famitg REACHED "HOME." Brother, thou art gone before us, and thy saint ly soul is flown ' Where tears are wiped from every eye, and sorrow is unknown : From the burthen of the flesh, and from care and fear released, Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. The .toilsome way thou'st travelled o'er, and borne the heavy load— But Christ hath taught thy weary feet to reach his blest abode; Thou'rt sleeping now like , Lazarus, upon his father's breast, Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. Sin can never taint thee now, nor doubt thy faith assail, Nor thy meek trust in Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit fail And there thou'rt sure to meet the aood, whom on earth thou loved'st best, Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. "Earth to earth," and " dust to dust," the solemn priest hath said, So we lay the turf above thee now, and seal thy narrow bed. But thy spirit, brother, soars away, among the faithful blest, Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. And when the Lord shall summon us, whom thou hest left behind, May we, untainted by the world, as sure a wel come find; May each, like thee, depart in peace, to be a glorious guest, Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. THE GERMAN FAMILY IN LONDON. FROM GUTIIRIE'S SUNDAY MAGAZINE (Concluded.) Meanwhile the ciroumstances of the family became more and more straiten ed. The answer from the Cologne house, which at length arrived, was al together unfavorable. " The Compa ny," the letter said, " had made no other contract with Mr. Stahl than to send him and his family to New York by the Borussia.' The Company were surprised at learning that Mr. Stahl and family had left' that ship in London. Mr. Stahl, the Company ad mitted, was perfectly at liberty to do so, but he ought to have known that by this action he had forfeited any claims upon the Company, since there were no stipulations made in the con tract by which the Company were obliged to provide him and his family with another ship."' After ihe receipt of this letter, the question what course to take was again discussed : whether they should return to Kirchheim, or stay and wait for the letter from brother Dietrich ? The family held a special prayer-meeting for the purpose of asking Divine guid ance in this important matter. At length they resolved to remain, since their property was in America, and London was at any rate nearer to that than Kirchheim, where they had no business at all, and nothing but poverty could:be their lot. But as the money which: was in Herman's possession was fast dwindling away, they quitted their lodgings- and rented instead two large rooms in a court, at eight shillings per week. Fortunately the people who inhabit ed this court were not of the worst kind. With the exception of one dis reputable house, nothing offensive to decency was to be seen in it. The houses were mostly occupied by working-men, costermongers, pedlers, etc. Frau Stahl kept the children as much in the house as she could ; and Daniel spent a great portion of his time in teaching them English, writing, and the elements of arithmetic, etc. At these lessons Hermann was also often present, as he deemed it wise to learn as much as he could of the " ter rible language." One day Johann, who had been snit on an errand, came home with a black eye, and all bespattered with mud. The whole family was in alarm. After having been cleaned and washed, and refreshed. by a warm. cup of coffee, Johann told E his story. On returning from his errand, he found the entrance of the court biOcked up by a crowd of people standing in, a circle round two lads who were fighting. It was evident that the one, a boy of scarcely fifteen, was not at all a match for his antago nist, a big lad of seventeen; consequent ly the former was being beaten unmer cifully, the blood running from his nose. As none of;i4 bystanders seemed disposed to .inteifere, Johann stepped between the pugilists and tried to separate them. A stout lad of his own age.and stature at `,once came forward, and in a provoking tone asked. him what right he had to interfere. In his broken English he answered, " Because little boy too little for big boy." The stout, lad then uttered a volleys of words which Johann did not understand, and clenching his fists, placed himself in a' 'fighting attitude. " No, not fight," said Johann. " Why not, you coward? fight!" cried the bystanders; who now fOrmed a circle round them. " No, not • fight,'," said Johann. " Christians no fight." . " Take* that, you 'Christian," cried the lad; and at the Mine moment Johann. felt the lad's fist come down with great force on his, eye. Now Johann was an'extraordinarily strong lad, whose muscles were powerfiilly developed ;by the invigorating German mountain air, and who was' reckoned an adept in the Turn . o:gungen—i. e., the