t!;i)E gallag
.laitttt.
IFor the American Presbyterian.)
THE MOUNTAIN TOP.
With many a slow•and weary step, with many
a slip and fall,
I'm climbing up the mountain side ; at tines
can but crawl.
The way is stony, steep, and hard, my bleed
ing feet are bare,
But once I reach the mountain top, 'tis little
I Shall care.
The air below is often full of 'wildering mist
,••, and fog,, •
The earth I tread leads now and then, through
dark morass and bog;
But 0 the table-land that lies on yonder
mountain's brow,
Is cut from out the living rock—there heaven's
own breezes blow.
01 sweet:it was, at early morn, to loiter on the
road;-
01 sweet to hear the bonny birds, to press
the flowery sod.
I hardly felt the cross I bore—the goal seemed
• very near;
Brit hour by hour came on apace, and storms
came dark and drear.
My burden grows with every step, I scarce can
see His face,
Whose presence• lightens, like the sun, the
gloomiest, coldest place ; •
" Help 1 help 1" I cry ; my eager hands are
* stretching out for aid.-
01 .gentle Saviour, lift me now; I totter, I'm
afraid I
" For, one by one, the friends have gone who
journeyed at my side,
They've reached it soon, the mountain top,
those spirits purified.
Beloved One, to Thee I cling; my faith is very
weak;
But on Thy lyromises I lean,•Thy saving grace
I seek.
" 0 1 lift me to the mountain top ; 01 gently
bear me home ;
The visions of that precious rest, shall cheer
me as I roam ;
For whether near, or whether far, the Father's
house may be,
My soul shall still hold fast her hope, her con
fidence in Thee !"
The saints on yonder mountain top s they walk
in robes of white;
The holy angels strike their harps, with ever
new delight;
The little children, early saved • sing hymns of
love to God,
And there shall we, our anthems raise, for we
were bought with blood. M. E. M.
ELME FRASIER'S WORK.
FROM HOURS AT HOME
(Continued.)
For two or three- weeks Christie's
work went on as usual) Her father
called to bid her good-bye before he
sailed; and then she heard no more from
Shoemaker's Close, until.one day, when
she was " doing" her upper rooms, a
fellow-servant called her, down to speak
with her brother Dan. "Christie` finish
ed the room she - was arranging, and
then walked leisurely down-stairs with
a very rigid face. If Dan wanted any
thing, he was not likely to,get it that
day. As soon as Christie entered the
room where he was waiting, he hurried
toward her, wiping his face with a
torn handkerchief, and crying out, "0,
Christie! puir wee Elsie, has gotten
sic an avrfy fall, I think' she's dead."
For a moment Christie stood looking
at him in helpless bei a vildernaent.
Then she ran up-stairs for her' things,,
and leaving a message for her mis
tress, who was not at home, she
Tied away with Dan at the top of their
speed. It was a long walk with, all
her haste; and she tried to learn the
particulars from Dan, but he could tell
her very little. A man had carried
her home in his arms, looking like "a
dead bairn," he said, sobbing; and
Betty had gone off into screaming hys
terics. Mrs. Macintosh had come in
to help them, while her husband ran
for a doctor ; and Dan, not ) knowing
what to do, had gone first for Charlie,
whose work was near the High street,
and then for Christie. When they en
tered the court, Christie sat downi on
the first Step of the stair, trembling and
faint, and told Dan to run . .up and
bring het word that she was riot dead;
He did as he was told; but` soonhas
tened to- the head of the stairs, and
bawled out to his, sister,; 'Come
Qhristie,, come up—she's no' l a, bit the
waur."
Christie rose and went slowly up
the stairs, feeling sick and confused
with the excitement and fatigue she
had undergone. Betty e met her at the
head of the stairs, laughing an&crying
at the same breath. " Come in, Nero
man, and sit down," she cried. l'Ye're
just like mysel'. 0! I thoughtf,l was
going_ out, o' my ,mind a' thegither."
Mrs. Macintosh, who was sitting - in the
-room with her favorite restorative he
*fore her, now insisted on Christie
drinking a glass / of what had been
made for her mother; whose nerves
Mrs. Macintosh said, "jas took the
tipper, hand of her entire]; ;”- and as
,she had mixed a much greater, quanti
ty than Betty could beypersnaded to,
take, she was preventing waste 'by
finishing the remainder.
