u familtj ®ittk LITTLE PEOPLE. A dreary place would be this earth Were there no little people in it; The song of life would lose its mirth, Were there no children to begin it. No little forms, like buds to grow, And make the admiring heart surrender, No little hands on breast and brow, To keep the thrilling love-chords tender. No babe within our arms to leap, No little feet toward slumber tending; No little knee in prayer to bend, Our lips the sweet words leiiding. What would the mothers do for work, Were there there no-pants or jackets tearing? No tiny dresses to embroider? No cradle for their watchful caring? No rosy boys, at wintry morn, With satchel tcf the school-house hasting; No merry shouts as home they rush, No precious morsel for their tasting; Tall, grave, gr6wn people at the door, Tall, grave, grown people at the table, The men on business &U intent, The dames lugubrious as they’re able; The sterner souls would get more stern, Unfeeling natures more inhuman, And man to stoic coldness turn, And woman would be less than woman. For in that clime towards which we reach, Through Time’s mysterious dim unfolding The little ones with cherub smile Are still our Father’s face beholding. So said His voice in whom we trust, When in Judea’s realm a preacher, He made a child confront the propd, And be in simple guise their teacher. Life’s song, indeed, would lose its Were there no babies to begin it; A doleful place this world would be,- Were there no little people in it. “SHE HAS OUTLIVED HER UESFULNESS/' BY MRS. J. D. CHAPLIN, Not long since a good-looking man in middle life came to our door, asking for “the minister.” When informed that he was out of town, he appeared disappointed and anx ious. On being questioned as to his business, he replied, “I have lost my mother, and this place used to be her home, and as my father lies here, we .have come to lay her beside him.” Our heart rose in sympathy, and we said, “ you have met with a great loss” “Well—yes,” replied the strong man with hesitancy, “a mother is a great loss in gene ral; but our mother had outlived her useful ness. She was in her second childhood, and her mind was grown as weak as her body, so that she was no comfort to herself and was a burden to everybody. There were seven of us, sons and daughters, and we could not find any one who would board her, we agreed to keep her among us a year about; but I have had. more than.my share of her, for she was too feeble to be moved when mj' time-was out, and that was more than three months before her death. But then she was a good mother fn her day, and toiled very hard to bring us up.” Without looking at the face of the heart less man, we directed him to the house of a neighboring pastor, and returned to our nur sery. We gazed on the merry little faces which smiled'or grew sad in imitation of ours, those little ones to whose ear no word in our language is half so sweet as “mother,” and we wondered if the time would ever come when they would say of us, “ She has outlived her usefulness,” she is no comfort to herself and a burden to everybody else, and we hoped that before such a day would, dawn we might be taken to our rest. God forbid that we should outlive the love of our children. Bather let us die while our hearts are a part of their own, that our grave may be watered with their tears, and our love linked with their hopes of Heaven. When the bell tolled for the mother’s burial, we went to the sanctuary to pay our only token of respect to the aged stranger; for we felt that we could give her memory a tear, even though her own children had none to. shed. * “She was a good mother in her 1 day an'd toiled hard to bring us all up —she was no comfort to herself, and a burden to everybody else!” These cruel, heartless words rung in our ears as we saw the coffin borne up the aisle. The bell tolled long and loud, until its iron tongue had chronicled the years of t.ho toil-worn mother. One—two—three— four—five. How clearly and almost merrily each stroke told of her once peaceful slumber in her mother’s bosom, and of her seat at nightfall on her weary father’s knees. Six — seven—eight —nine—ten—rang out the tale of her sports upon the greensward, in the meadow, and beside the brook. Eleven twelve thirteen- —fourteen—spoke more gravely-of school days and little household joys and cares. Sixteen—seventeen—eigh teen—sounded out the enraptured visions of maidenhood and the dream of early love. Nineteen brought before ns the happy bride! Twenty spoke of the young mother whose heart was full to bursting with the new, strong love which God had awakened in her heart. And then stroke after stroke told of her early womanhood—oftheloves,and cares, and hopes, and