Kjr* family ®irrk
A BEAUTIFUL EPITAPH.
BT THEO. IT. I*ARSONS.
“ The handful here, that once was Mary’s earth,
Held, while it breathed, so beautiful a soul
That when she died, all recognized her birth,
And had their sorrow in serene control.
“ Not here! not here ! in every mourner’s heart
The wintry wind seemed whispering round her bier;
And when the tomb door opened, with a start
We heard it echoed from within— ‘ Not here!’
“Should’st thou, sad pilgrim, who mayst hither pass,
Note in these flowers a delicater hue,
Should spring come earlier to this hallowed grass,
Or the bee later linger on the dew, —
“Know that her spirit to her body lent
Such sweetness, grace, as only goodness can;
That even her dust, and this her monument,
Have yet a spell to stay one lonely man,
“lonely through life, but looking for the day
When what is mortal of himself shall sleep;
When human passion shall have passed away,
And love no longer be a thing to weep.”
A GOVEENOB TAKEN PEOM A OBATE.
A benevolent olcP'man of Brooklyn was
making the tour of the city, in pursuit of
truants and little wanderers, one Sunday
morning a score of years ago, when he found
a little boy asleep in a crate on one of the
wharves.
He shook the crate, and a pair of bright
black eyes opened and flashed upon him,
with a look of surprise and timid bashful
ness.
“Why do you sleep here?” inquired the
old man- “Because I have no home,” said
the child.
“Where is your father?”
“I don’t know, sir, I hain’t seen .him for a
long time, never since he told mother he
wouldn’t come home again.”
“ Where is your mother ?”
“She is dead.”
“So you have no home—no father, no
mother—and live from hand to mouth in
the street, and sleep in a crate."
“Yes, sir. I sell soap and matches, and
sleep here."
“Would you like to have a home, and go
to school and grow up to be a good and brave
and useful man."
“Yes, sir.”
“Come along with me, I will take you to
my own house, and feed you and clothe you,
and send you to school if you prove to be
as I think you are, a good and faithful
boy.
As the old man said this, he dashed a tear
from his eyes, with his coat sleeve, for the
boy was the very imago of his own sweet
child, who had died a few years before. Lift
ing the lad tenderly out of the crate, he led
him to his own pleasant home, where he was
washed and combed and then dressed in a
suit of clothes formerly worn by the son of
the philanthropist.
To shorten the story, which has in it ma
terial enough for a volume—the good old
man gave the lad all the advantages afforded
by the common schools of the “city of
churches,” and then gave him a clerkship in
his store, for he was a well-to-do merchant.
After several years of faithful service, the
young man expressed a wish to engage in
business on his own account, or in some
other way to extend his usefulness.
“I will start you in business,” said the old
man, “on certain conditions.”
“Please state them,” remarked the young
man, with a smile: for he supposed his bene
factor was about to perpetrate a joke at his
expense.
“ I will start you in business, if you will
make three promises,” continued the old
“Pray what promises do you wish ine to
make?”
“ One is, that you will never swear.”
“Agreed.”
“Another is, that you will never drink
rum.”
“ Agreed,”
“ The other is, that you will have nothing
to do with politics.”
“ Agreed.”
Truo to his promise as the steel to the
star, the old man furnished his clerk with
capital and started him in business in one of
the western States. The young merchant
was very attentive to his business, and his
habits of industry and sobriety were crowned
with good fortune which generally accom
panies virtue, courage, enterprise, and intel
ligence. A few years ago, he paid a visit to
his venerable friend in Brooklyn—found him
the same kind-hearted and genial gentleman
that he was when he first led him from the
crate on the wharf to the pleasant cottage
on the avenue.
“I am delighted to see you," i-emarked
the old man. “May I ask you if you have
kept the pledges you gave me, when 3'ou
suggested to me the idea of starting busi
ness on your own account ? are you a tem
perance man ? ”
“ I have not tasted a drop of any kind of
intoxicating liquors since I promised you I
would not, and you know I had no sacrifice
to make in keeping that promise, for I never
was accustomed to the use of such liquors:
and I do not furnish them to my guests, nor
to persons in my employment.”