Christie ,learned from the two wok
men that Elsie had been sent on an
errand by her mother, which took her
up a long outer-stair; and when she
had reached the lauding, and was
about to enter the door - , a large- boy
came rcishing„ down : stairs, and , in a
sort of rude play pushed her against
the railings, Which, heing, either rotten
or ill-secured, gave way, and prepipi
fated her some piteriti c Oet into the
:eotirt bel6w Thai* escaped with her
life, was Probably owing to leer fall
; being broken by a WaOh-tub, i whiclii
• the tenant of the lowewoora,k4d 'set
against the stairs.'. ( ' cimi<
doun . on' the tub W, he? back and
shoulders, and sae saired;liff he 4,lye
ken ; thOugh she lay like am dead for
half an hour."
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1866.
" The doctor says that when she
has hadoa p she'll be nain the
ilea`
waur," sti L d Betty Frasier, who had re
,
covered " l er usual spirits, though still
labOrini under no little excitement.
By the time Christie had heard all
this she was sufficiently calm to enter
the closet and look at Elsie. Here she
found Charlie sitting on the side of
the bed, and regarding the child with
a very anxious -face:- She,- was sleep—
ing with her eyes half open, and start
ed and moaned uneasily as if- in pain.
Charlie , directed-Ohristiefi, attentionAcv
the troubled, twitching face and hands,
and 'asked ber what she thought; say-' '
ing, " I rhat'i! , no a right sleep, ye ken."
"It's maybe the awfy fright she got,
since the doctor says she's a'`right;"
replied Christie. " That was no' ex
actly what he said," whispered her
-brother, "though it's nae guid contra
dicting our mither. He said there
was naethineto be done, as nae banes
were brOken, but to keep her quiet ;,
butit. some way seemed to me that lie
looked: guy serious, though I could
'get nae Eclair out o' him than 'that"
`Christie caught hia uneasiness at once,
but Mrs.. Frasier became quite angry.
whew they - mentioned their fears to,
her. "Its just Christie'S' way,' boding
as her fether says. She's aye look
ing out for squalls," she said.
After some hours Elsie woke and
being glad to see Christie, seemed
brighter than could , reasonably have
been expected, so that her sister re
turned to - her place; having charged
Dan-0 bring her lvord every Sabbath
how Elsie appeared. On the two suc
ceeding Sabbaths Dan came the bearer
of glad tidings; Elsie was better, though
she complained of headache; and on the
third, as Christie could not get home
for some time, he brought her with
him, so that she might see how well
she was looking. Very lovely she was
in the little straw hat and neat merino
dress and jacket; for, thanks to her
sister, whatever the others might lack,
she was always provided with neat,
suitable clothing ; and Betty Frasier,
like many incorrigible ,slovens, spared
no time 'nor pains in dressing herself
or children when anything took them
from hoine.
After she had been duly admired in
the servants' hall, Christie took Elsie
upstairs, to let the mistiess• see her..
-Mrs. Cameron was a reserved and
haughty woman, having no children.
of her own; but she was not deficient
in that instinctive love of " bairns"
which so strongly characterizes ;the
Scottish people. Christie led Elsie
forward, saying, " This is the little
sister, mem, that I got sic a fright
about a while 'ago." The lady looked
-in surprise from her maid's plain
visage to Elsie's cherub face, and
exclaimed involuntarily, " What a
charming child!" Elsie dropped a little
courtesy, as she had been taught to do
when spoken to by her betters ; and
timidly glanced around at the grand
room and finely-dressed lady, who, ob
servin' g Christie's look of affectionate
pride, as she stood with folded hands
regarding the little sister, her usually
stern face all aglow with' pleasure,
drew her toward her and asked with
a smile if Christie was very kind to
her. Elsie smiled brightly. " Very
kind, mem. They're a'.._very kind to
me."
"Is that because you're so goOd a
little kill?" 'asked: :the lady. 1 Eleie
looked serious for a moment, and then
shook her head.
- think' to.'!- • -
I - ":Why=?" said. Mrs. Cameron. "You:
are very good, I am sure. Why do
you think no ?"
