Hbfrt Jfamilij; ©irtlt. A HYMN OF CONFESSION. The following hymn, which will find an echo in every sensitive Christian heart, was written by Bev. W. M. Bunting, of London, recently deceased. Eminent clergymen of the Wesleyan body, to which he belonged, and of the Church of England, the Congre gational, the. Presbyterian and..the Baptist Churches, united in paying respect to his memory on the occasion of his funeral. The title of the hymn as published is: “Con fessions of Spiritual Sin." The motto of it is: “ Grieve not the Holy Spirit of God.” Holy Spirit! Pity me, Pierced with grief for grieving Thee; Present, though I “mourn apart,” Listen to a wailing heart. Sins unnumbered I confess, Of exceeding sinfulness, Sins against Thyself alone, Only to Omniscience known. Deafness to Thy whispered calls ; Rashness ’midst remembered falls; Transient fears beneath the rod; Treacherous trifling with my God. Tasting that the Lord is good, Pining then for poisoned food; At the fountains of the skies Craving creaturely supplies! Worldly cares at worship-tizne! Grovelling aims in works sublime ! Pride when God is passing by! Sloth while souls in darkness lie ! Voiceless vows, whose breath awoke In Tby courts no echo—broke; Viewless failures, steps astray ; Langours in a once loved way, Chilled devotion, changed desires, Quenched corruption’s ember fires, Sins like these my heart deceive, Thee, its sole Familiar, grieve! Oft how lightly have 1 slept With Thy daily wrongs unwept! Sought Tliy chidmgs t o defer, Shunned the wounded Comforter ! Woke to holy labors fresh, With the plague-spot in my flesh ; Angel seemed to human light, Stood a leper in Thy light. Still, Thy comforts do not fail; Still, Thy healing aids avail; Patient inmate of my breast, Thou art grieved—yet I am blest! O be merciful to me, Now in bitterness for Thee ! Father, pardon, through Thy Son, Sins against Thy Spirit done! THE TWO HEW YEAE’S GIFTS. “Mamina, you will get me that pretty fur collar and muff; do say you will ?” The sweet-voiced pleader, a little girl of perhaps twelve years of age, leaned over her mother’s chair until her wealth of golden curls hid the lady’s darker hair. Mrs. Ash by drew the petted child closely to her, and, in gentle tones, replied, “I thought you were satisfied with the Christmas gifts you received, Nina, —how ii it ? You said you, would not want any i hing for a whole year, and now on this, the third day after Christmas, you are making this request.” “I can’t help it, ma. I would give up every thing to have that set of lovely furs. Oh, they will look grand with my velvet coat, and white hat! Ma, please say you will get them !” and the child clasped her hands in her eager excitement. “That ermine set is very expensive, Nina. I really do not think I will be doing right to indulge you with it,” said Mrs. Ashby, in a yielding tone. Nina caught at this. She was a cunning beggar, that only and petted child, and a few minutes after,JMrs. Ashby left the library, having promised her daughter that on New Year’s eve she should possess the much coreted furs. Oh, too loving and tender hearted mothers, if you but for a moment paused to think of the tares you plant in the hearts and characters of your children by this foolish over-indulgence,—tares that will take the deepest root, and completely choke out the rich growth of wheat which your heavenly Father planted there when He gave you charge of the sacred soil:—I say, if you would but pause to think, and pray for strength to do right, you would not find it so hard to speak a gentle, but firm negative, and the little ones, depending upon your word, would neither frown nor cry; for, with per fect trust in your love, they would know that what you do is right, and that you would not deny them any thing that would be for then good ! O _ Nina Ashby was not left alone when her mother left the room; for a little girl, in deep mourning, was sitting by a window, busy with some worsted work. This was Alice Morton, the orphan child of Mrs. Ashby’s twin sister, who for a year, had dwelt in her aunt’s home, sharing the love of all, as a younger sister of Nina. The bright, impul sive Nina danced up to the side of her cousin, exclaiming, “ Oh, Alice, ma has promised me the furs! Did you not hear her say ‘Yes,’ as she went out of the room ?” , “ Yes, Nina, and if you want them so bad ly, I am very glad you will get them; but if I had been in your place, I would not have forced my ma to get them for