UE jFamil eirttf.
THE ANGEL'S PORTION.
A CHRISTMAS LYRIC
The Finland Christmas moon was cold
A peasant trudged across the wold ;
Behind his back the town•dog's bay
Fainter and fainter died away;
Till naught upon his ear there fell
But catamountain's hungry yell.
Through snow he urged his heavy feet,
For wife and bairns he longed to greet ;
In naked hut they made their bed,
And birchwood bark was.half their bread
But now a festive treat he bore,
The bounty of a rich man's door.
The drifted snow he skirted round:'
What sees he, crouching on the ground?
Dumb with the cold, a childish form,
Blowing its hands to keep them warm ;
And, lit by' gleaming snow alone,
Half changed it seems to ghastly stone.
" Whatbroughtthee here, poor lad?" quoth he;
"Thoti must.go warm thyself with me."
His arms upheld the frozen weight:
He reached at length his homestead gate;
. And deemed he entered, doubly blest,.
With cheering food and starving guest.
The comfort of his days was there;
Their'youngest at her breast she bare ;
" Long hast thou tramped about the snow
Come where the hearth is all aglow!
And thou the same!" like mother mild
She welcomed in the outcast child.
And soon, beneath her busy hand,
A. brighter life was in the brand:
She thought of grinding want no more;
So pleased she took her husband's store,
lind spread it out for suppertide,
With scanty bowl of milk beside.
From scattered straw upon the ground,
The children crossed the narrow bound
'Twist bed and and board, a merry pack;
Only the stranger boy hung back;
The mother forward drew her guest,
And found him room among the rest.
An 4, when an evening grace was said,
She shared around the festal bread;
The boy returned a soft reply,
Breaking the crust; and in his eye,
The while he spoke, a tear there stood
"Blest are the offerings of the good !"
With bread in hand she stood, prepared
To share herself, as she had shared;
But, at that solemn tone, amazed,
Upon her tinder guest she gazed,
And looked and wondered more and more—
He seemed no longer as before.
His eyes were like the stars of light,
His cheeks were glowing, rosy-bright;
The rags of earth away were borne,
Like mists before'the breath of morn :
It was an angel, smiling there,
And fair as only heaven is fair.
Beamed brighter still the seraph boy;
Beat'every heart with holy joy ;
Long to I he peasants' hut may cleave
The memory of that Christmas Eve;
For nobler board was never dressed—
The angel staid to be their guest.
* * *
It chanced, when many a year had fled,
One Christmas Eve I reached the shed :
The good folks hearth was still the same,
But, seated in its glowing flame,
With early winter on his brow,
Their grandson was the father now.
'Twas all so glad; 'twas all so good
His gentle mate, his ruddy brood ;
'Twas all as though on every face
There lay the calm of evening grace:
'Twas all as though indeed they felt
That in a hallowed home they dwelt.
High on the board one taper light
(Their only one) was burning bright;
And milk and wheaten bread was there;
But no one touched thatdaintier fare:
I poked whose portion yonder lay—
"'Tis the good angel's!" answereYthey.
[From the Swedish of J. L. Runeberg
BY THEIR FRUITS YE SHALL KNOW
THEM.
The church clock in a small country
town had just struck four, when the
door of the principal boys' school was
burst open, and out rushed the children,
with even more than their usual noise
and' commotion.
The day had been a glorious one,
and the bright summer sunshine had
roused visions of green woods and
clear sparkling brooklets, 'which had
made some young spirits chafe under
the restraint of the schoolroom, so
that, now the hour of freedom had
come, it was welcomed with unusual
joy. In a few minutes the noise abated,
and the boys set off homewards, some
here, some there.
Two boys, who had 'held somewhat
aloof from the others, struck off from
the town, and took the road that led to
some newly-built villas. They were
not brothers, scarcely friends ; their
only bond consisted in the fact that
both had newly arrived in the neighor
hood, and lived close by each other.