" Because,l"replied. the child, =ay
ain doesna ken whether I'm guid or
no; and a' body's aye very gUid to me
forbye my ain folk. I'think it's just
guid-tatur, mem, but I'm very glad
o't." And the bright smile flashed
-over:the little: face again, bringing all
sits dimples into play.
Mrs. Cameron's idea of being kind
to the.'.;children of " the lower, class"
was to, inquire,if ,the.y went to, school,
present them with oranges, and dismiss
them with the gracious assurance that
she was sure they tried to be very
:good; but in this case she quite forgot
Elsie's relationship to her niaid-ser
vant, and, drawing the child toward
her, kissed her more than' once, and
said to the delighted Christie' "After
• all, the little one does not seem robust;
and as she has ,had a long walk,. you.
had better keep her with you all night,
if you think your mother will permit
it, and let her brother come for her in
the morning" Then she direeted
Christie to'gfve her brother hnd'sister
their dinner;'and Dan was dismissed
as` soon as' te meal- was over, while
Elsie remained to sleep with her sister..
It was a -wonderful' 'afternoon :for
Elsie. Mrs. Cameron -had: a fine-gar
,den, with vinery and greenhouses full
of rare and beautiful flowers, and the
child followed the old gardener about
Ilin a perfect rapture of admiration.
It, seemed like :a glimpse of Paradise
`to ihe poor . 'fittle, girl, whose life had
'been spent .inthat dark court, where
there was nothing to please the eye,
and the sense of smell was a positive
disadvantage. She• was fairly tired
out when 'Christie put her to bed at
last, and fell asleep almost as soon as
hez-head touched the. pillow.
But toward morning Christie was
-awakened by the child tossing restless
ly about and sighing-heavily. She took
hpf in, her arms and hushed her soft
ly, but Elsie still stirred and sighed,
and at length she roused her sister
from a doze by saying wearily : " Q
Christie, woman, ,the- nights are lank,
lang t" There was. s, sort of sad. pa
tience in the child'kvoice that startled
Christie, and- fish* imlnediately
lit the gas and looked anxiously at El
'die. There seemed nothing the matter
with her-_;----though-- her- -cheeks were
flushed and she looked feverish, her
pulse was natural, and her skin moist
-and---cool: Christie could not-under--
stand it.- Sitting, down by they child,
'She talked with her 'for' a while, an'd 3
.I,Parrked.4:tat!rElsig4a-y-Atwaike
every night now. " quite happy
a' the day," she said in reply to Chris
tie s questions; bu s weary, weary
'in the dark, and fearinbk. Sometimes
canna keep frae greeting," and her'
lip trembled as she spoke.
Christie sat beside her for more
than two hours before she fell asleep,_
and then watched her with a dreadful
pain at her heartior Elsie slept with,
half-closed4elids, - ind her ; hands, and,
eyebrows'twitched in the same' nerv
ous way Which -hadt'alarmed Charlie
in that ,first sleep after the fall.
Clearly there was something. wrong
with the child.,‘•
"She'll be ta'en. fine us," she groan
ed, and falling on her nee's prayed
Passionately for Elsie's life Her re
ligion was more Of fear than love, and
like many another fearfil worshipper,
she thought of her God more as an
avenger than a preserve; and she was ;
haunted by .a "fearful looking for of
judgment" She slept no more,' but
dressing herself, went about her work
with a heavy heart.
It was late when Elsie woke, and
about the middle of the day Dan came
for her. The old gardener gave her
a pot of crocus, and another contain
ing a geranium in full flower, and the
cook a, little basket which Mrs. Came
ron had filled with candies ; and she
skipped off with Dan, who carried a
flower-pot in each arm, perfectly radi
ant with delight. Christie watched
them down the road, Elsie turning
every now and then to wave herharnd,
till they were out of sight, and. then
closed the gate and returned' to the
house, with the large tears rolling
down her cheeks. Watching her close
ly all the morning, with eyes sharpen
ed by apprehension, Christie had be
come convinced that the child was
changed for the worse; her face was
thinner, with dark shadows under the
eyes, and the nervous,twitching of the
eyebrows, which Charlie had first no
ticed in her sleep, was present when
awake also, though the play = of the
child's features when talking and
laughing made it less preceptible du
ring the day.