“ Good boy—give me your hand and let
me shake it again. How about that promise
not to use profane speech? ”
“Well, sir, when I was a little wanderer,'
and sold soap and matches, I scattered my
as liberally as colleges do their D. D.’s,
but I dropped them in your Sunday-school,
and I have never resumed them. I never
indulge the silly and vulgar habit of swear
ing. I think it shows a lack of originality.
A man wishes to say something to be em
phatic —and owing to a lack of ideas and a
proper use of language, he fills up the chinks
of conversation with oaths. He curses his
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 1867.
eyes—his limbs—his soul—his heart—his
horse —his luck—and thinks he is fluent
when he is only profane. Ho, sir, Ido not
claim to be a paragon of perfection, but I
should he ashamed of my speech, if I spiced
it with profanity.”
“Good—good! I expected such a report
from you. How about politics ? ”
The young man of business had until this
moment maintained perfect self command;
but when the last question was put to him,
his cheeks grew red as crimson.
“Well, sir, I suppose some folks think I
am a politician,” remarked the young mer
chant.
“ Sorry—very sorry," observed the old
man.
“I couldn’t help what happened, sir,"
“You promised me you would have noth
ing to do with politics ! ”
“I know I did.”
“Well, it is strange that you could not
keep that promise as easily as you kept the
other two?”
“Well sir have patience with me, and I
will tell you how it happened.”
“ Well, go on.”
“As you are aware, I was fortunate in
trade—honored my paper when it became
due—paid, with interest, the money you had
the kindness to advance. I was a leading
business man in the town, had opinions in
relation to men and measures, and did not
hesitate, on all proper occasions, to express
and defend them, and sustain them with my
vote on election day.”
“ There can ho no objection to that,” re
marked the old man; “politics as a trade, is
what I dislike.”
“As I said before, I got along well, and as
good luck would have it, persuaded some of
my friends to think and vote as I did; with
out consulting me one day at a State conven
tion, they nominated me for Governor, and
I was elected. Indeed, lam now on my way
to Washington to transact important busi
ness for the State.”
The writer desires to say to the friends of
The Little Corporal, that this story is a
true one. —Little Corporal.
A BUNCH OF BAGS.
Everybody liked Tom Hall, and every
body was sorry for him. It was sad to see
such a fine young man, a victim of drunken
ness ; and Tom had fallen into the mocker’s
power, alas!
A spirit-shop had been opened close on the
foundry at which he worked, and he, along
with others, was in the habit of going in for
a glass of ale. When the cold weather set
in he took something stronger. Time went
on, and the liking for strong drinks increased,
until at all hours he might be seen staggering
out of the “Rainbow,” dizzy and stupefied
with the drugs of the intoxicating cup.
Tom’s was a very sad case, for he belonged
to a respectable family, and he had been re
ligiously trained; and until he was drawn
into the snare, he had been an affectionate
son and brother. Every means were tried to
reclaim him, but all effort seemed lost. Tom
was bound hard and fast in the invisible
chains of the mocker. His family mourned
him as lost, and many a silent tear his sister
let fall on his tattered garments as she sat
darning and patching them. . . . . .
Just when the trees were beginning to bud
with the promise of spring, Tom came home
one afternoon, looking thoughtful. He was
sober after a long run.
In the last rays of the setting sun his sis
ter was trying to cover some old darn. Tom
sat down beside her, and watched the patient
fingers for some time.
“ That's tiresome work, Jeannie, ” said he.
His sister held up her seam before him.
“ Why, that’s a bunch of rags! ” laughed
Tom.
“Yes, Tom, and a bunch of rags would
be the best sigh-board that a publican could
hang across his door,” said Jeannie, sadly.
Tom made no reply. He looked at the
rags in silence.
Next morning Tom went back to his work,
and continued steady for two or three weeks.
He looked at the “Rainbow,” but did’nt go
in.
“ Hallo! what’s up with Tom Hall ? ” won
dered Sinclair, as he filled up a glass of
Tom’s favorite whisky for another customer
at the counter.