me.” “ I did not force her. I only legged her ever so hard,” said Nina, with a slight pout. “Well, then, I would not have begged her so; for she did not want you to have them, ard you do not need them.” Nina turned, half laughing, from the earn est brown eyes of her cousin, just as Mrs. Ashby again entered the room, and coming to the window where the girls were, she dis played a sum of money, saying, “This money was given to' me, Nina, by THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY H, 1867. your pa, to be divided equally between you and Alice, for a New Year’s present. Now, my child, if I get you the furs, there will be but one dollar of it left for Alice. What is to be done?” Nina was silent. She was a kind-hearted child, and did not wish to deprive her cousin of her share; but she wanted the furs. Alice said, quickly and earnestly, “ Auntie, get Nina the furs. I could not he happy if she was deprived of them. Ido not want any thing. You and uncle are so kind to me, and so is Nina. Let me give her my part as a present, I cannot be happy if you do not.” Tears filled the sweet eyes, though a smile wreathed the lips. Nina threw her arms about Alice, and the two children wept together. Mrs. Ashby turned away, and in her heart the mother felt that Alice was the nobler spirit of the two. * * * * * “ Please, kind lady, buy a box of matches. Only two pennies ! I have only three to sell.” It was a little, ragged boy who thus ad dressed Mrs. Ashby, as, on New Year’s eve, she and the two children were on the way to purchase the set of ermine furs. Mrs. Ash by was by no means an uncharitable person, but she disliked being stopped in the street, and answer shortly, “ Get out of the way, boy; you should not stop ladies in the street.” “ But, oh! we are starving, and I am not begging; I want to sell my matches.” This Mrs. Ashby did not hear; jostling crowd threw the little match boy face to face with Alice Morton, and the child said hurriedly, “I haven’t a penny now, little boy, but I will have, to-morrow, if you will come here.” It was all she had time to say, for her aiint turned to call her. The handsome set of furs was purchased, and Nina’s happiness beamed in the sparkle of her bright blue Ayes. “Now, Alice dear, you have one dollar, what shall I get for you ?” “Nothing, Aunty, if you please; you can give me the dollar.” “Very well, dear, I will give it to you in the morning.” . The gas jets burned .brilliantly in Mrs. Ashby’s parlor, and the glowing fire cast its genial warmth around, as the family sat there, listening to the chime of merry bells, which bid farewell to the worn out old year, and heralded the advent of the new. It was a bright home picture of love and comfort that the midnight moon looked down upon, as it penetrated the folds of the lace curtains, and with happy hearts the children nestled in their downy beds, and slept the sweet sleep of innocence. But the New Year chimes sounded in an other section of .the great city, and the mid night moon, all unobstructed by blind or cur tain, shone upon a sadder scene in the cheer less room which the little match boy called his home. Fireless, supperless, a pale, sick woman and three little children had waited the boy’s return, earlier in the evening, and when he came, it was only to bring back his matches, and repeat what the little girl had said. This was but poor comfort, but it was all they had, and huddled together under a few rags, they [watched the coming of New Year. The same eye that neither sleeps nor slumbers, looked down upon that group, as well as the sleepers in the home of wealth, and angel wings were hovering there, in the midst of poverty and distress. * * * * * * *.* “Aunty, can I go out a little while this morning,” asked Alice, as they left the break fast-room, on New Year’s morning. “ Yes, dear, and mind you wrap up well, for its very cold.” Mrs. Ashby never questioned the children as to where they were going. Alice started with her purse to hunt up the little match boy. Beside the dollar note she had other small change, and this in her thoughtful nature she spent in bread.and cheese, and some apples which she thought would be good if the poor people were hungry. She found the boy at the same corner, trying to sell his matches. His poor pinched face brightened at sight of her, as he said, “Oh, little lady, you have come!” “Yes, but I do not want your matches, somebody else will buy them, and I have brought you a new year’s