61JE gazik Vats.
FACE TO FACE.
"Now we see through: a.glasa darkly, but
then face to face."
F ac e to faee,
my Father!
Face to ficel
No vision darkened by portentoureloud,
Which intervenes the cheering View to shroud,
And hide thy divelling place.;
No misty veil o' erspread like Ausky pall,
Or dingy curtain hung, to envelope all
In dark and shadowymace.
Not dimly seen, my Father !
Not dimly seen,
As now 3vhile through a'glass we dar,klySsee 1
Oh God! what must the unveiled glories be
Of that enraptured scene !
If such the dazzling view, while thus we gaze,
In reverent awe upon the noon-tide rays,
While shadows come between.
What splendors, oh, my Father!
What splendors shine,
Through all thine outer temple's gorgeoushalls,
The floors inlaid with sparkling gems, its walls
A. jasper jewelled shrine,
Before winch angels bow, and seraphs bend,
In choral melody their voices blend,
In hallowed strains divine.
Anoint my sight, my Father!
My feeble sight.
Ah how shall these dim eyes endure the blaze
When earthly shadows pass, and living rays
Shall flood the soul with light
Effulgent beams that radiate from Thee,
112 brilliant waves that roll eternally,
In one vast name, so bright.
DR. STILLING--TRUST IN GOD.
Henry Young Stilling was an emi
nent physician in the service of the
Grand'Duke of Ba.den. He died in
the year 1812, and consequently was
well known to many persons now liv
ing. His career was an extraordinary
one.
In youth, Stilling was extremely
poor—destitute of the common com
forts and necessaries of life. After a
long season of anxiety and prayer, he
felt satisfied that it was the will of God
that he shOuld prepare:himself - for, the
medical profession. He did not, “at
first, make choice of a university; but
waited for an intimationfrom his Hea
.venly Father ; for as he had'intended
to study simply from faith, he would
not follow, his own will in anything.
Three; weeks after he had come: to this,
determination, a friend , asked, him
.
where. heintended to go. He replied
he .did. not know.
"0," said she, "our neighbor,,Mr.
T., is going to Strasburg to spend the
winter there; go' with him."
— This touched Stilling's heart . ; he
felt that - this was an intimation he had
waited far. Meanwhile Mr. T. himself
entered the room and was heartily
pleased with the proposition. The
whole of his welfare now depended on
his becoming a physician,, and for this
a thousand dollars at least were requi
site, of which he could not tell in the
whole - World. how to raise a hundred.
He nevertheless fixed his confidence
firmly on God, and reasoned as fol
lows: "God begins nothing without:
terminating it gloriously; now' it is
most certainly true that he alone has
ordered my present circumstances en
tirely- without my co-operation. Con
sequently, it is also most certainly true
that he will accomplish everything re
garding me in a manner worthy of
himself." He smilingly said to' his
friends, who were as poor as himself,
"I wonder from what quarter my
Heavenly Father will provide me with
money !" When they expressed anx
iety, he said, " Believe assuredly that
He who was able to feed a thousand
people with a little bread lives still,
and to him I commit myself. - He will
certainly find out means. Do not be
anxious—the Lord' willprovide."
yorty-six dollars was all that he
could raise for his journey.. He met
unavoidable delay on the way, and
while in Frankfort, three days ride
from Strasburg, he had but a single
- dollar left. He said nothing of it to
any one, but waited for the assistance
of his Heavenly Father. As, he walked
the - street, and prayed inwardly to
God, he met Mr. L., a merchant .from
his place of residence, who said to
him ;
``Stilling, what brought you here?"
" I am going -to Strasburg to study
medicine."
" Where do you get yOtt Thorley to
study with ?"
"I have a rich Father in heaven,"
Mr. L. looked at him steadily, and
inquired, "How much money haVe
you on hand ?"
" One dollar," said Stilling.
"So," said Mr. L. "Well, I am
one of your Father's stewards," and
handed him thirty-three dollars.
Stilling felt warm tears in his eyes ;
said he, "I am now rich .enough. I
want no more."
This first trial made him so coura
geous that he no longer doubted that
God would help him through every
thing.