Sinclair was not the only one who was as
tonished at the change.
Every day Tom went to his work—every
night lie came home sober; and after a time
he appeared at church on the Sabbath. Then
people began to believe Tom was in earnest,
and really meant to reform.
“The angel has come at last,” whispered
Florence, and a bright drop fell on Dick’s
golden head.
“ Has Tom Hall really become a tee-tota
ler ?” wondered Sinclair, when a whole month
passed without a visit to the “Rainbow.”
Well, it seemed so, for nothing stronger
than water had passed his lips in the shape
of drink since that night on which his sister
had shown him the bunch of rags. “I’ll have
a talk with Tom, and learn how he got off
the scent,, though,” Sinclair resolved.
An opportunity came sooner than he ex
pected.
In the beginning of summer a terrific thun
der-storm passed over Airlie, and in a ge
neral devastation, Sinclair’s sign-board was
shivered to atoms.
Tom happened to be passing the “ Rain
bow” next morning and stopped to glance
up at the old mark.
“Fine work here,” remarked Mr. Sin
clair, who was standing in the door. “The
storm’s done for us, and I’ll have to get a
new sign-board.”
“Is it so bad as that?” said Tom.
“Yes, the ‘Rainbow ’ is in shivers,” said
Mr. Sinclair.
“Then you will want a new sign-board?”
said Tom.
“Of course; isn’t it that I’m telling you ? ”
“Is it to he the ‘Rainbow’ again?”
“I suppose so,” answered Mr. Sinclair,
“unless you can give us a new idea, Tom,”
he continued laughingly.
“I think I can,” returned Tom, “but I
must go home first.”
“ Don’t forget,” said Mr. Sinclair. “You’re
a stranger now-a-days, by-the-by, Tom.”
“I won’t be long,” cried Tom, and with a
brisk step he walked down the street.
A better sign-board than the “Rainbow”
Mr. Sinclair did not expect to get; he was only
joking with Tom Hall, and he raised his eye
brows when Tom made his appearance, with
a bundle under his arm!, and requested him
to look at the new sign-board.
“I didn’t think you would catch me up,”
laughed Mr. Sinclair; “but step in, Tom, and
lot us see your idea.”
Tom gravely untied his bundle, and held
up a bunch of rags before the publican’s as
tonished eyes!
“What do you mean, Tom?” asked Mr.
Sinclair, feeling confident Tom had lost his
senses.
“You want a new sign-board, don’t you ? ”
said Tom.
“Well, what has a bunch of rags got to
do with that? ” asked Mr. Sinclair.
“Ask yourself, sir, if a bunch of rags is
not the best sign-board that can hang across
a publican's door,” said Tom, and his lip
quivered.— Adviser.
THE GOOD FATHEB.
The father of a family was detained in the
metropolis of the kingdom on important
business; the mother and children remained,
in the meantime, at a small country-seat,
very distant from him. Once the father
sent the children a large chest full of
beautiful things, and a letter, in which was
written, “Dear children, be pious and good,
then shall you soon come to me; rejoice, for
in the dwelling which I am preparing for you
there are still more beautiful presents pre
served.” ,
The children were much delighted, and
said, “ How good our father is, and how hap
py he makes us! We love him with all our
heart, although we can no longer see him,
nor can we recollect him. We will certainly
strive to please him, and to do everything
which is, written in the letter. Oh. how
glad we shall be to see our good father
again!
Their mother said to them, “ Dear child
ren, as your-eartlily father acts towards you,
so, in like manner, does our Heavenly Father
act towards men. We certainly cannot see
God, yet he sends us beautiful presents. The
sun, moon and stars; the flowers, fruit and
corn; by which we may perceive His love for
us. The Holy Scripture, as it were, is a let
ter from Him, in which He reveals to us His
will, and promises us heaven, where more
beautiful gifts and much greater joy await
us than this world can give.”
“ And is He preparing a dwelling for us
in heaven?”
“Yes, my children, through His Son the
Lord Jesus Christ, who bore our sins upon
the cross, so that, if we loved him and obeyed
His commands, we should be one of those
blessed ones to whom He says, ‘I go to pre
pare a place for you.’ ”
THE KEY TO THE HEAET.
