Site faraihj ©ink. [communicated.] “OUT OP THE EAST.’” BT STOCKTON BATES. Out of the east comes up the mornißg sub. Into the west he sinks, when da; is done. The clouds, along the far horizon’s rim, Gleam through the western twilight shadows dim ; Tie changeful castles of the dying day, Charm for awhile—then crumble to decay; Or, flashing into flames of glorious light. Illume the darkling pathways of the night.. Out of the east slow lifts the round-faced moon Till in the zenith swings at night’s dark noon. Far o’er the landscape fall the mellow rays, The soft reflection of the solar blaze. Into the west she passes from the sight. Sooh as the eastern slopes arefbathed in light, Nor lingers on the green or flowery lawn To welcome with her smiles the rosy dawn. Out of the east the conntless train of stars Follows the sun into the western bars, And, slowly disappearing,.melts away As fades the taper in effulgent day/' • The wheeling squadrons proudly seem to roam . Beneath Night’s grand, o’erarching, saM'e douse, While far along the northern flank, on high, Auroral banners ware athwart the. sky. Out of the east the wise men came to view The infant Saviour, .whose bright star, they knew, And followed, till the guiding beams at rest, Reposed iipon the cradle of the Blest. Then all the stars a glorious anthem raise Of heavenly mußic and adoring praise; While low the wise men, bowed in worship lie Before the mighty Lord,of earth and sky.; ? Out of the east the fierce Barbaric hordes, With uncouth armor and unwieldy swords, Swept o’er the earth like a resistless wave, Crushing the nations that they came to save. Into the west, wheTe proud Atlantic pours Its,wrathful billows on tho.trembling shores, They passed, usurping all the helpless land From Persia’s Gulf to Baltic's frozen strand. Out of the east, the little pilgrim band Came, in'the Mayflower, to a happier land ; Came from opression to be ever free, Not feared the'dangers of a wintry sea. Into the west they came and freedom found ; And, at their sturdy axe’s ringing sound, Primeval forests .fell .beneath.the blows . And,cot and hamlet magic-like arbse. Out of the east the current onward rolled, Until it reached the land of wine and gold. Along the swelling streams and western plains New cities rose bedecked with lofty fanes. Into the west, advancing sure but slow, The mighty civilizing armies go, The conquerors by the plough and not the sword, Who make the west the “ Garden of the Lord.” THE EESOUE. Little Mary .Neale was fond of play, as in deed most little children are. She often wandered away from her father’s house about the garden and even into the open fields. One day her mother was very busy, and Mary wandered farther than usual. On and on she went until at length she came to the railroad track. This track had been covered with gravel, and the smooth, white pebbles at once attracted her attention. So she sat down between the rails, thoughtless of danger, and began to gatherand play with the pretty white stones. After playing awhile she began to' feel drowsy, and then she laid her head upon the iron rail and fell soundly asleep. While'Mary lay asleep and unconscibusbf danger, the terrible locomotive with a long train of cars attached to it, came thundering along the track. A long way off the engi neer who managed the locomotive saw some thing-lying on the road, and as he kept his eye fixed On the object he was horrified to see that it was a little child. He at onee blew his loud whistle, but the child did not move. He gave the signal to put down the brakes, and it was done. But still the train moved on, and it seemed inevitable that in another minute the child would be crushed to death beneath the ponderous wheels. But the engineer was a man of generous and noble impulses. Hastily running for ward along the side of his locomotive, he fixed his feet firmly between the bars of the cow-catcher in front, and laying hold of the iron rail with one hand, leaned forward as far as he possibly eould. Just as the loco motive was ready to rush ujgon the sleeping child,- and leave it a lifeless, bloody, and mangled mass of flesh, this noble man, at the risk of his life, seized her with his un used hand and lifted her upon the cow catcher unharmed. So little Mary’s life was saved. Do you. not admiro the v bravery of that good engineer and his eagerness to save the life of that child? But you, my young reader, have continual opporturiities to do a far-nobler-thing. Yon livein a world where all are