He had been but a short time in
Strasburg when his thirty-three dollars
had again been reduced to one, on
which accout he b ,gan again to pray
earnestly. Just at this time, one morn
ing his room-mate, Mr. T., said. to him,
"Stilling, I believe you did not bring
much money with you," and offered
him thirty dollars in gold, which he
accepted as in answer to his prayers.
In a few months after this, the time
arrived when he must pay the lectur
er's fee, or have his name struck from
the list of students. The money was
to be paid by six o'clock on Thursday
evening. Thursday morning came,
and helind . no money and no means
of getting. Five o'clock in the eve
Wing
caine, and yet there was no mo
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 19 1865.
ney. His faith began almost to fail;
he broke out into, ,a perspiration; his
face was wet with tears. Some one
knocked: at the door. "Come in,"
said'he. It was Mr. 8., the gentleman
of whom he rented the room.
•"I called," said Mr. R, "to see how
you liked your room."'
"Thank you," said Silling, " I like
it_very. much.".
- Said Mr: R., "I thought I would
ask -yen. one . - .other question: Have
you.brought_an_y_money--with-you-?"- -
Stilling, much overcome, answered,
"No, I have no money."
Mr. R. then looked at him,,with sur
prise, and at length said, "I see how
it is_; God has-sent me to help you."
He immediately left the room,-,and
,soon returned with forty dollars in.
gold.
Stelling threw ,himself on the floor,
and thanked God' with tears. He then
went to th'e,college and paid. his fee as
well as' the best His whOle college
life was' one series of Snit such circum
stances. He was often in want of
money, but he never asked man for it,
for he had no man to ask ; and it al
ways came when he need - ed . it. Was
he authorized to enter a course of study
withsuch prospects and-such. expecta
tion? The leading,s ,of Providence
were such that, he had pot shadow . of
doubt that it was his thity , to enter on
this course of study, he prayed fer
vently for Divine guidance, and felt
that he had it ; he availed himself of
all the la,wful means in his power for
the supply of.hiF,2 own wants, and when
he had no means oflais own, he asked
Yelp of God, and never failed to receive
what he asked. He became one of the
greatest, benefactors.,.of the poor, that
the world had ever seen. He restored
sight, during his life, to nearly five
thousand blind people, most . of whom
were verypoor 'and unable to render
him 'any pecuniary reward.--,4tobie
gittphy of Henry; Y. Stilling.
ROGER'S WOLF.
"You must tell me a story, papa,"
said George, as he;eanae and stood be
tween, his papa's knees..
"Who gave you, aright to order
papa,to tell, you
_a -story?" said his sis
ter.
" I didn't order hiM—did - I,", papa ?"
",You didn't Say, 'please, papa, tell
Inc a 'story.'"
" Please, papa, tell me a story," said
he, in a tone which indicated a degire
to hear a story, and did not indicate
that he felt any great regret for,having
addressed what - his sister called. an
order to his father. -
" Yes, I will tell you a story," said
the father, taking his son on his knees;
"what shall it be about`?"
" Abbut something funny," said
Geoyge.
About something interesting, said
his sister, strongly emphasizing the
last word.
" Shall I tell you a story about
Roger's wolf?"
"Yes,
,six, if it won't frighten me?"
"You must learn not to be. frightened
by stories, or anything eise, or you
will never make a soldier. Well,
Roger's father lived in a very lonely
place in the mountains."
':'Ho* :old was Roger ?"
" About twelve years old:"
" There were wolves in the moun
tains, that sometimes came near the
house."
" What did they collie for.?"
" to get Something to eat--to see if.
they 'could - not catch a stray sheep, or
pig, or boy."
"Please go on; papa," - said George,
nestling a little closer to his father's
bosom.
'" In the spring, the dwellers in the
mountains make maple sugar. Roger's
father had a maple, grove about a,r4le
from the house."
".How do they make maplesuga.r ?"
"They tap the trees, and collect the
sap, and'boil it down in a large 'kettle
till 'it' is as thick as molasses and then
sugar off,' as they call it, that- is, cause
the. molasses to granulate or become
sugar. When they commence boiling,
they often keep the fires up all night.