When Luther was striving to bring about
the great reformation, he did not neglect a
humble means of impressing the masses,
which have proved a mighty power in all
ages and nations. He sent forth among them
whenever he could, his soul-stirring hymns
and chorals, and so great was their influence,
that Cardinal Cajetan said, “By his songs lie
has conquered us.” They stirred to its
depths the popular heart, and made Rome
tremble.
At Lubeek, when the struggle was at its
height, the mass had been celebrated at St.
Mary’s Cathedral, and at its close two boys,
who had been previously instructed, began
one of Luther’s chorals. The whole congre
gation at once took it up with great enthu
siasm, and the next day the Catholic clergy
had to leave the city, and Lubeek stood re
deemed to Protestantism.
The power of song is no less mighty now
than it was then. It is the golden key that
can open even adamant hearts.
A hardened Scottish soldier lay on his
hospital bed, and refused stubbornly to listen
to a word of spiritual counsel from the good
minister who visited him. He “knew how
to die without the aid of a priest,” he said;
The most affectionate entreaty seemed lost
upon him, and he turned his face to the wall,
determined to close the interview.
The minister sat down by his bed and be
gan to sing a hymn well known in Scotland,
“ Oh, mother dear, Jerusalem, when shall I
come to thee?”
In a few moments the man turned himself
upon his pillow, the hard look all gone, and
the eye wet with a tear.
“Who taught you that?” he asked.
“My mother,” said the minister.
“And so did mine,” he replied; and with
those memories surging back into his soul
he was ready and willing to listen to the
words of heavenly counsel.
The Jesuits have always made great use
of music in advancing their false religion,
especially among the Indian tribes of North
and South America. The little children in
particular were trained to chant all the ser
vice very sweetly, and so passionately fond
of the music did they become, that they
often ran away from their parents to put
themselves under the care of the priest.
May we not receive a hint from them,
and convey more of our instructions to the
little ones in this pleasing form? May we
not find in music a key to the heart of some
incorrigible boy whose teacher is about to
give him up in despair? Let us at least
try the power of song upon him before we
quite give over all effort in his behalf.— S. S.
Times.
THE YOUNG BEAYEB.
’ A FABLE.
A colony of heavers selected a beautiful
spot on a clear stream, called Silver Creek
to build themselves a habitation. Without
waiting for any orders, and without any
wrangling about whose place was the best,
they gnawed down some young trees and
laid the foundation for a dam. With that
skill for which they are so remarkable, they
built it so that it would protect them from
water and from their foes. When it was
completed, they were delighted with it, and
paddled round joyously in the pond above,
expressing their pleasure to each other in
true beaver style.
In this colony there was one young beav
er by the name of Flat Tail. His father,
whose name was Mud-Dauber, was- a cele
brated beaver, who, having very superior
teeth, could gnaw through trees with great
rapidity. Old Mud-Dauber had distinguish
ed himself, chiefly, however, by saving the
dam on three separate occasions in time of
flood. He had done this by his courage.and
prudence,-always beginning to work as soon
as he saw the danger coming, without wait
ing till the damage become too great to re
pair.
But his son, this young fellow, Flat-Tail,
was a sorry fellow. As long as old Mud-
Dauber lived, he did pretty well, but as soon
as his father died, Flat-Tail set up for some
body great. Whenever any one questioned
his pretentions, he always replied:
“I am Mud-Dauber’s son. I belong to the
best blood in the colony’.”
i He utterly refused to gnaw or build. He
was meant for something better, he said.
And one day in autumn, when the beavers
were going out in search of, food for winter
use, as Flat-Tail was good for nothing else
they set him to mind the dam. After they
had started, Flat-Tail’s uncle, old Mr. Web
foot, returned back and told his nephew to
be very watchful, as there had been a- great
rain on the head-waters of Silver Creek, and
he was afraid there would be a flood.
“Be very T careful,” said Webfoot, “abou
the small leaks.”
