Of famitg eitta
[For the American Presbyterian.]
THE BURDENED HEART.
" 'Tis night! in gloom and doubt
I watch the drear, cold rain;
The stars have quite gone out;
None carAth for my pain."
"Take up thy load, poor heart,
A darker night I knew,
For thee, a crown to gain."
" The night wears on : and yet
This burden presseth sore.
Long years the sun hath Bet j
Will the day dawn no more ?"
"Take up thy load, poor heart;
To save thy soul from death,
A heavier cross I bore."
"The way is steep and rough,
My trembling limbs ask rest;
Speak Lord—say 'tis enough ;
0, fold me to Thy breast."
" Take up thy load, poor heart,
For thee dark Calv'ry's Mount
My weary feet have prest."
"But Hope and Joy are dead ;
Thy face I cannot see;
For Faith has well nigh fled ;
0 turn not from my plea."
"Take up tby load, dear heart;
In love, in love 'tis sent,
Then bear it, child, for Me." •
C. A. L
THE ROBBIN IN THE COTTAGE;
OR GOD FEEDETII THEN
Through all that trouble the Boltons
had never, once recourse to the parish
officer for relief. They might quite
justly have applied for it, but they did
not. Sam said to Mary, "Let us wait,
and see if we can do without. We
have been helped so far • may be God
will help us through without."
One day wheui the purse was qtiite
empty, and the cupboard veil nearly
so,Sam opened the Bible,and read aloud
tht verse which says, " Bread shall
be given him, his waters shall, be
sure.' "That is a promise, Mary," he
said, "a promise our Father in heaven
has made, and, depend upon it, He will
keep his word."
It was Morning, after the elder chil
dren had gone to school, or Sam could
not have seen to: read ; for when the
cupboard is empty of bread, it is sure
to be empty of, candles. Mary :had
nothing to cook, that morning, and she
had nothing to mend. She had made'
up the smallest possible fire, and.then
she sat doWn with a sad heart to con
sult with her husband as to what they,
must do next. It was then that Sam,
feeling they -haclsot very near either
to the begging or the starving point,
opened his Bible, and read that verse
with his wife.
"We have often prayed, Mary," he
said. "We have often said, Give us
this day our daily bread ;' but I do
believe this is the first time we ever
asked for it because we knew we had
none, and should have none for the
children when they come home, un
less God sent it to us."
Mary raised her eyes, and looked
at her husband, but said nothing.
Perhaps that was because,it .was as'
Sam said, the, first time she had, fully
realized her entire dependence on,
God's providence. Mary was natu
rally more careful and anxious than
Sam. She had more difficulty in
learning to trust God than Sam had.
The house•door Was shutTfor it was a
bitterly cold day in 'January ;Ibut the
sun sent a bright stream of light across
the cottage floor, and just as Sam, had.
finished reading, a little robin dropped
down on the floor, and looked at ;them.
with its large, trustful eye. It was .
accustomed to find crumbs on the
sink where Mary washed up the
dishes; but finding nothing there that
morning, it sat on the edge of a tub
for a moment, and then, perceiving
the back door to be open, it darted
through, as robins do, in their sudden
and unexpected manner, and stood on
its slight legs looking up in Sam's
face. The children 'had let some
crumbs' fall at breakfast, and a few of
these had escaped Mary'S' broom and
settled themselves between the flags.
The trobin made a sudden dart, and
snatched up one•of them, then paused
a moment before-he swallowed it, and
then he 4ocd andlooked at Sam again.
Another and Another, crumb was de
tected by the'robin on the floor that
had seemed guiltless' of one to Mary
and Sa.m. ,At last the , robin, after-ra
long, gaze at Mary, suddenly appeared
on the edge of the cradle, where little
• Tom lay,sound asleep. Warmed, fill
ed, and ; comforted, the little 'bird in
stantly poured forth its clear, winter
song., ; ,,Ahe. leto , notes disturbed the
sleeping,qhild, and he opened his eyes
and smiled.
"'Obbin sing sweet song ; 'obhin
sing. ; for Tom," said the little one.