fears, and toils through which she passed during these long years, till fifty rang out harsh and loud. Erom that to sixty, each stroke told of the warm-hearted mother and grandmother, living over again her own joys and sorrows in those of her children and her children’s children.. Every family of all the group wanted grandmother then, and the only strife was who should secure the prize; but, hark, the bell tolls on! Seventy —seventy-one—two— three —four. She begins to grow feeble; re quires some care, is not always perfectly pa tient or satisfied; she goes from one child’s house to another, so that no one place seems; like home. She murmurs in plaintive tones, THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 1867. and after all her toil and weariness, it is hard she cannot be allowed a home to die in; that she must be sentrather than invited from house to house. Eighty—eighty-one —two —three —four. Ah, she is now a . second child —now, “ Bhe has outlived her usefulness, she has now ceased to be a comfort to her self or anybody,” that is, she has ceased to be profitable to her earth-craving and mo ney-grasping children. ; Now sounds out, reverberating through our lovely forest, and coming back from our “hill of the dead,” eighty-nine! There she lies now in the coffin, cold and still—she makes no trouble now, demands no love, no soft words, no tender little offices. A look of patient endurance, we fancied, also an expression of grief for unrequited love sat on her marble features. Her children were there, clad in weeds of woe, and as an irony we remember the strong man's words, “ She was a good mother in her day.” When the bell ceased tolling, the strange minister rose in the pulpit. His form was very erect, and his voice strong, but his hair was silvery white. He read several passages of Scripture expressive of God’s compassion to feeble man,aihcL' especially of his tender ness when gray hairs are on him and his strength faileth. He then made-some touch ing remarks on 'human frailty, and our de pendence on God, urging all present to make their peace with their Master while in health, that they might claim his promises when heart and health failed them. “Then,” he said, “ the eternal God shall be thy refuge, an,d beneath thee shall be the everlasting arms.” Leaning over the desk, and gazing intently on the coffined form before him, he then said reverently: “From a little child I have honored the aged; but never tillgray hairs covered my own head, did I know truly how much love and sympathy this class have a right to demand of their fellow creatures. Now I feel it.” “Our mother,” he added most tenderly, “ who now lies in death before us, was a Btranger to me, as .are all Of these, her descendants. All I know of her is what her son has told me to-day—that she was brought to this town from afar; sixty-nine years ago, a happy bride —that here she has passed most of her life, toiling as only mothers .ever have strength to toil, until she had reared a : large family of sons and daughters—that she left her home, clad in the weeds of widowhood, to dwell among her children; and that till health and strength left her, God forbid that conscience should accuse any of you of ingratitude or murmur ing on account of the care she has been to you of late. When you go back to your homes, be careful of your example before your own children; for the fruit of your own doing you will surely reap from them when you yourselves totter on -the brink of the grave. 1 entreat you as a friend, as one who has himself entered the evening of life, that you may never say in the presence of your families, nor of heaven : ‘ Our mother, had outlived her usefulness —-she was a bur den to us/ Never, never! a mother cannot live so long as that! No! when she can no longer labor, for her children, nor yet care for hjerself, she can fall like a precious weight on their bosoms, and call forth by her help lessness all the noble, generous feelings of their natures.” Adieu, then, poor toil-worn mother; there are no more days of pain for thee. Undying vigor and everlasting usefulness are part of the inheritance of the redeemed. GONE TO SMASH. BY REV. ALFRED TAYLOR. A young man recently came into posses sion of an immense amount of money, and property which yielded so large an income, as to turn the head of almost any one who would have become possessed of it. He seems to have been a tolerably decent fellow, but without much advantage of early education, and without the power of reli gion, or even of high moral principle, to give him grace or common sense to take care of such a vast property. He was knowti as a “ clever fellow,” without positive vices, and without the power to say “No,” when