gymnastical ' exercises, which in Prussia form a considerable part of the popular school training. Before his antagonist could launch a second blow, he caught him by the waist, lifted him up from- the ground, and threw him down. Then throwing himself upon hiinihe kept him under till, tifter Some fruitless struggling, be promised not to renew the affray. Johann then let him go, and stepped home amidst - the loud applause of the crowd, some of whom tried to force him into a public-house to receive a glass of beer as a - token of their admiration. It was with di-I:acui— ty he escaped from them. From that day Johann went in the court by the name of " Christian." " Well, those foreigners over there are better folks than the whole lot of us," said Mrs. Harding, the pedler's wife, who was standing chatting with another woman in the doorway of her house. " Ay, what you say is quite true," said Mrs. Field, the mason's wife, who lived in a room over Hermann's. "They are religious people. They sing and pray twice every Sunday, and every morning and evening in the week." " What in all the world may those people's business, be ? " asked Mary Prescott, the cobbler's daughter. " They seem to have no trade. The old man is always at home, and I never see his wife and daughter in the street, except for a walk or an errand." ." 0, I know," said Mrs. Harding. " One of them, a nice young man of twenty or so, told me the other day that they were on their way to Amer ica, bat had been detained by fever and were waiting for a letter." " Poor folks ; they seem to be hard up," said Mary Prescott. "I saw that young man , at the pawnbroker's a couple of days ago." " Wig - , they haven't a 'stick of fur niture left, scarcely," observed Mrs. Field. "Yesterday I happened to pass, their room when the door was standing open. A blind horse couldn't do much harm there." —Haman. Indeed, the description was not ex aggerated. The. Germans were now reduced to a state of complete poverty. Hermann had tried every day to ob tain some, employment, but his total ignorance of the language had frus trated all his attempts. At length Daniel found some work with . a turner, for which he got ten shillings a week. He paid his wages faithfully into the hands of Frau Stahl. - 'lt was upon his labor, indeed, that the family were living for the present. How eagerly did they look out for a letter from brother Dietrich every day I But in vain. Every day Hermann returned with empty hands from the. post-office. Poor fellow, he was'often in lo w spirits. "My dear," said his wife, who per ceived that now it w her turn to lay hold of the anchor of faith—" My dear," said she, one evening after they had finished their scanty 'supper, " let us not lose sight of our 'blessed Lord. He is here with us now, though we can'- not see Him. He 'knows all our wants." "0, blessed Jesus I come and con sole us!" ejaculated Hannah. " Thou hast suffered• so • much. for us.; Thou knowest what suffering is." "Father, let us sing that hymn of Paul Gerhardt's, Commit your ways to Jesus,' " said one of the' boys. "Are von not too hungry to.sing, Bernard?" asked. Herrnann, in a mel ancholy voice, stroking the boy's hair. "0, what a grief ! And it is all my fault. How could Ibe so foolish as to take you out of our lovely Kirchheim, to plunge yo 4 into this dark-pit ! The Lord knows I am willing to suffer ten times over for it; but to see you suffer for my sins—it will break" my heart." But - Hannah raised the tune, and the others joined in with cheerful voices, and Hermann could not help seconding with his deep bass, sad as his heart was. While they were singing, a knock was heard at. the door, and in,stepped Bob Harding, the pedler. He .had a large pie in his hand. ‘ 7 ls this Christian's?", he asked "Yes; we Chiistians," answered Her mann; "and I hote yon one, too, good friend." "He means Johann," said Daniel in German to Hermann. Ar 6 you that fine fellow who took my son's part the other day ? " said the pedler. to Daniel. " No, I am not ; it was him," said Daniel, pointing to Johann. "I brought this mutton pie for you," said he, placing the pie before Johann. "And my wife's and Henry's 'con:Th . ments; sir. You did well. I was away in the country a-hawking, but on coming home yesterday I learnt what had happened last week. I hope you will not refuse to accept this small present, sir ; it is not much, but we are poor people. I wish I could do more." The simple-hearted. candid tone in which the pedler uttered these words, and his thoroughly *honest though rough-looking face, made a very agree able impression upon the company. " This is an Israelite indeed,' in whom is i no guile," said Hermann to his wife. Then turning to Harding, he tendered him his hand : "I tank you, 7, said he; "'sit yourself, sir." The pedler seated himself upon the chair which one of the boys offered him. Hernial:in then, in. broken English, endeavored to speak to him on the subject ever uppermost in his mind— the love of God in Jesus Christ. "Are you not Germans?" -asked Harding, after a widle. THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 20. 