Baby that he was, Tom knew quite
well.that he must be still if he wanted
the robin to pay them a visit; so he
did not stretch out, his hand to catch
it, though it was so close to him. He
only pointed with his tiny finger, and
smiled.
At last Sam said, "It has found
bread where we thought there was
none."
Mary said, gently, "Neither store
house or barn, and , yet God feedeth
therm I never thought I was filling
a store-house for it when I swept the
floor this morning. Lord increase our
faith."
And Sam and Mary knelt down
side by side, and prayed.
It was the 26th of. January, the
day before the loath, anniversary of
)
their weddil g,•day. Sam had oxer
looktOqi% act;;,liii
Mary,d not;,, 'Shp
had'%een thinking how •d
been
had looked forward to the 2'7lfi of
January ten years ago from what she
did that day. All was hope then.
She remembered how she had gone
with her mother and Lucy to put the
last touch to the cottage that day.
How they had put the chairs and the
table in their places, and set up the
plates and jugs on the dresser; how
Lucy had laid a cold fire, all ready to
be lit next day ; and how her mother
had put a loaf and butter and a large
pie in the cupboard ; and now every
thing about her looked cracked and
worn, and the cupboard was absolute
ly empty. Poor Mary ! The only
thing that remained the same was her
love for Sam—their love for each
other. If Poverty had come in at the
door, love had not flown out of the
window in their case. " For better
for worse, for richer for poorer, in
sickness and in health, to love, cherish,
and obey." Quick as thought Mary's
heart ran through her wedding vow,
and she felt that poverty only bound
them closer together to each .other;
and when she looked at her husband
and her child—the one so deeply
solemnized, the other smiling with in
nocent infantine delight—she called to
mind how close joy and sorrow often
are to each other, and how often God
is preparing the one, while we are
over-shadowed by the other ; so she
rose from her chair snatched her little
boy from the cradle, and tossed him
up in his father's face till he too
Then Mary said, " Now, Sam, what
shall we do ? We have prayed to
God, still I don't quite see my way.
You ailnot work; we must do some
thing, you knoW. Shall Igo to Mr.
Lister's, or shall I speak to Miss Dy
sart ? We must think of the children."
"I think," said Sam, " you shall go
to the parsonage and ask Mr. Ver
non's advice. They will trust us at
the baker's yet, I dare say. ,013.1 this
getting into debt ; it does go against
my grain."
Poor Sam indeed it did. So Mary
took her shawl and. bonnet down from
the peg, and was just going to put
them on, when she gave a little shriek
of joy, ." If . it is not Mrs. Grice 1" and
surely enough the door opened, and in
walked t,hat good old woman.
:Mary felt so, glad to see the face of.
a friend at that moment, that she fairly
threw her arms round - Mrs. Grice 's
neck, and burst into tears.
"`l'am, so glad to see you," she
said; "so very glad. I never was so
glad to see any one in my life. 0,
Mrs. Grice, we have been in such
trouble."
" So I heard, my dear, and that is
what has brought me. How now,
Sam," she added, turning round to the
fire; what's this I hear about your
knee ?"
"It has been a bad job, a terrible
bad job for us. It was a kick from a
horse—a young foal. He struck out
when Lister was leading him, and
a'most broke my knee-pan. A terrible
job,it has been."
" And you have been off work ?"
" These five weeks," said Sam " and
I am not able, to do a turn yet"
"Who has looked to you ?" inquir
ed Dirs. Grice.
" 0, people have been very kind,"
said Mary—" very ; but it takes a deal
to' -maintain eight off us. The bread
alone comes to a deal of money when
there are: so many."
",True,",said Mrs. Grice ; " and what
seems very much to give,. does not
seem very much to get,---answering
the needs I mean. Mr. Pardshaw was
dining at Mr. l:lysart's yesterday, and
he heard by chance of your trouble.
It was a Mr. Vernon who told him ;
and= he said he was afraid' you were
very hard up. So says my missus to
me, ' Grim, says she, ' you shall go
over and see Mary ;! and she put her
hand into her.pocket like a lady, and
sent you ;this."
