Of family vita
[For the American Presbyterian.)
THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER.
In every National Cemetery there are hundreds of
graves bearing this inscription; " Unknown ; U.S.
Soldier."
In a little lonely hillock, where the south wind
softly sighs,
There, his weary marches over, there the un
known soldier dies ;
Never more the drum shall wake him, sleeping
there beneath the sod.;
Never till the flesh shall quicken, at the sound
ing trump of God.
Whence heicame, or where enlisted in the army
of our land ;
Where he fought, or where he rested, at the
leader's stern command;
Where, at last, his warfare ended, these I little
know or care.
Hero ! for he died for Freedom, counting not
his heart's blood dear.
This I knoi : a mother bore him, loved him
with her holy love ;
Many a night she wakened for him, many a
prayer she sent above
It may be she watches sadly for the foot that
never more—
Never, never shall tread lightly o'er the dear
old household floor.
Some one—wife, perchance, or sister—but
toned up the dark blue coat,
That he wore, so torn and faded, when the can
non's fiery throat
Flashed the red, grim 'death to hundreds, fall
ing as the brave can fall,
When they bow at Freedom's altar, grandly
giving up their all.
Friend, for those dear ones who loved thee, in
thy home so far away ;
For the vacant chair that never shall be filled
again for aye ;
For the flag that waved above thee, in the
thickest of the fight,
Here I weave my mournful chaplet, gallant
soldier of the right.
May the winter softly wrap thee in her robe of
stainless snow.
May the spring with fairy fingers, over thee her
daisies throw,
Summer roses ever blossom, sweetest here
above thy breast,
And the richest autumn garland lie upon thy
place of rest.
Unknown soldier of my country, unknown
brother of my heart,
Let a nation's love embalm thee ; let a nation's
faith have part
Ever in thy grave 'so lowly ; for our children's
babes shall hear
How the land was saved and ransomed by such
men as slumber here.
ELSIE FR,ASIER'S WORK.
FROM HOURS AT HOME
The family of John Frasier, mari
ner, lived in one of those dismal courts
or closes which open off the High
Street of Edinburgh. It was ,Bark,
dirty, and dull ; bounded on - one side
by the long, blank wall of a public
building, and on the other by a row of
tall, rickety houses bearing the repel
ling marks of squalid poverty, and
thronged from garret to basement by
the poorest class of workmen, almost
every room containing a separate fam
ily. Had John Frasier, mariner, been
ambitious or saving, he might have
lived in a much more respectable lo
cality, for he Was as good a sailor as
ever trod a 'deck, and in constant em
ployment at good wages ; but his wife
Betty, though a Scotch woman, had not
a single idea of ambition or economy,
and lived with perfect contentment in
Shoemaker's Close, enjoying the pop
ularity and consideration, which her
advantages of fortune and appearance
extorted from her less prosperous
neighbors. She was, indeed, " a very
bonny body," with brilliant red and
white complexion, bright blue eyes,
and a profusion of reddish-brown hair
which curled crisply about her face,
up on one side and down on the other,
and caught up untidily behind with a
comb, which was generally hanging
half out of her head. Though forty
years of age, she was still very pretty,
and, as thoughtless as if she had been
fifteen.
Three sons lived with her, occupy
ing a dark closet off her one room—
Charlie and Sandy, aged eighteen and
twenty, smart, intelligent lads, who in
herited all their mother's cheerful good
looks, with much of her easy, pleas
ure-loving nature, and Dan, a rather
sullen, obstinate lad of twelve.