invited to pursue .any course of, pleasure, extrava gance or mischief. This magnificent estate was willed to “Johnny” by his step-mother, upon whose sudden death Johnny came into sudden po session. Hardly was the old .lady cold in her coffin, before Johnny discovered that he had a great many friends! They began to fasten themselves .o.n him after the fashion of leeches. Lacking the resoluteness of character which would have manfully sha ken them off, and fearing that it would, be a terrible evil to allow his wealth to accumu late at a rate of a thousand or two of dollars a day, he allowed; them to drain him. He knew he was' wealthy. He felt that his wealth was enormous. . He hated to be miserly. The acquisition of the wealth had cost him nothing, and it was “ easy come, easy go” with him and his friends.; 1 Johnny became, known as a very prince, not only in Venango county, but wherever else he travelled —and,, bis travels for plea sure were vastly more extended than were the travels.of the Apostle Paul, in,, his mis sionary labors, his . benevolence' was dis pensed, sometimes to worthy people, but generally .to, theii drunken and unworthy, with unsparing, hand. Some boon com panion, after riding with him, would receive for a present, the magnificent horses and carriage in which the ride had been taken. Large presents would be made to whole companies of loafers and drunkards, who . might be passing their elegant .leisure intbe bar-room where > it ; pleased Johnny to take his drink. Diamond breast-pins, gold chains, . elegant jeweled ornaments,, would-be lavish ed on vagrants, whose only claim to them was that they were the “friends” of the liberal - dispenser of -these bounties. The “friends” stuck the closer, the.more free he was with his mdney. They loved him; they hugged him; they sucked his blood like vampire .bats; they led him into" all manner of unholy excesses. The costliest wines, the most luxurious and enchanting evil women; the fastest and the most expensive horses; the skill of accomplished gamblers at the faro-table, and general and miscellaneous de bauchery, wrecked the unfortunate million aire. One honorable gentleman, reeentlj' elected to Congress from New York, is said to have “ gone through” poor Johnny to the tune of $lOO,OOO, at his gambling establish ment, in one or two nights. With such ad vantages for rapid destruction, and such companions eating up his substance and rob bing him under the guise of friendship, it is no wonder that the princely fortune took wings and flew away so rapidly. In twenty months Johnny got through with two mil lions of dollars! Nothing left! The last property sold to pay Government taxes! Friends gone !- The harpies, who were such jolly fellows when Johnny’s plethoric pockets were open to ev.ery demand, are not near to help him when the money is gone, and things go wrong with him. No princely generosities await him from the vagabonds, on whom he squandered his magnificent liberality. No refunding of stolen cash by the gamblers who fleeced him at their faro-tables. No horses, or carriages, or glittering diamond pins to be handed over to Johnny in the day of his necessity, as a return for past favors. But, kicked and scorned by the very rascals who preyed upon him, this young man, far poorer than he ever was before the possession of his ephemeral wealth, must begin again, and try to retrieve the follies of the past, by being a decent fellow in the future. Without a trade, without business ability, without particular talent for any thing, this wreck of magnificence finds a situation as door keeper,to the very band of strolling minstrels which he organized, and every member of whidh he ornamented with a diamond breast pin. Young man, a word of lesson for you, To know how to use wealth is better than to be merely wealthy. Had poor Johnny used his means decently and soberly, instead of squandering them in drunkenness and ca rousing, he might have been respected and esteemed, and lived a life of honor and of usefulness. 