(To be Concluded)
GENTLENESS AND ITS REWARD
Two boys applied for a 'place in a
gentleman's warehouse. One was old
er than the other, and had some expe
rience in the business. He was a gen
tleman's son, and well dressed. The
other boy was the only son of a poor
widow. His clothes were well mend
'ed, but perfectly clean, and his face
had a quiet, honest expression, whiCh
impressed a stranger very favorably.
Though the elder lad came recom
mended from a gentleman he highly
esteemed; the merchant decided in fa
vor of the widow's son, quite to
,the
surprise of everz one. A circumstance
which seems trifling in itself had influ
enced him in making this decision.
The two boys came together at the,
hour appointed', and the merchant was,
on hiS' own doorstep at the same time.
Just the,n a, poor little shivefing child'
crossed the street, and. as she stepped
on the sidewalk, her foot lipped on the
icy stones, and she fell in the half
melted snow. The elder boy laughed
rudely at her sorry appearance, the
water dripping from, her thin, ragged
clothes• but the child - began crying
bitterly, and searching for the :fotir
pennies she had lost. William, the
younger boy; hastened to her side
and helped to search for them. TWo
were found in the snow; the other two
were probably in the little icy .pOol
beside the curbstone. William brae- ,
ly stripped up his sleeve and plunged
his hand down into-the water, groping
about till 'one of the missing pence
was found, but the other seemed hope
lessly lost.'
"I am afraid that, can't be found,
little'girl," he said, pleasantly.
" Then I can't get the bread," sobbed
the child, " and mammy and the chil
dren will-have no supper."
There is a penny," said William,
taking one from a litttle pdrse Which
contained but very few more, sand then
he made haste to wash his hand in the
snow; and. dry‘ it on his. coarse white
handkerchief. The other boy 'looked
on:, with contempt, and remarked, as
they passed 'along, " It's plain enough
you are a greenhorn in the city."
The gentleman had observed it all,
and scarcely asked the rude boy a
question; but, after some conversation;
with William,- he, said he would be
willing to take him for a time on trial.
At the end of his month of probation,
he had grown so much in favor with
all parties, that the engagement was
renewed for a year.
Now, shall I tell you the secret of
his success ? It was his politeness..
That means a kind expression of kind
feelings. Many very fashionable peo
ple are far from , being polite, and
sometimes the most lowly are remark
able for it. The merchant knew that
the boy who would be truly polite to
a poor little ragged child would never
he impolite to customers. -He knew
that a boy wihose principles would
hold out when he was :4aughed at
could be trusted. 'ltti&iember that a
boy who is uniformly polite in his be
haviour has ten chances of success in
-the world-_where-a rade - boy has one.
—Christian Warkl..
[For the American Presbyterian.)
PRAYER'
r!g=!=l11:!E111111
BY BYOCBTON BATES
_
- - •Apart froni-all-the toil and woe
thisiproblitionary state,
In weariness I sadly. go,
And - plead - before the heayenly gate
My Father,, cleanse me from the dust,
The sinful thouglats, the actions vain,
Thatstain with their corrosive rust,
And sear the ever•active brain.
- 'Arid let nie, 5... s 'the purling brook
That ripples , o'er its shining:bed,
Be puTe.!.nd, Blear _ ; while every nook
' Reflects"' the- beauties'overhead.
Then may ',gently wander where
The fragrantto wers of knowledge bloom,
And, like the bee, with busy care
Sip from their cups the. sweet perfume.
r
Preserve me by, Thy Mighty power,
Potent me in the fearful strife,
Refresh me with.the vernal shower,
" ' ifinooth-the tliornY path of life
Then,- as the earth in fruitful field
RetUrnit the b 1 saings Vont above,
Sp would niy thankful spirit yield
A rich return for,all Thy love.
REMARKABLE ANSWER, TO PRAYER,
A la 4 was traveling with her young
family and their governess to the sea.