Roger begged , earnestly to, be permit
ted to pass a night at the sugar camp.
He thought it would - be so much, nicer
to sleep olthe straw in a rude cabifi,
than to sleTp at home in his bed. His
father told him he might gO, but that
he should. not pro-I:I:use to keep the
wolves awayfrom him. Roger's de
sire was somewhat lessened by the
mention of wolves"; - still he kept up
appearances, and went' at nightfall to
them. He soon became sleepy, and
lay down on the straw and fell asleep.
He awoke some time in the, night, and
thought he would step out in, front of
the cabin, and see, how things looked.
He felt cold, and thought he would" go
to the huge fire which was burning a
few rods distant. He had scarcely be
gun to warm himself, when he heard a
rustling in the bushes. Turning about,
he saw • two bright eyes moving to
wards him. He did' not stop to ex
amine the creature to' whom the eyes
belonged, but screamed 'Wolf,' and
started to run with all his might."
"Did he get to the cabin before the
wolf caught hini?"
"He did not run towards the cabin,
for his wolf came from that direction,
and he did not think it wise to run
towards the wolf. So he started for
home. He heard the animal pursuing
him, and he ran considerably faster
than he ever did befoie. Before long
ihe came ,to a smallatreaxn. There was
a log thrown across the stream. Roger
crossed on the log with difficultrbys
daylight. In his haste, he slipped and,,
plunged:into the stream. I:fis pursiker,:,
plunged'after him, seized hold{ 'of
his coat, and dragged him to the shore.
o,' thought Roger, 'I had rather tbe
drowned than eaten up alive. He' is
taking me ashore to eat me.' He cloOed
and : yielded- to his fate; .The_
animal drew him on shore, and then
put his nose to his face and licked it.
This was-a- very gentle- way-of begin- -
ning to eat, and asiae,kcpt on licking;
Roger ventured to open his eyes, and
saw their Newfoundland dog- , Tdwser
standing by him. Instead of being
thankful to Towser for not being a
Wolf, he was very angry with him on
account of the fright and the - cold bath
he had-received. Boys are sometimes
less reasonable than dogs." Examiner.
INTEMPERANCE,
The remarks of Dr. Butler in a late
number of' the Medical and Surgical
Reporter, of which he is editor, are
worthy of consideration:—
" A connection, as Medical Superin
tendent for_ more than five years, with
a department , of one of the, most ex
tensive alms-houses in America, suc
ceeding excellent opportunities for
observation from a, Jarge private prac
tice have satisfied usl that in the drink
ing habits of society is to be found the
.great destroyer of the lives and the
health of mankind. Men inapoverish
themselves'and their families, are con
'tent to livein the lowest'd.ens of filth
and haunt&.of:iniquity, to - rear their
ohildren wretchedness and school
them in, vice, to .people the potter's
fields of our large cities with, the ema
,
ciated forms of slaughtered ;innocents,
in order that, they may indulge their
depraved appetites for al h he bever
ages: The waste 'of human life„ the
losses by sickneis, - resulting" directly
and indirectly Titan the use of intoxi
cating drinks, the ignorance, the sqnk
lor, and the poverty,'haVe not, as yet,
received attention at the hands of the
sanitarian and statistician in. light
of their dependence on the cause in
question.,, , We talk ahout the wretch
ed habitations of the poor, the tenet,
ment-houses,i cellar apartments, "rot : -
ten rows," s in. which - they are so- un
mercifully crowded, bUt forget that it
5s rum that builds such habitations, by
making men too poor to pay for better
accommodatidith. When will„the peo-.
ple become aroused to the necessity of
doing something to Check, the mad
career of this great destroYer of their
lives, health, and haPpiness?"
MORAL :COURAGE,
Young man, would you become
morally strong ? Would _you grow
up perfectly - competent - to - resist every
foe to your happiness, ever:y - enemy
which may dispute your progress in
the way of noble manhood ? Would
you fit ydurself for usefulness in this
world and for 'happiness in_the'next ?