1866. " We are." "I think you would like to make the acquaintance of Mr. Wasserman; or do you already kr!ow him." "I do not. Who is he Pj ," Why, he is the German missionary to the sailors in the docks, He is a very nice man, Mr. Wasserman is. I will send him to you. Hoping you will like the pie, I must bid you- good evening, sir." 'The pedler's hope was fully realized. He could scarcely have reached his house before each member of the family had a piece of the pie between thutrib and fingers. Hermann pro nounced a blessing, and when the wel-, come refreshment had disappeared, the beautiful hymn, "Now thank ye all the Lord," echoed through the room. This was a sweet drop in the bitter cup of affliction. Hermann made the observation that- the inhabitants of this "terrible place," with its "terri ble language," were not a,ll savages. Frau Stahl added that she had no doubt but the. Lord had much people in this great city. Next day the post brought a letter from Kirchheim, enclosing one. from brother Dietrich. He asked in a tone of alarm how it was that they had not come with the "Borussia.' It was obvious, from the date of his letter, that he had never - received theirs. This was a fresh blow to the hopes of the poor . family. It was now certain that they need not expect any money from America ; and the last article they could dispose of was pawned. What were they to do ? They spent the evening in prayer, without, however, forgetting the Deut schen Feder. " . My dears," said Hermann, "as long as there is a Saviour in heaven there is reason for us to sing." The next morning Hermann went out for a walk. About noon he came back. "I have found work," he said. "A pound a week." "Is it true ?" cried Frau Stahl, joy fully." And where ?" , " At the sugar-house. I begin to morrow morning." Frau Stahl burst into tears, and so did the thildren. They knew, from Daniel's description, what it was to work in the sugar-house. "You, shall sot go there 1" cried she. " Will you add to our affliction by making me a widow and these poor children orphans ?" " Dear wife, the Lord will be my strength. He will sustain me, know in,g` 'what I shall be laboring for." During that day there was a con tinuous struggle of love between the father and his family : the one argu ing, that it was his duty even to lay down his life for them, if necessary ; the others insisting that it was his duty to spare his life as much as he could. The' sun had just set, and Hannah had scarcely lit the thin candle, which cast a gloomy light through the room, when a knock was heard at the door. The pedler made 'his appearance, ac companied by a stranger, whom he introduced as Mr. Wasserman. " 0 ! Bin Deutsche? Bruder !" cried the family, simultaneously. "I go," whispered the pedler into Johann's ear, " as I don't understand your gibberish." While uttering these wOrds he slipped half-a-crown into the lad's hand. A most agreeable conversation took place between the family and Mr. Wasserman, who proved to be a truly good man. Something for supper was bought with Bob's half-crown, .of which Mr. Wasserman was kind enough to partake. Many a dear German hymn was sung, and Mr. Wasserman gladly stayed to have worship, with his friends. He told them , that he was employed as a missionary by a com pany of six wealthy ship owners, two of whom were Germans. He advised Hermann not to go to the sugar-house the next day, but to call upon him.. The next morning 'Hermann, accom panied by the missionary, found him self in the office of, Messrs. Krabner, Baren & co. Mr. Szubner received him very kindly, and listened atten tively to his story. "If what you say be true," he ob served, " we certainly must try to help you. Meanwhile I -will write—to the clergyman of Kirchheim, to obtain , in formation:"' Then. ;looking, at`-Her mann, whose honest; openbonntenance pleased.= him well, he added : "We have a meeting to-night in our school:. room. If you would like to attend, with your wife ancP children, I- will give you tickets." Is it a German meeting ?" asked Hermann. "No, it is an English church; but you will be'able to pick up enough to make you enjoy it The whole family was that evening in the large school-room of Chtirch. There was tea first, during which the merry chat of the crowded assembly buzzed cheerfully through the room. Then there were addresses by several speakers, and hymns and prayers. Though Hermann and his wife understood but little of what was said, yet their hearts leaped for joy at the sight. ' "What a pleasant evening P' he said when 'at home again. "It was just such a meeting as we used to