The elder boys were apprenticed in
a large engineering establishment, con
ducted by a Mr. Cameron, in whose
family Christina Frasier, the eldest of
Betty's children, was a housemaid,
much liked and trusted, through
whose influence the boys had been em
ployed in the works. The youngest
of the family was "Pee Elsie," the
pride and darling of them all. She
was one of those children we some
times see growing up amid the hard,
unlovely suroundings of poor men's
homes, as the pure bride lily flourish
es in unwholesome marshes. Being
small for her age, she appeared much
younger than she really was, with the
most joyously beautiful face and slen
der, supple little figure one could im
agine. Not a very clever child in the
way of doing or saying preternatural
ly shrewd or impudent things, she
possessed c sort of invincible inno
cence and simplicity, which seemed to
render her impervious to the many
corrupting influences by which she
was'surrounded ; and her temper was
so sweet and cheerful, that Betty Fra
sier, who, though she did not exert
herself much to take care of her fami
ly, was never done praising and ca
ressing them, said her 'only fear for
Elsie was, that she was " ovrer guid to
be guid for much." -
"Deil a fear o' her," said Charlie,
"she's just like yersel,' very bonny
and very guid-natured, and she shall
go to the school
.and learn a' things;
there's no saying but our Elsie may
be a leddie yet. I ken nae leddie I
that's half sae like ane."
Elsie's father went long voyages,
often being abstmt for a year at a time.
From the time his ship sailed out of
port, , John Frasier became a total ab
stainer from beer and spirits ; but
when he came on shore again at the
port of Leith, had seen his family, and
transacted his necessary business, he
gave full license to his appetite for
strong liquors, and was seldom quite
sober until again under sail.
He happened to be at home when
Elsie's tenth birth-day came round,
and Betty, who had never lost a pre
text for fun and frolic, determined to
celebrate - the day with becoming
mirth. The room was swept and gar
nished with unusual care ; all unne
cessary funiture was packed into the
boys' closet ; the bed shoved into a
corner, and benches and chairs bor
rowed from Mrs. Macintosh, her next
door neighbor and particular crony,
who eagerly assisted in the prepara
tions. When the supper had been
discussed, and the dancing and drink
ing of the abundance of ale and toddy
which Betty had provided commenced,
" the mirth and fun grew fast and fu
rious," reaching its height when the
heroine of the night, " Wee Elsie,"
danced a " Heeland fling," to the de
light and admiration of all the compa
ny. No prima donna ever received
more rapturous applause than was be
stowed on Elsie when Betty Frasier, ra
diant with maternal vanity, cried out,
as the little one stopped, tired with
her exertions, " Come, now, my bonny
bairn, dinna sit down till ye've sang
yer fether the hymns they taught at
the Sunday-school." And Elsie struck
up, in a small sweet voice, to a simple
air, the beautiful hymn, " Jesus„ I my
cross have taken," singing it very
prettily from the beginning to the end.
When she had finished, Mrs. Macin
tosh kissed her rapturously, declaring
her voice was " like a mavis." Char
lie, who was a good deal affected by
the toddy, rapped his glass till it broke
under his applauding strokes ; and her
father stroked her golden curls and
gave her a great sea hug as she ran past
him to welcome a new corner who
had entered while she was singing the
hymn.
M. E. If
This was Christina, who sat down
on the end of a bench near the door ;
and, being scandalized at the manner in
which the hymn had been introduced
and received, she looked both sad
and sour as she took Elsie in her arms,
and " glowred" round on her mother's
company. Christina was very respect
able-looking in her plain but good
dress, scrupulously neat and befitting
her station; but she was the only one
of Betty Frasier's family who had no
pretensions to good looks. She was
hard-featured and red-haired, and,
though scarcely twenty-two, might
have passed for thirty. Differing from
the rest as much in temper as in per
son, she had never been able to " get
on" with her mother even when a
child, and it was with a sort of effect,
and in an apologetic tone, that Betty
cried out : " Come awa, Christie, wo
man, come forward till I get ye some
supper. Ye ken this is Elsie's birth
day, and we're a' over fond o' her to
grudge her a bit o' play." John Fra
sier, as he shook hands with his daugh
ter, seemed to become vaguely con
scious that he was tipsy, and straighten
ing himtelf in his chair, composed his
features into an expression of drunken
gravity. Charlie cried out, defiantly,
" Gie our sister a dram, Sandy, man ;
ye see I ha' had a misfortune,' and he
pointed to his broken glass, and winked
at Sandy; while Christie looked angrily
at them without making any reply.