sinners, and where all who are not followers of Jesus are in danger of per ishing for eyer. You can do very much if you have a heart to do it, to-point sinners to Jesus Christ and persuade them to em brace, him as a Saviour. Thus you may be instrumental in saving souls from ; going down to eternal death. And is it not a far better thing to help save an immortal soul than a mortal body? Oh try, my young readers, to remember and to teel what aw ful danger some of your young friends are in, and do day by day, what you can for their salvation. You admire that Doble-hearted engineer. And do you not think little Mary Neale and her parents always loved him and desired in every possible way to show their gratitude to him ? Yet all that he did for Mary was as nothing to what Jesus has done for us.' The engineer only risked his life. Jesus laid down his life of set purpose, and of bis own will, in order to save us from enduring eter nal death. He suffered in out place what no man ever suffered or can ever fully compre hend, especially while in this world. Ought you not then to admire Jesus, and to love him and to do all you possibly can to testify your gratitude for the unspeakable blessings he has purchased for you by laying down his life on your behalf? When justice by our sing provoked, ' Drew forth its dreadful sword, . , He gave his Boiil up to tlie stroke, Without a murmuring words* -■ THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 26, 1867. This was compassion like a God, That though the Saviour knew The price of pardon was his blood, His pity ne’er withdrew. —S. S. Visitor. LITTLE MOLLIE. How deeply the gospel is needed by the children of the South is shown in the follow ing from the Sunday School World: About two miles from the meeting-house I found an old lady with several grand children living in a little log cabin. Whilst conversing with 'them, “grandma” drew fry in her pocket a “plug of tobacco,” and took a large chew, and then turning to me said, “Stranger, do you chaw?”'at the same time me somfe. !Never having used the weed, I respectfully de clined. Talking with a little girl eleven years old, I found she was not only unable to road but grossly ignorant of spiritual things. I soon gained her freely withme.teliihg medfwh'al to her was a great loss, the death of her favorite “ Tabby.” SaidT,:“ Molliekybu know ybu ihave ; tb:/die', too.” “Yes,” said she, “Ispecs I will when I ~ - u> j ‘*But, my dear, you thay die when you are young., ,Yfh%t vyftTbecqme of you r when you die?” " ’ ’ “ I reckon they’ll bury me up in the ground as I did Tabby, and that’ll be all.” “ Don’t you know,' Mollie, you have a soi^,tjh^t,,cannot die,,n,oy be, bu.rie<Lup s in the ground, but will be alive'when your body returns tod list?- If you are good and love Jesus, it will be happy with Him in hea<ven j but if naughty and wicked, will, suffer in the*BrBs’tlfai / 2^e''A^Sr , '4^ ,| SfflSi^.'”'*‘ rt " W With a look of astonishment she said, “ Why no, I never heard nothing about such things. 1: 1 never knowed there/'was any other world but this.”—G. S. Missionary re port from N. Carolina. “WHAT’S THE USE OF LIVING?” That is what Susy much in, the habit of saying- Bile didri't go very smooth ly with Susy. ' She had a cross husband, and sickly children, and was very poor. So she often became discouraged; and as she re counted her trials, sometimes to her hus band, sometimes to her neighbors, and some times only to herself, she would wind up with the disconsolate question, “What’s the use of liviug ?” A good woman, who was going by her cabin one day, happened to hear the sad words, ajhd stopped to see who it was that spoke. She looked in at the open door; and there sat Susy in an old rocking-chair, lean ing over, with her elbows on her knees, and her head on her hands, her face clouded and unhappy. The good woman looked steadily at her for a moment, and then said, “J think there’s great use of living.” Susy started as she heard the words—for she did not know any one was near, —and, looking up, saw atvery.pleasant,. bright" face gazing in upon her. The face smiled, and then the lips began to speak. .. .. ... “ I used to feel very much like you, my poor woman; but, thank Clod, I’ve got all over it now; for I Have found out what’s the use. of living. It’s something just to count up the good and beautiful things God has given us. There’s this lovely sunlight, and the pure, sweet air, the cooLshowers, the trees and grass and vegetables and fruits; Then tbere’s the nice