Jfamilg ®iwk PATTER OF LtTTLE FEET. [The following beautiful linos were written by the wife of Genera! Lewis Wallace.J Up with the sun at morning, Away to the garden he hies. To see if the sleepy blossoms Have begun to open their eyes. Running a race with the wind, With .a step as light and fleet, Under iay window I hear The patter of little feet. This child is our “speaking picture, rr A birdling that chatters and sings, Sometimes a sleeping cher.ub —■ (Our other one has wings,} His heart is a charming casket, Full of all that’s cunning and sweet, And no harp-string holds such music, As follows his twinkling feet. When the glory of sunset opens The highway by angels trod, And seems to unbar the city, Whose builder and maker is God— Close to the crystal portal, I see by the gate of pearl The eyes of our other angel— A twin-born little girl. And X ask to be taught and directed To guide his footsteps aright, So that I be accounted worthy To walk in sandals of light, ■i&o'And hear amid songs of welcome, From messengers trusty and fleet, On the starry floor of heaven, The patter of little feet. CAN A CHILD COMPREHEND? BY OUR CORRESPONDENT, SI. E. M. T must have been ton years old, when the d .ughter of our nearest neighbor, Mr. Pom fret, was taken sick and died. The young est of a large, .merry family, indulged by my father and mother, find petted by brothers and sisters, the only person who had ever ventured to reprove me, for my vanity and self-will, had been Alias Phebe. She was my Sabbath-school teacher, and as I had never seen a death-bed till I saw hers, and as she had completely won my childish love and faith, the scene made a deep and lasting im pression upon my mind. She was ill a long time. I recall her to day, as she looked, lying on her little low bed, with her face to the window, that she might see the flowers in the garden before the door, the green on the distant mountain sides and the sunlight flashing silver on the stream that wound itself in and out, like a ribbon, among the hills and hollows of Berks county. Her cheeks at first were like the ripe side of a peach, so soft a bloom lay upon them, and her eyes like great violets, so deeply blue; but slowly the bloom faded and her cheeks grew wan and thin; a hollow cough shook her frame, and her eyes only retained thq sparkle and the glow that had once lit up the girlish face. I did not think she would die. So it was with feelings too intense for utterance that I one day heard a conversation between my mother and my oldest sister Eunice, who had been out for a walk, and was folding up her shawl; it was a new one, and required great care. ‘‘Mother,” said she, “they say Phebe Pomfret won’t last much longer.” “She is gob.g just like her Aunt Nancy,” said my mother. “Nancy Pomfret died just before I was maried. She went out like the flicker of a candle. It was sadder, in one way, than Phebe’s going, for she was to have been married, and they laid her out in her fresh, white bridal dress, the very day that would have been her wedding day.” I heard with a white face and a beating heart. That night I cried myself to sleep. But soon I grew familiar with the thought. Indeed, I came to regard it as all a mjgtake, for Phebe’s room was so restful and serene, her smile was so ready, herself so bright and happy, that I thought she could not be dying. Could one who stood so near the dark river be so calm, so little afraid? Mother often went to help in taking care of her, and, towards the last, to sit up with her at night, for the Pomfrets were all tired out. One morning she came home with so sad a face, that we all gathered about her and would fain have asked questions. She checked us with a glance. “ Phebe is dying!” she said. “The end may not be to-day nor to-morrow, but it is not far off. Dr. Ives says she cannot last another week!” That, day the girls all went to see her and bid her good-by. . I went, too, as I had gone every day for weeks, taking her now a glass of jelly or a cup of custard, and now a violet, or a half-opened rose, or a sprig of geranium from my own little pot. To-day I had found a few sprays of the fair white lily of the valley, and I carried them in my hand as I went up to the bedside. The sheets and pillow slips on the couch were as white as new fallen snow, but they were not so pure as the thin hand that touched mine as I offered my flowers. It dawned on me then, as I looked at her pale face, that was yet so bright, that it was bright with reflected light; there was a glory within that shone out of the blue eyes. ’ “ Little Agnes,” said my teacher, “ you have been as dear as a sister to me. When I am gone I want you to have my little Bible. Promise me that you will read it every day; not alone for my sake, but be cause it is God's word. It will be a lamp to your feet, my darling.” “But, Miss Phebe,” I said, “you are not going away! you will get well, now that the days are getting so bright and sunny.” “ Yes, darling, I shall soon be well, but it will not be in this world. Before the roses blossom in yonder tree, I shall be far away from here.” I could not speak for tears; but Phebe said:— “ Don’t distress yourself so, Agnes. Turn to the 2d Chapter of Solomon’s Song and the 10th vei’se, and read it to me. I read: “ My THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, JANUARY 31, 1867. beloved spake and said unto. me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For 1o! the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. The fig tree putteth forth her leaves, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.” “There, Agnes,” said Phebe, “thatis the voice that I seem to hear, as I look out on the beauty of the May. I shall never see another May on earth, but these eyes shall soon look on the King in His beauty. My darling, so live that you may meet me in heaven.” “ Oh 1 Phebe,” I said, “ why must yon go away ? Why do yon love to go ?” “ It is because Jesus calls me home,” said Phebe. “I am leaning on Jesus, and he makes the dark valley light.” Those were the last words my dear Phebe ever said to me. Ere another sun had risen she had gone to that land where there is no more death. Through years of struggle and sorrow, through years of unbelief and doubt, I ever kept in my memory that precious death-bed scene and those triumphant words: “I am leaning upon Jesus!” For it was long before I came myself to this same trustful way of leaning; I wanted to be doing. I read Phebe’s Bible, but it was with blind eyes, and my heart had no wish to behold the beauty of which she had so clear a sight. A few weeks after Phebe had been laid in her grave, her father came over to our house to consult with mine about some fencing. When business was over, and he rose to go, he said in a slow, uncertain way,— “Good evening, neighbor; your house is more pleasant than mine. All the light went with my little girl.” “But she left a.ray-to help you on,” said my father. “ Phebe’s death was very happy.” “ Yes,” said Mr. Pomfret; “ she had never done an}’ thing wrong—she might well be happy. Well, well, if a man does the best he can and never.harms,any body, I suppose he’ll have a chance.” After he went away, I said, — “Father, isn’t Mr. Pomfret wrong? The best that he can do won’t take him to hea ven, will it ? and wasn’t Phebe sinfnl like the rest of us ? What did Mr. Pomfret mean by having a chance ?” “Wait a little, Agnes,” said my father, kindly. “ Study your catechism and read your Bible, and you’ll know all about it when you’re older.” So my father went back to his newspaper, and my mother came in from the kitchen and sat down to her evening work. Mary was darning stockings, and Eunice was stoning raisins for a cake to be made to-morrow. John was working a sum in the rule of three. I alone sat dreaming in my little chair, won dering whether Mr. Pomfret’s theology was right, or whether, as I had said only that morning in iny catechism lesson, “I was dead in trespasses and sin, and could do naught to save myself.” By-and-by mother called me: “ Come, Agnes, you are growing into a great idle girl. I have set up a stock ing for you. Bring your chair here, and let me see how many rows you ' can knit before bed-time. You must quit looking so sad, pet; your weeping won’t bring Phebe back, and sheds far happier now than she was when here. You are getting to be a dreamer, child. I want you to be a worker.” Father looked up from his paper, and smiled. “Mother,” said he, “if our Agnes were a boy, I should say we were going to have one minister in our family. She is actually troubling her little head about the mysteries of election and free agency!” Mother looked troubled and said, — “ This comes of having nothing to do. I don’t like girls to speculate. There’s a nar row path, and few there be that find it. All you to do, Agnes, is your duty, and leave the rest to God. When you are older, you can think. At present, if you obey your parents, keep holy the Sabbath and tell the truth, you are as good as we can expect.” Dear mother! she little knew what seeds she was sowing. She thought that a child could not comprehend; forgetting that it was a child whom the Master sat before the disciples, saying,— “Except ye become as the least of these little ones, you can in enter the kingdom of heaven.” The years glided on, and I became a woman. A woman of studious temperament and energetic habits, wilful withal, and often perplexed —and no wonder—by the strange things into which the angels desire to look. Sister after sister, friend after friend came out on the Lord’s side, but I still held back. It was not because I was careless or cold. It was because the innate pride of my nature would not be subdued. I could have paid any price, had it been mine to pay, for sal vation; could have endured any suffering, had it been sufficient to atone. But salva tion as a free gift, the. price all paid, the atonement finished—nothing for me but to take life eternal from the hand that was nailed to the cross—there my sinful heart rebelled. And so I staid sorrowfully with out, knowing little peace, and ever groping in the dark. And gradually my practical belief came to be that of poor Mr. Pomfret’s: “ I’ll do the best I can—may be I’ll have a chance.” And this is how the light came at last. I was the happy mother of children. Pour bright-eyed darlings clustered in our home. So round, so rosy, so happy that I did not dream of losing one. But God saw what was best. Like the boy of old in the harvest field, my eldest boy, my Walter, one day put his hand up, exclaiming, “My head! my head!” A few short hours, and the physi cian told me there was no hope. The words fell on my heart like ice. “ Oh, Walter!” said I, “do you love Jesus? Jesus wants you, my son. He is calling you home.” With a smile that I shall never forget while memory lasts, he looked up— “ Yes, mamma, I am leaning on him. Yon know “ Nothing either great or small Remains for me to do; Jesus died and paid it all, All the debt I owe.” God had taught the child! Over my boy’s cold form I poured bitter tears, hut, oh! there was a balm mingled with them. A hand had taken mine, and was leading me; a heart, the infinite heart of Jesus, had taken me in; a home, fairer than the stars, stronger than the everlasting hills, awaited me, when the journey of life was over. I am happy now, for I, too, have learned to lean on “my Beloved.”. But how many years, golden years, earnest years, might have been blest, had those around me re membered that the vital truths of our reli gion are so plain that a child can compre hend them. Do not cheek the young seeker after truth with the advice to wait; do not discourage the little hand that is stealing up to touch the hand of the Master. There are deep things of God, which the wisest can sound with no plummet, hut the one deep, broad, high, wonderful thing is, the love that stoops to save the lost, whether child or old man. Above all, do not tell them to build on a foundation of good works, which shall be as the sand, hut bid them plant their feet upon the rock. And so they shall be joyful forever more. A CHRISTMAS EYE WITH THOLHCK. In the year 1857, matriculated as a stu dent at the University of Halle, Dr. Tho luclc’s name stood first and chiefest on my Amneldebuch. Tholuck was then the theo logical Washington, foremost in the war against rationalism, and honored as the veritable St. George who slew the skeptical dragon. His lecture-room, the most capa cious in the university, was thronged. Stu dents flocked to this Gamaliel from every corner of Christendom. The Australian here met the American. His biography is formed of romantic tissue. The son of a tinker, he is the husband of a Pantheistic as a student, and a speculative defender of the symmetry of Mo hammedanism, his intellect became invigor ated and cleansed by contact with Sehleirma eher and Meander, and his heart was touched with Christian love as he saw it vital in the life of bis friend, that pure Moravian pro phet, Baron von Kottwitz. When De Wette was expelled from the chair of Oriental Li terature at Berlin for his misconstrued let ter to Ludwig Sand, that fanatical devotee to the freedom of Fatherland, and assassin of Kotzebue, Tholuck was called to the va cancy. At the time of which I write Tholuck had stepped from Berlin to Halle, and from .the shoes of De Wette to those of Dr. Knapp, deceased, professor of theology. Tholuck's versatility and directness, tempered with a ra*re gentleness, made him the person in whom, more, thairju any other, the victory over rationalism was celebrated. The day of evergreen trees and presents was approaching. Each morning my land lady gave an interrogative lift to her eye lids, while her mouth put the straight ques tion, “Are you invited yet?” Lucky and honored I counted myself to be one of the bidden, in due time, to the Christmas hospi tality of the great professor. Gut of the 800 or 1,000 students who patronized his lec tures, only 40 or 50 made up the Christmas party. Nine years have dimmed somewhat the details of my recollection. I see, how ever, as in a picture, the antique gate-way through which we entered the court, and the door that ushered us to the cordiality of that ■petite polyglot of modern languages, the Countess Yon Genuninggen, Frau Tholuck; and can hear her sprightly voice, adapting its welcome to Frenchman, Italian, Spaniard, or Englishman (I know not to liow many more nationalities), according to the verna cular of the guest. Passing at length through the domestic portion of the house, we enter a long, barren hall, sprigged here and there with evergreen, through the center of which is spread the Christmas table. At the fur ther extremity folding-doors partition us from one of the Doctor’s library and study rooms. The surroundings possessed a cathe dral solemnity. There was very little chat ting, and that little in suppressed tones. Soon the folding-doors parted, and a vivid tableau of the Nativity confronted us. There was the cavernous stable; there the holy family, Joseph and the feeble Mary, and fhe Saviour infant, mangered, from whose head the “ glory ” radiated. So novel was the scene, so earnest, and thoughtful, and serious all around, that the representa tion appeared the reality, and not a modern anniversary of it. We were at Bethlehem, and the Saviour was present. Who of us could ever doubt henceforth that Christ was born? From out of the gloom behind floated soft and full a Christmas carol, which fell like the angel’s song. It was rendered with artistic sympathy by musicians selected from the students. Scarcely had the last notes ceased when, rising from his chair, Tholuck stepped forth, and, catching the cadence of the occasion, spoke with simple, heart-felt eloquence of the day, and of the relation of education to it; of student-life, and the scholar’s ideal; of the dear Jesus as the inspirer of all true thought and the consumation of all worldly ambition; and of the day of rest, and the student-life of heaven. He who knows Tholuck only through his voluminous writings will scarcely do justice to two of his excelling qualities: first, his intuitive reading of human nature; and, secondly, his deep and holy interest in each individual. I venture that no one ever heard him on these familiar occasions without this impression. Certainly you never could have accom panied him in his daily walk (so coveted a privilege), when the freshness of his nature leaped out to meet the sunshine, and when whatever he said seemed to be bailing your lakelet to fill it again from his ocean, with- out feeling that you were walking with a vast library, heated by a great heart, and opened up to you through two illuminated windows. Much less were your two hands ever taken by his, vis-a-vis, and eye to eye (favorite attitude when he said his tender est, truest things), but that you were con scious that Tholuck had read you like -an open book, and that Tholuck loved you. He stood that evening, old, and bent, and wea zen at 58; aged in thought and acquisition, yet his soul was as chipper and wingful as a canary, and seemed illy domiciled in so ricketty a cage. From the address we dropped through the ice of formality into easy social swim ming, and were sent hunting for our names at the table. The plate of each was labeled and loaded with the inevital German Christ mas cake and confections. And under each was a present of more or less intrinsic value (usually a book or pamphlet of his own writ ting) made priceless to each by some .auto graph and original counsel delicately adap ted to some foible of the recipient.' From the fly-leaf of a presentation copy of his Epis tle to the Romans I translate this sentiment, which has never been before in type: “The ■reason why we find so many dark places in the Bible is, for the most part, because there are so many dark places in our hearts. It belongs to the nature ' of this Book that it was written for all men of every time, and for all the experiences of each single hu man heart. Scarcely a single one in any time of his life has exhausted it, and each one at any time can btill find many dark places therein.” Following the promiscuous conversation of an hour came the touching prayer and choral hymn, and each felt encouraged and elevated by his Christmas eve with Tholuck; and one, at least, treasures it as a blessed