61 fam4 Cirth.
A PARISH CLERK'S LAMENT.
Our parson's took up with the Ritchelist views,
And he's all over changed from his 'at to his shoes;
His coat is so long, and his face is so grave
And he calls his good crabstick his pastoral stave;
An' his voice has got hollow, and sad-like, and mild,
And he'd think he was yielding to sin if he smiled;
They may say what they please, but whatever they
says,
I don't like the looks of these Ritehelist ways
Our parson he once was so hearty and stout,
And knew what the farmers and folks were about;
He'd talk with the men as they walked in the field,
He knew every acre and what it would yield;
He'd a famous loud voice, and a kind, merry face,
`eept when be was scolding a child in disgrace;
Now he walks through 'the lanes in a sort of a maze,
And that's what has come of his Ititchelist ways.
And the old village church we've a done it up new,
And there's plenty of benches, but never a pew ;
And pillars and halters, and things queer in spellin',
An' as for the vestry, that's quite past my tellin'.
There used to be two gowns I had in my care—
A black gown for preaching, a white 'un for prayer;
But now there are twenty, wi' gold all ablaze—
And that's the expense of the Ritchelist ways.
There's lirrips and stoles that is always in wear,
And copes to put. on for the Litany prayer,
An' green wi' white edges for churchings, and listen,
He puts on a purple-and-white gown to christen;
There's things that hang loose, and things that fit tight;
And he's mighty displeased if I don't bring 'em right,
Oh! it's almost enough a poor body to craze,
The ins and the outs of these Ritchelist mays.
Then there's bowings and scrapings, and turnings and
flexions,
It's hard work to mind all the proper directions; -
He'll first chant a sentence, then turn round his stole,
Then wheel to the east wi' a sort of a roll;
Now he speaks low and lt.ud, now he jabbers so fast,
As if it were something he wished to get past;
At the back of the building they can't hear a phrase,
For they don't speak distinct in these Ritchelist ways.
And the music, it's altered, I can't tell you how, .
But the old Psalms of David are never sung now;
They've got some new hymns, wi' some very queer
words,
And they twitter and pipe like a parcel of birds.
They tell me it's grand, and I shouldn't complain;
But I long for the old Psalms o' David again—
Or else for our goodly and Protestant lays,
Not these dreadful quick chants o' the Ititchelist ways
I've been a parish clerk for nigh thirty year,
linethe parson and wardens are gettin' so queer,
And the work of my office is gettin' so great—
What wi' brushin' the vestments and cleanin' the plate:
That I'd almost resolved to resign it and go—
But my friends they say, "don't," and my wife she
says " no ;"
So 1 bide in my place, and each Sunday prays
There may soon be an end o' them Ritchelist. ways.
—Liverpool Mercury.
A STORY FOR THE WET HOLIDAY.
The children had tried every way of spend
ing a wet holiday pleasantly.' After a few
sorrowful looks at the dull, gray clouds and
dripping trees, they had wisely concluded
that as out-door sports were not to be hoped
for, they might as well try to be happy at
home. So with the aid of toys and books
the morning had passed merrily enough.
Dinner was now over, and a puzzling ques
tion arose among the little people as they
sat around the fire, "What shall we do this
evening ?" All the usual evening games
had been played during the day time. Who
could invent a new amusement?
"Ask father for a story," suggested little
Walter, "a real true story about something
he saw in his travels last summer." This
happy idea met with loud applause, shown
by much stamping and clapping of hands on
the part of William and Freddy Norton,
and a quiet approval from May and Jessie,
who chimed in with a chorus of " Oh yes !
that is the very thing." So a deputation
proceeded to the study where father was just
folding up a letter he had written, and pe
titioned him to come to the drawing-room
and tell a story. The suit being graciously
granted, he was led to an easy chair, while
stools and little chairs were gathered closely
round, that no word of the real true story
might be lost.
"Now, Freddy, before I begin, bring your
new map of France, look towards the south
west, and try if you can find Bergerac, a
small town in the department of Dordogne.
Ah, there it is on the right bank of the river;
but we must travel a little further. Let us
drive on for three miles amoni , meadows,
corn-fields, and vineyards, skirted by beeches
and firs, and we shall reach the place I wish
to take you all to see, the village of Laforce.