still, dark nights to sleep in when we are tired; and a husband to work ” Here Susy interrupted; “He’s a cross old Jack.” “My husband was eross once; but he isn’t now. I think it was as much my fault as his. When I left off fretting and scolding, he got to be as pleasant and good-natured as anj’body need to be.” Susy opened her eyes. “ I can’t help fretting,” said she; “for the children are always ailing ” • ’’ “Just the way.mine were once, till I learned to take care of them.” “ Why, what did you do?” : “I gave them very Bimplo food,—mush and milk, bread and buttor, potatoes and salt, rice, and such plain, nourishing things. I put them to bed early, and had the room well aired where they slept. I dressed them warmly with flannel next the Bkin, and then let them play a great deal in the open air. I Jet them help me all they were able, arid praised them every chance; I could get.” “Stop, stop!” cried Susy. “I shall have to begin all Over new. Where shall I be gin?” “ Kneel down, my good friend, and ask the Lord to teach you .ho w to live so as to •please him; and then I am Sure you will find, as I have, that there’s great use and great comfort in living.”— Freedman’s Journal. "HOW MUCH DO I COST YOU?” A little daughter, ten. years, old, lay on her death-bed. It was hard to part with the pet of the family. The golden hair, the loving blue eyes, the bird-like voice-—the truthful; affectionate child! How could she be given up? Between this child and her father there had always existed, not a re lationship merely, but the love of congenial natures. He fell on his knees by his dar ling’s bed-side, and wept bitter tears. He strove to say, but could not; Thy will be done! ' It was a conflict between grace and natnre, such as he had never before exper ienced. His sobs disturbed the child, who had been lying apparently unconscious. She opened her eyes and looked distressed. “Bapa, dear papa,” said she at length. “ What, my darling?” answered her father, striving for composure. “ Papa,” she asked, in faint, broken tones, “ how much-zdo I cost year ?” “ Hush, dear, be quiet 1” he replied, in great agitation, for he feared/delirium was coming “ But please —papa, how much do I cost you ?” To soothe her, he replied, though with a broken voice, “Well, dearest, perhaps two hundred dollars (£40.) What then, darling?” “Because, papa, I thought—maybe—you would lay it out this year—in Bibles-—for poor children—to remember me by.” A beam of heavenly joy glanced in the father’s heart: the joy of one noble loving spirit mingled with its like. Self was for gotten—the sorrow of parting, the, lonely fu ture. Nought remained but the mission of love, and a thrill of gratitude that in it he and his beloved were co-workers. Twill, my precious child,” he replied, kissing her brow with solemn tenderness. “ Yes,” he added, after a pause, “I will do it every year as long, as I live. And. thus my Lilian shall yet speak, and draw hun dreds and thousands after her to heaven.” The child’s very soul beamed forth in a long, loving gaze into her fktber’s eyes; and still gazing she' fell asleep. Waking in a fe w min utes, she spoke in. a loud, clear voice, and with a look of joy— “Oh, papa, what a sweetsight! The golden gates were opened, and crowds of ’children came pouring out—oh, such crowds ! And they ran up to me, and began to kiss me, And call mo by a name, I can’t remember what, it was, bpt it meant,,'Beloved for the father's sake. 1’ ” . .She looked.,up,-her eyes dreamy; .her voice died into a whisper, “ Yes, yes, I come! I come I” and the lovely form lay there un tenanted of the lovelier epirit.' • : ‘ ? John Lee. arose from his knees with a holy triumph on his ..face.:. “ Thank God,” said he, “ I ami richer by another treasure in heaven !”— S. S.- Visitor. TEUSTY HANDS; Three-year old Freddie owned a pair of very busy little /hands. Mam ma loved them, —every one ofithe dimpled fingers was pre cious to her; - but she did not love the mis chief she often found them in; so she took Freddie in her lap ’ bhe" day, and . Said to him,—'. ... ..' “ Are my Freddie’s little hands, trusty hands ?” - “Don’t know- What are t’asty tannies, ma ?” : “ Trusty hands, my love, are hands which can be trusted—that on—to do right, and not to do wrong. God gave my sonnie these'hands to. do good things wi th; and, if he does bad things with them, they are not trusty hands. God cannot trust them; mamma cannot trust them.” “Not t’usty tannies when Freddie goes to work-basket ?” “No. Can Freddie