have at Barmen, except for the open air." "You see," said his wife, "it is just as I told you the other day. All the people of this place are not savages. The Lord has many children here, depend. upon it, Hermann. A fortnight later, on a bright au tumn morning, the "Atlantic," a large merchant ship belongijig to the firm of Messrs. Krubner, Barer' & Co., weighed anchor for New York. The captain was a German, and for the first time in his life had passengers on board, as he had not been in the habit, of con veying anything save goods. He was glad to receive' our friends, however, for lie-was a good man, and he knew: that 'they werc looking oat for even.s. b - tireT 2 cimiltrilhan they were going to start for now. " Good-bye; dear friends," said Mr. Krubner, shaking hands with Her mann when the signal for departure was given. " May the Lord carry you safely'to your destination." While uttering these words he handed an envelope to Hermann, and disappeared. It contained a fifty-pound note, and inside was written, "For the journey to. Wisconsin." The, last intelligence received in London by way of Kirchheim, was that the family were doing exceedingly well, that their house was all but built, and that they did not know how to thank and praise the Lord enough for his unspeakable goodness. REST. The following lines were found under,the lowof a soldier who was lying dead in a hospital near Port Royal, South Carolina : I lay me down to sleep, With little thought or care Whether my waking find Me here, or there. A bowing, burdened head, That only asks to rest, Unquestioning upon A loving breast. My good right hand forgets Itapinning.now ; To march the weary march I know not how. I am not . eager, bold, Nor strong--all that is past; I am ready not to do At last, at last. My half day's work is done, And this is all my part ; I give a patient God My patient heart. I grasp his banner still Though all its blue be dim.; These stripes, no less than stars, Lead after him. THE STORY OF FAITH. Some time ago I stood by the bed side of a sick laborer who had a wife and four children. He had lain sick for thhe weeks, and the sickness had exhausted all his means. Noticing .thd he - was - 'weeping while we sung a precious song of Zion,_l asked him why lie wept ? Was - he perhaps bled with the thought of parting from his wife and children ? He looked at me steadfastly, almost reproachfully, and answered, "Does not Jesus stay with them ? Has not the Lord said that he is a Fattier of the;fatherless, a Judge of the widow ? No ; they are well cared for. I have prayed the Lord that he will be their guardian. Is'it not so, wife ? You are not trou bled ; you are not afraid; yOu believe in Jesus." " Surely," she replied, "I believe in Jesus, and rejoice that you go to Jesus. I shall follow you with the children in his own time. Jesus will help me to train up the children through his Holy- Spirit." " Why did" you weep then ?" he said. " Por joy ' • for I thought if the sing ing is so beautiful here, 0, how beautiful will it be when the angels help in it And I wept for joy that this blessedness is so near." Then, he motioned to his wife. She understood, and went to the shelf and brought down a little saucer in whicli her husband kept his money. There were six groschen (about seven pence) in it, all that remained of his store. He took them out with trembling fingers, and laid them in my hand, and said, " The heathen must have these, that they also may know how to die in peace." I turned: to his wife wha nodded. assent, and said, " We haves talked it over. already. When everything has been reckoned for the funeral these six groschen remain." "And what remain& for you ?" " The Lord Jesus," she said "And what do you leave for your wife and children?" " The Lord Jesus," he said ; , and Whispered in my ear, "He is very good, and very rich." So I took the six groschen, and laid them in the mission-box as a great treasure, and it has been a struggle for me to pay them away. But if they had not been paid away, the dying man's wish would not have been ful filled. That night he fell asleep. And he was buried as a Christian ought to be, with sermon, and, hymn, and prayer, and tolling of the bell. And neither his wife' ept nor his three eldest child ren, neither in the church nor at the grave. nut the youngest child,' a boy of five years, who followed the body, wept bitterly. I asked him afterward why he wept so bitterly at his father's grave. And the child made answer, "I was sorry that father did not take me with him to the Lord Jesas, for I begged ofl him with. my whole heart that he would take me." , "My child," I said, "your father could not take you him ; only the Saviour could do that ; you. should pray to Him." - " Ought I, then, to pray, to Him for it ?" he asked. *- " No, my child," I said ; "if the Saviour will take 'pu t , He .himself Will call for you ; but if He will have you grow up, then you must help your mother, and have her to live with you. Will you ? He said, " I would like to go to Jesus, and would -like to grow up, that mother might live with me." ' Now, then," I replied, " say to the Lord Jesus,that. he must choose."