It is on the top of a bill; but look at those
great buildings, so much larger than ordi
nary village houses. There are five of them
scattered over a distance of two miles. They
are all schools, schools for orphan boys and
girls; schools for blind and incurable chil
dren; for idiots and epileptics. Try if you
can remember the names of these five schools ;
La Famille _Evangelique, Bethesda, Eben
ezer, Siloe, and Bethel.
" Twenty years ago not even one of those
school houses was built. Just then Mr. Bost
was chosen as pastor by the Protestants of
Laforce. They were few in number and
poor in purse, but their minister was rich in
faith' and love. He had long felt the deep
est pity for orphan and outcast girls, and
now resolved to try to help them. Wishing
to provide a home where some of them could
be taught about their heavenly Father and
the Saviour who came to seek and save the
lost, Mr. Bost travelled through France
and England and told his story. God
opened the hearts of hearers, and the happy
minister returned to Laforce with money
enough to build one orphan louse. He com
menced his school with three pupils—they
were soon fifty. Some of the people who
sent girls to La Famille Eyangelique, as this
school was called, paid for them; but
m my others were far too poor to do so, and,
a t it cost a great deal to feed and clothe s
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, JUNE 13, 1867.
large a family, Mr. Bost was obliged to take•
several journeys to collect the necessary
funds; but he pleaded the cause of the
orphans first in the prayer to God and after
wards with his people, and never pleaded in
vain.
" It soon occurred to Mr. Bost that poor
orphan boys needed training as much as poor
girls, and the good pastor began to build
another school house. The way in which he
got a teacher for his boys was very remark
able. One cold winter evening, passing
along a road neat his own house, he found a
wretched beggar lying on the grass by the
wayside, exhausted from fatigue and hunger.
The starved creature clasped a little wax
image of the Virgin .Mary to his breast :
with this he had begged from door to door.
Mr. Bost helped him up, took him home, and
gave him supper and bed. The next morn
ing poor Bartier, that was the man's name,
was quite unable to walk. Cold and damp
had brought on disease. The pastor alloWed
him to remain. at the parsonage until he was
cured, eighteen months afterwards. These
were happy days for poor Bartier; he learned
to read and write, he learned to love and
obey the living Saviour, and soon threw
away the wax image. His health being now
restored, he was sent to a school where
teachers are trained ; and two years and a
half later, when examined with sixty-five
others, Bartier stood at the top of the list,
and was appointed teacher of Mr. Bost's
newly-built school; and, after thirteen years
of labor, he was still the much beloved .mas
ter of the Protestant boys of Laforce.
" The children in both the boys' and girls'
school are kept b`usily employed, dividing
their time between lessons and such useful
occupations as may fit them for being ser
vants and artisans. The girls cook their
mews, clean the house, make the clothes, and
go out two by two to buy things wanted for
the family. Even the boys learn to knit and
make mats, that they may not be idle when
compelled to stay at home in wet weather ;
but their principal work is in the fields and
gardens. But, besides teaching the hands to
work and the mind to think, Mr. Bost and
his assistants endeavor to train the hearts of
the children to love, to love every one, but
Him the best who first loved them ; and in
many cases the Holy Spirit has blessed their
labors, and the pupils of these schools have
gone forth as Christian men and women to
bless the world.
"But I must not forget to tell you about
the poor idiots for whom Mr. Bost has built
a home. About twelve years ,ago,- a misera
ble looking little idiot child stood one morn
ing at Mr. Bost's door. He could not put
her into the school among the other children,
but could not bear to send her away. His
pity had a hard struggle with his prudence,-
but it won the victory ; the little girl was
taken to live in the pastor's own house,
though the doctors told him he had better
try to train a monkey. or a dog. For some
months all Mr. Bost's tender care had no
effect, the idiot child seemed unable to learn
anything, even to pronounce one word; but
one evening during the singing of a hymn at
family worship, she made an attempt to join
in the tune, and from that moment her kind
teacher had found the key of her locked-up
mind. Under the softening effects of music
the poor girl learned, little by little, to speak,
and after two years' patient training she was
not much behind other children of her age
in the knowledge of common things. She
learned to speak, seiv, and knit well. Music
and love had led her out of the dark state of
an idiot into the light of reason.