After fumbling about in her own
pocket, Mrs. Grim produced an old
leather purse, out of which she took
something very small, folded in paper,
and sealed like' a doctor's fee. Mary's
heartbeat withl3urprise and thankful'
ness. She hastily broke-the seal, and
exclaimed : ' 1 ,
"0, Sam, how \kind of her; how
very good of her!We shall get on
now. God was fl lig a store-house
for us while I sw t the floor this,
morning, and we di not know it."
"'Obbin sang a so g for Tom," said
, the child. The robin s song being re
called to his mind liy his mother's
mention' of sweeping \ the floor, and
the crumbs. Little Tc+l bent forward
as he said that. He intended the in
formation for Mrs. Once.
" Sit down, dear MrS. Grice," said
Mary, " T only wish Ico ld make you
more comfortable," and ail , pulled a
chair close up to the fire. ilShe gave a
faint poke to the fire. Poor thing, she
did not dare really to stir', it, because
she had so few coals lefi!, and they
were so dear.
"Mary, honey," said rs. Grice,
" will you go to the gate, nd bring
in my baket. I came by ail to the
station, and I got a lad to c rry it so
far for me."
" Your cap-basket ? 0, y s, I will
fetch it."
But the basket contained soiething
considerably more substantial than
s
Mrs. Grice's cap, as the had girls
found to their delight, when the came
i home from school at noon.,
't .
That was, a, day to :be m reme ered
;for , its good.dinner; l an& the spir *4l of
`the' Whale family rose iiion it, * .
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, JUNE 14, 1866.
Things had passed the worst with
the Boltons and then, after Sam'i knee
began to mend, they got to their usual
average.—Sam Bolton's Cottage.
THE UNWILLING VOYAGERS.
Some boys went, one Saturday af
ternoon, to play on the beach. The
beach is a strip of land by the side of
the great ocean. The was a boat
moored in the sand not far off. "It is
James King's boat," said the biggest
boy; "let us jump in and have a row."
" Let us, let us," cried the rest, all but
Charley, who said, " No, no ; we've no
business with the boat without asking."
" Pooh 1" cried , the big boy, " what a
scarecrow you are; you like to spoil
all our fun." Ben—that was the big
boy's name—jumped in, and the rest
followed ; for boys, you know, don't
often stop to think.
Charley said all he could against it,
which made Ben angry, and he called
Charley a coward. "0, it's only
make-believe row," said Ned, rocking
the boat in the water, "for we can't
push her off." Two of the boys pretty
soon got out and, went home. The
smallest boy, Johnny Craig, wanted to
follow, but Ben would not let him.
"Sit still Johnny," said Ben. "I don't
want to stay," cried Johnny, and he
called Charley to come and hoist him
out. Charley waded down to the hpat.
" Get out, Charley," cried Ben angrily ;
" you shan't interfere with my pasien
gers." Johnny held out his hand to
Charley, and Charley jumped into the
boat for him. Once in, Ben took' the
notion not to let him get out. "Hold
him, boys, hold him," he cried, while
he tried to push off the sand. Presently
the boat floated. Get off'now, Charley,;
if you can," cried Ben in triurapi
In the confusion on board, one of
the oars fell into the water and drifted
away. Ben tried his hand with the
other, but not knowing how to man
age a boat with one oar, he only turned
it round and round, while the wind
and the tide were swiftly carrying her
further And further from the shore.
" Well, I can't manage her," said
Ben, now pretty well sobered. "We
shall likely be carried out to sea." "0,
Bend" cried Charley , .
The boys shouted ; but there was
nobody on the shore to hear them.
They saw a fishing-boat, and hailed
her. She took no notice of them. One
tied his jacket to the oar, and hoisted
it as a signal of distress ;. but there
was nobody to descry it. Night came
on, and they were out alone on the
wide, wide sea. Poor little Johnny
cried piteously to go home to his
mother ; and did they not all think of
mother and father and home ? Charley
put his arm round the little boy, and
tried to comfort him. The moon rose
--;:aird so did the wind. The waves
splashed and, dashed into the boat, and
the boys had to take their caps and bale
it out to keep from sinking. At last
the wind lulled. I cannot tell you
how tired and cold and wet and hungry
and troubled they were out on the
wide, wide sea, with nobody but God
to look after them.