-- - - " That is - what, I d 9," he said, arid. was greatly delighted and'in peace.— Pastor Harms of Hermansburg, in Good Words." SWEARING CONVERTS. Mr. E. was terribly profane. The habit of using God's name lightly had been so long and so strong upon him, that he made it a discOuragement and an objection to any effort to begin a religious, life. A friend talked earn estly and faithfully with him of his danger and .his obligation. He ad mitted all that was said to be true, but urged, " I couldn't stop swearing." "Did you ever know a true Chris tian to swear ?" inquired the friend. " I did once," said Mr. E. " It was my brother Harry. He used to swear every second breath, just as I do. I believe Harry was converted, if ever a man was. A short time afterward, it happened that he left a piece of meat exposed out of doors, and forgot it. Suddenly recollecting his carelessness, he ran out to bring it in, and was just in time to see his dog scampering off with it. Quick as a flash, he shot out an oath, and dashed after the dog. He hadn't so much as reached him when he thought of what he had done, and stopped short. He didn't wait to secure the meat, but turned back to the barn, and shut himself up all the rest of the day. I never pitied a man so in all my life as I did poor Harry ; but I never heard him swear again. " Well, Mr. E.," said his friend, "if the grace of God could keep , your brother from his bessetting sin, would it not be sufficient for yourself ?" "0 1 but I am so hot and hasty," answered Mr. E. "I know I should swear more than once." " I know an instance similar to your brother," said the friend. "The mate of a vessel was ,converted while on a visit home. When he went to sea again, his comrades watched him closely to see what his new religion was good for; they jeered a good deal among themselves about the praying mate. One day something went wrong, and the - nal:mem - 1n" n -- rdonTenri - Dre7x= citement, threw off oath after oath at _his men. Like your brother ' he came to himself instantly ; he did not wait to find a retired place, but knelt down on the deck where he stood, and en treated God to forgive him. He then addressed those standing about him, asking pardon for his offence, and warning them against a sin so deep and so depriving. There was no more jeering at the mate's religion. The vessel never came to land, and he was among the lost ; but the comrades who survived always told the story of his one wrong and his deep repentance, and that incident always stood to them as an evidence of God's power in re generating a soul. You see, my friend, that to sin from long habit, in a mo ment' of passion, does not so much prove that one is not renewed, as re pentance of it does the depth and sin cerity of the change." The mercy of God did not forsake Mr. E. ; he, too, was brought to repent ance, and a Christian life unusual in its reverence and obedience. In rela ting the above conversation, many years afterward, a listener inquired if 'he could always keep from swearing after he was converted. " 0 ! 'twas just the easiest thing in the• world," replied Mr. E. " When `I turned to God with all my heart and mind and resolution, I never wanted to swear ; never was tempted."— Chris lion Banner. THE BANDS OF ORION. " Canst then loose the bands of Orion?"—Ton. The three bright stars which con stitute the girdle or bands of Orion never change their. form ; they pre serve the same relative position to each other, and to the rest of the con stellation, from year to year and from age to age. They present precisely the same appearance to us which they did to Job. No sooner does the con stellation rise above the horizon, how ever long may have been the interval since'- we last beheld it, than these three stars appear in the old familiar position. They afford us one of the highest types of immutability in the midst of ceaseless changes. When heart-sick and weary of the continual alterations we observe in . this world, on whose most' enduring objects and affections is written the melancholy doom, "Passing , away 1"--it is com forting to look ' up to this blight beacon in the heavens, that remains unmoved amid all the restless surges of time's great ocean, And, yet in,the profound rest of these stars there is a ceaseless motion ; in "'their apparent stability and everlasting endurance there is constant change. , In vast courses, with inconceivable velocity, they are whirling round invisible cen tres, and ever shifting their position in. space, and ever passing into new col. locations. They appear to us motion. less and changeless, because of our great distance from them, just as the foaming torrent that runs down the hillside with the speed of an arrow, and in the wildest and most vagrant courses, filling the air with its cease less shouts, appears from an opposite hill, frozen by the distance into silence and rest, a mere motionless, changeless glacier on the mountain side. Mysterious triplet of stars, that are ever changing, and yet never seeming to change-! How wonderful Inust be the Power which preserves such order amid all, their complex- arrangements, such sublime peace and everlasting permanence amid the incalculable dis tances to which they wander, and the bewildering velocities with which they move ! What answer can Job give to the question of the Almighty ? Can man, whose breath is in his nostrils, and who is crushed before the moth, unclasp that brilliant starry bracelet which God's own hand has fastened on the dusky arm of night ? Can man separate these stars from one another, or alter their relative positions in the smallest degree ? What is it that con trols all their movements, and keeps them united together in their peculiar forms ? It is not mere mechanical agency, originated and uncontrolled, but the delegated power of the Al mighty—the will of Him who has the keys of the universe, and. " shutteth, and no man operieth : and openeth and no man shutteth." How sublime the thought that the same Power which binds the starry bands of Orion, keeps together the particles of the common stone by the wayside—that those mighty masses are controlled by ,the same Almighty influence which regulates the falling of the snowflake and the gentle breath of summer..,-that directs the motions of minutest animalcule, and weaves the attenuated line of the gossamer.— Sunday Magazine THE SWALLOWS. " How provoking !" said Betty, as SILP stood with her long broona in her hand under the parlor window. " What's the matter ?" said the vicar, looking out of, it. "Why, sir, these swallows !" said Betty : " four .times this summer I have knocked down their nests : they Iva/ build under the slates just above; and they make me such work, I've no patience with them." " Four times I Are you sure they have begun again four times ?" said the vicar with interest. " Sure enough,. sit. Tbfiy gat the start of me, and finished their nests the first-time before I noticed them ; then I knocked them down with the long rake by help of the ladder ; but, in two days, John came to tell.me they had got a good way on with new ones. I soon finished them ; bat if they didn't begin that very evening I—and the next morning I had a good piece to clear away. I thought that would tire them out, and didn't look for a time, but right in the very same place, when I did look, were the two nests built up to the top. 'This shall be the last time,' I said ; and I smashed 'em to atoms; and away flew all the birds, pretty well scared. But the obstinate, perverse things won't be conquered. Here they are again, the nests more than half made. Please, sir, might John have the gun to shoot them ?" " Oh, no, Betty !" said the vicar, "by no means." " Then, sir, I can never get rid of them." " Don't attempt it, Betty," said the vicar, who had listened with much at tention to her complaints. "Let them dwell in peace, where they have had such a trial of patience in building. I wish I may preach as useful a sermon next Sunday as their example has preached to me to-day." Betty looked amazed. " Not knock them down, sir?" she asked, in a tone of vexed surprise. "No ; don't touch them. Every time they twitter, they will remind me of the injunction, 'Faint not' They have gained their parish, and are un der my protection; so take away your broom, Betty," said the vicar with a smile, as he closed the window. "Ah 1" said Betty, as she watched his white head disapnearing, " it's all very good, I dare say ; but master hasn't got to clean the windows." No, master had not ; but he had trying lessons of patience with a re fractory parish fitll of perverse hearts, and had often bees. tempted to cry out in despair, "It is. enough ; I will no longer work here ; it is not my place." Joyfully, therefore, did he take the hint from the swallows, and deter mined to build on; saying to himself, " Perhaps one more season of patient labor, and, like them, I may gain my parish."—Original Fables. SELF-MADE MEN. The good men in the Bible are all God-made men; such as Enoch, Abra ham, Paul. It is the bad who are the self-made men. When a man makes himseV, he is not likely to make him self what God would have him to be. Yet this phrase, "self-n3ade," like self reliant, is often heard from the lips of Qhrlstian men, as the expression of something great and noble. "God made man upright, but they have sought out many inventions." •
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