Then listen. :to the feeblest voice -of
conscience, calling you to duty and
to right. There is no more certain
method, of cultivating and promoting
moral strength than by heeding con
tinually that light which "lighteth
every mane which cometh into the
world.;' = When some specious tempta
tion is presented,before you,,—when
there is thrown over it, the witching
gauze of fashion and s o you
not hear that gentle and precious voice
bidding you look away and shun the
specious temptation ? That ;zoice` is
'soft as the whispers of angels, `'and'it&
kind as the melting tenderness 'of a
mother's pure love. You cannot dis
regard it but at your imminent •peril.
„Every time you listen with attention,
your ear becomes keener to. hear and
,
your strength more competent to resist
teMptation. It will soon become„e,asy
to' do right. The charm of temptation
would lose its power over you.
sist the devil,- and he will flee -frOm
y o u a,
SALVATION,
'How sweet this word to the sinner
when he hears she dreadful so4nds,
and - sees the fearful lightnings' of the
fiery law - , as it goes forth'frons: - God's
right handl There is salvation from
the wrath of the law, even to.the vilest
transgressor. A way has been4rovi
ded. by, which sin may be pardoned
and the sinner saved. When, man
transgressed the law, he paid the pen
alty of his sin; but when Jesus Christ
obeyed the law, he restored the sinner
to the fa.viar of God. By the sadifice
which he has offered, an angry'God is
appeased,- and mercy smile's._ on men.
Since Jesus has satisfied Divine justice,
there is no sin so great that cannot be
removed. In reference tolthe efficacy
of the sacrifice of Christ, the prophet
could bay : " Though your sins be as
scarlet, they shall be white as snow."
And the apostle, announcing the same
truth, tells us that the blood of - Jesus
Christ cleanseth from all sin. Hence
the Messiah calls the sinner to escape
the wrath of God, and says, look unto
me and be ye saved all ye ends of the
world. Many think their sins -top
great to be forgiven, as if tlie blood of
Christ could not wash away the great
est sin. Did not a wicked Manasseh,
a - Saul of Tarsus, a Magdalene, find
pardon through his blood? Yea, the
publicans and harlots went into the
kingdom of heaven; and the thief
found nlercy in his dying hour. Sal-.
vntion was given;to the murderers of
our Lord, through that blood which
they shed without a cause.
. If the sinner perish, it will be, not
because the blood. of Chi* is unavail
ing, but that he has never ;.made the
application None ever perished at
the Cross. Jesus says, him that com
eth unto me I will in no wise cast out.
Hence, to you, sinner, the message
comes in love "Let :the= WiCked-lor
sake his way, and. the,unrighisous man
his thoughts ;. let him turn unto the
Lord who will have mercy upon him;
and to our God. who , wily' aimdantly
pardon." Presbyterian Baiiner.
THE NIGHT AND THE MORNING.
HORALTIIIS BONAR, D.D
To dream a troubled dream, and then awaken
To the soft gladness of ;a summer sky;
To dream ourselves alone, unlov'd, forsaken,
And then to wake 'mid smiles, and love, and
J oy
To look at ev'ning on the storm's rude motion,
The clondy tumult of the fretted deep
And then at day-burst upon that same ocean,
Sooth'd to the stillness of its stillest sleep.
Bo runs our course, so tells the church her
story,
Solo the end shall it be ever told ;
Brief shame on earth but ,after shame the
That wanes not, dime not, never waxes old.
Lord 'Jerks, come`,' and end this troubled dream
ing 1 - r. .
Dark shadows vanish, rosy twilight break 1
Morn of the . true - and real, burst forth, calmly
beaming;
Day of the beautiful, arise, awake!
"'TEASE, AND, YOU'LL GET IT."
" Why, Lottie, how came' you to get
that beautiful book of engravings ? I
heard your mother tell Tin, not very
long ago, to let it alone till`--she- had
time to show it to •you."
"So she did, Jennie but. was ,so
impatient to see it that eoUldiiot wait,
and so I teased ler till she let me have
it._ That's the way I manage always.
~keep on fretting and asking :till I get
..w,h,at•l want."
"But isn't it very wrong to worry
your" mother, in that, way, when she is
doing all she can to make you happy ?"