" Ar'nt you frightened, Charley ?"
asked Ben, coining and sitting down
beside him. `• Yes—no," answered
Charley ; " Fam not frightened when
I think God will take care of us. He
is as much on the water as on the
shore." "Bat he seems so far off,"
said Ben, " and lam so bad." Charley
tried to speak comforting words, to
Ben. I wish I could stop to tell you
all he said. He was a Christian boy,
and tried to lead Ben to God. Poor
Ben, I should not like to have been in
his place; should you ? 0, it was a
long, lonely, dreadful night. When
morning came, there was nothing to
be seen but sky and water; and they
lost, of course, all knowledge where
they were.
It was Sunday morning. " They'll
be thinking of us in Sabbath-school,"
said little Johnny. "May-be they are
singing now. Can't we sing some
thing?" asked Johnny. The boys
gladly fell in with the plan ; and some
Sabbath-school hymns were sung until
Johnny fell fast asleep. "Boys," said
Ben, looking round, and the boys saw
a softer look than his face ever wore
before—"boys," he said, "I want to
say something. It is all I who have
done this, my wilful wickedness, and I
want to ask you to forgive me, if you
can; for—" his voice faltered, and he
held out his hand to Tom, the boy
next to him. " Will you forgive and
shake hands with me, Tom ?" he asked.
The boys all shook hands with him,
and tears came into Charley's eyes as
he gave him his warm grasp. Charley
then repeated some verses. " And,
Charley," said Ben, " can't you pray
God to help us in our great trouble
and danger ?" Charley knelt down
and prayed, ending with the Lord's
prayer, in which they all joined. Was
not this better than blaming each other,
or quarrelling and swearing ?
Ben of late had been a wild, fast
boy. He was a motherless boy, and I
am sorry to say, he was trying to
break loose from the kind care of a
good father ; but Ben could think it
all over in this time of danger. It
seemed as if every naughty thing. he
ever did came into his mind; and God
sent his Spirit down to soften his heart
and make him sorry, and. to turn him
to the Son of God, who can wash our
sins away. As he sat looking over
I the wild waste of waters, nothing was
said, and pretty soon one boy after
another fell.asleep Ben tried to keep
awake. I must keep a good look-
out," said he. But the poor fellow,
overcome by fatigue and anxiety, at
last sank down in the boat, and went
to sleep with the rest. Poor little
boat-load, what will become of them ?
As soon as James King missed his
boat—and the report spread that some
boys went off with it—and the lost
oar was picked up, all the village was
alive with anxiety and fear. SOon a
dozen boats went out in search for
them. You can
,fancy the sorrow of
fathers and mothers as night came on
and wore away, and. the Sunday sun
arose without getting any tidings of
them. On Sabbath afternoon some
fishermen spied a little boat far out at
sea, which seemed to have nobody in
her. They made for her, and it proved
to be the lost boat, with all the five
boys fast asleep in the bottom of her.
God be praised. She was towed home,
and never was there greater joy in all
the village.—Child's Paper.
STRANGE FEMALE CUSTOM.
The following is a curious account
of the habits and customs of some of
the tribes in the interior of Africa, as
we find it in the new volume of travels
by David and Charles Livingstone,
just issued by Harpers. Speaking of
the women in Morambala, the narra
tive says :
These damsels looked with consid
erable disgust on the " men in bags,',
as the trowsered whites were called.
Even the less fastidious matrons quiet
ed their children by threatening to fetch
the white men to kite them. In their
eyes, Dr. Livingstone, busy with the
wet and dry bulb thermometers, was
an object of pity, " playing with toys
.4 . A a little boy ;" but when they be
held the travelers spreading butter,
" raw butter," on their bread, their
disgust was beyond'exprepion. They
only use butter, after melting to
anoint their heads and bodies.