1 AYealth without the ability to use it for your own good, for the gOod of your fellow beings, and for the glory of God, is a fearful eurse. An appetite for strong drink, if indulged in, will carry the millionaire, as well as the poorer member of society, to a worse than beastly degradation. Bich or poor, look well to the character of your companions. GodleSs and drunken company will hurry you to ruin as surely and as speedily as flies are eaten by spiders when once ensnared in the cobwebs. Be diligent in your business; and if God gives you fichesj'pray also for grace to use them rightly, to give liberally to that which is good, but not to squander on that which is vile and worthless. And if your toils are not rewarded by vast possessions, labor on, in the cheerful assurance that you are better off with humble gains, honorably acquired and faithfully used, than you would be with credit broken; friends gone, nose reddened, eyes bruised, face bloated, clothes tattered, pockets empty —the miserable wreck of what was a millionaire. Philadelphia, January, 1867. CHARACTERISTICS OP A GENTLEMAN. As has been announced, Mr. Jerome, of New York, has donated to the Trustees of Princeton College, New Jersey five thousand dollars, which is to constitute a fund, the proceeds of which are to be annually offered as a prize to that student of each graduating class, who shall be pronounced, by a vote of his fellow graduates, the most gentlemanly student in the class. The Trustees, it is also stated, have accepted of the donation for the purpose specified by the kind donor. The object of the fund thus created, is certain ly a novel one, and may have its good re sults upon the morals of the graduates of that literary institution. As is natural, the novelty of the object of the donation has elicited much varied re mark in different directions. The donor has not laid down any particular criterion by which the vote in each case is to be con trolled, but has left this entirely to the judg ment of those, by whom it is to be cast. This circumstance has opened the way for various suggestions in differentdirections,as to what constitutes a true gentleman. One party quotes the following significant lan guage, which Sir Sidney Smith is said to have cut from a newspaper, and preserved for his own use, and regards the putting into practice of what is here recommended, as furnishing the qualifications requisite to in sure the proffered prize: “ "When you rise in the morning, form a resolution to make the day a happy one to a fellow crSature. It is easily done; a left off garment to the man who needs it; a kind word to the sorrowful; an encouraging ex pression to the striving—trifles in them selves as light as air—Will do it at least for the twenty hours. And if you are young, depend upon it, it will tell when you are old, —rest assured it will send you gently and happily down the stream of time to eterni ty. By the most simple arithmetical sum, look at the result. If you send one person, only one, happily through the day, that is’ three hundred and sixty-five in the course of the year. And supposing you live forty years after you commence that course of medicine you have made 11,600 beings happy; at all events, for a time.” To this we add the following definition of a true gentleman, from another source: “ He is above a mean thing. He cannot stoop to a mean fraud. He invades no se crets in tbe keeping of another. He betrays no secrets confided to his own keeping. He tak.es selfish advantage of no man’s mis takes. He uses no ignoble weapons in controversy. He never stabs in the dark. He is ashamed of inuendoes. He is not one thing to a man’s face and another at his back. If, by an accident, he comes into possession of his neighbor s counsels, he passes upon them an instant oblivion, -tie bears sealed packages without tampeung with the wax. Papers not meant for his eye, whether they flutter at his window, or lie open before him in unguarded exposure, are sacred to him. He profanes no privacy ol others, however the sentry sleeps. Bolts and bars, locks and keys, hedges and pickets, bonds and securities, notice to trespassers, are none of them for him. He may be trust ed himself out of sight—near the thinnest partition —any where. He buys no office ; be sells none; he intrigues for none. He would rather fail of his rights than win them through dishonor. He will eat honest bread. He tramples on no sensitive feeling. He in sults no man. If hehaverebukeforanother, he is straightforward, open, and manly. He cannot descend to scurrility. Billingsgate don’t lie in his track. From all profane and wanton words his lips are chastened. Of woman and to her he speaks with decency and respect. In short, whatever he judges honorable he practices towards every man.'’ To the foregoing, we must yet add an other definition w'hich is said to be found in an old manor house, in Gloucestershire, Eng land, written, framed, and hung over the mantle-piece of a tapestried sitting room : “ The true gentleman is God’s servant, the world’s master, and his own man; virtue is his business, study his recreation, content ment his rest, and happiness his reward ; God is his Eather, the Church is his mother ; the saints his.brethren; all that need him, his friends; devotion his chaplain; charity his chamberlain; sobriety his butler; temper ance his*cook; hospitality his housekeeper; providence his steward; charity his trea sure; piety his mistress of the house; and discretion, his porter, to let him in and out most fit. * Thus his whole family is made up, of virtues, and he is the true master of the house. He is necessitated to take the world on his way to heaven ; but he walks through it as fast as he can, and all his business by the way is to make himself and others hap py. Take him in two words —a man and ,a Christian.” These are all very good, full and specific as they are. They do not, however, em body more than is contained in the simple but expressive definition of a true gentlemen, uttered frequently in a single sentence, by our much revered College preceptor. “He is the true gentleman, who makes every one easy and happy in his presence.” In order to do this, however, he invariably insisted, it was indispensably necessary, that the in dividual be a true Christian; for it is the true Chidstian only who can invariably make others easy and happy. —German Reformed Messenger. THE OLD POLKS AT HOME. BY REV. JOHN TODD, D. D, I am now thinking of an aged couple who are called the “old folks,” who have lived together, husband and wife, in the same house over fifty years. They came there young, sanguine, and utterly unable to con ceive what they would pass through in fif ty years, or indeed that there could be an end to half a century. They have reared carefully and properly educated a large fa mily of children. These have all gone from them now, hav'e families of their own, and are filling each an important place in society, and some of them high posts of influence. They are all members of Christ’s church in the order of their parents. And so the “ old folks” are left alone, just as they started in life.. They have long worn glasses; but at the hour of family worship they take each a Bible, and read in course alternately two verses, just as they did when they read with their Children. Then they sing the old hymns, though the voices are not so sweet, nor the pipes of the organ as perfect as formerly. They live, it is plain from inci dental remarks, in the past, the present, and the future. There are certain things that they seldom speak of, even to one another. They keep all the playthings, which their children once used, ostensibly for their grandchildren when they come to visit them; but the forms they,, see playing with them are those of their own dear children who have gone be fore them, but who left their images in their memory. The little books and even the little shoes, of their bright and early dead are carefully laid up, and though they never speak of them, each knows that they are precious mementoes of the past. But to see how. careful they are of each other! The fires of passion have all burned out, the beauty and freshness of life have all passed away, and' the rich harvest of time has all been garnered. But no lovers could be more tender toward each other. If either be absent, the time is anxiously mea sured till the retui-n: tho’ the footstep on the threshold may not be elastic as it returns, yet the ear that hears it and the heart that hears it are awake. They seem to under stand each other’s thoughts without words, and each feels that life would not be life without the other. They think over the past much and often, and realize that they have together toiled and together struggled anc shared all the burdens and sorrows of life. Every memory of the past is equally vivid to.each. They don’t say much about their separation, so certain to leave one or the other so desolate, but it is plain they think much about it; and from hints occasionally dropped, it is evident that each is contriving and planning how the other can be made comfortable when thus left alone, each ex pecting to be the first to die. And when they think of the future, even carrying their thoughts into heaven, they seem to. have an expressed fear that heaven will not’ be all they desire, if they can there be to each other nothing more than old ac quaintances ! It seems as if they must car ry something of the tender feeling which the sorrows and experience of life have given them, into that world, and as if tin must go band in hand forever! And the thought that they must soon <*. narate and the one must be left to wa, K alone in the rooms, sit alone at the old tahl, kneel alone at the altar of God, go alone t„ the house of the Lord, gives an inexprov ble tenderness to their treatment ol ead, other. They never, even in the days 01 youthful courtship, lived more m each other’s thoughts than now. Time has covered the rough places of hi,- over which they have walked, and years have healed the wounds they have suffered, leaving only scars; but the rough winds of life have only bowed their