George Elliot and Harry Bruce were
strong-made, good-looking boys; of
about twelve years old • and one could
not help wondering if He, who looketh
on the hearts, saw the same beauty
there which those did who looked only ,
on the outward appearance. One
criterion alone man hath wherewith
to judge : "By their fruits ye shall
know them." Let us follow them, and
form our own judgment.
For some Minutes the two went
quickly on, talking over the events of
the day, criticising, as boys will do,
the other boys, and"also the masters.
Presently they saw a little girl coming
along
. with several books in her hand,
one of which, just as she was passing
the boys, fell at George Elliot's feet.
With a loud laugh he kicked it away,
as if it had been a fqot-ball, along the
dusty road. On seeing this, the child
began crying violently, and was only
quietpd by. Harry Bruce's kind words
as he gove her the book which, after
a struggle, he had rescued from his
companion.
"0, George," he remonstrated, " how
could you treat a girl so Poor little
thing, perhape she will get scolded for
having got it spoiled; it was mean to
treat her like that."
Georea reply was an angry retort:
"Mind your own,zbvisiges%,:andlleieme
alone.. What do I care about a girl ?"
After that the boys walked more
apart, George whistling, perhaps to
drown a still, small voice. If so, he
must have succeeded well in doing so;
for when a small black dog, who was
leading a blind man, jumped upon him,
and with a small tin in its mouth, began
in its way to beg a copper for its
master, George knocked it off so an
grily that the tin fell down, and a
number of coppers which were in it
were scattered on all sides.
The blind man in great distress
began groping about for the pennies,
endeavoring in vain to find out who
was the culprit. Harry quickly came
to his aid, and, after a little difficulty,
got them all, and added to the little
store two of his own. He then spoke
kindly to the old man ; and learning
that he lived in a small cottage close
by, promised to come and see him and
his dog some day soon.
The kind words warmed . the old
man's heart. Poor old man, he
needed them all! Afflicted by God,
he was yet often doubly afflicted by
thoughtless children, who scru•
pled not to make fun of blind Sam.
But the blindness was only that of
sense. Four years ago the bright light
of the Gospel of Christ had shone on
blind Sam, and lighted up the eye of
faith.
Just as Harry had stopped speaking
to the blind man, and was turning off,
a hand was laid on his shoulder, and
a pleasant-looking gentleman asked if
he were Harry Bruce. On receiving
an answer in the affirmative, he detain
ea him a few minutes to ask him some
questions ; then pointing to poor Sam,
who had wandered on, he said, ‘" In-
- - _
asmuch as ye did it unto one of the
least of these my brethren, ye did it
unto. me.' Have you learned to love
Him who said these words ?"
_
Harry's bright look said more than
his words : " I hope so, sir ; mother
taught me early about Him."
Mr. Lewis then shook hands with
him, and walked slowly on. He had
been behind the boys the whole way,
and observed the different conduct of
each. He had a motive in doing so;
for his own little boy was at the same
school with them, and he wished to
judge, as far as he could, if they would
be good companions, in case his boy
should become intimate with them.
He had seen enough to satisfy him.
Disregard to 'the feelings of others,
cruelty to a dumb, animal and a suffer
ing fellow-creature, were no small sins
in Mr. Lewis's eves; and the words
which. rose to his lips were, " By their
fruits ye shall kno - w them."
Had he followed the two boys to
their respective homes, and marked
their conduct there, his opinion of them
would have been confirmed.
Angry and put out, George's be
havior was an annoyance to every
one in his home all that afternoon. He
quarrelled with his sisters, fought with
his little brothers, and even spoke
rudely to his mother—effectually de
stroying the peace of every one; an
event of no uncommon occurrence.
In Harry's home it was very differ
ent. A shout - of 'delight from little
voices hailed the entrance of the
favorite brother. Ah ! here comes
Harry ; now I'll get my kite up, said
one ; and I'll have a game of ball now,
and we'll all have such a nice play in
the woods, for Harry's always so
kind, said another, and another. And
Harry's widowed mother brightened up
as she heard his voice, and listened to
the stories of his new school, and his
account of blind Sam, ending with,
"And best of all, mamma, a genlleman
told me Sam was one of the Lord's
people. Sha'n't you go to see him ? I
am sure he'd like to hear you read
about Jesus." The promise was given;
and through the means of little Harry,
brighter days were in store for poor
Sam.