The most wonderful of ornaments,
if such it may be called, is the pelele
or upper lip ring of the women. The
middle of the upper lip for the ring is
pierced close to the septum of the nose
and a small pin inserted to prevent the
puncture closing up. After it has
healed the pin is taken out and a
larger one is pressed into its place,
and so on successively for weeks; and
months, and years. The process of
increasing the size of the lip goes on
till its - capacity becomes so great that
a ring of two inches in diameter can be
introduced with ease.
All the highland women wear the
pelele, and it is common on the upper
and lower Shire. The poorer classes
make them of hollow or of solid bam
boo, but the wealthier of ivory or tin.
The tin pelele is often made in form of
Et small dish. The ivory one is not
unlike a napkin-ring. No women
ever appears in public without the
pelele, except in times of mourning for
the dead. It is frightfully ugly to see
the upper lip projecting two inches
beyond the tip of the nose. When an
old wearer of a hollow bamboo ring
smiles, by the action of the muscles of
the cheeks the ring and the lip outside
of it are dragged , back and thrown
above the eyebrows. The nose is seen
through the middle of the ring, and
the exposed teeth show how carefully
they have been chipped to look like
those of a cat or crocodile.
The pelele of an old lady, Chikanda
Kadze, a chieftainess, about twenty
miles, north of Morambala, hung down
below her chin, with, of course, a piece
of the upper lip around its border.
The labial letters can not be properly
pronounced, but the under lip has to
do its best for them against the upper
teeth and gum. Tell them it makes
them ugly ; they had better throw it
away ; they reply, " Kodi Really lit
is, the fashion !" How this hideous
fashion originated is an enigma. Can
thick lips ever have been thought
beautiful, and this mode of artificial
enlargement resorted to in conse
quence?
The constant twiddling of the pelele
with the tongue by the younger
women suggested the irreverent idea
that it might have been invented to
give safe employment to that little
member. "Why do the women wear
these things?" we inquired of the old
chief, Chinsune. Evidently surprised
at such a stupid question, he replied.
" For beauty to be sure I Men have
beards and whiskers ; women have
none; and what kind of a creature
would a woman be wlthout whiskers
and without a pelele ? She would have
a mouth like a man, and no beard ;
ha ! ha ! ha 1" Afterward, on the
Rovuma, we found men wearing the
pelele as well as women.
LOVE AND OBEDIENCE.
In the manifestation of our love to
Christ, by our obedience, the, whole
circle of the divine percepts must be
embraced. Our obedience must not
be eclectic—we must not choose some
commands and reject others ; for when
it becomes such it is nugatory. "For
he that keepeth the whole law, and yet
offendeth in one point is guilty of all."
Neither is it the right manifestation of
love when one part of the record of
our Master's will is preferred and ex
alted by us above another. Professor
Hitchcock has justly remarked that if
a Christian over-estimates the impor
tance of some particular doctrines or
duties, it injures the symmetry of hi s
religious character, producing as much
deviation from - perfect tran!pareocy a s
color does in the crystal---The Revival.
WANTED-A MINISTER.
We have been without a pastor
Some eighteen months or more ;
And though candidates are plenty—
We've had at least a score,.
All of them "tip-top" preachers,
Or so their letters ran—
We're just as far as ever
From settling on the man.
The first who came among us
By no means was the worst,
But then we didn't think of him
Because he was the first;
It being quite the custom
To sacrifice a few
Before the Church in earnest
Determines what to do.
There was a smart young fellow
With serious, earnest way,
Who but for one great blunder
Had surely won the day.;
Who left so good impression,
On Monday one or two
Went round among the people
To see if he would do.
The pious, godly portion
Had not a fault to find ;
His clear and searching preaching
They thought the very kind ;
And all went smooth and pleasant
Until they heard the views
Of some influential sinners
Who rent the highest pews.
On these his pungent dealing
Made but a sorry hit ;
The coat of Gospel teaching
Was quite too tight a fit.