They used post horses with their own
carriage. They had not gone many
miles before, she discovered that the
cook, ; contrary to her orders, had filled
all the pockets and every spare nook
of the coach with provisions. She
was much annoyed, and the first time
they stopped. to change horses had
everything turned
,into a hamper,, and
told the servant to give it away. The
governess asked_permission to go with
the servant while the carriage was
,detained: to see it properly given. A
reluctant consent was obtained, and
she hastened into the poorest part of
the town that' lay near the inn. She
had' little time for any choice, so turn
ing down' the street she resolved 'to
leave the hamper at the first clean
looking house she came to. !Passing
severa, she stopped at one with a
,snow-white curtain in a bright win
dow. She knocked against the Cloor,
but receiving no answer, tried the
latch and went in. A woman reduced
by starvation or sickness to a mere
flkeleton was' kneeling at a bedstead,
Which was the only article of furniture
in the room. She looked languidly at
the lady, who, without delay emptied
the hamper on the ground, ham, pork
pie, tongue, etc..
"I Was told to give this away," said
she, • " arid as I knew no one here, I
deterinined to leave it at the first clean
house I came to."
Instead of thanking or even answer
ing her, the woman, still on her knees,
raised her hands and said, " I thank
thee, -0, my Father; Thou k.nowest
my need."
A few words told her story. She
had lost her husband after twenty
weeks of fever. Nursing him had re
.dUced her strength and devoured her
- substance. She was too weak to work,
and had been compelled to part with
'all her goodg, piece by piece, to pay
her rent and 'obtain bread. "I knew
I could-work if I had meat to nourish
me," she-said, "but where could I get
it ?-•where?". she , . continued; "=why
from . Him: who sent it: by you just as
I was
' asking Him- to let me have some
unless it was. His blessed will that :I
should go to the work-house." •
ILLIJSTRATIOW OF" FAITH.
" Father," " said a little Welsh boy
to his 'Parent, who had been explain
ing the - Scriptures to his family, in the
hall of what was once the manor-house,
but which was then - occnpied by a
farmer / "father, you said you would
one day, when I was old enough, teach
me what faith is. Am I old enough
now ?"
" Well,l think you are, Willy.
Come to"me," said his father, rising
from his chair.
The boy no sooner approached, than
his father raised him from the ground,
and set him- on the top of 'a double
chest of drawers that stood beside the
Wall. The child's color - went and came,
and,he was bvidently afraid to stand
upright in so unusual
,a situation.
" Now, Willy," said his father,
placing, himself ,at a little distance,
and ``holding out his arms ; "now,
Willy 'Stand upright and jump into
my arms."
The child's 'position and the father's
command were alike calculated to pro
duce alarm, and did produce it. But
-the father's look was calm, and kind,
and, serious, and, the child had invited
the lesson so he had nothing for it but
,to.turn hi; mind to compliance.
Raising himself somewhat, at length
he made an effort to jump; but his
heart failed him, and he drew *back
further from the edge of the drawers:
"Ah, Willy," said his father, "thou
hast no faith—try again." Willy
thought a moment, and perceived the
nature and drift of his father's experi
ment. He came back again to the
edge, and at this time he did make the
spring, but so imperfectly, and with so
divide,d a mind, that hEriwould have
fallen'tat l'Or j .st' ki"eam of the ceiling
Just abOe, ore which hg 'clapped his
hands and, recovered
His fathet smile i and said,- . "
thou hast no faith yet ; but, that was
better than the last. Come, try once
•
more."
The f look of quiet thefather's
face, and hiS still open arms, at . length
assured oar hero there really was no
danger • or it may be, so much rever
ence and trust in a parental that
he' foitarthraarigd.`''Be as'it
may, this time ,little Willy stood bolt
upright,. and jumped over the dreadful
gulf into his father's,powerful arms.
He looked ' up with a
smile ; and his
faiher, setting him on
. the floor, said,
There, Willy, that'was faith. There
is the gulf Of hell beiween you and
eternal life'; your . Heavenly Father
holds - out for you the:arms of his love,
and sent his-only Son-to die and prove
it to you. Trust Him 'as you have
trusted me, and you will save your
soul."
, ,PITY .AND THE HORSEHAIR..