“Pshaw,” said Flat-Tail, “who are you
talking to; lam Mud-Dauber’s son, and do
y r ou think I need your advice?”
After they had gone, the stream began to
rise. Little sticks and leaves were eddying
round in the pool above. Soon the water
came up fast, to the great delight of the con
ceited young beaver, who was pleased with
an opportunity to show the rest what kind
of stuff he was made of. And though he dis
liked work, he now began to strengthen the
dam in the middle, where the water looked
the most threatening. But just at this point
the dam was strongest, and in fact the least
in danger. Near the shore there was a place
where the water was already finding its way
through. A friendly kingfisher, who sat on
a neighboring tree, warned him that the
water was coming through, but always too
conceited to accept of counsel, he answered:
“ O, that’s only a small leak, and near the
shore. What does a kingfisher know about a
beaver-dam, any way? You need’nt advise
me! lam the great Mud-Dauber’s- son. I
shall fight the stream bravely, right here in
the worst of the flood.”
But Flat-Tail soon found out that the
■water in the pond was falling. Looking
around for the cause, he saw that the small
leak had broken away a large portion of the
dam, and that the torrent was rushing
through wildly. Poor Flat Tad now work
ed like a hero, throwing himsefi? rashly into
the water only to be carried away below
and forced to walk up again on the shore.
His efforts were of no avail, and had not
the rest of the Silver Creek beaver family
come along at that time, their home and
their winter stock of provisions would alike
have been destroyed. Next day’ there w’as
much beaver laughter over Flat Tail’s re
pairs on the strong side of the dam, and the
name that before had been a credit to him
was turned into a reproach, for, from that
day the beavers called him in derision, “Mud-
Dauber’s son, the best blood in the colony.”
Don’t neglect a danger because it is small:
don’t boast of what your father did; and
dont- be too conceited to receive good advice.
—hittle Coporal.
POWEB OP OHBISTIAIT EXAMPLE.
A consistent Christian life .carries with it
power. It attracts attention and wins re
gard. By its quiet beauty it removes preju
dices, subdues enmity, and opens tht heart
to truth. Many a doubter has been con
vinced, and many a caviller silenced by the
noble life of a Christian whose intelligence
and character command universal respect.
A striking instance of this kind is recorded
in the memoir of Gov. Briggs:
“A young student of Williams College, in
Lanes boro', with amiable qualities of char
acter united skeptical feelings on the subjec
of personal religion. Yet he was induced to
visit Mr. Briggs at his home, and the latter
said to him, with his characteristic kindness
‘lf you find it pleasant here, make my house
a home.’
“The young man was often there, and not
unfrequently at the time of the lifting up of
the evening sacrafiee, when he listened to the
reading of the Scripture, and to the simple
earnest supplications of the head of the
family. Some time after, he said to a young
friend, ‘I have heard Mr. Briggs in court
and in public, where human ambition and
the love of applause might influence him
but to see him in the quiet of his own home 5
shut out from the world, with his wife and
children on bended knees, offering prayer in
Christian faith, staggers me. I cannot an
swerthat. He is sincere. He is not deluded.
There must be something in it.' For inany
years that y’oung man, in mature life. l )as
bowed with his wife and children at their
own family altar, in an intelligent and
Christian faith.’”
THE HAEP DST HEAYEN.
One of the sweetest recollections of niy
girlhood is a beautiful reply my mother once
made me, when my heart was swelling with
childish grief.
I had just returned from the honse of a
wealthy neighbor, who had kindly given me
the use of their piano for a few hours every
day, to gratify my extreme love for music.
Our own cottage home looked so plain in
contrast with the one I had just left, and no
piano within its walls, I laid my head upon
the table and gave vent to my overflowing
heart. I felt grieved, and perhaps a little
angry, that we were unable to afford the one
thing*! desired aboVe aTT others —a piano—
and expressed my feelings to my mother.
Never shall I forget her sweet, gentle tone
as she simply replied, “Never mind, daugh
ter, if you cannot have a piano on earth, you
may have a harp in heaven.” Instantly the
whole current of my feelings were changed.