Of course his fate was settled;
Attend ye parsons all 1
And preach to please the sinners
If you would get a call.
Next came a spruce young dandy ;
He wore his hair too long;
Another's coat was shabby,
And his voice not overstrong ;
And one New Haven student
Was worse than all of those,
We couldn't heed the sermon
For thinking of his nose.
Then, wearying of candidates,
We looked the country through,
'Mid doctors and professors,
To find one that would do ;
And after much discussion
On who should bear the ark,
With tolerable agreement
We fixed on Dr. Park.
Here, then, we thought it settled,
But were amazed to find
Our flattering invitation
Respectfully declined.
We turned - to Dr. Hopkins
To help's in the lurch,
Who strangely thought the college
Had claims above our Church.
Next we dispatched committees
By twos and'threes, to urge
The labors for a Sabbath
Of the Rev. Shallow Splurge..
He came—a marked sensation,
So wonderful his style,
Followed the creaking of his boots
As he passed up the aisle:
His tones were so affecting,
His gestures so divine,
A lady fainted in the hymn
Before the second line;
And on that day he gave us,
In accents clear and loud,
The greatest prayer e'er addressed
To an enlightened crowd.
He preached a double sermon,
And gave us angel's food
On such a lovely topic—
" The joys of solitude."
All full of sweet descriptions
Of flowers and pearly streams,
Of warbling birds, and moonlit groves,
And golden sunset beams.
Of faith and true repentence -
He nothing had to say ;
He rounded all the corners,
And smoothed the rugged way;"
Managed with great adroitness
To entertain and please,
And leave the sinner's conscience
Completely at its ease. .
Six hundred is the salary
We gave in former days;
We thought it very liberal, '
And found it hard to raise.;
But when we took the paper
We had no need to urge
To raise a cool two thousand
For the Rev. Shallow Splurge.
In vain were all the efforts—
We had no chance at all—
We found ten city Churches
Had given him a call ;
And he, in prayerful waiting,
Was keeping them all in tow;
But where they paid the highest
It was whispered he would go.
And now, good Christian brothers,
We ask your earnest prayers
That God would send a shepherd
To guide our Church affairs,
With this clear understanding—
A man to meet our views
Must preach to please the sinners,
And fill the vacant pews.
THE NOVEL READER WARNED,
Grace Hallett sat in Miss Mason's
room one Wednesday afternoon, busy
with her crochet-work, and chatting
with her Sunday-school teacher. M R ::
Mason encouraged her scholars to talk
freely of everything that interested
them. She wished them to feel per
fectly familiar with her, so that they
would not be afraid to speak when the
theme was that of their soul's welfare.
Moreover, she knew this was the true
way for her to understand their char
acters, and to find out what instruc
tion they needed. So, though time
was precious to her, she never grudged
the hours when her scholars sought
her company. This afternoon, Grace
was full of a new book she was read
ing. "It's well," said she, " that
mother took a fancy to it, or I never
should have seen it. She's just like
the dog in the manger: she won't read
novels herself, nor let me."
"0, Grace! don't speak so of your
mother," said Miss Mason.
" Well, its the truth," returned Grace.
"I think it's very narrow-minded."
"Even if it were the truth," replied
Miss Mason, " nothing should induce
you to speak so ; you have no right
to."
" Why, isn't it right to speak the
truth ?" asked Grace.
" No, indeed, not when love and
gratitude and reverence to your pa
rents call upon you to be silent. 'Honor
thy father and thy mother' is one of
God's holy commandments. You dis
honor them by xlisrespectful comments
upon their 'conduct : you are too young
to be a fit a judge of it, especialllif it
is against your wishes. You cannot
understand or know all their reasons.
As to reading stories, you say your
self that your mother allowed you to
read one this week."
" Yes ; but she makes it a rule to read
a story herself before she lets me see it.
She says, she knoNis then whether it is
good for me, and that it keeps me from
reading too many."
" Now, Grace, how sensible and kind
of your good mother ! What a capital
plan ! Many stories are like too much
candy : they spoil your appetite for
good, nourishing food. Does not the
Bible seem dull after an exciting story ?
and are not history and geography
tame and flat ?"