point in a life-time. Such a celebration might not profitably he imitated in this latitude of thought and work. Yet, as the occasion for our Puritan dislike of honoring the day has passed, who does not rejoice that it is becoming more and more a holy festival in all the families of the land and in all the churches? May we live to see the anniversary of Christ’s birth as heartily and universally observed as is the birthday of our national Independence. "We want more holy-days. Make Christmas the holiest. — W. A. Bartlett. REMARKABLE CONVERSION. The following remarkable statement is authorized by D’Aubigne and M. de Pres- A regiment of French soldiers, on their march to the Crimea, halted for some days at Toulon, in the South of France. "While there, a colporteur came among them. A young soldier, pretending to be much moved by the good man’s exhortations, asked for a Bible, which was, of course, given to him. The soldier and his companions roared With laughter, telling the colporteur that it .was aIL a joke; but the soldier refused to return the book, saying, “It would do to light his pipe with.” The colporteur replied, “It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God!” Fifteen months afterward, the same col porteur stopped for a night at an inn, more than three hundred miles from Toulon. The landlady was in great distress, having just lost her son, of whom she spoke in terms of the most tSnder affection. He conversed with her for a few moments, when she with drew, but soon returned bringing a little book, which her deceased son had'left to her as his precious legacy. , It was much mutilated, many pages having been torn out. But on the inside of the cover, written in large letters, was the fol lowing inscription: “ Received at Toulon, on the , 1855. Despised at first, and badly used, but afterward read, believed, and made the instrument of my salvation. J. L., fu sileer of the Fourth Company of the Regiment of the Line.” From the condition of the little volume, it was plain that the young soldier had made use of the missing leaves to light his pipe, as he had boasted he should. But, as he had related to his mother, this work of destruc tion was stopped on the evening before the battle, ip which his regiment was to occupy the perilous post of the advance guard. He stated that at this juncture, serious thoughts came into his mind, in a very strange man ner; and all of a sudden the words of the man whom he had tricked out of the book came to his recollection like a thunder-clap' “ It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God!" “And if I should fall into His hands.” This thought haunted him he said, without intermission, the whole of the night; and in consequence as soon as it became light in the morning, he took from his knapsack the book which appeared to have become his accuser. The verses which he had read in the dim gray light of the morning, had been brought home to his heart by the Holy Spirit. In the battle which en sued he was severely wounded. Old things had passed away, and he now realized the truth of the faithful saying, “ Verily, verily I say unto you, he that heareth my word’ and believeth on him that sent me hath everlasting life, and shall not come into con demnation; but is passed'from death unto life." After removing from one hospital to another, he was brought back to his home about six weeks before the visit of the col porteur. The mutilated testament "was scarcely ever out of his hand during waking moments. It was the only one he ever pos sessed—perhaps the only one in his native ’Ullage. His mouth was full of tender en treaties that his dear mother and friends might embrace Christ and his salvation. To his very last breath, he ceased not to exhort them all to acccept God’s offered mercy in’ Jesus, and not to run the risk of falling in an unconverted state, ‘f into the hands of the living God.” INTEMPERANCE AND SUNDAY SCEOOt? It is a fact that intemperance is n- , away with the nation. It is said thui thousand die annually, one hundred :i ; , , go to prison, one hundred thousand ■ almshouse, five hundred murders and ; hundred suicides are committed every .. through this fell appetite for strong’ dV And the starting point to counterai-: great evil is with the rising gene rat! . r The motto in each Sunday-school slrml.; ; “Touch not, taste not, handle not” t!i, clean thing. The children should t, ; pressed with the danger of using im. -.; ting drinks. We cannot begin too And if it will help in the great work <-.r... form with the young, we need, and sW;. have a temperance pledge in