of those words of counsel
have come to him, and as he bows be
fore that early sought, and early found
Friend/ or pores over his precious
Bible, his mother’s dying gift; he tastes
that rest “ which remainethtothe peo
pie of God.” My .'little readerSj doyou
not often -feel tired ? As if you want
ed some one to love you, and care for
you? Seek then this Friend who has
proved so precious to Harry. You
are not too young. Jesus; says, they
thet “ seek me early shall find me.”—
S. S. Visitor. -
. WATCH, MOTHER, WATCH.
Mother, watch the little feet
Climbing o’er the garden wall,
Bounding through the busy street,
Banging cellar, shed, and hall;
Never count the moments lost,
Never mind the time it cost;
Little feet will go astray— *
Guide them, mother J while you may.
Mother, watch the little hand
Picking berries by the way,
Making houses in the sand,
Tossing up the fragrant hay,
Never darethe-question ask,
“ Why to me this weary task ?”
These same little Hands may prove
Messengers of light and love..
Mother, watch the little tongue
* Prattling, eloquent, and wild ;
' What is said and what is sung
By the happy, joyous child. -
Catch the word while yet unspoken,
Stop the vow before ’tis broken ;,
This same tongue may yet proclaim
Blessings in a Saviour’s name.
Mother, watch the little heart
Beating soft and warm for yon ;
Wholesome lessons now.imnart —
Keep, O keep that'young heart true ;
Extricating every, weed, ,
Sowing good and precious seed;
Harvest rich you theh may' see,
Rip'ening for eternity.
THE INDUSTRIOUS FLYCATCHER.
"There, my little dear, I must leave
you now,” said an' old bat to a young
one, as she booked* herup by her claws
on a rafter in the lofti above the gar
-ret/where she had taken, up her win
ter quarters. You would hardly be
lieve it, but’two hundred 'and ' forty
three bats' had sheltered themselves
there, and slept through the long, cold
winter.’ A workman counted "that
number as they- emerged one by one
through a. chink near the roof, jusi at
dusk one* summer evening. The little
bat made f np complaint, but patiently
hung.by.her; claws, according to cus
tom, until her mother should return
from her foraging expedition. Mrs.
Bat did not, by any means, approve
of biinlging' up her 5 family ik a dainty
manner, hke he'r'' half-sister, Mother
Mouse. She’ might make them a luxu
rious bed to euadle down in;-if she
chose. She preferred that her little
ones should grow, up hardy and strong.
* The sides of a dark old cave were good
lodgings enough for little bats, though
so damp and gloomy that no other ani
mal would set foo.t in it.
“ A fine, warm night for hunting,”
said the bat, as she spread her silken
wings in the moonlight; “Ple'iity of
flies abroad in ■ the farm-house, I’ll
warrant.” ' : -
Soshewheeled slowly around, with
her mouth- widen open—fly-catcher
fashion—until she managed to blun
der into the. open window. O ! what a
commotion it made, among th&_farm ; _
er’s children^TEere^was an immedi
ate donning of hats and sun-bonnets,,
for Hannah in the ’kitchen ' had told
them of bats getting; tangled ’ in chil
dren’s hair, and also what sharp little
teeth they had - ■ It is a foolish old
tradition; but many believe it still,
Mrs, Bathad., far, other business,op
hand than pulling children’s hair. O 1
what a buzzing i there : was among the
flies:,v, I think must have' recog
nizedTtheir,old enemy. There .is no
patent fly-paper: or powder that can,
begin to clear aroomofthem as quick.*
Ho;more’moths fluttering arourid.’the
candles 1 .that night.. The : poor ’ bat
almost singes her wings pursuing a
fine fat one into the face of the daz- 1
zlingVlight/ She quickly returned to'
the shadows about the ceiling.where
the light was amply'sufficient for the
pursuit'of her prey. 'lifter about an
J&ur, Ken wings began to grow weary,
and ■ her hunger beihg' satisfiedj she
sought for the window where she- had
entered; - <-The ■ old -fgrey ■ mouser had
been-greatly agitated: ever since«her.
entrance into - the - room, but the bat
was not so. blind. to.her own interests
as to come yrithin reach of _her paws,-
Once in the open air, sher thought all
her dangers over, but alas bfer hll 'her
fond hopes—aubid owl had fouhd, to
his great dikeomfitufe, that the chicken*
house was closely secured, so he turn
ed his attention; to any smaller game
that might come, in his way. . What
should the first thing be, but our poor,
tired-bat, who was seized and devour
ed before she knew what was after her.
I cannot say but her little one is hook
ed on to the rafter still, but hope some
kind neighbor took compassion upon
her, and instructed her how to catch
her own flies.-— Presbyterian. v
EARLY CONVERSIONS. "
; In a recent general Sabbath-school
meeting in Cincinnati, the Rev. Mr.