gift. Here is some cheese and some apples in this bag, and here is a dollar note that you can buy things you want with.” “ Oh, you don’t mean for me to have all this!” cried the boy, tears rolling down his thin cheeks: then he added, “ I never begged mmy life. I always gave matches and shoe strings for all the money I got; but mother has been sick, and the little children are so cold and hungry.” “ Take it all, poor boy. You are not beg ging now. I want to give it to you, and when ever I see you, and have any thing to give, you shall have it.” Alice ran away quickly, without another word, and the boy started for his home. In the afternoon of New Year, there was a great exhibition, and Mrs. Ashby took the girls to witness it. Nina wore her new mag nificent ermine, which matched so well her white hat and velvet coat; and the little girl danced about in glee as she displayed her new year’s gift. Alice looked on - without one pang of. envy, and thought of her dollar note and the hungry match boy. ' Ay, well may you think of it, gentle Alice! Of those two gifts thrice blessed has been yours. Warmth and food, its gone to the cold and hungry, ay it even saved from death that sick mother and her helpless little ones. Out of her abundance Nina Ashby spent an almost incredible sum to deck her person with finery, and was happy in her sel fish joy. But all she possessed, one single dollar, Alice Morton gave to the suffering; and although she saw not the good which her mite was the means of doing, she felt a quiet happiness in the knowledge that she had done right. It is useless to ask you, my little friends, which gift called down the love and blessing of the Saviour. We would only say, Choose the right way, as Alice did: “Go thou and do likewise.”— Vara Montrose. A BEAUTIFUL TBIBUTE TO A WIFE. I was guided in my choice only by the blind affections of my youth. I found an in telligent companion and a tender friend, a prudent monitress,the mostfaithful of wives, and a mother as tender as children ever had the misfortune to lose. I met a woman who, by tender .management of my weakness, gradually corrected the most pertinacious of them. She became prudent from affection; and though of the most generous nature, she was taught frugality and economy by her love for me. During the most critical period of my life, she relieved me. She gently re claimed me from dissipation; propped my weak and irresolute nature; she urged my indolence to all the exertions that have been useful and creditable to me, and she was perfectly at hand to admonish my heedless ness or improvidence. To her I owe what ever lam ; to her whatever I’shall be. In her solicitude for my interest she never for a moment forgot my feelings or character. Even in her occasional resentment, forwhich I but too often gave her cause, (would to God I could recall'those moments !) she had no sullenness or acrimony. Her feelings were warm, nay impetuous; but she was placable, tender and constant. Such was she whom 1 have lost, when her excellent natural sense was rapidly improving, after eight years’, struggle and distress had bound us fast to gether; and, moulded our tempers to each other; when a knowledge of her worth had refined my youthful love into friendship, and before age had deprived it of much of its ori ginal ardor. I lost her, alas! the choice of my youth, the partner of my fortunes, at a moment when I had the prospect of sharing my better days. —Sir James Mackintosh. THE CHILD’S LAST MESSAGE. Many a careless sinner has been awakened by a word of affectionate counsel from a dy ing friend. , The Presbyterian Banner gives an instance in our late war, where a brave volunteer, promoted after three years’ ser vice to a captaincy, came home to be made a disciple of Jesus: After liis re-eiilistment, when at home on a sick leave, a little cousin, to whom he was tenderly attached, called him to her death bed and said,— “Fred.,,l am going to Jesus, and would like to meet you there.” These words, spoken by one who had not completed her eighth year, went to his heart. He retired from the room, weeping, deeply agitated, and inquiring whether it was ne cessary tba| that sweet little girl should die in order that such a sinner as he was should be brought to repentance. Christian coun sel was sought, he was led to Jesus, and he found peace in believing. Upon his return to the army the new quarters prepared for him by the men of his command were dedicated by a prayer-meet