Susanand(Jane , called me, one after
noon, to see Kitty King, and what do
you think they brought her ? A long
horsehair. ~*.usy,, had, one and Jane
had one. Kitty lias,very glad. She
went immediatfi for a bowl of water,
`and put the Itikkhair in. Mother was
curious to Eredii what the little girls
had got. = She went, and looking over
their heads; asked what 'it was.
"Why, mamma, they say horse
hairs will turn;.to . water=snakes, and
we want to see them turn," said Kitty.
," Who says so ?" asked mother.
"They," answered Kitty; Alice
Goodyear, Torn„ and everybody."
" Did Alice and Tom ever see them
turn ?" •
"I do not know as they ever saw
them at it," said . Kitty; " but they do.
turn. Tom says' horse-troughs are full
of them!'
"Full of what?" asked Mrs. King.
" Snakes," cried Kitty.
" No, ,hairs," said Sissy.
" I looked into. two troughg at my
uncle's, where*horses drinif and I
could 'not find. either snakes or hairs,"
said Jane ; "but I suppose they do."
"No horsehair ever turned into a
water-snake, little ones," said Mrs.
King ; "it is not according to God's
laws ;" and she left the-children to go
into the garden.
"Mamma, of course, does not know
everything," whispered Kitty, much
tried by her mother's opposite views.
"She haat.% been to all the places
where horses drink. How can she tell
what their hairs do when they get
into water?"
" WhaLmakes fishes?" said Susy.
" , Yes," cried kitty, `!yes, indeed.
Morning, noon and , night Kitty
anxiously watched the horsehair in
the water.
Some time after, as papa was sitting
after tea, "Little 'danghter," he said,
"your horsehair can never become a
water-snake.".
"Why not,,.papa.?" asked Kitty,
hastily.
"Because it is., a law of God, in
creating things, that life brings forth
life, and like produces like," he an
swered.
" I am sure I don't "ltnow what all
that means," said Kitty, in a puzzled
toner'
Papa put his ,hand in his seed-box
and took out hArernel of corn. " This
kernel," he said, showing it to Kitty,
" though hard and dry. , outside, has
life inside. Plant it, and .the life bursts
out, and sprouts and grows up, and
bears corn, not potc4oes or carross, but
corn • and it lust 'so with a grain of
the
corn;
produces its like, wheat.
Would you not think it odd for an
apple-tree to produce children—little
girls hanging•land growing on all its
branches P'. :Kitty was , highly divert-:
ed bylthe picture. "Things have no
power to change their nature. A horse
cannot turn to, a - snake."
"No more could a horsehair," added
Kitty quickly; by this time beginning
to see that it was possible for a little
girl to be mistaken. " Then what did
folks say so for ?"-asked she, casting a
sidelong, disappointed look at the
horsehair in the bowl.
" Ignorance is apt to jump to wrong
conclusions," :
said papa. "There is
sometimes found in oar brooks a
long, black, t thread-like worm, called
the horsehair worm, because it looks
like a horsehair, not because it ever
was one."
Kitty felt'secretly• glad there was
something.
‘‘Professor: , -- has -one," added
papa. " Would you like to see it ?"
That she should, The' next day her
papa took her to the professo.r's study,
where the 'worm was in a bottle of
water. It looked, Kitty thought, like
a small tangle of black sewing-silk.
He poured it out into a basin of water,
and began to get out the tangles,
when he found it . was twisted round
and hugging up a bag of its eggs. It
did not want to be straightened out;
but it- was, and proved to be half a
yard long. While this was going on,
its bag of eggs floated away, and. Kit
ty wondered if the worm would care.
Indeed it did. Almost immediately it
moved toward ,the eggs, and tried to
weave itself around them, like a kind
inother protecting its young. The
professor then unwound it again. In
doing so - the bag broke, and some of
the eggs dropped out and floated off.
It was curious to see the poor worm
t
' trying to find...and bring them back to
' the nest. "So knowing," though
Kitty. "Motherly instinct," said p a ap.
The professor then . opened the bag o f
eggs, or rather it was a roll of e ggs
about the size of a white coffee bean.
He, unrolled, it, and how long do you
think the roll was ? Four yards lon g
Cutting it; across, and. putting a bit 0 ';
it undue the imicroacope, he count e d
from seventy to seventy-five eggs, and
he thought the whole number of eg gs
xriight -bw not less than eight million s .