" Oh, I don't do it for the sake of
iVOrryingler; and if she wouldlbt me
have ntiy own way at once, the,re would
be no trouble. Besides, if she gives
me her permission at last, as she al
ways does, how can it be wrong in me
to keep on asking till I get it?"
" don't mean to say that
your mother does wrong, but . I never
dream of asking .my mother a second
time after she has once said no. And
somehow, even though I do not like
'to be refused at the lime, I am - pretty
sure to find but in the end that mother
was right."
"Nonsense, Jennie; you talk like
an old woman. Take my advice,.and
whenLyour--heart is-set-on having.any,
thing, and your mother will not give
her consent, just tease, and. you'll get
it. That's my plan."
But Jennie would' as soon have un
dertaken to move the Alleghenies.
Her mother was too sensible a woman,
and too deeply imbued with a feeling
of her responsibility for the proper
training of her children, to be :influ
enced by any amount of persistent en
treaty, and this was, a trait her chil
dren were not slow to learn. That is
a sad discovery tor the little child to
make, when with its quick perception
it comes to comprehend the fact that
its mother's decrees may be reversed;
and that it has oniv to tease in order
to 'secure its wishes. It"will soon make
a tyrant's. Ilse of its newly-discovered
power.—Presbyterian Banner..
S. ABBkTH EVENING IN A SCOTTISH
FROM " 4017.,Rms FROM: THE'DIABY OF THE SUN.'
SEPTEMBER. 24.—A Sabbath autumn
evening was 'closing. Already had. I
nearly runmy race on one part of the
world; preparatory to beginning it in
another. - For some time I hid been
throwing ''my` long 'beamd, giving `'a
farewell touch to some lovely scenes,
lingering with delight amongst the
bright- and varied foliage of the :_trees;
making some of ;the leaves flame as it
of scarlet hue, restoring ,to the fallen
ones _some _of theirpristine beauty, and
making more glorious stilLthe green,
orange, braih, and even purple tints
of those which still - clothed the woods
with beauty. The dark mountains,
the golden grain, the green grass, the
gentle harebells, all received my even
ing greeting. The wind was hushed ;
nature seemed. ready, on my departure,
to sink into repose ; when suddenly,
from,a lodelY Scottish glen, there rose
a sound of music ; a hymn of praise
rose towards heaven: I glanced at the
06t , ; a few cottages were scattered up
'and down the glen. Their inmates
had collected on the fine evening, and
in one of the most beautiful parts, at
the foot of a mountain overhung with
birch and alder trees, had met to wor
ship their God in their simple way.
Their hymn of praise ended, an old
man with silvery hair rose and spoke
a .few words,—reminding them that
another Sabbath was passing away,
another milestone on the road to eter
nity passed. He spoke of life as a
great journey, in which the Christian
would meet with difficulties and
dangers on the way; but, overcoming
them all through their Master's aid,
they were ever passinc , onward and
upward, till at last the end appears,
the gates ofthe celestial eity,,e9rue full
and justified: fully. through
their Saviour'a blood and merits; they
enter in, to go no more out ; to dwell
for ever with the Lord, where congre
gations ne'er break up, and. Sabbaths
have no end.
The old man's eye glowed with the
fire of faith and hope as he spoke, and
seemed to penetrate beyond the clouds,
and see the glories which he described.
Theft he spok-e a -few words of the
character which Christian- pilgrims
shoUld bear : "Be ye holy, as I am
holy,"—the standard which theirldas
ter had set up for them. "Are ye fol
lowers of Christ, then? See to it that
ye-are beci)ining renewed in the whole
man, after the image of God„—d y i n g
every, day more and more unto sin,
and living unto righteouSness; so that
,
even your very enemies, and the ene
mies of the God you serve, may take
- notice of you' that ye have been with
Jesus."
Every eye rested with reverence on
the old man; and once more, on the
'evening air, arose the voice of praise
"Ye who the name of Jesus bear,
His sacred steps pursue ;
And let that mind which was in Him
Be also . found in you:"
Mingling loudly with the words,
rose the dash of a small waterfall,
which fell from a rocky height down
into the glen; while the trees gently
shook their leaves under the influence
of a slight breeze which had begun to
rise, as : if they too joined in the hymn
of praise.