think of any more places where his hands haven’t been trusty?” “ Yes : in tugar-bowl.” Mamma nodded assent; and Freddie went on confessing his sins, with a very thoughtful look. ' “Out titehen, too, thnnies went in flour, in dough, in water-pail, in ’tarch, in clothes basket, in cosl-tod,in ’t.ove-oven, when Fred die burnt not t’usty tannies.” “ Anywhere else ?” asked mamma, quite startleifcat this revelation of what Bridget had to put up with in her “ swate darlin.” “ Not t’usty tannies in panty too.” con tinued Freddie,: “ went into wice and wais ins and minee-pie-meat and pepper,—‘naugh ty pepper to difc in Freddie’s eyes and make him cry :’ Bridget says so.” “I must have a serious talk with Bridg et,” thought mamma? “ I had no idea of all this.” To Freddie she only said, “ Any more sonnie ?” ; : ; “ Freddie ’members lots; but Freddie’s tired telling,” said three-years with a sigh, and a mournful look at the fair plump hands, “ Freddie’s tannies goin’ to be t’usty tan nies now.” That afternoon, Freddie’s mamma left him aloue in the parlor a few minutes, but re turned in haste, fearing her little boy might be injuring something. She found him stand ing before, the “ what-not,’’'his hands tight ly folded, as he whispered,— • “ T’usty tannies mustn’t touch.” When his bed-time eamo, mamma said, before he knelt to lisp his little prayer,— “Does our heavenly Father see that the hands he gave his little Freddie have been trusty hands to-day ?” “ Tried to be t’usty, ma; but Freddie for dot when he pinched kitty’s tail a-piirpose, and splashed all the water Out of the basin onto hisseil.” Then mamma had another little talk with her boy, and he added to his usual prayer, “Please, God, make little Freddie’s tan nies t’usty tannies to-morrow.” Freddie remembered better the next day; and by and by, after a groat deal of praying and trying,'the hands came to be perfectly trusted anywhere.- I—G. 1 —G. A. F. H, in. Child at Home, i REMARKABLE EXAMPLES OF BIBLE READiTO. Many of the anecdotes compressed with in the following paragraph it is easy to verify; and every reader will acknowledge the value of the lesson which they are in tended to teach. Remarkable as some of them are, not ono approaches -what is relat ed, arid earnestly believed in the East, of a famous Mohammodan; namely, that, during his confinement in the prison of Bagdad, where he died, he read over the Koran seven thousand times! Eusebius tells us of one who had his eyes burned out in tho Diocletian persecution, and who repeated in a public assembly the very words of Scripture with as mucih ac curacy as if he had been reading them. Jerome says of Nepotian, that by reading and meditation, ho hadmade his soul a library of Christ. Theodosius the younger was so familiar with the word of God, that he made it a subject of conversation with the old bishop as if he had been one of them Augustine says that after his conversion he ceased to relish even - Cicero, his, former favorite author, .-and- that; -the - Scriptures^ were his pure delight. Tertullian spent a greater part of his time in reading the Scrip tures, and committed large portions of them to memory. In his youth, Beza learned all Paul's Epistles in Greek so thoroughly, that when he was eight years old, he could repeat them in that language. Oranmer is said to have been able to repeat the New Testa ment from memory, Luther was one of the most indefatigable students of; the Bible that the world has ever seen. Bidley said: “The walls and trees of my orchard, couid they speak, would bear witness that there I learned by heart almost all the Epistles; of which: study r , although in time a great part was lost, yet the sweet savor thereof, I trust, I shall carry with me to heaven:” Sir John Harlop, a man of many cares, made the book of God so much his study, that it lay before him night and day. A French noble man used to read three chapters of the Bible every .day on his bended. knees, with his head uncovered. Joshua Barnes is said to have read a small pocket Bible a hundred and twenty times over. : Boger Cotton'read the whole Bible thrpugh t'welve times a year, William llomaine studied nothing but the Bible.for, the last thirty,or forty years, of his life. John Boy'se, one of the translators of our Bible, had read all the-Scriptures-before he was five years did phis mother read them through twelve times: " t have head'of more than' one of whom it was said, that if the Bij}le had been .lost, the whole might, have been recovered from their