" There are now two fine asylums at La
force into which Mr. Bost receives such chil
dren. They are called Bethesda and Siloe.
Great gentleness and wonderful patience are
needed by the teachers of these poor little
creatures ; 'but often before the dull mind is
able to learn the 'difference between two and
three„the weary heart of the child seems to
understand the simple words, ' God loveth
thee,' and little ones who weie ignorant of
everything else have been heard crying.
0 my God, take pity on me, take pity on
me ; I have great need of it.' Mr. Bost re
members that sickness and sorrow came into
our world with sin, and therefore he tries to
lead all the children to Jesus, the great
Physician, who can, at the same time, forgive
their sins and heal their diseases.
"Now, dear boys and girls, I have told
you my true story; I want you to learn from
it something of the mighty power of patient
love. What can you do to help the little
ones at Laforce ? Can you not pray for
them and their teachers ? Might you not
now and then spare them some money from
your well-filled boxes ?" Little Walter had
already slipped a bright sixpence into his
father's hand. That was his practical com
mentary on the third charity.
THE KIND-HEARTED TANNER.
The following incident is so beautiful and
touching, that it should be read in every
household in the country. It develops the
true active principle of kindness. How many
an erring mortal, making his first step in
crime, might be redeemed by the exercise of
this sublime trait in the character of the kind
hearted Quaker:
Willi Savery, an eminent minister among
the Quakers, was a tanner by trade. One
night a quantity of hides were stolen from
his tannery, and he had reason to believe that
the thief was a quarrelsome, drunken neigh
bor, called John Smith. Next week the fol
lowing advertisement appeared in the country
newspaper:
"Whoever stole a quantity of hides on the
fifth of this month, is hereby informed that
the owner has a sincere wish to be his friend.
If poverty tempted him to this false step, the
owner will keep the whole transaction secret,
and will gladly put him in the way of obtain
ing money by means more likely to bring him
peace of mind!"
This singular advertisement attracted con
siderable attention; but the culprit alone
knew who had made the kind offer. When
he read it his heart melted within him, and
he was filled with sorrow for what he had
done. A few nights afterwards, as the tan
ner's family were about retiring to rest, they
heard a timid knock, and when the door was
opened there stood John Smith, with a load
of hides on his shoulders. Without looking
up he said : "I have brought these back, Mr.
Savery; where shall I put them ?"
"Wait till I can get a lantern, and I will
go to the barn with thee," he replied, "then
thou wilt come in, and tell me how this hap
pened. We will see what can be dorie, for
thee." .
As soon as they were gone out, his wife
prepared some hot coffee, and placed pies and
treat on the table. When they returned from
the barn, she said : "Neighbor Smith,
I
thought some hot supper would be good for
thee."
He turned his back towards her, and did
not speak. After leaning against the fire
place in silence a few moments, he said in a
choked voice : "It is the first time I ever stole
anything, and I have felt very badly about
it. I am sure I didn't-once think that I should
ever come to what I am. But I took to-drink
ing, and then to quarreling. Since I began
to go down hill everybody gives me a kick.
You are the first man that has ever offered
me a helping hand. My wife is sickly and
my children starving. You have sent them
many a meal. God bless you! but yet I
stole the hides. But I tell you the truth
when I say it is the first time I was ever a
thief."
"Let it be the last, my friend," replied
William Savery. " The secret lies between
ourselves. Thou art still young, and it is in
thy power to makeup for . lost time. Promise
me that thou wilt not drink any intoxicating
liquor for a year, and I will employ thee to
morrow on good wages. Thy little boy can
pick up stones. But eat a bit now,, and drink
some hot coffee; perhaps it will keep thee
from craving anything stronger to-night.
DOubtless thou wilt find it hard to abstain at
first; but keep up a brave heart for the sake
of thy wife and children, and it will soon be
come easy. When thou hast need of coffee,
tell Mary, and she will give it thee."
The poor fellow tried to eat and drink, but
the food seemed to choke him. After vainly
trying to compose his feelings, he bowed his.
',head on the table, and wept like .a child.