I shine in many countries where the
evenings of the day of rest are spent
in reyelry, and ungodly mirth,—one
day even ire seven 'being grudged to
the service of the - great Creator ; and
as .I glanced at the quiet meeting- on
the Scottish hillside;' and noticed the
- firm expression of the men asThey sat
wrapped in their tartan plaids, and the
calm yet resolute faces of the women,
I thought that perchance Scotland's
peasantry, owe : much of their wide
ni
fae for hOneatindustry and bravery
to the' influence which: their quiet, well
spent, Sabbaths exercise on their char
.
acters.
1 carried on these reflections long
after I had sunk behind the Highland
mountains; while the inhabitants of
the. quiet ,glen had, sought their cot;
tages, and were already thinking, of
seeking early repose, in order to rise
strengthened for the toil of another
day.— Christian Treasury.
A TRUE STORY OF ALICE MOORE,
Alice Moore was - a pretty and pleas
ant `child, and a favorite with all. She
had very 'ladylike - manners, and. no
coarse words or rough, uncouth actions
spoiled the effect of her childish beauty.
She was• like a little queen among her
playmates, and any of them was
proud of her company.. Perhaps there
might have been danger, from taking
the lead among them so long, that
Alice would grow up self-willed or
wayward. However, when she was
eight years old she had a-. dangerous
fever. All the village 'was anxious
about little Alice, and many good
people prayed the Lord to spare her
life. After six weeks of pain and weak
ness, she began to get well. How pale
and sweet she looked, the first morn
ing.she tame into our school-room to
see us all again -
We looked with awe upon her alter
ed face, for we knew she had been
very near death. -
But it had been' a blessed sickness
for Alice. Her mother thought that
God must have been with'her, she had
been so patient, trustful, and humble.
Certaily she was a gentler and, kinder
child ever afterward, and all her com
panions noticed the change. She
grew to be a greater comfort ,to her
mother, and was like the light, of his
eyes--to' her poor father. For Mr.
Moore was one those - good-natured
men who fall' an' easy prey to bacthab
its. - ; -He had-times
_of
_being' very in
temperate, and.then,he would be: cross
to every one but Alice.
,She stood
between hiin and the rest'of the ; family
"when no one else dared to approach
She loved him and never
seemed to 'fear him, even when intoxi
eattd. Perhaps this pleased him, even
then.. Certain.- it is, he never 'harmed
the; however-violent to others.
As, years went on, he sunk lower
and lower, becoming a burden as well
as a terror to his poor family. Finally
they sought the protection of the law,
and Mr. Moore was separated from his
suffering wife, Nothing but shame
and death seemed to be before him,
and for thein nothing but -poverty and
unutterable &fief.
It was about a year after this, that
all the land suddenly waked up to a
temperance reform. Children as well
as grown people, signed the pledge.
Meetings were held in every town
through all the goodly State of New
York, and the excitement reached
even our quiet village of M. How
well I remember that autumn afternoon
when a lecturer addressed the peoplein
our Lyceum Hall. We children were
all there, Alice Moore among the rest.
Just as the speaker began, poor Mi.
Moore himself entered, and walked
slowly up the aisle; taking a seat near
the desk. Great was the surprise of
all. I looked at. Alice, she was still
and pale, with eyes fixed upon her
father, who sat looking on the floor.
After an earnest address, the pledge
was passed around for signatures. One
of the papers was handed to Alice's
seat. She arose and took it in her
! own hand, creased the hall with a
steady. step her L44* fide, and
laid it down before him'. 'He looked
up at her, and she spoke low in his
ear. Another moment, and he, took
the_pen and wrote the name of Allen
Moore f
"Ah !" yon will say, " that ; was
very - fine, but did it /ast 7"
Yes, it lasted
When Mr. Moore had kept his word
a year, when )*Aa4,;worked faithfully '
and saved. hieenrningq.carefully, send
ing them - all to the family- that once
was his, that happy and grateful family
took him homemain. tOui 4,40 d
minister, who had advised the separa
tion of Mrs. Moore;from her husband,
married them -anew, and dear Alice
had her father back.. Peace and plenty
returned to them, gnd honor and pros
perity have crowned their days.