memories. .In short, was there ever' an eminent Christian who was-not remarkable for his study of I Scripture as he had opportuhity ? Wesleyan Methodist'Magazine. V THE BEAUTIFUL LADY. \ There is a gentle lady. Ter}’ fair; . .Her looks are saintly and sjef voiceiswifei'K w , She \viliks thfougfi all the town/ * Nor fears to soil" her gown. They say this lovely liitjy’s not afraid Of any being that'thel.hrd has made ; She sees bei* Father’s look Within the ineaneVt nook. And so she walks serene through'every 1 ' Where hunger struggles fierce with sin and pain, And angry curses leap In passion wild and deep; ; She doeß not eyen tremble at the sight; She stands afid gazes like a.lity’ itiiVe, Till, awedto : peace, they see Her spotless purity.. She ntays beside the couch when all have fled, And jays upon her breast the dying head, And sings away all fear , With voice serene and clear. She takes the little children in her arms, And gives them hrentllo eat, and mildly calms Their throbbing beans that beat,? ; And wipes their bleeding feet. Dear children, tell me will you go with her,— This lovely lady, each her messenger,— : And bid the orphans come ; And have with her their home ? Her name I think, is Charity below; But when her bright, immortal wings do grow, * The angels there above In heaven will call her Love. A BLIND LEADEE. In -all State churches there are ministers who, having no personal knowledge Of the new birth, are unable to comprehend the convictions of- an awakened soul, or to di rect to the way of salvation by Christ. A striking illustration of this is given in the interesting Memoir of Rev. Duncan Dunbar, by Dr. Chaplin. Young Duncan had an overwhelming sense of sin, and seeing no way of pardon, was driven almost to despair. A friend writes of his feelings at this crisis: JL* “ Toil must have heard of his awful state of mind before he obtained peace through the blood of the Lamb. He was in Montrose, and one day made up his mind to commit suicide, and thus put an end to his suffering, as he in his desperation thought, and this was his plan : to run along on the paranot of the. bridge and then drop d'own, that it might be thought an accident, as he avbs known to be fond of daring and fearless ol danger,” ' His pastor, a worthy man in the Scotch church, was utterly perplexed by his mental state. He said to him : ■ ■■ “The cause of all your trouble is quite plain to me. Ye are the son of worthy Christian parents, yourself an upright lad bound to set a good example to your com panions. Ye have been unfaithful, and God is frowning on ye..,. At the next sacrament come forward and 1 take your place among the children of God, and after partaking ve will be at peace I think.” & J “After a little reflection, a new solution of the mystery appeared to the minister, and in a solemn tone he said, looking keenly into his young parishioner’s eye, 1 Duncan py hul, ye have always borne a good name in the place and been a great favorite, and all point to ye as an example for the young. -But, I fear, from your present condition that ye have deceived us all! Ye must have’eom mitted some awful crime, which is torment ing your conscience and driving ye to de spair. If this is so, ye may confess it fre'-'v to me, in the strictest confidence, and I will still be your friend. What ha’ ye been do ing, laddie r .. “‘Nothing iq all my life, sir, that I wo :ld not be willing my parents should know. It is the sms of my heart, which none bat G( d can. see, tnjr rebellion against Him, ihy re jection of Christ, in short, my exceeding Vilepess in his sight, which makes me wish I had never been born! I am so full of sin that I cannot see how God can possibly par ing }et romain a j“Bt and holy Be. , u The minister shook his head mournfully .admitted that he sawnohelp, and dismissed his soul-stechem guest: with tke cheering as annnoe ; !I think ye are losing your mind The light which the minister could no* give was given by an old schoolmaster / whom young -Duncan unbosomed his and the Saviour then revealed to him k' came to him the only source of hope for vation and a constraining power to holim of life. ,ess ANECDOTE OF WASHINGTON. Ex-President Van Buren’s recently p u ], lished volume on political parties in t!i United States contains the following letter which narrates an original anecdote of Wash ington: Ogdensburg, 'N. Y,, April 80 th, 1857. Hon. M. Van Buren: . ,Dear B'ir:—DurLngthe session of the Pres, byterian General Assembly in Cincinnati, hi May, 1852, 1-dined twice at the hospitable mansion of. Hon. Jacob Burnet, now de ceased. He .was born ! in Hewark, V. J.. ; n 1770, and was the son of ißr. William Bur net, who wasdn the> medical service of his country through ; the Revolution Burnet was acquainted with our early df s . tinguished: statesmen, and bis conversation was rich in the recollection of their manners andleharacteis. He related an anecdote of Waehingtdn, -which he had from the lips of Alexander Hamilton. When.tbe Convention to form a Constitu tion was sitting in Philadelphia, in 1787. of which Gen.