Some days after the events we have
written of, little Willie Lewis entered
his papa's study with an animated
face. He had a request to make.
"Papa, may I ask the two newoys
to tea? I want so much to Make
friends with them, for they seem shy,
and don't mix with the others; may I?"
Willie was somewhat surprised at
the determined tone of his father's an
swer : " Harry Bruce you may ask,
but not Eliot. Ido not wish you to
make an intimate companion of him ;
I don't think him at all a good boy."
" Not a good boy, papa ! how do you
know that ?"
"By his fruits, Willie; that is what I
have judged by. Now go; lam busy,
and cannot be disturbed at present."
Willie Lewis went at once ; he was
never allowed to disobey a given order.
But now he kept questioning the jus
tice of his father's condemnation of
George Elliot ;—what would he know
about him? and what did he mean by
saying that he judged him by his
fruits?'
When Mr. Lewis, after he had fin
ished his business, came Into the room
where Willie sat, he did not fail to
observe his disappointed look ; and,
finding his lessons were all prepared,,
he invited him to come and have a
walk.
After strolling about for some time,
they turned into a large, nicely-kept
garden, gay with the brightest of
summer flowers, and well stocked with
fruit-trees of all descriptions. The
balmy air, the bright sunshine, and,
above all, the pleasure of a walk with
his papa, had made Willie forget his
yexatical hot beiiig idhiiired to ask
Elliot to tea.
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, APRIL 5, 1866.
As they walked round the garden,
Mr. Lewis stopped as they passed two
pear-trees laden with fruit, and ex
amined them attentively. Willie knew
well about these trees, and had heard
his papa and the gardener talking
about them one day before. The one
bore delightful, juicy pears, the other
small, hard ones, that if they hung ever
so long, remained unfit to eat; and no
wonder, for the tree was a bad one.
Mr. Lewis looked at the pears ; felt
them, and shook his head.
"Papa," said 'Willie, "isn't it a pity
hat tree is such a bad one?"
" How do you know it is, Willi e ?"
" How do I know.? 0, papa, 'tisn't
difficult to know—look at the fruit ;
don't you see?"
"Then you judge that because the
fruit is bad, the tree cannot be good ?"
" Yes, certainly ,papa. Of course, if
the tree were good, the fruit would be
also—would it not?"
Mr. Lewis smiled. " Yes, Willie,
you're right. A good tree cannot
bring forth evil' fruit, neither can a
corrupt tree bring forth good fruit.'
And now, do you see why I said
George Elliot could not be a good boy ?
for I judged by his fruits. How could
you suppose, even for a moment, that
I should condemn any boy as a bad
one, without proof ?"
He then related what he had seen
and heard of the two boys.
" So you see, Willie, Elliot's conduct
told me as plainly
. what sort of a boy
he was, as the bad, degenerate fruit on
that pear-tree tells what sort of tree it
is that produces it. By their fruits
ye shall know them' are words of no
small import. He who spake them
was the Lord Jesus, the Son of God.
He was warning his disciples against
men who, professing to be the prophets
of the Lord, yet by their wicked words
showed they were none of his. Had
they been so, they would have borne
the fruits of righteousness." •
Willie hung his head' somewhat
abashed. He saw now his papa had
not spoken without good reason. If
such were the, fruits which Elliot bore,
he could not be a good companion...
Ere long, Harry Bruce and Willie
Lewis became inseparable friends; and
Mr. Lewis marked with no small
pleasure the influence that Harry's
upright, kind, Christian character
exercised over Willie. From him he
learnt to sympathize with, and, by
kind words and deeds, to help, his
fellow-creatures ; and mingling with
Harry's brothers, sisters, and mother,
did'much good to the motherless only
boy. -
Often in after years, when removed
from a father's guidance, and exposed
to the temptations of life, ere choosing
a companion, Willie Lewis's thoughts
turned to his quiet country home, and
the lesson his father had taught him
from the two pear-trees and the fruit
they bore. And even in old age he
was heard to declare that he could
boast of no better friend than the one
he made in his boyish days, the noble
hearted Christian, Harry Bruce.