every Suinluv. school, and we should get all the hoy> ’ girls we can to sign it. Girls need to it, because a young woman may do in ;i harm than any young man may do; for it;, almost impossible for a young man to reii;.. the glass of wine presented by the ihii-! uu ; of woman. It is the first glass that does . mischief! Take the pledge in the Pun-iav. school? Yes. Take it in the church? Yj. Have a roll of honor in the school, (At large piece of parchment or paper, and pa; it up in a conspicuous place in the sell room, and call it the roll of honor. Ilav. the temperance pledge at the top, signed j. v the pastor, church-officers, and members, as.’: endeavor to get all the scholars to add names. And as the boy grows up he w;.; see his name there, on the roll, and will iV,, that his honor is at stake, and be strength, ened to resist temptation. But. with these efforts, we must ever feel that, unh~ we can lead the children directly to Chris there is no hope of escape from any of t: vices by which life is surrounded. —X ] Evangelist. WHO OUGHT TO BE PUNISHED? The late Rev. John Thomas, one of tY missionary brethren of Serampore, was or. day, after addressing a crowd of natives.... the banks of the Ganges, accosted by a Brai;. min as follows: “ Sir, don’t you say that th, devil tempts man to sin ?” “ Yes,” answer.: Mr. Thomas. “Then,” said the Brahmii: “ certainly the fault is the devil’s; the devil therefore, and not man, ought to suffer ti, punishment.” While the countenances d many of the natives discovered their appro bation of the Brahmin’s inference, Mr. Tho mas, observing a boat with several men board descending the river, with that felicity of instructive retort, for w.hieh he was <]> tinguished, replied,—“ Brahmin, do you yonder boat?” “Yes.” “ Suppose I was t send some of my friends, to destroy every per son on board, and bring ine all that is valu able in the boat, who oughf'to suffer punish ment? I, for instructing them, or they. C; doing this wicked act?” “ Why,” answer. ! the Brahmin, with great emotion, “ you ought all to he put to death together.” -Ay. Brahmin,” replied Mr. T., “and if you aiii the devil sin together, the devil and youwii. be punished together.” INVETERATE HABITS. There is nothing more familiar to rmr daily observation than the power and in veteracy of habits, insomuch that anv de cided propensity is strengthed by every new act of indulgence, and virtuous principle i more firmly established than before by even new act of resolute obedience to its dictate- The law which connects our actings of bnv hood or of youth with the character of man hood, is the identical law which connett our actings in time with our characters ' 1 eternity. The way in which the moral di cipline of youth prepares for the honors an t enjoyments of a virtuous manhood, is tin’ way in which the moral and spiritual di:-' t pline of the whole life prepares for a virtues and happy immortality; and on the otii-r hand, the succession of cause and effect fivra a profligate youth and dishonest manho'/i to a disgraced and worthless old age, is ju-: the succession also of cause and effect between the misdeeds and depravity of our history on earth, and our endurance of worthier ness and wretchedness forever.— Chalmers. TIME TOO LONG AND TOO SHOET. A very eminent writer has said, that .v though we seem aggrieved at the shortm-.- °* . *? ln general, we are wishing ever-' period of it at an end. The minor fongs t be ot age; then to be a man of business: then to arrive at honor; then to retire Ihe usurer would be very well satisfied r have all the time annihilated that lies l»o -tween the present moment and the ncx: quarter pay; the politician would be contend to lose three years of his life, could he place things m the posture that he fancies the? 1 i ?. CCI ! Py a ft® r 6uch a revolution of time: and the lover would be glad to strike out the moments of existence that are to pass away before the next meeting. ' An Example for Ton.— We know a youn; man who when a very little boy. was very active in the temperance cause. Before k was thirteen years of age he had prevails upon more than a dozen” poor drunkards r temperance pledge, and five of the; became regular attendants at a place of v v taiSu oT hl ! practiee > when walking out. t saw a \ traCtB in his Pocket. When i and maDj h .® WoTlld g° «P t 0 !li ' attend kmdty ask him to take a tract an a temperance meeting . Youth Temperance Banner. ° cannot sec K yesterdav’-i^ eBt ,f r< Hlir 11 or au bsist long up ■™. :b»“«r g n e “ a,misi ” !
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