ing. Luring the remainder of the war he gave evidence of having passed from death unto life, of being a new creature in Christ Jesus; and when the country no longer re quired his , services in the field he came home, united with the church, aud is to-day an active and efficient Sabbath-school teacher. Thus did the Holy Spirit make a single sentence, spoken by a dying child, instru mental in arresting an ungodly young man, in leading him to the Saviour of sinners, and in making hjm a blessing to many others. BATE THE LITTLE ORES. The following is an extract from one of the speeches made at the late New Jersey State Sunday-school Convention: A few years ago a steamer was coming from California. The cry of Fire! Fire! suddenly thrilled every heart. Every effort was made to stay the flames. But in vain. It soon became evident that the ship must be lost. The .only thought now was self preservatioii. The burning mass was headed for the shore, which was not far off. A pas senger was seen buckling his belt of gold around his waist, ready to plunge into the waves. Just then a pleading voice arrested him: “Please, sir, can you swim?” A child’s blue eyes were piercing into his deepest soul, as he looked down upon her. “Yes, child, I can swim.” “ Well, sir, won’t you please to save me?” “I cannot do both,” he thought. “ I must save the child or lose the" gold. But a moment ago I was anxious for all this ship’s company. Now I am doubting whether I shall exchange a human life for paltry gold.” Unbuckling the belt he cast it from him, and said, “Yes, little girl, I will try to save you.”. Stooping down, he bade her olasp her arms around his neck, “ Thus, child, not so tight as to choke me. There, hang on now, and I will try to make to the land.” The child bowed herself on his broad shoulders, and clung to her deliverer. With a heart thrice strengthened and an arm thrice nerved, he struck out for the shore. Wave after wave washed over them, but still the brave man held out, and the dear child held on, until a mighty mountain bil low swept the sweet treasure from his em brace, and cast him senseless on the bleak rocks. Kind hands ministered to him. Re covering his consciousness, the form of the dear child met his earliest gaze, bending over him with more than angel ministrations, and blessing him with mute but eloquent benedictions. So, dear fellow-teachers and lovers of the little ones, let us bend our hearts to the burden of the precious souls of the children. Let us take them in the strong arms of our faith and our prayers, and bear them up through the storms of life, and thongh the rude waves of sin may tear them from our grasp, yet who knows but by-and-by, when we get on the other shore, we may be wel comed by the little ones we have tried to save! THE COHYEESIOH OF A JEWESS. The Pacific narrates the following interest ing incident that occurred in the course of the recent revival in San Francisco, Cal.: One evening, when opportunity was given to all to speak who so desired, a young wo man arose and told the story of her conver sion, which was of deep interest to all pre sent. She was a Jewess, who had been in structed in the Old Testament ! Scriptures, as understood by her people. The idea of the Messiah had taken strong hold upon her mind. She wished that he might come, and longed for a knowledge of him. Thus affect ed, she was led to study the Hew Testa ment and to converse with her Christian ac quaintances. Soon she began to inquire whether Jesus of Nazareth were not the one for whom she had so deeply longed. She became convinced that Jesus was indeed “He that should come.’' She spoke of this to her parents and friends. At first they laughed at her; then they tried to compel her to give up her belief. She, however, remained steadfast; for the more she thought upon the subject, the more convinced was she that she was right. Time went on. She was married and became a mother. Her conviction had now become so strong, that she felt it was her duty to give up her old religion, and publicly unite her self with the disciples of Jesus. She told her husband of her purpose. He was enraged, and said to her, “If you be come a Christian, you by that act divorce yourself from me, and are no longer my wife. If you do so, I must leave you and take your child from you. Ho woman can be a follower of Jesus and be faithful as a wife to me. If you love Him as Christians say they do, you cannot love me. You must take your choice. Either abandon