Dear readers, what sort of fruit are
you bearing—good or evil ? Stop
one moment and ask yourselves; for
remember it is no 4,ere man, but the
Lord Jesus, the Searcher of all hearts,
who bath said : "By their fruits ye
shall know them." And the wise king
hath also. said : " Even a child is
known by his doing, whether his work
be pure, and whether it be right."
One thing I know, if the love of Jesus
has filled your hearts, your lives will
show forth his praise. If the Holy Spirit
dwells in you. as He does in all the
children of God, then you will be
bearinc , 6 the fruits of love, joy, peace,
long•suffering, gentleness, meekness,
temperance, faith. Are you ? Chris
•tian Treasury.
HELP ONE ANOTHER.
traveler who was passing over
the Alps was overtaken by a snow
storm at the top of a high mountain.
The cold became intense. The air
was thick with sleet, and the, piercing
wind seemed to penetrate into his
bones.
Still the traveler, for a time, strug
gled on. But at last his limbs were
quite benumbed; a heavy drowsi
ness began to creep over him ; his feet
almost refused to move ; and he lay
down on the snow to give way to that
fatal sleep which is the last stage of
extreme cold, and from which, he
would certainly never have waked up
again in this world.
Just at that moment he saw another
poor traveler coming up the road.
The unhappy man seemed to be, if
possible, even in a worse condition
than himself; for he, too, could scarcely
move, and he appeared to be. just at
the point of de'ath. When he saw this
poor man, the traveler who was just
going to lie down to sleep made a
great effort. He roused himself up,
, and he crawled, for he was scarcely
able to walk, to his fellow-sufferer.
He took his hands in his own, and
tried to warm them. He rubbed his
temples, his feet, his whole body; and
all the time he spoke cheering words
in his ear, and tried to comfort him.
As he did this, the dying man began
to revive; his powers were restored,
and he felt able to go forward. But
thi's was not all; for his kind benefac
tor, too, was recovered by the efforts
he had made to save his friend. The
exertion of rubbing made the blood
circulate again in his own body. He
grew:viirrn bylctrying:"to-'iratm. the
other.
Soon the snow-storm passed away :
the mountain was crossed, and they
reached their homes in safety. If you
feel your heart cold towards others,
and your soul almost perishing, try to
do something which may help another
soul to life, and make his heart glad;
and you will often find it the best way
to warm and restore and gladden your
own.
[For the American Presbyterian.?
HERE AND THERE.
" In tIA world ye shall have tribulation."
Here, our hands are clasped in weeping,
Through earth's dark and drearynight;
There, they shall be ever sweeping
Harps of geld in perfect light.
Here, our eyes with tears are streaming,
Looking for some resting place ;
There, they shall with joy be beaming,
Gazing on a Father's face.
Here, our bleeding feet are threading
Tangled mazes, dark and drear ;
There, they shall be ever treading
Blooming fields, by waters clear.
Here, our brows lie low in anguish,
Oft with grief and care bowed down;
There, no head with pain shall languish,
None shall droop 'neath golden crown.
Here, the soul in secret tosses, • .
Oft with wounds too deep to heal;
But no long-borne lonely crosses,
Will those blood-washed robes conceal.
Here, is sinning, struggling, doubting,
Mid temptations fierce and sore;
There, triumphant hosts are shouting
" Victory!" " victory !" ever more.
A DAY ON THE LAKE.
Edith and Archie Campbell had
come from their English home to spend
the summer' holidays with their aunt,
among the mountains and lakes of old
Scotland. Many a delightful ramble
they took over the hills which shel
tered their aunt's cottage, until their
cheeks glowed with almost as deep a
color as the heather-bells around.