See what a child can do.—Congrega
tionalist.
0. BROTHER, SAVE ME! "
These Were the words of one who
was most deeply convicted of sin. ; - ; .I
never saw another 'person in such
agony of mind from the same_ cause.
She was the child of pious parents, in
structed and prayed for constantly;
and now, after raising many objections,
she saw that she was guilty and stub
born, and in danger of punishment.
She had been directed to Christ, dud
had endeavored to follow the direction,
yet no relief came. She had come'• to
feel that it was because the way was
not made clear to her as it should be,
and was waiting for the return home
of her only brother, with the feeling
that he would be a better guide:.
- When th:.t brother"arrived, he was
informed'of the fact, and a moment's
thought determined him to go_ to his
own room without seeing her. As-he
passed the door of the room where she
was waiting for him, and stepped upon
the stair, she discovered his purpose
and springing after him, She drew him
back, crying out :
"0, brother, save me! save me!
you don't, I shall die !"
It was a solemn moment. A mo
ment perhaps as= nearthe turning point
as human nature has power to see.
The,hrother pushed her away, almost
roughly, saying, with a voice that was
tremulous with fear as well as affection:
"And so you will come to me rather
than to Jesus. I can do nothing at
all for you."
Thus left to herself—the last fond re
fuge torn away—she sank down _ with
a feeling of despair that was accompa
nied with anger at her brother. But
after a few moments she saw that h.: -
had only the truth. He could do nO
thing, and it was strange that she
should have asked him. It was all
because s'ne was really (though,_
that moment un - ciirisciously) ununlhng
to be saved by Christ. By God's grace,
the brother had indeed made the. mat
ter plain - and. it was not an hour be-,
fore she had made a full surrender to
Christ, and was at peace. She could
trust Jesus; and love him, too. Reader,
go you to Christ, if you have not al
ready. Say to Him, and. only to Him,
"0, brother save me 1" Then you
will find relief. The burden of sin
falls not off but before the cross.—
Congregationalist.
WIFE AND SQUAWS.
I heard an anecdote of Kaffirland
to-day, which, though perfectly irre
levant to our adventures here, is so
amusing that I must record it, particu
larly as my informant vouched for its
truth. At an outpost up the country
„resided an officer and his wife. The
latter Was, warned by her husband not
to venture alone far from the house;
but one day, imprudently going be
-pond:her usual limits, she encountered
a wild-looking Kaffir, who took her
by', the hand, and would be moved by
no = entreaties to suffer her to depart.
He made her sit down, and 'untying
her bonnet, let down her long fair hair,
at which he, ;expressed rapturous ad
, miration. He next took off her gloves,
and appeared enchanted with her-white
hands ; and then propeed to divest her
of her shoes and stoCkings, and wort
'dered at her little 'white feet. The
- next morning the iadk and: husband
were awakened at an early hour by-a
chattering under their Window • and
on inquiring the cause of the disturb
ance, the gentleman was accosted by
the hero of the previous day, who had
been so impresed by the charms of our
fair countrywoman, that he had come
with twelve squaivs, to make the libe
ral offer of exchanging'th e m for the
gentleman's wife, W and was not a little
surprised when his' generouS - terms
were refused.—Major Paget's Camp eit
Cantonment. -
WHO IS OLD ?
A wise man will neverrust out As
long as he can move and breathe, he'
will do something _for himself, for his
neighbor, or for his posterity. Almost
to the last hour of his life, Wellington
was at work. So were Newton, Ba
con, Milton, and Franklin. The vigor
of their lives never decayed. No rust
marred their spirits. It is a foolish
idea to suppose that we must lie down
and die because we are old. Who is
old ? Not the man of energy ; not the
day laborer in science, art, or benevo A
lence ; but he only who suffers his
energies to waste time, and the spring
of life to become motionless ; .-onwhoge
hands the hours drag heaviy.