Prapli;"%talted'XittY, on 'their w ay
home, " what do , you think of a horse.
'"
What do yogi, Kitty. ?" asked pap a ,
0 Lord; ho*: manifold are Thy
works I in wiadom halt Thou made
them alt ' That Bible verse is what I
thought' replied Bitty-
YOU MUgT BE IN EARNEST.
It is related of- Hon. Torn Corwi n ,
of Ohio, that he dropped into a meet
ing one evening, in Lebanon, to se e
what `" the brethren" were doing. i t
was a meeting' of the Bible Society,
and the business .was done in a very
lifeless, hurri-drum way. - The &ore.
Lary disclosed. in i bis report the fact,
that two hundred ; families in the com l .
ty werq destitute`_,pf the Bible, and
some brother deplored in suitable
phrase the sliaTrieful fact, when M t
Corwin rose and. said : " Mr. President,
may I be allowed to say something on
this subject?" "Certainly, Mr. Cor
win • we shall be glad to hear you.'
Well, sir, I want to say that you are
not in earnest. Ydur report said, that
there are two hundred families in this
county without the Bible!. This could
not be if you were in earnest. In the,
great contest for the election of Har
rison, we Whig members of Congress
gave our whole salary to carry that
election. We . .. were' in earnest. We
thought the salvation of the country
- dedended upon. it. If you want to
carry on this work, and really mean
that every man shall have a Bible,
you must be in earnest. You must
go to work and,pgive every man the
Bible." The meeting was electrified.
Some one immediately rose and moved
to make Thomas Corwin, President of
the Warren County Bible Society.
It was unanimously Carried, and Mr,
Corwin rose again : Sir, if I accept
the presidency of this Society, it is on
one condition,, that you go=te work, and
no such report as that is made again,
When this Society meets three months
from. to-day, the .report must be, that
no family in, Warren county is with
out 'a Bible." The work was done,
and every family supplied. Mr. Cor
win judged the - Bible Society, and
judged the whole Church precisely as
all intelligent men do 'judge it in their
hearts. Motives they cannot know;
degrees of faith they cannot measure;
but they can see what is gene, and they
infer the motives and the faith from
the character and measure of the ac•
tion. In this world there is no other
standard.
THE NOBLE NEGRO BOY.
The following incident, in the fatal
collision of the Niagara with the Post
boy on the Mississippi, was related to
me by an eye-witness :
The two steamers struck, and the
Niagara immediately careened and be•
gan to sink. The wildest oonsterna•
tion was at once universal. Ladies
rushed .to and fro with piercing
screams, imploring the men to help
them: But no means seemed at hand,
and. each sought his individual ream.
At this fearful moment a negro boy
—one of the crew—was seen quietly
lashing a long and stout rope round
his body, at the other end tying a
stick of wood in its centre. .
Instantly, with this apparatus, he
threw himself into the river. Turning
upon his
,back, the stick drifted to the
rope's end: ; and calling upon two la•
dies who stood on the edge of the boat
—one with a child in her arms—he
urged them to spring and catch either
and of the stick. Horror-stricken,
they hesitate& The negro lay calmly
on the waves, and in tones of conk
d.ence told them it was their only
hope, insisting that he would carry
them safely to the shore. For another
instant they hesitated; but gathering
courage from his' self-possesion, and
realizing that it was their last moment
they took the leap, and both succeed
ed in grasping the stick.
quickly, to prevent their seizi,
the heroic fellow struck
strong muscles for the land
pid current was well nigh
but he wrestled manfully
burden. The energy of des'
them to, their hOld, and at len)
feet touched bottom. Botl
with the clinging little one, wo
Many witnessed this feat. It
ed not only a cool, nil]
bravery, but was wholly did]
as both ladies were stranj
should be added that the ho
own trunk, with his best clot!
three hundred dollars in
sink with the wreck•—Bev
A LITTLE WORD.
A. little word in kindness spoken,
- A. motion or a tear,
Has often healed the heart that's
And made a friend sincere.
A. word—a look—has crushed to e;
Full many a budding 'flower,
Which, had
bless life's darkest hour.