But one great pleasure was yet in
prospect : a day's sailing on the lake,
near! the edge of which the cottage
stood, that beautiful looking-glass,
as Edith 'called it, where the sun saw
his shining face reflected by day, and
into which the moon and stars peeped
and winked at night . But Aunt Mary
would not venture to sail on the lake
until her only son, cousin Walter,
came home from college, where he was
learning to be a doctor. So of course
the children always thought of Cousin
'Walter and the boat trip together, and
were in great spirits when he arrived
from Edinburgh on Saturday evening.
After a quiet, happy Sabbath, Mon
day morning came in, bringing work
and play again, fair weather, and fresh
thoughts about the sail. Now Cousin
Walter was the very pleasantest of
doctors ; so he soon ordered a day's
boating as quite necessary for the chil
dren's health.- And Aunt Mary seemed
to have expected the prescription ; for
how otherwise could she have got
those biscuits
_and pies ready packed
in the basket, which Edith and Archie
so willing carried down to the boat ?
Right merrily the white-sailed boat
moved over the smooth water. Now
and then Walter and an old sailor
took the oars, while both the children
assisted Aunt Mary in steering ; so it
was no wonder the time past swiftly
when every one was so busily en
gaged: But after some hours of sail
ing, when the bisculits and pies tad
disappeared, and the little boat's bow
was turned homeward, Edith and
Archie grew rather sober, as we are
'Wont to do 'when weary. The doctor
had a new prescription. He ordered
each of the children, his little impa
tients, he called them, to tell him every
thing they could about lakes, not in
proper geography answers, but just
in their own words. So a large amount
of information was given about lakes
sweet and clear, like the one they were
sailing on, and others salt and bitter,
like the Dead Sea of Syria ; about
lakes through whieh rivers ran, like
those of Constance and Geneva, and
about others which receive much
water, but seem to give none away.
Then Cousin Walter
.told of some
lakes in Egypt, where the water evapo
rated in summer, leaving a bed of soda
at the bottom, which is collected in
great quantities and sold. And Aunt
Mary said she had read of one lake in
Tibet, wtich deposits a peculiar salt
called borax, or tinc,al, that is much
used in soldering metals.
Old Donal, the sailor, had also some
thing to say. He, had been in Ame
rica, and could tell wonderf4 tales
about the 'grand Canadian lakes, vast
seas of fresh water, which, together
with the river St. Lawrence, cover a
surface of nearly a hundred 'thousand
square miles, and are supposed to con
tain almost one-half of all the fresh
water on the face of the earth.
Then came stories about lakes nearer
home—how Loch Leven reminded one
of Mary Queen of Scots, since the time
that -the beautiful prisoner made her
escape from its water-guarded castle in
the skiff of George Douglas.
By a sadden leap of thought, Archie
passed over, to Switzerland next, and
asked Cousin Walter for a story about
William Tell. So Walter told them
how, in 1307, an Austrian Governor,
called Gessler, tried to oppress the
brave Swiss, and, in token of their
subjection,' commanded them to bow
to hi s cap, which he bad raised on a
pole. A noble peasant, named Tell,
refused to do so. As a punishment,
Gessler ordered him to shoot an arrow
through an apple placed on the head
%of Tell's own son. The arrow`divide,d
the apple. The little boy was unhurt.
But a second arrow was observed in
the belt of the bowman, "That was
for the tyrant's heart," cried Tell, " if
I had killed my son," He was made
prisoner for this rash speech, and
thrown bound into a boat in which
the Governor was going to cross the
Lake of Lucerne. A terrible tempest
overtook the boat; and, as Tell was
an excellent steersman, Gessler com
manded him to be unbound, hoping
that he could guide the bark to land.
Tell succeeded in doing this; but, be
fore the boat touched the ground, he.
leaped on shore, and, springing up
from rock to rock, was free. Then,
turning round, he sent an arrow
through the breast of Gessler, and won
the liberty of his country.
Aunt Mary had her story too. It
was about One who came to save not
one country only, but a world—not
by destroying the life of the wicked,
but by laying down his own. So she
told the sweet story of Jesus walking
on the Lake of Galilee, when his dis
ciples were crossing it in a little storm
tossed ship, and how, amid the dark
ness of the night, they did not know
the Master until the cheering words,
"It is I ; be not afraid," were borne
on the wind-blast. And the simple
command, "Peace,'be still," from the
lips of the Maker of all, sent the winds
and. waves to sleep, and brought to
the troubled hearts of the disciples a
great calm.