your re ligion or I must leave you.” But, she said, “ Only try me for awhile, and see if I eannot love Jesus and you too. I am sure I can. Just try me and see.” He, however, was inexorable, and she had tq choose between her husband and child and Christ. She did not hesitate long, but soon made an open profession of her faith. Her hus band was true to his threat. He took their child and left for the Eastern States. “He has been gone,” said she, “now a year, and I get no word from him, but I am sure he will come back. I pray for him every day, and I am certain that God will show him his error, as he did mine to me, and yet bring him and my child back, so that we shall all be happy together. Will you pray for him, too?” Her story, of which this is only a brief outline, was told with such modesty and touching simplicity that all who heard it were deeply affected, and many shed tears as they thought of the great trial she had endured for the sake of the dear Redeemer. Christians sometimes think they have to make great sacrifices for Christ. How few in this land of ours have ever been called to such self-denial as this young daughter of Israel! THACKERAY'S RELIGIOUS FEELINGS. Dr. John Brown, in the second volume of “Spare Hours,” gives the truest and most thorough review of Thackeray’s writings that we have seen, with the finest insight into his character. He tells the following incident, which has interest as an indication of the profounder religious feeling, which rarely found expression in his works: We cannot resist recalling here one Sun day evening in December, when he was walking with two friends along the Dean road, to the west of Edinburgh, one of the noblest outlets to any city. It was a lovely evening; such a sunset as one never for gets; a rich, dark bar of cloud hovered over the sun, going down behind the High land hills, lying bathed in amethystine bloom: between this cloud and the hills there was a narrow strip of the pure ether, of a tender cowslip color, lucid, and as if it were the very body of heaven in its charms; every object standing out as if etched upon the sky. The north-west end of Corstorphine Hill with its trees and rocks, lay in the heart of this pure radiance, and there a wooden crane used in the quarry below, was so placed as to assume the figure of a cross: there it was unmistakable, lifted up against the crystal line sky. All three gazed at it silently. As they gazed, he gave utterance in a tremulous gentle, and rapid voice, to what all were feeling, in the word, “ Calvary! ” The friend's walked on in silence, and then turned to other things. All that evening he was very gentie and serious, speaking, as he seldom did, of divine things—of death, of sin of eternity of saivation—expressing his simple m God. and in his Savior THE MIND DEPENDENT ON THE BODY. Great men have as a rule had stronw handsome, fine-fibred, enduring bodies. Ha poleon was very strongly and* handsomely built, and had immense powers of working and enduring fatigue. So had Wellington Humboldt all his long life needed only g f 0 u r hours a day of sleep. Agassiz is a man of prodigious physical strength. Cmsar was of uncommon endurance and athletic vf® o r Charlemange was of collossal stature, and vast physical strength. Washington w a . an exceedingly strong man. Henry Beecher is remarkably powerful in his muk., strong-limbed, deep-chested, heavy, aiul a , the same time quick and active. Daniel Webster was of massive physical prop r , r . tions. Henry Clay had immense endurunrp So had S. S. Prentiss, probably the nn,, ; powerful orator the United Statet ever pr,,. duced, and wbocould travel, speak, eat, talk, plead in court for days without sleeping al all, and look all fresh and bright when ] le got through. All great soldiers have bad great strength and endurance. Sherman and Grant and ThomasJiave it. Scott bad it. Of Wellington, and Napoleon, and O*. ar I have spoken. Frederick the Great Lai it; and Marshal Saxe, the strongest man of his day; and Charles XII. of Sweden, and Gustavus Adolphus. Great philoso phers and great poets arid artists have not been so remarkable for vast strength, as for fineness of texture, and, (in the case of poet? at least) for personal beanty. Goethe tva, wonderfully handsome and stately in person. Shakespeare was a handsome man. Milton was singularly attractive in person. Robert Burns was handsome and vigorous. Byron, though lame, had otherwise an extremely fine face and person. Tennyson is a man of great strength, and commanding and hand some physique. Southey and Wordsworth were men of fine person. Heats was band some. Raphael, Albert Barer, Michael An felo, Titian, Leonardo' da Vinci, Rubens, andyke, were all men of very beautiful or of very stately personal appearance.— Hera IJ of Health. BBYAHT THE POET/ It is just fifty years ago since Bryant pub lished his “ Thanatopsis” in the IVbrfA .Imrf can Review > and yet that “good gray heal which all men know” still lingers with us, honored and revered. One easily guesses the secret of his long and useful life by watching his habits in these latter days in his own home at Cedarmere. He rises at six in the morning, and exercises with dumb bells for an hour. He congratulates himself on his slender build, and says, laughingly, “How much better it would be to carry a heavy load for half an hour, and then be relieved of the burden, than to carry it with one forever, at every stepil” He is simple to abstemiousness in his diet. While his break fast table is amply supplied with even variety for his guests, he contents himself with a dish of boiled hominy and milk. lie uses neither tea nor coffee, thongh they are always offered to others. He writes chiefly in the morning, and devotes the afternoon to out-door exercises, and the evenings to social enjoyment; for he is fortunately rich enough to be free from the necessity of ex cessive labor. His attachment to his home at Cedarmere is very strong; and he interests himself in the concerns of his neighbors with a hearty friendliness. May his kindly face, with its flowing, silvery heard and hair, linger long under those beloved trees which rise above Cedarmere. JOHN O’GROAT, AND HIS HOUSE. In the reign of James IV., of Scotland, three brothers, Malcolm, Gavin, and John O’Groat, natives of Holland, came to tho coast of Caithness, with a letter in Latin from that monarch, recommending them to the protection and countenance of his sub jects thereabout. They got possession of a large district of land, and in process of time, multiplied and prospered until they numbered eight different proprietors by the name of Groat. On one of the annual din ners instituted to commemorate their arri val at Caithness, a dispute arose as to the right of precedence in taking the door ami the head of the table. This waxed very se rious, and threatened to break up these an nual gatherings. But the wisdom and virtue of John prevented this rupture. He made a touching speech to them, soothing their aa giy spirits with an appeal to the common and precious memories of their native land, and to all their joint experiences in this. He entreated them to return to their bonus j ’ and - would remedy the current difficulty at the next meeting. Won bv hi* kindly spirit and words, they complied with his request. In the interval, John built a house expressly for the purpose, of an oc tagonal form, with eight doors and windows. He then placed a table of oak, of the same shape in the middle, and when the next meeting took place, he desired each head of the different Groat families to enter at hi* own door, and sit at the head of his own ta ble. 1 his happy and ingenious plan re stored good feeling and a pleasant footing to the sensitive families, and gave to the good Dutchman’s name an interest it will carry with it forever. —Mihu Jiurritt. THE TWO VOICES. ? U .“ enber g> first printer, was ln g ln his cell in the monastery of St- Abersgot, he tells us that he heard two voices address him. The one bade him de -101(1 “ lm the power his invention would put into the hands of bad men to propagate their wickedness; told him ho* men wouid profane the art he had create!, and how posterity would have cause to cn«e the man who gave it to the world So im pressed was Guttenberg with what he hear!- that he took a hammer and broke to piece* TT- P e . s ba<l so laboriously put together- Hi? work of destruction was only stayed by v ■ sweet and musical, that ftlf in hL ear ' telling him to go on and rejoin' rk ; , t u at ali good might be made the r. • *f Vl> Ul; God would bless the r ght m the end. So to all of ns still come those yo.ces that came to Guttenberg: the ne ealhng us to work while it is called « ST‘7 t 0 lea 7 e this world better than we aad tho °tl>or tempting us to give in m’iHf d . take ° ar eaBe —to leave the plough we fth™ to reBt on our oars when Id be pulling against the stream. ,
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