After a while he ate and drank, and his host
parted with him for the night with the friendly
words, "Try to do well, John, and, thou wilt
always find a friend in me." John entered
his employ the next day, and remained with
him many years, a sober, honest, and steady
man. The secret of the theft was kept be
tween them; but after John's death, William
Savery sometimes told the story, to prove
that evil might be overcome with good.
AN OLD STORY.
Many years ago a celebrated Italian artist
was walking along the streets of his native
city, perplexed and desponding iri conse
quence of some irritating circumstance or
misfortune, when he beheld a little boy of
such surprising and surpassing beauty that
he forgot his own trouble and gloom in
looking upon the almost angel face before
him.
"That face I must have," said the artist,
"for my studio. Will you come to my room
and sit fora picture, my little man ?"
The little boy was glad to go and see the
pictures, and pencils, and curious things in
the artist's room; and he was still more
pleased when he saw What seemed to beanoth
er boy looking just like himself smiling from
the artist's canvass.
The artist took a great deal of pleasure in
looking at: that sweet, innocent face. When
he was troubled, or. irritated, or perplexed,
he lifted his eyes to that lovely image on the
wall, and its beautiful, hopeful features and
expression calmed his heart and made him
happy again. Many a visitor to his studio
wished to purchase that lovely face ; but
though poor, and often in want of money to
buy food and clothes, he would not sell his
good angel, as be called this portrait.
So the years went on. Oftentimes as he
looked up to the face on the glowing canvas
he wondered what had become of that boy.
"How I should like to see bow he looks
now! I wonder if I should know him ? Is
he a good man and true, or wicked and
abandoned ? Or has he died and gone.to a
better land?
One day the artist was strolling down one
of the fine walks of the city, when he be
held a young man whose face and mien were
so vicious, so depraved, so almost fiend-like
that he involuntarily stopped and gazed at
him.
" What a spectacle ! I should like to paint
that figure; and hang it in my studio oppo
site the angel boy," said the artist to himself.
The young man asked the painter for
money, for he was a beggar as well as a
thief.
" Come to my room and let me paint youi
portrait and Lwill give you all you ask,"
said the artist.
The young man followed the painter, and
sat for a sketch. When it was finished, and
he had received a few coins for his trouble,
he turned to go ; but his eye rested upon
the picture of the boy; he. looked at it,
turned pale, and then burst into tears.
, t What troubles you, man ?" said the ar
tist. •
It was long before the young man could
speak; he sobbed aloud, and seemed pierced
with agony. At last he pointed up to the pic
ture on the wall, and, in broken tones which
seemed to come from a broken heart, said :
"Twenty years ago you asked me to come
up here and sit for a picture, and that angel
face is the portrait. Behold me now, a ruin
ed man • so bloated, so hideous, that women
and children turn away their faces from
me; so fiend-like that you wanted my pic
ture to show how ugly a man could look.
Ah ! 1 see now what vice and crime have
done for me."
The artist was amazed. He could scarce
ly believe his own eyes and ears. "How
did this happen ?" he asked.
The young man then told him his sad and
dreadful history, how, being an only son and
very beautiful, his parents petted and spoil
ed him; how he went with bad boys and
learned all their bad habits and vices and
came to loVe them; how, having plenty of
money, he was enticed to wicked places till
all was lost, and then, unable to work and
ashamed to beg, he began to steal, was
caught and imprisoned with the worst crim
inals, came out still more depraved to com
mit worse crimes than before, how every
bad deed he performed seemed to drive him
to commit a worse one, till it seemed to him
that he could not stop till brought to the gal
lows.
It was a fearful tale and brought tears
into the artist's eyes. He besought the
young man to stop, offered to help him, and
tried his best to save him. But, alas ! it
was too late. Disease contracted by dissi
pation soon prostrated the young man, and
he died before he could reform. The painter
hung his portrait opposite that of the beau
tiful boy ' • and when visitors asked him why
lie allowed such a hideous looking face to be
there, he told them the story, saying as he
closed, "Between the angel and the demon
there is only twenty years of vice."
The lesson of this tale is in the tale itself.
You who read it can tell what it is. Think
of it often, and heed it always.
TRUST SONG.