" So have I seen a fearful storm
O'er wakened sinner roll,
Till Jesus' voice and Jesus' form
Said, Peace, thou weary soul :
Peace ! peace! be still, thou raging breast;
My fulness is for thee.'
The Saviour speaks, anti all is rest,
Like the waves of Galilee."
Just as Aunt Mary finished her story,
the white-sailed boat touched the shore
under the cottage windows, The little
party were soon seated round the tea
table, and Edith was trying all her
powers of coaxing to persuade Cousin
Walter to prescribe another day on the
lake.
JIM AND THE COMPASS-BOX.
When Tom, the sailor-boy, and his
father came into port, another sailor
came off the vessel with them. He
Wa3 called "Jim, the boy from Maine,"
though he was much more of a man
than a boy.
Jim made a visit to Tom's mother.
He was a kind, good fellow. He could
tell long stories of the sea. The Chil
dren followed him around, and kept
near him all day long.
"Now, boys, I'll tell you," said Jim,
one day. "We got lost at sea once.
We couldn't tell where we were going
to for a while."
" Got lost!" cried Frank Gill; "I
should think you would. How do you
ever know where you ara going, Jim?"
Jim looked as if he knew, but
wouldn't tell.
"Now some tell us, Jim," said two
or three ;voices.
"Did you ever see a•compass, boys?'
"A compals!. What is that ?"
"I'll show you," said Jim ; and he
left the boys on the shore, and ran
ba s ek to the house where Tom's father
lived. The boys watched a few min
utes, till they saw Jim coming, with a
little box in his hands.
"Now, boys, I'll sit down on this
log, and show you• a compass, such as
we use at sea." The box was covered
with glass. The boys came round
and looke4l.
"Does this keep you from being
lost at sea, Jim ?"
"Yes ; and I'll show you how. This
card is divided into thirty-two points.
Now, begin here at the north and
count them round. Then look at this
little needle. If it is ever so dark or
stormy, it points right to the north,
and this shows us how to sail. There
is a magnet, or loadstone, which gives
the needle the power to do this; and
it always does it where it has a fair
chance. 'We put this box on board
ship, where the man can see it who
stands at the helm to steer; .and, by
looking at the needle, he knows which
way to guide the ship.
" Now, hurrah for the compass,
boys, and for' every boy who steers
right I To steer right is to go just
the way the Bible tells us. This makes
good boys, brave boys, great . men,
and happy men."—English, Paper.
GOD'S HEROES.
Here are "God's heroes," the heroes
of the sick-chamber and the vigil by
the cradle-side ; , the heroes of poverty
and the work-shop ; of silent, patient
endurance, having learned ; through
much tribulation, that waiting and suf
fe,ring is their destined work ; the
heroes of long suffering, forbearance
and charity, or of victory over pain,
of the unostentatious self-denial of the
household ; the lowly, toiling, sad
woman, climbing mounts of sacrifices
under heavy crosses, without a human
hand held out in Aympathy ; the noble
army of martyrs who, have found and
followed the Master's potprints in the
daily round of human duties, trans
figuring that despised, circumscribed,
care-encumbered life of- theirs into a
living testimony to the truth of Christ's
evangel; the lonely sufferers, priests,
by a heavenly consideration, offering
the sacrifices of praise in garret and
cellar ; men and women far from stimu
lating delights of successful activities,
co-workers with Christ, sowing in hope
the seed whose interest they shall never
reap • "the sacramental host of God's
acbridin g with songs most
jubilant from the faithful performance
of earth's lower ministries to the per
fect service of the upper sanctuary
with its perennial and unhindered
praise. They are passing up through
the gates of the morning into the city
without a temple, and it is for other
fingers than ours to weave the ama
ranth round their lonely brow.—North
British Review.
FRUIT - BEARING
Behold, these three years I come seeking
fruit on this fig-tree, and find none.—Loss
7.