heads, and jon see not the sturdy oak, but theisoft weeping willow. Memory brings up pictures ol tin past, some of them recalling sorrows heavy as humanity can bear, but mellows them down in her own golden light; an t d hope comes still, not to sing of earth, as she onto did, but of heaven and the ever-opening f u . ture. And faith showing nothing to the eye, contrives to exert his power over them, by mingling his voice in the .songs of hope They will not be with each other long, but while they do live, no part of their life has been more full of tender regard, genuine respect, unaffected-kindness, or deeper love. The young world can’t understand the “old folks;” but for myself I never go out into their dwelling without seeing some of the most purified, refined, and exalted tiaits of human nature, which to me are inimitably beautiful. And if what I have said shall lead my reader to feel more kindly toward those who are all around known as the “ old folks,” I shall have gained my object in wri ting. Let me add, that few things are more repulsive to a refined heart than to ba%e such a couple as I have described called called the “old folks” by way of derision. THE MINISTEE AND A LITTLE GIEL. A minister once went to preach in a West ern village, where there was no house of God. He preached in the school house. A few people came, who.did not seem to care much about God or his word. He preached a great many times; “and I’ had but one thing to encourage me,” said the gentleman. “What was it?” “It was the attention of one little girl, who kept her eyes fixed on me, and seemed to try to understand every word I said.” said the gentleman. “ She was a great kelp to me.” What! can a little child be a great help to a minister ? Yes, O yes. How ? By •paying attention. Think of that, my little ones, and when you go to church, fix your eye oh the minister, and try to understand what he says, for he is speaking to you as well as to grown up people. He is tell ing about the Lord Jesus, who'"loves the little ones, and said,'“Suffer them to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of heaven.” FIFTEEN YOUNG MEN. At a respectable boarding-house in Vew York, a number of years ago, were fifteen young men. Six of them uniformly ap peared at the breakfast-tabie on Sabbath morning, shaved, dressed, and prepared for public worship, which they attended both forenoon and afternoon. All became highly respected and useful citizens. The other nine were ordinarily absent from the break fast-table on Sabbath morning. At noon they appeared at the dinner-table, shaved and -dressed in a decent manner. In the afternoon they went; out, but not ordinarily to church; nor were they usually seen in the place of worship. One of them is non living, and in a reputable employment ; the other eight became openly vicious. All these failed in business, and are now dead. Several of them came to an untimely and awfully tragic end. Many a man may say. as did a worthy and wealthy citizen, “ The keeping of the Sabbath saved me.” It will, if duly observed, save all. In the language of its Author,. “ They shall ride upon the high places of the earth.” DUTY TO WOMEN. Courage is a mere matter of course among any ordinarily well-bdrnyouths; but neither truth nor gentleness iS”a matter of course. You must bind them like shields about your necks; you must write them on the tables of y our hearts. Though it be not exacted you, yet exact it of yourselves, this vow of stainless truth. Your hearts are, if you leave them unstirred, as tombs in which u god lies buried. Vow yourselves crusaders to redeem that sacred sepulchre. And re member before all things—for no other memory will be so protective of you —that the highest law of this knightly truth is that under which it is vowed to women. Vhomsoever else, you deceive, whomsoever you injure, whomsoever you leave unaided, you must not deceive, nor injure, nor leave unaided, according to your power, anv wo meu, of whatever rank. Beßeye me, every vn-tue of the higher phases of manly char acter begins in this,—in truth and modesty before the face, of all maidens, in truth and piety, or truth and reverence to all woman hood. There’s a little mischief making _ .Linn, who is ever nigh “ting every undertaking, And his name is By-and-by, .. w-« e ,° UEht t 0 do tMs “mute, Will be better done,” he’ll cry; ii to-morrow we begin it, “Putit off,” says By-arid-by* i Tl w S ?,T bo ,' his treacherous wooing _ WiU his faithless guidance rue ; What we always put off doing Clearly wte shall never do- ’ We shaU reach what we endeavor, it on Now we more rely • But unto the realms of Never Leads the pilot By-and-by. ’
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers