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. ,