And yet you profess to be a fruit
bearer. The position that you occupy
implies that you have separated your
self from the fruitless trees of the
world. You are in the vineyard of
the Lord. You are called by his
name. In assuming the designation
of Christian, you have invited the
Lord to comp and seek fruit on your
branches.
All things have been duly organ
ized, in order that you may bring
forth fruit. What .could have been
done more to my vineyard, that I
have not done in it ? Has there been
any lack of instruction as to the na
ture of the fruit required? There has
been no lack. It has been shown you
by precept, by example, poetically,
historically, in parables, and in una
dorned speech.. Have inadequate mo
tives been presented? The Son of
God, with arms outstretched upon the
cross, pleading with God for you, and
with you for God—what an infinitude
of motives are comprehended in this
spectacle! Fruitlessness is not merely
wrong to others; it is self-injury, pen
ury of the soul ; and fruitfulness is
the only true wealth we are capable of
knowing. The absence of fruit is the
presence of pride, vanity, selfishness,
and all forms of unloveliness. Is there
no adequacy of motive here ? The
whole earth is fruitful, in order that
you may be fruitful. Far, far away
there is a plantation, whose products
are matured through many a day of
patient shining of the sun, that they
may, after the ministry of innumer
able hands, by numerous channels,
reach you, and furnish you with cloth
ing. Other fields, beneath a more
tropical sky—some in one continent,
some in another=yield the ingredients
of your morning beverage. In the
unfrequented depths of vast forests,
the powers of nature watch day and
night over the plant that is commis
sioned to furnish an antidote for your
fever. The whole world is put under
daily contribution for you, and hardly
is the least of your, thousand wants
unattended to, that every opportunity
and every inducement may be furnish
ed you for the producin g of fruit.
Why is that flower painted soei.quiß.
itely, and - fishioned.to be the momen
tary utterance of enduring love, and
then thrown in your path by the
Maker of it, but that you may render
fruit? "Knowest thou not that the
goodness of God leadeth thee -to re
pentance," and to all the fruits of the
Spirit that follow on repentance ?
The Lord of glory himself has come
to you, and come again and again ; by
his servants, his Spirit, his providence;
as a still small voice in your heart,
and perhaps as a whirlwind among
your possessions. Where found he
you ? In sloth, in revelry, in worldli
ness, in pride, in passion. -far, very
far from fruitfulness. How wonderful
that your probation was not then and
there cut short. What reason is there
to hope that a prolonged probation
will witness, any better results ?
Brown's Daily Meditations.
WOMAN'S BEAUTY,
" I was glad to have it'in my power
to do anything my husband wanted
me to do," was the beautiful reply of a
wife long married, of wealth and posit
tion, when I asked her why, by over
taxing herself, she had induced great
bodily suffering.
A man was terribly injured; a mus
lin bandage was essential to his safety;
it was not at hand, and there was no
time to run for it. A young woman
present disappeared, and returned the
next instant with the requisite article,
taken from her under garment, and
the poor man's life was saved.
"My dear wife, I gm hopelessly
bankrupt," said a merchant, when he
entered his fine mansion, at the close
of a day, all fruitless in his endeavor
to save himself when men were crash
ing around him in every direction.
" Tell me the particulars, dearest,"
said his wife, calmly. On hearing
them and his wants to save himself,
"Is that all ?" and absenting herself a
moment, she returned with a book,
from between the leaves of which she
took bank 'note after bank note, until
enough was counted. to fully meet all
her husband's requirements. " This,"
she said, in ieply to his mingled look
of admiration and astonishment, "is
what I have saved-for such a possible
day as this, from your princely allow
ance for dressing myself since we were
married."
If every mother made it her ambi
tion to mould her daughter's heart in
forms like these; who shall deny that
many a suicide would be prevented—
that many a noble-hearted man would
be saved from a life of abandonment
or a drunkard's dreadful death, and
many families prevented being thrown
upon society in destitution and help
lessness, to furnish inmates for the jail,
the 'poor-house; the asyluia and the
hospital ?