Chester, Presbyterian, made an ad
dress on the early conversion of chil
dren, in 'which he remarked that so
soon as a boy or a girl knew how to
sin, they knew how to love God. “A
boy of three can draw np with double
fist and,strike his fellow; the same
child ought to be able to utter, ‘Our
Father who art in heaven.’ ” Further
on he remarked that many and many
a Christian did hot know when or
how early he commenced to love God,
any more than he knew when he first
begdn to love his mother. Conversion
can be a very early thing, and it is the
duty of us all to lead bur children, no
matter how tender their years, to the
Saviour. The address was brief* but
eminently emphatic, and earnest.
THE HOUR OF PERIL.
The foundations of a gigantic 5 mill
were laid upon the banks of a rapid
stream in W estern Hew York, and the
men of the little village near gathered
to raise the massive frdme to its place.
Bent after bent was lifted, till the last
and heaviest one alone Was left. At
the word of command,-this rose.above
the strong arms which held the pikgs,
until it reached what buildSfs call "the
pinch in the bent,” beyond which it
passes, with comparative ease to. the
vertical position, and there it stopped.
. The -master-builder shouted, with
alarm: "Lift, men, or die I” Every,
muscle was strained anew, but in vain.
There it hung over the living throng,
like an engine cf swift destruction.
Just then three men appeared in the
highway, upon the brow of a hill, and
the call for help fell on their ears; they
saw the peril, and hastened away from
the scene with cowardly fear. .
The chief workman mounted a plate
above the trembling company, and in
tears again shouted; “ Lift, men, or
die!” The Struggle was fruitless—
the frame was settling toward the ex
hausted throng.
Meanwhile, the tidings had spread
through the village; the women had
gathered along the opposite banks of
the current, and were anxiously look
ing up to the imperilled loved ones.
The eye of the builder was turned,
upon them a moment, and then, with
a fresh flood of tears, he exclaimed:
"Mothers, if you would have sons;
wives, if you would have husbands:
and-sisters, if you would have broth
ers, to-night, come and helpus !" With
the strong impulse of woman’s nature,,
they rushed across the stream, and
stood, side by side with the .dear inmates
of the deserted homes. Then came
the cry of distress once more: " How,
all together, lift or die!” And they
did lift." Up—up—went the frame. A
stroke'of the hammer, and 'all was
safe. The reaction confined some of
that number to the house for weeks. ■
: We have often thought of the inci
dent when a crisis comes to the church
of God. The spiritual bent will rise
before the power of faith, and then
suddenly pause and, hang in suspense
before the tearful gaze of the believing
heart. The Head of the Church issties
his call to his servants urged by the
peril of the souls dear to then?. If
not obeyed, the falling bent crushes
out the life which might have been
saved.
And soinnational and individual histp
ry, the hour of decision comes when :the
summoning of forces in heroic harmony
of effort alone can save from fatal rever
ses. Wise and happy that church,
that nation; and that soul, whose dis
cernment and moral courage are equal’
to this tide tin the affairs of men.
Tract Journal. .
HIM"'AT HIS WORD.
In-Glenfishire, in 1 the Highlands of
Scotland, there may be seen that'fare
thing; a wooden house.' The Duchess
of Bedford has a fine piece of wood
land, and has built on it, from timber
grown there, a hunting lodge. The
furniture is made of the same wood,;
each letter having the letter B richly
carved on it,;,.and in ,each room is a
square box filled with cut sticks, all
ready for that American luxury of
long ago—a, wood fire., The walls of
the rooms are covered with tartan
plaid in place of paper hangings ■ and
both the house and tits Appointments
are a great Curiosity in the region,
t A little river, parted in. the middle
by an island, and-generally: fordable,
flow;s,m front of the lodge : and between;;
it and the road. j :
At one time the,.duchess gave out
•invitations for a ball to be held in this
unique place;. but, unfortunately, be
fore the day afrived rains came, 1
swelling the stream so that it could
not be forded. The noble '■guests' ar
rived/group after grohp. at the; cross-
and/my lady , the duchess, /-wastin';
her-glory on the other shore; while the,
vexatious river rattled and roared oyer
the stones, and, round the : .island, as if
ih mockery at the disappointed revel
lers. "" ' . . ' ' .
There lived in this neighborhood a
poor “ daff lassiej” of largbproportiohs
and great physical strength. She
wandered about the country, carrying
a huge pack on her back, filled with
all manner of articles she could pick
up or beg, and having always in her
hand a Bible. She was a regular
church-goer, and in this respect set a
worthy example to many whose minds
were not, like hers, astray. When the
assembly was dismissed, she would al
ways mount a wall near by and preach
with great' eloquence; laying down
the points of her sermon with tone and
gesture more emphatic than elegant.
; One day a grand young gentleman
came to the stream, hoping to get over
to the lodge; but'the water was too
high for him to cross without risk to
his finery ; and seeing Marseille there
with her inevitable bundle, he said,
playfully—
“ I’ll give you a crown, lassie, if
you’ll carry me over the river.”