Earthly things dwindled into insignificance,
and the “harp in heaven,” with its golden
strings, became the object of my desire. I
felt reproved for my repinings against the
Providence that had placed me in an humble
home, and from that moment the enjoyment
of heaven seemed far to outweigh all the
pleasures of earth. That beautiful roph
has followed me all my life, or rather, lire
gone before me like a bright guiding star
lifting my thoughts above this transient life,
and opening to my spirit’s vision the glorious
scenes in that “land of life and light.’
I have a “piano on earth ’’ now, but its charm
is gone. Its music no longer gladdens mv
heart as it once did, for the ears that loved
best to listen to its sweet tones aro now
enraptured with the grand harmonics of
heaven. The dear fingers that sooften touched
its keys, now sweep the golden harp-strings.
Oh, that “ harp in heaven !” How my soul
longs for one breath of its rich melody!
Ab I look upon the dear baby fingers in
the cradle near me, I think it matters little
whether my child be poor or rich—whether
her path be strewn with thorns or flowers—
if she may only have a “harp in heaven.”—
Child’s Paper.
CHEERFUL WOMEN.
Oh, if “gloomy” women did but know
what comfort there is in a cheerful spirit!
How the heart leaps to meet a sunsliiny
face, a merry tongue, an even temper, anil
a heart which, either naturally, or what is
better, from conscientious principle, bus
learned to take all things on the bright side,
believing that the Giver of life being all per
fect love, the best offering we can make to
Him is to enjoy to the full what He sends of
good, and what He allows of evil; like a
child who, when once it believes in its
father, believes in all his doings with it,
whether it understands them or not.
Among the secondary influences which
can be employed, either by or upon a natu
rally anxious or morbid temperament, there
is none so ready to hand, or so wholesome,
as that so often referred to—constant em
ployment. A very large number of women,
particularly young women, are by nature
constituted so exceedingly restless of mind,
or with such a strong physical tendency to
depression, that they can by no possibility'
keep themselves in a state of even tolerable
cheerfulness, except by becoming continually
occupied. —Miss Muloch.
MINISTERS AT THE SOUTH.
There is great suffering at the South, no
doubt, and many ministers formerly in com
fortable circumstances, are now indeed in
great straits. One of them writes the ful
lowing Jetter to the Southern Gentleman:
lhink what an existence we parish clergv
are leading! For example, myself. Ku-o
at halt past six, said my prayers and studied
my Bible before breakfast. Wrote for
awhile. Fed, curried and brushed my horse,
fled hog and poultry; completed some little
j. n du S sweet potatoes until dinner.
After dinner, with the aid of my little chil
dren, gathered corn and hauled it into an
old piano-box which I extemporized into a
tumbril; then drove a mile and hauled some
straw from a neighbor’s farm. To-nmlu
wrote an article for the Southern Churchman.
IS ot a line of a sermon to-day! So you see
that I am gentleman and negro, ostler ho"-
miflbov T Tl’ and J ab °rerfalso pastor. (?°,
mill-boy, and boot-black and errand-bov.
1“ a pastor do when he is thus con-
Svi sees ,. blBwifo and children liv
brfad a hMle piece of bacon a,ld
church h d tho V 1e 7 Cr see tb e walls of a
church, because he has no earthly means of
cai lying them to worship God? “ They
that minister at the altar shall live of the
altar, is an almost absolute text among
many parishioners. I called on a parish
mutton 10 ot n 6r The y had bacon, beef,
iwptl ’ P Ul i ry ’ Coffee ’ Dli| k, butter, honev,
preserves and vegetables. How I felt when
iT’ fe and children had neither
» b t at u er ’ v nd 0f course no luxuries.
L^, ld 1 * Ul \ be attra cted by my little
when “ d i ‘* »PP™P™‘“'»'
Grace in the kitchen,
Grace in the hall;
A little piece of bread and meat
Muat do for us all.
snfriH?»T in § a - S ° D ! how Billy thou art in
consul! 11 dm f thin g B - p h a te made bis
were his gods.^™ t0 Clrea mstances,which
-ofeud^ 0 ° f rUi “ iB the evil will of man