" When is my father to sail ?" asked
Christie, looking over her shoulder at
John, who had laid his head on the
table, and was now fast asleep.
"I dinna ken," replied Betty in an
offended tone ; " I'm no wanting him
to sail, puir man, nor ony o' his bairns,
unless it's yersel', Christie."
Dan, in whose mind was rankling
the memory of a thrashing which Chris
tie had given him on her last visit
home when she had found him assist
ing at the hanging of a stray dog in
the close, when he should have been at
school, cried out : " Hear her, the be
som She wants to, turn my fether
out o' his ain house ;" and Charlie,
who was ready for any mischief,
clapped his hands and cried out, "For
shame, Christie, do ye no ken the corn
mendments, and ye sae guid?"
"I do," replied Christie, in rising
wrath, " and sair's my heart that his
ain house is just the place it's no to
his honor to be seen in, thanks to My
wither and ye ne'er-do-weel lads."
But here Betty Frasier, who, though
good-natured in general, was by no
means with power or will to take her
own part, broke out at the top of her
voice, and Charlie, Sandy, and Dan at
the same moment, and with one accord,
shouting in his own defense, or abuse
of Christie, the noise became so great
that, fortunately perhaps, not a sen
tence was distinguishable. They all
shouted together and by turns, until
Christie, out, of breath and crying with
rage, ran out of the room and down
stairs, in her haste almost overturning
Mrs. Macintosh, who had been moral
izing just outside the door, and now
stepped in to condole, with - Betty Fra
sier, who sat wiping her red: face and
panting with her past exertions.
At the foot of the, stairs Christie
met her uncle Sandy Mackill, who oc
cupied the room below *the Frasiers.
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1866.
He had heard the domestic storm, and ,
was waiting to accompany her home,
knowing that none of her brothers;
were likely to do so, though her horns
was at a distance and the hour late.
"Christie, woman," said he, "what
for do ye kick up thae dusts? Ye
ken it does nae guid."
"I canna stand it, man," replied
Christie. " Wi' my fether's guid wage
they might a' be living sae respectable;
and to see them consorting wi' rifraf,
and just going the broad..r9ad as hard,
as they can erive." And SleAdlddlini
of the irreverent manner in which El
sie had been made to sing the hymn.
" What guid is the Sabbath-school to
do her wi' sic teaching at hame?"
Her uncle shook his head. "There's
no one o' them costs me as muckle
thought as wee Elsie ; her face is ower
bonny for a poor man's child, and she's
ower easy coaxed and persuaded, I
fear, to be very clever at taking care
o' hersel' ' • and then our mither's a
wardless Heeland woman, no fit to
bring up sic a bairn. Od, I'm awfy
feard for Elsie; if,she was mair like
yersel', she'd be far safer."
Christie broke out in angry despera
tion : "Bode na ill o' wee Elsiey man
Sandy ; I canna bear it. I'll work my
fingers to the bona but I'll tak' care o'
her. I maun hae her out o' that land
some way or other."
"I canna see how ye're to do it,
Christie," said her uncle. "I'se war
rant ye hae no a penny to the fore,
and ye maim first hae Biller,` and then
our parents' consent, if ye think to put
her out onywhere. I would help if ye
hit on ony guid plan, like setting her
to learn a trade wi' decent people; but
that canna be done for some time, and
if it's ever to be done, ye maunna lend
yer Biller to yer mither."
" I canna well refuse it when the
tear's in her een, uncle, and they hae
never a penny to the fore when sick
ness and trouble comes upon them.
But I'll do it for Elsie's sake," she said
resolutely.
" That's right," replied Sandy Mac
kin ; "if they will waste just wince let
them want, it will maybe do them
guid ; for your mither's a wardless
Heeland woman, as I said, and. she's
ruining the lads. It's talked o' already
that Charlie's no steady, and I think
Sandy far war', though he's slyer wi'
it, and ye ken if it come to Mr. Camer
on's ears it would just be their ruin."
"I hue lost a' hope o' thae lads,"
said Christie, and I canna keep my
temper wi' them, but I'll save Elsie
some gate."
But it pleased God to save " wee El
sie" from all the evils which they ap
prehended for her, and to turn even
" thae ne'er-do-well lads from the error
of their ways" without the help of
Christie or her uncle.
(To be Continued.)
THEATRE'S AND OPERAS.
Theatres and operas, as they are, are
satanic and soul-destroying. Why.?
Not in their essence, but in their inva
riable concomitants. Let me briefly
mention four items:--
1. Every theatre is surrounded by
brothels and groggeries. They flock
round a theatre the moment one is
built, as their choice ground of suc
cess. What does that prove ? Does
it argue for a healthy atmosphere ?
Does it show the theatre to be a fit
place for a Christian? A sensitive
Christian should shrink from such &re
gion as he would from the gates of hell.
2. The profession of the stage is noto
riously immoral. The actors and ac
tresses who come before the audience,
and are by them applauded, are men
and women living daily in defiance of
the laws of decency and morality, and
using this very profession as a means
to such a wild and wicked life. The
exceptions to this are so few, that they
cause universal surprise.
3. The plays are generally them
selves immoral. Low innuendo and,
double entendre abound in them. The
name of God is blasphemously used,
religion is ridiculed, and vice is white
washed. These immoralities are found
more or less in every play brought
upon the stage.
4. The ballet, which is an appurte
nance to every theatre, is so disgust
ingly vicious, that I will here only
name it.
Here are four arguments, against the
theatre, any one of which ought to
crimson a Christian's cheek at the
thought of countenancing so vile an
institution.
Now, in regard to the opera, the
first and fourth objections do not
always obtain ; but the second and
third remain in full force. The oper
atic profession is generally immoral.
The incidents of the life tend to de
velope immorality. These are a roam
ing irregularity, and sudden intimacies
which have a downward slide; and
the very acting of a woman before a
promiscuous multitude is itself a rapid
poison to her soul. Some may with
stand all this, and remain pure and
upright; but who would dream of
going to an opera corps to find a zeal
ous, happy Christian ? And then, as
to the operas themselves, you can
count on your fingers all of them that
are not immoral ; and even these have
many doubtful parts. But the favorite
operas, those that draw the most
crowded houses, are such as " Don
Giovanni," full of filth, to which Chris
tian ladies go, forsooth, that they may
hear the delicious music. Satan's bait
has taken.—Rev. Howard Crosby, D.D.
THE PETRIFIED FERN.
Thoughts suggested while spending an hour among
the fossils in Prof. Agassiz's 'Museum, Cambridge.'
Mass.
In a valley centuries ago,
Grew a little fern-leaf, green and slender,
Veining delicate and fibres tender,
Waving when the wind crept down so low :
Rushes tall, and grass and moss grew round it,
Playful sunbeams darted in and found it,
Drops of dew stole down by night and crowned
it,
But no foot of man e'er came that way,
Earth was young and keeping holiday.
Monster fishes swam the silent main,
Stately forests waved their giant branches,
Mountains hurled their snowy avalanches,
Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain :
Nature revelled- in grand mysteries.
But the little fern was not like these,
Did not number with the hills and trees,
Only grew and waved its sweet wild way,
No one came to note it day by day.
Earth one time put on a frolic mood,
Heaved the rocks and changed the mighty
motion
Of the strong dread currents of the ocean,
Moved the hills and shook the haughty wood,
Crushedlthe little fern in soft moist clay,
Covered it and hid it safe away,-
0, the long, long centuries since that day !
0, the changes ; 0, life's bitter cost,
Since the little useless fern was lost!
Useless? lost? There came a thoughtful man
Searching nature's secrets far and deep,—
From a fissure in a rocky steep
He withdrew a stone o'er which there ran
Fairy pencillings, a quaint design,
Leafage, veining, fibres, clear and fine,
And the fern's life lay in every line:—
So I think God hides some lives away,
Sweetly to surprise us the last day.
—Mary L. Bolles.
LEARNING FROM A DOG.
You. think that would be rather
bard, perhaps. Let us see.
There are many kinds of dogs.
There seems to be as great a variety
of disposition among them as among
boys and girls. Some of them are
very disagreeable. It may be that
you have one in mind just now, be
longing to a neighbor—a noisy, snap
pish, ill-natured animal—that delights
in rushing out and barking at passers
by ; frightening ladies and timid chil
dren ; worrying horses and cattle and
cats, and dogs too, if they happen to
be smaller than itself, for such dogs
are usually cowardly. And you have
often wished that somebody would
put that brute out of the way. Not
much may be learned from such a dog,
it's true. There is one thing, however,
you can learn—that it is easy for a
child or a man, as well as a dog, to
make himself uncomfortable and hate
ful to everybody by being surly and
quarrelsome.
But I want to tell you of a good.
lesson to be learned from a dog; for
there are many from which such a
lesson might be learned. This is the
lesson: Do the very best you can.
Boys' and girls' "best" is much
better than that of the wisest dog;
but, when I have heard. of things
that have been done by faithful dogs,
I have felt that we, who are human,
ought to learn something from them.
I have seen a large Newfoundland
dog that belonged to a shipmaster.
The dog was the pet of the family
and of his owner. At one time, a ship
which his master commanded was
wrecked. She had struck upon either
a reef or a sand-bar, not far from the
shore. The sea was breaking over
her ; it was too rough for any small
boat to live; so that the crew could
not leave the ship, nor could help be
sent to them from the shore. They
were all in great peril. This dog was
there. At a word from his master,
the noble fellow took a small line in
his mouth, plunged into the sea, and,
though sorely beaten and tossed about
by the waves, safely reached the shore.
By means of that line, a large rope
was drawn from the ship to the shore
by those who were waiting there ; and
thus the whole ship's crew were saved.
Do you wonder that the dog was
thought a great deal of afterward ?
I read in The British Workman, of a
remarkable dog named "Chum." He
is very wise and very useful. In the
morning, he will take a bell from the
kitchen-table, holding it in his mouth
by the leather thong attached to it,
and go to the chamber-door of each of
his master's apprentices, ringing the
bell, and thus calling them up.
When anything has been placed in
Chum's care, no matter what, even if
it be a bit of food of a kind. most-in
viting to a dog, he will neither touch
it himself nor let another touch it. If
his master say "Mine," as he lays a
piece of beefsteak under Chum's nose,
that beef is safe. But let the master
say "Yours," and he knows what to
do with it. At family worship, he
seems to understand the necessity of
decorous behavior, and always sits
quietly under a chair till that exercise
is over. He goes on errands, with
a basket in his mouth containing the
article or the message sent r; and if told
to "make haste back," he never loiters.
And though Chum is very ready to
show a set of white teeth if interfered
with while in the discharge of his duty,
yet, when off duty, he is a jolly, play
ful companion, and delights in chil
dren. They are always glad to have
him join them in their sports.
Chum is only a dog; but who will
doubt that he does the best he can ?
All that the kindness and patience of
wiser friends have taught him he wil
lingly and faithfully does. He, and
other dogs like him, make themselves
useful, and happy too, we may believe,
by doing their best.
Boys and girls can do better. There
is much, for you to learn that will
make you wiser and happier and more
useful. God has given you these
powers of yours, so much superior to
those of the brute. He has given you
a mind and an immortal soul.- He
expects us all to do the best we can; and
we can do verymuch that is good. and
kind and noble, if we ask His help.
He invites us to ask His help ; He is
ready to grant it always. We shall
have to tell Him one day how we
have lived and what we have done;
and knowing as we do that we are
sure to fail of doing the best we can
without asking Him, for Christ's sake,
to make us strong and brave for all
that is worthy of an immortal soul,
let us not forget to ask Him every
day. Thus this lesson from one of His
humble creatures will not be lost.—
Child at Home.
BE SURE YOU ARE RIGHT.
Two young men, while resting from
a game of ball, were talking together.
" Would that be wrong, John ?" said
one. "I don't know," was the answer.
"What do you think? Do you think
it would be wrong ?" "I don't know,"
was the answer again. " Well, I don't
believe it would be, and I mean to do
it." A friend coming up at the mo
ment, inquired, " What is it, boys ?"
Both were silent.
"I do not care to know what you
do not wish to tell," said he; "but
whatever it is, boys, if there is doubt
about its being right, don't dare to do
it. Run no risk in such a matter. If
you are not certain that you are on
right ground, you may be certain that
you ought to leave it. Keep your
self safe from wrong, whatever else
you do. It is only the weak and fool
ish who will venture on uncertain
ground. Learn a lesson from this
story, which I heard long years ago.
"A gentleman who wished to test
the character of some men who had
applied to him for employment as
coachmen, took them to a narrow
road which bordered on a high preci
pice, and inquired how near to the
verge they could drive without dan
ger. One named a few inches, another
named still fewer. The gentleman
shook his head. They tempted danger
instead of seeking safety. He could
not risk his life with them. At last,
one was shown the precipice, who, in
answer to the question, How near
this verge can you drive with safety?'
drew back, and answered, should
drive as far from it as possible ; it is
dangerous. I should avoid it alto
gether, if I could.' He was employed.
He could be trusted, for he valued
safety, and was too wise to encounter
needless peril."
Have you learned the lesson to
keep as far away from wrong as you
can—to shun. the precipice of wrong ?
Do nothing which may be wrong—
nothing which you are not sure is
right. This is the only safe course.
Many young Christians are led far
from Christ and a consistent Christian
life, just by consenting to do things
that .seem. only a little wrong.— Young
Reape. - -
THE FUTURE PRESIDENT,
There's Tom Lawson digging into
his old newspaper," said Bill Dickson
as he strolled down the street, with
the stump of a. segar in his mouth,
talkiiig with two or three companions
as worthless as himself. Thomas was
sitting on the pleasant portico of his
home, hasteiting to finish a newspaper
article before the daylight faded.
"Now, don't he look ad if he was
reading for a wager ?" continued Bill,
with a sneer. " Let's ask him how
much his father pays him for sitting
out there and looking so knowing.
The old man sets up for the legislature,
you know; but my father says he'll
know it when he gets there. Goes in
for no license,' Maine laws,' and all
them things that take away the poor
man's rights and comforts. Hallo,
Toml can you tell if the price of whis
ky has riz since the last accounts 2"
Tom looked up with a little sur
prise, but he answered Bill good-na
turedly :—" I cannot inform you, as
I never feel interest enough to look."
Then he quietly left his seat and
walked into the house, finishing his
reading by the sunset window.
Thomas was not a boy to parley
with evil associates when be could
help it.
The other lads lounged along down
the street, laughing and jeering at poor
stay-at-home Torn.
" Now I don't suppose that fellow
dares to go out after dark—unless he
is sent," said Dave West. "I wouldn't
be tied up so, I- can tell you. It's not
many nights I am in before eleven,
and mother has learned better than to
make a'fuss about it; I soon let her
know that I was my own man." And
the bold, bad boy rounded his sentence
with a fearful oath. They presently
halted before a low saloon, and after
quarrelling over the few coppers they
could muster amongst them, went in
to get a drink.
You need not think Tom envied
their liberty as he observed the direc
tion their steps had taken. At a sug
gestion from bis mother, he promptly
laid aside his paper, and walked out to
cut up the kindlings for morning.
There was a manliness in his step, and
an energy in the very swing of his
arm as he wielded. his axe, quite dif
ferent from the lounging, slovenly air
of the boys. who 'had just passed.
Even chopping wood can indicate
character. His work was not mere
drudgery to him, for his mind was full
of profitable thoughts and high hopes
suggested by what he had been read
ing. When the heart is light, the
hands work willingly:
There is a boy living now who will
be the future President of the United
States. You. will not find him loung
ing about the tavern -steps, or in the
liquor-saloons wasting all his precious
school-days. That is not the kind of
President we want.
You will very likely find our Pres
ident, when the other duties of the day
are over, eagerly reading the newspa
pers, and informing himself about the
age, and country in which he lives.