Just as God leads me would Igo;
I would not ask to choose my way;
Content with what He will bestow,
Assured he will not let me stray
So as He leads, my path I make,
And step by step I gladly take,
A child in. Him confiding.
Just as God leads, I am content;
I rest me calmly in His hands;
That which He has decreed and sent—
That which His will for me commands,
I would that He should all fulfil;
That I should do His gracious will
In living or in dying.
Just as God leads, I all resign;
I trust me to my Father's will;
When reason's rays deceptive shine,
His counsel would I yet fulfil;
That which His love ordained as right,
Before He brought me to the light,.
My all to Him resigning.
Just as God leads me, I abide
In faith, in hope, in suffering, true;
Ms strength is ever by my side—
Can aught my hold on Him undo?
I hold me firm in'patience, knowing
That God my life is still bestowing—
The best in kindness sending.
Just as God leads, I onward go,
Oft amid thorns and briars keen :
God does not yet His guidance show—
But in the end it shall he seen
How, by a loving Father's will,
Faithful and true he leads me still.
—Lampertus, 1835
WISE .TO WIN SOULS.
. Where resolute purpose is cherished in the
heart it will always find methods of execu
tion. And any bumble Christian who longs
and prays to be made useful in the Saviour's
cause, will be made "wise to win souls." T.
L. Cuyler says :
On a certain Sabbath evening, some twen
ty years ago, a- reckless, ill-dressed young
man was idly lounging under the elm trees
in the public square:of Worcester. He had
become a wretched waif on the current of
sin. His days were spent in the waking re
morse of the drunkard; his nights were
Assed iu the buffooneries of the ale-house.
As he sauntered along—out of humor
with himself and with all mankind—a kind
voice saluted him. A stranger laid his hand
upon his shoulder, and said in cordial tones,
G—, go down to our meeting at the
town hall to-night." A brief conversation
followed, so winning in its character, that
the reckless youth consented to. go. He
went; he heard the appeals there made.
With tremulous hand he signed the pledge
of total abstinence, By God's help he kept
it, and keeps it yet. The poor boot-crimper
who tapped him on the shoulder (good Joel
Stratton) has lately gone home to heaven
But the youth he saved is to-day the fore
most of reform on the face of the globe.
Methinks when I listen to the thunders of
applause that greet John B. Gough, on the'
platform of Exeter Hall, or of the Academy
of' Music, I am hearing the echo of that tap
on the shoulder, and of that kind invitation
under the ancient elms of Worcester! lie
that winneth souls is wise.
"I stood to-night for an hour at the corner
of the street," said Harlan Page, on a cold,
wintry night, "laboring with Mr. H—, to
persuade him to submit to God." So earnest
ly did he plead, so faithfully did he point to
Christ, that within a few hours the young
man found peace. He afterwards became a
devoted pastor, and in his turn was wise to
win souls to Jesus. Who does not envy Har
lan Page his heavenly crown? I had rather
wear the diadem that decks his brow, than.
to stand in Milton's or in Bacon's place at
the day of Judgment. He that winneth souls
is wise.
Youn own diecontent is that which arms
your, troubles with a sting; you make your
burden heavy by struggling under it.
A PLEA FOR YOUTHFUL ENTHUSIASM,
Think how, without a friend like St. Pa l a
to throw his mantle over him, Timothy's
own modesty would have silenced him, and
his young enthusiasm might have bee n
withered by ridicule or aspherity ! From
this instance we are enabled to draw a les
son for all ages. There are few periods in
life more critical than that in which sensi
bilities and strong feeling begin to develop
themselves in young people. The question
is about to be decided whether what is at
present merely romantic feeling is to be
come generous devotion, and to end by ma
turing into self-denial, or whether it is to re
main only a sickly sentiment, and, by re-ac
tion, degenerate into a bitter and a sneering
tone. And there are, perhaps, few countries
in which the danger is so great, and so much
to be guarded against, as here in England.
