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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