He knows all about the Atlantic Tele
graph and the Pacific Railroad, and
can tell whether Grant and Sherman
were on our side or not in the war.
I hope, though, he does not read any
bitter party newspaper, for no one was
ever made better or wiser by them.
A good religious newspaper, which
keeps up with the times, is one of the
best educators for our little President.
I do hope his father takes one. Let
us pray, children, that God will send
us a Christian President, and one who
sets his face like a flint against wick
edness in high places. Now, boys,
who will be candidates ? Who will fit
himself by his intelligence and_ excel
lence for this high position ? Make
the most of all your powers, boys, and
then /you will be .the best fitted for
whatever sphere God sees fit to place
you in. Daniel Webster once remark
ed that he always noticed. in school
and college a marked difference be
tween those who read the papers and.
those who did not. Other things be
ing equal, the former always excelled
the latter in composition, in debate,
and in general intelligence.
THE INTERPRETATION OF A TEAR.
At the General Assembly at St.
Louis, the venerable Dr. McCosh, of
Belfast, preached in the Congregation
al church, of which Dr. Post is pastor.
The services were closing with a hymn,
and the congregation were standing.
I noticed that Dr. 4fcCosh was deeply
affected. Wig eyes filled with tears,
and he evidently labored to suppress
some strong emotion that struggled
within. The tall form and. whitened
locks of the stranger from beyond the
sea, his fine, brilliant eye bathed in
tears, was itself a touching spectacle.
A few days before he had stood
with the Assembly among the light
ning-shivered rocks of Pilot Knob,
and with head uncovered, and in sim
ple, earnest words of prayer, he had
borne our hearts up to Him whose is
" the strength of the hills." His soul
was evidently in sympathy with the
works of God, as found in that rocky
solitude, untouched by art or human
improvement. You might observe
this as he plucked a leaf from some
stinted shrub, and. enquired the name,
or sought a fern, to him an exotic, in
a cleft of the the rocks.
From what source sprung the tears
.which now moistened the cheek of
this venerable ambassador of God ?
Why was he in the presence of this
great congregation, as one who would
seek a place to weep ? There was,
perhaps, some hidden association link:
ed with other years, with other assem
blies, and other scenes. Perhaps the
name of child, or wife, or friend, touch
ed his heart with invisible power, like
the rod of Moses, when it smote the
rock at Horeb. Or they may be tears
of sorrow for those to whom his mes
sage might prove a " savor of death
unto death," for that morning he had
presented Christ as the " Way, the
Truth and the Life."
Or was the closing hymn the key
which had unlocked the treasure of
tears ? The choir had selected "Dun
dee's mild warbling measures." This
bore him back in a moment to his na
tive Scotland, to her heather and high
lands, over which he had wandered on
foot; to her glens and lakes, recalling
her history and her honored names.
No wonder that a gush of feeling
swept over him, like the tide that
swells up the friths of his native land,
when he heard the songs that were as
sociated with the days and scenes of
his childhood sung by strangers, in a
strange land.
A tear is a mystery. Who can in
terpret it ? It may be the language of
compassion or anger, of sympathy or
joy, of affection or grief.
What emotions will thrill the souls
of the redeemed when the great anthem
swells from the innumerable assembly,
" the General Assembly and Church
of the First Born, which are written in
heaven." That will be when the
cause of weeping shall have been re
moved ; when " God shall wipe away
all tears from their eyes."—Cor. Chris
tian Herald.
HUSBAND.
The English term "husband" is de
rived from the Anglo-Saxon words
hus and band, which signify "the bond
of the house," and it was anciently
spelt house-bond, and continued to be
so spelt in some editions of the Bible,
afterthe introduction of the art of
printing. A husband, then, is a house
bond—the bond of a house—that
which engirdles a family into the union
of strength and the oneness of love.
Wife and children, "strangers within
the gates," all their interests and all
their happiness are encircled in the
house.bond's embrace, the objects of his
protection and of his special care.
What a fine picture is this of a hus
band's duty and a family's priv i lege?