"0, dear, yes 1 I should like to
read stories all the time," answered
Grace.
" And our great Enemy would like
to have you, no doubt. Much novel
reading makes one as dead to Christ's
beauty, and to the happiness of a lov
ing and useful life, as Satan himself
could wish. Even where the tendency
of the book is religious, an habitual
novel-reader skips the religion to get
at the story. Much novel-reading is
like intemperance, as I've often thought.
I once knew a young Man whose mind
was as drunk with novels as poor old
Saunders is with rum."
" What became of him?" asked
Grace.
"Why, he made himself a stupid, shift
less being—a mere wreck. When he
went to college, he was a fine scholar ;
but he fell into this habit of novel
reading, and'neglected his studies. He
would sit up all night to finish an ex
citing story, and would, of course feel
dull next day ; then he would begin
another novel to rouse himself ; and,
in this way, he lost all relish for other
books. He sunk into a kind of leth
argy when he was not under the stimu
lus of fiction, and kept returning to it
exactly as a drunkard does to his
liquor. Of course, he never applied
himself to anything useful, and he
seemed absolutely dead to relgious
truth. His feelings had been so often
excited by thrilling fictions, that he had
none left for realities."
"0, well I I never should carry it so
far," said - G race.
"Perhaps not, dear ; yet you said
that you would likelo read stories all
the time. Isn't it well that you are
not left to yourself; but have a wise,
mother, who knows the danger, and
saves you from temptation ? You
have to do with real things Grace '
-
with true things; with God and
eternity ; with our dear Saviour ; and
with all the real interests and joys of
life. We want you to have a keen
relish for the best and sweetest pleas
ures. When you are older, if you are
a, good Christian—as we are longing
for you to be—you will have a delight
in the Bible, and in beautiful things,
and in good people, a thousand times
more satisfying than any imaginary
scenes. Then you will be able to
judge for yourself what is good for
you, and to deny yourself what is not,
Till then, dear, Grace, I want you to
trust your mother, and be thankful for
her care."— Christian Banner.
YOU . NAME IN THE BIBLE.
The Dutch farmers in Africa have
held the black natives in great con
tempt, the same as the Southern
planters once despised their slaves.
As one of these farmers was riding
out one day, he saw one of these
blacks sitting by the roadside, reading.
Checking his horse, he jeeringly asked,
" What book have you got thelte ?"
"The Bible," replied the Hottentot.
" The Bible I Why, that book was
never intended for you."
" Indeed it was, , replied the black
confidenty ; " for I see my name here."
" Your name l Where ?" said the
farmer, getting off his horse : " show
it me."
—Lutheran
" There!" said the poor fellow, put
ting finger on the word sinners, (1 Tim.
i. 16,) " there I sinners,' that's my name.
I am a sinner; so that means me."
The farmer was silenced ; and,
mounting his horse, he galloped away.
So the children may claim the Bible
for theirs, since they are not only
sinners, but their other name, "chil
dren," " little children," is in the Bible
a great many times.
THE OLDEST REPUBLIC ON EARTH,
The American Quarterly Review con
'tains a letter from George W. Irving,
Esq., giving a sketch of his visit to
San Marino, a small republic in Italy,
between the Apennines, the Po, and
the Adriatic. The territory of this
State is only forty miles in circumfer
ence, and its population about seven
thousand. The republic was founded
more than fourteen hundred years ago,
on moral principles, industry, and -
equity, and has preserved its liberty
and independence amid all the wars
and discords which have raged around
it. Bonaparte respected it, and sent
an embassy to express his sentiments
of friendship and fraternity. It is
governed by a captain regent, chosen
every six months by the representatives
of the people (sixty-six in number),
who are chosen every six months by
the people. The taxes, are light, the
farm-houses are neat, the fields well
cultivated, and on all sides are seen
comfort and plenty, the happy effect of
morality, simplicity, and frugality.
To be loved by Christ, and to love
Him, is the highest felicity of the
human soul