‘Washington was president, he had stated evenings to re eive the calls of his fHenßsT’Tfran^ Hamit ton, the former rc m ai^Se\lJttfat f IWashibgton mis reserved and aristocratic? even to Bis intimate friends, ami allowed no one to be familiar with hi m . Gouverneur mere fancy and Be would bp as famutar with Washing ton as with any of Lib dther fiiends. HaiaH ton replied,—' . “ If- you will, at bis next reception eve •ning, geßtly slap him on the shoulder, and say, ‘ My dear General, how happy I am to see you look so well,’ asupper and wine shall be provided for you and a dozen of yonr friends.” . ‘The challenge was accepted. On theeYe nihg; appointed a jarge f number attended, and at an early hour Gouverneur Morris en tened, h<^fp<^>6hp*(^k;. ? b?inds J >laid his lef t hand on WashiDgton’s shotilder, and said.— “ My dear General, I am ~very happy to sedyou look so well." • ; Washington Withdrew his hand, stepped suddenly back, and fixed his eyes on Morris for several minutes with an angry frown, until the latter retreated,, abashed, and sought refuge in the crowd. The company looked on-in silence. • ' At the supper, which was provided by Hamilton, Morris said,— “ I have wOn the bet, but have paid dear ly for It, and nothing could induce me to re peat it,” Yours truly, John Pine. MR. WADE AND JOSHUA 1. GIDDINGS, Benjamin F. Wade and the late Joshua A. Giddings used to be constant competitors at the bar in “old benighted Ashtabula,” their place of residence. In the early part of his practice, Wade was defending a man against an action of slander,; and, after having con cluded a very effective speech to the jury, sat awkwardly leaning backward, his feet on the counsel table, and facing Giddings, who was attempting.to he eloquent in behalf of bis slandered client. “ Old Gid,” as he was familiarly called, knew a little smatter ing of Shakspeare, and now determined to bring that great author to his aid. “Gentlemen of the jury,” said he, with much ardor, “‘He that steals m'y purse, steals trash: But lie that robs me 6f my good name 1 " — (Ahem !) At this point, to. his great discomfiture. Shakspeare deserted him. He repeated, But he that robs me of my good name'” (Another pause.) “ Takes that I never had,” whispered Wade, as if prompting him, and so distinctly as to be heard by all in the room. A m 'd the laughter and his own confusion. Giddings brought his speech to such a “lame and impotent conclusion,” that his client re covered but six and a quarter cents for hit lost character. POWER OF CHRISTIAN LIFE. ' There is one department of Christian evi dence to which, no skill or industry of the champion of revealed truth can do justice — one also with which the skeptic is little de posed to meddle. It is that which is spread before ns in the noiseless and almost entirely unrecorded lives of thousands of the faitliftd followers of Christ. Ambitious of no dis tinction, intent only on the Master’s service, pursuing the even tenor of their way in the discharge of common duties, their lives are ennobled, and sometimes become heroic, through ’ the lofty purity of their aims, and singleness of their devotion to life’s great end. No theory of infidel philosophy Ci j n account for them. The attempt to explain them by means of enthusiasm or fanaticism is -an insult to common sense. When Professor Webster was awaiting his trial for murder, he is said to have coin plained of his fellow-prisoners for insul - ing him through the walls of his cell, a ll ', screaming to him, “Yon are a bloody man- On examination,-the charge was fonn 1 wholly groundless; The accusing voices Were the echoes or a guilty conscience!: Bat it is a fearful thong ll ' thatitho Soul can be made to ring with echoes., Surely it is “ fearfully and wond® 1 ' fully made.” It is so constituted as to r c •tier- its. o.wnucSriniesjreonduct its own trial, » n pronounce condemnation against itself-
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