She instantly dropped her huge
pack, and before this young sprig of
the Highland gentry had time to think
of his dignity, she had him up and
half way over: Here she stopped and
sat him down on- the island ‘ to rest
herself. There was no help for him ;
so he had to make up his mind to go
over to the-lodge in the same style,-
as he could neither go backward nor
forward in any other way. But he
resolved to have a little sport out of
the poor demented creature. So, look
ing fiercely in her eyes, he asked/ip
sepulchral tones,
“ Marseille, do you know whom you
are carrying?”
"0, aye, I 'ken verra weel wha ye
be,” replied she, "Ye are the young
Grant o’ G-ranif.’^
“Ho, Marseille,” he said, sternly,
"I’m thedevd'P’’ _
“Aweel, aweel,” cried Marseille,
“if you’s wha ye^e,, r l’m ,ungp, glad £q ,
ken it; for is ye’re himseV ye- eanna
drown!” *• Ana
him, sans ceremonie, from the island
into the deepest water, leaving him to
care for his broadcloth and his dignity
as best he could,, she returned -to
the shore, shouldered her pack, and
trudged on.
PRAY FOR THE AFFLICTED.
Recently, at the Fulton Street New
York Daily Prayer Meeting, the as
sembly was much moved by the re
quest of a brother for its prayers for
himself and wife. They professed to
love the Lord, and hoped in his mercy.
They knew it was ; their duty to bow
wit-h resignation to ’ God’s dealings
with them. Yet, when affliction'fell
heavily upon them, human nature, ...
however sanctified, was such as to
render it difficult, always to say, “ Thy
will be done.” Their trials had been
heavy, and they wanted their brethren,
to pray for them that their great afilic- ;
tion might not cause them tp murmur :
or repine. They were the parents of
five four of whom had one
after another died before July last f the
fifth, a promising lad, was last month’
sent to a distant school. ' While there,
with other boys, he went bathing, and
was drowned. ■ As he was leaving
home for the last . time, he placed, in
his father’s hand a letter, and requested »'
him not to read it. until he had, gone. ;
After his departure his father opened
the letter and read
“ New York, July 14, 1865.
“Dear. Father l hope God will
take care of you, and be with, you,
and give you success., ■ Father, do you
think you will miss me when lam
away? O papa, you do not know how
1 will miss you. Will you pray for
me, pray that God will send his con
verting Spirit, and melt my little heart ?
I will pray for you. I wish that-my .
ownidear father was coming with me:
God be .with you and protect you. So,
prays your loving son. »
“ James E. M——
“ Our house is* left desolate,’’, said
the father, “ but we are striving to be
submissive, and to feel in our hearts
that God doeth all things well. Do
pray for us.
t! ‘ God of all grace, wecome to thee
With broken, contrite hearts.’ ”
HE KNOWEI’H HIS OWN.
The lilies which Jesus loves to
gather in their early and dedicate
beauty, do not always, grow ,in the
carefully fenced and cultivated parts
of his garden, here. Often, like the
little wood blossom, it is from among
the thorns, and out of the tangled
thickets of briery and desolate places,
that they are taken to be transplanted
to his garden above.
Godly members of godless families,
are hidden in dark cellars, or bleak
garrets, from the eye of man; “the
eye of the Lord is upon them that hope
in his mercy, to deliver their souls
from death, and to keep them alive in
famine.”
The M incorruptible seed” of his own
word, scattered, it may be, by a Sab
bath-school teacher, in whafe seems
very uncultivated and uncared-forsoil;
springs in God’s good time; ofteptin
seasons of loneliness and pain, the little
sufferer turns, for solace to the simple
ißsahns and sweet Scripture verses,,
.which, with a power never known be
fore, speak’peace to the pining Hdsiit,
an’d testify of Jesus the ever ’ livin
ever loving —ever present Saviour.
“And he who is the- same yesterday,
and to-day, and for ever,!’ in*
the days of his flesh, takes, up young
children into his arms and blesses
them—and it is manifest to
stand by, how tenderly “he .gibers
the lambs with his arm, andCames
them in his bosom,” and “is very gra
cious to them -at the sound Of' their
cry.” —Family Treasury.
RELIGIOUS JESTING.
Wit and sOrry ridicule in matters
of religion are always attended with
very evil consequences. They sort so
very rarely with mature* cool reason,
and calm consideration,, that they al
ways rather displace these qualities
just in proportion as they prevail in
the soul. The more habituated a per
son becomes to the reading and utter
ance of mere witticisms, the more does
he incapacitate himself for sober de
liberation. At every turn derisive
Mirth steps in withits laughing mien.
It throws itself athwart the path of in
vestigation, and cuts up such a series
of antics that we are entirely turned
aside from our course. We try once
more to reflect,, but the. jest, returns;
we laugh again, let go inquiry, and
never attain to the knowledge of truth.
— Herder.
The mind is like the body in its
habits—exercise can as
neglect and indolence can weaken it ;
they are both improved- by disbipfine,
both ruined by heglect. ' 7 ’ ■