Nowhere is feeling met with so little sym
pathy as here--nowhere is enthusiasm
,;so
much kept down—nowhere do young per
sons learn so soon the fashionable tone of
strongly admiring nothing—wondering at
nothing—reverencing nothing—and nowhere
does a young man so easily fall into the ha
bit of laughing at his own best and purest
feelings. And this was a danger which the
Apostle Paul knew well, and could not over
look. He foresaw the risk of paralyzing
that young and beautiful enthusiasm of
Timothy by the party spirit of Corinth, by
the fear of the world's laugh, or by the re
coil with which a young man, dreaded to be
despised, hides what is best and noblest in
himself and consequently becomes hard and
commonplace. In earlier days Appollos him
self ran the same risk. • He set out preach
ing all the truth that he knew enthusiasti
cally. It was very poor truth, lamentably
incomplete, embracing only John's baptism,
that is, the doctrine which John taught.
Had the Christians met him with sneers,
had they said, "This young upstart does not
preach the Gospel," there would have been
either a great teacher blighted, or else a
strong mind embittered into defiance and
heresy. But from this he was delivered by
the love and prudence of Aquila and Pris
cilla, who, we read, " took him unto them,
and expounded unto hini the way of God
more perfectly." They made allowances;
they did not laugh at his imperfections, nor
damp his enthusiasm ; they united him with
themselves; they strengthened what was
weak—they lopped' way what was luxuri
ant; they directed rightly what was ener
getic. Happy the man who has been true
to the ideal of his youth, and has been
strong enough to work out in real life the
plan which pleased his childish thought!
Happy he who is not ashamed of his first
enthusiasm, but looks back to it with natu
ral piety, as to the parent of what he now is!
But for one of whom this is true—how many
are there whom the experience of life has
soured and rendered commonplace ! How
many who were once touched by the sun
light of hope have grown cold, settled down
into selfishness, or have become mere domes
tic men, stifled in wealth or lost in pleas
ure I
Above all things, therefore, let us beware
of that cold, supercilious tone which blights
what is generous, and affects to disbelieve
all that is disinterested and unworldly. Let
us guard against the Mephistopheles spirit,
which loves and reverences nothing.—R.
Robertson.
ECCENTRIC CHOICE OF TEXTS.
. The clergy of the present day are less fre
quently guilty of violating the laws of good
taste and true reverence in the selection of
texts than ministers of former times. Dr.
Shedd, in his admirable volume on Homile
tics, just published by Scribner & Co., gives
some curious instances both of the choice of
texts and the elucidation of doctrine:
A preacher selected Acts 16: 30; " Sirs,
what must I do to be saved? " and preached
upon the divine right of Episcopacy. "For
Paul and Silas are called'sirs ' and 'sirs' be
ing in the Greek kurioi, and this, in strict
translation, meaning lords,' it is per
fectly plain that at that time Episcopacy
was not only the acknowledged government,
but that bishops were peers of the realm,
and so ought to sit in the House of Lords."
Another preacher, in the time of Charles
11., selected for his text the words, "Seek
first the kingdom of God," and drew from
them the proposition that kingly govern
ment is most in accordance with the will of
God. "For it is not said, seek the parlia
ment of God, the army of God, or the commit
tee of safety of God ; but it is, seek the king
dom of God."
Another preacher takes for his text Isaiah
58 : 5; "Is it such a fast that I have chosen?
a day for a man to afflict his soul? Is it to
bow down his head as a bulrush ?" and de
duces the proposition that "repentance for
an hour or a day is not worth a bulrush."
An aged New England minister, during
the colonial period, once preached before a
very unpopular deputy-governor, from Job
29 : 6, 7 ; "Though his excellency mount up
to the heavens, and his head reached unto
the clouds, yet shall be perish forever like
his own ung." Lnother preached to the
newly married couples of his congregation
upon a part of Psalm 72: 7; "And abun
dance of peace as long as the noon endur
-eth."
Dean Swift is said to have preached the
annual sermon to the Associated Tailors of
Dublin, upon the Text, " A. remnant shall be
saved." Among his printed sermons there
is one upon Acts 20: 9; "And there sat in
the window a certain young man named
Eutychus, having fallen into a deep sleep;
and as Paul was long preaching, he sunk
down with sleep, and fell down from the
third loft, and was taken up dead," which
thus begins : " I have chosen these words
with design, if possible, to disturb some
part in this audience of half an hour's sleep,
for the convenience and exercise whereof
this place, at this season of the day, is very
much celebrated "