tjit farnitg Cirde. A SEASON TO DIE. BY MRS. EIINICE B. LAMBERTOI Oh ! could I choose a time to die,— A season when my life should end, An hour when angels from on high, Should with my soul to God ascend; Could I command the chaiiot wheels Of time, and roll them at my will, And thus control the foe that steals Around ray heart with icy chill ; My voice should say, Oh! let it be When nature smiles from leaf and tree Let soft, warm aephyrs.float around, When they shall lay my body low, And tall grass wave above the mound With gentle sighing to and fro. May ev'ning dews their moisture lend, Glist'ning,_like tears, en my lone grave, And e'en the chirp of insects blend With nature's praise, to Him who gave The holy calm of twilight hoar, When grateful hearts proclaim God's power. I dread stern winter's icy breath, And shrink from earth's cold, hard embrace, Though well I know how cold is death, And hard must be my resting place. Yet oh to think that , storms•mill come, And - beat upon my new made grave,— That winds must whistle round my home, And tall trees groan, and bend and wave Their naked branches as they moan, O'er this poor form, left all alone. It matters not, I hear you say, 'Tie but the body lying there, It knows not cold, nor night, nor day,— The winter wind from summer air. 'Tie eyed so; but still I cry, With nervous dread of winter drear, Oh ! let it be when I shall die, That happy season of the year, When nature dons her summer dress, And blooms in all her loveliness. ROCHESTER, Jan. Bth, LSG.S. LITTLE MATS LEGACY. [We copy this touching and excellent story from Skelly & Co's. recent reprint.]. CHAP. 1.-THE LITTLE GIPSY. "Good-by, dear mother, good-by," said two little children as they went of f to school one bright May morning. " Good-by dears; good-by," was the an swer, while Mrs. Somers stood at the door, shading the light from her eyes with her hand, as she watched the little figures run down the lane. "There is two good children," she mur mured, as she turned into the house again, to take up the baby, who was crying, and call Bessie, her servant, to hold him, while she went hither and thither putting all things trim and tidy, in kitchen, ' storeroom, and larder, with a quick, clever hand. Meanwhile, Robin and May tripped away, Robin carrying the green-baize bag of books, and May taking charge of the little basket in which both the children's dinners were nicely packed; for Ashcot school was too far from the pretty farmhouse, nestling under the hillside, for . Robin and May , to come home in the middle' of the day. The shadows would lengthen in the western sun- shine, the birds would be beginning their evening carol, the cows turning from the farmyards to the green pastures, when Robin and little May would run homewards once more. Now all things were bright and fresh; birds singing in the trees, young leaves whispering to each other, as the plea sant breeze swept through them, while the spider's gossamer webs were shining in the sun, and countless dewdrops spangling them, and every tiny blade of grass, with dia monds. The children's hearts were blithe and gay ; and I think, if you had seen them as they went along, you would have echoed their mother's parting words, "There are two good children:" Robin—or Robin . Redbreast, as his father often Called him—was just nine =years old; May —or Maybird, as her father often called her—was not much more than a year younger. Happy, healthy, rosy, little ones they were, thinking little, as they :went, .of the many mercies from a loving arid hea venly Father's hand, which were theirs; thinking less of the many—ah, how many ! children of their own age who had them not that sweet May-day. Little children who have health, and strength, and eyes to see, and ears to hear, a home of plenty and comfort,-friends to love and cherish you, thank God every day for His mercies, and remember that all these things come from Him, and that He may see it best for you to withhold daily blessings that now you scarcely notice or think of. God does with holdthem from many a child, and you to whom Ire gives - them, must' strive to • show forth His praise, not only with your lips, but in your lives. Even a little child can do this. Will you not try? Robin- and- May wont silently on their way for the first mile. Then Robin shut a book, and said, "Hurrah 1 I know my les sons. Come, May, don't you ?" " Wait a minute; Robin, and 'I shall know thorn ; but this last verse of my hymn won't got into niy head." Robin was off, chasing a white butterfly, before May's speech was finished; but when the hymn had got into her little head, she ran on too. The hymn is a pretty one : I wonder if you know it. home May had chosen it to learn while at home on Saturday and Sunday, to say to Miss-§mith on Monday. Miss Smith was always pleased when her little scholars said the Monday hymn nicely. I will write this, that little May learned, here for you : "Night is over; light is streaming, Through my window pane 'tie come, And the sun's bright rays are beaming, On my happy Christian borne. God has watched me through the night, God it is who sendi us light. "Night is over; some poor children Have been homeless, sleepless, ill, God has let me rest so sweetly Is.tny chamber, warm and still. Lord; 1 thank Thee for Thy love,- Raise my morning thoughts above. THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN THURSDAY, JANUARY 30, 1868. " /Sight is over ; heavenly Father, I would bend my knees and pray, Help my weakness, guide me safely, Watch and help me all the day. Takeaway my love of sin, Let Thy Spirit rule within." The rest of the way to school led the children through fields where flocks of quiet sheep were feeding, and cows lay in the sunshine, lashing the flies from their broad backs every now and then with their long tails. Robin and May were amongst the first children at school. Miss Smith was at her desk, and smiled " Good morning" to her little pupils. After the Bible lesson the Monday hymns were all said. Some knew them well, some stumbled through them, and some did not know them at all. Little May was not amongst these; her hymn had, got into her head, and into her heart t oo , for when twelve o'clock struck, and the children went' streaming out into the playground, May was 'saying over to herself the words, "Some pogr children Have been homeless, sleepless, ill i" The scholars who,. lived neat Ashcot School went home to dinner; but Robin and May ate theirs in suttimer in the playground, in winter in the empty schoolroom. There was a fine old elm-tree growing close to the small iron gate, which was always kept locked, and which led to a narrow lane from the side path up ,to Miss Smith's house. An old stone, grown over with moss, served for the children's seat; and here May un packed the little basket, and she and Robin sat down to dinner. They had been well taught—and Robin took off his cap; and stood up to say his grace, before they be gan. Monday's dinner had zenerally seine little dainty, saved from that of Sunday, for the children. To-day it was a nice slice of cheese-cake, which after they had eaten the bread and meat, Robin and May divided. May had just raised her pieceto her lips, when she. paused, and touched Robin, say ing, "Look !" Robin turned, and there was a. ,curious little face peering at them through the bars of the closed gate. A dark brown face it was, with shaggy, tawny hair, hanging over the bright black eyes, which were looking at the children with an inquiring glance they did not understand. May felt half frightened—almost inclined to run away out of sight; bai Robin coolly took a bite from his cheese=cake, and said, " What do you want ?" No answer;.but the quick eye followed the dainty morsel in.Robin'.s hand; and a queer smile broke over the face. " Is it good ?" was the question at last. " Yes.' Robin was eating up his cheese-cake very quickly ; but May stood irresolute, too much fascinated with the little dark, strange face, to go on with her dinner. What do you stand there for ?" asked Robin. . Again no answer . ; bul' presently Incther question, " Was you ever hungry ?" Hungry ? Yes; but I aint now. Come, May, finish your dinner, and let us say grace. I want to be off for a swing before school-time." Robin was in a hurry to go, and did not notice that May had divided her cheese cake, putting half into the basket, and only: eating half herself. "He must be , one 'of the poor children; homeless, 'perhaps sleepless and ill," she thought, but she did not say so; Robin would not understand her—would only laugh at her, perhaps. Soon lie was gone, and May was left alone. Her heart began ~to beat fast. She had moved away—behind the high stonewall; but' she knew, though she could not see him, that the child was still there. She was frightened, and yet determined to give him tier cheese-cake. So, after a pause, in which to pick up courage, she moved forward again, and peeped. Yes ; there' he was the strange, wild looking child; his little brown, dirty, hands grasping each a bar of the gate, , the eager, earnest face peering between them. " Here," said' little May-bird, stretching out the cheese-cake ; " here, little boy. ' One of the bare arinia,as thrust through the bars, and the dainty morselqas snatch ed and eaten before May could recover her breath. Then the little head nodded,Aind a broad grin showed a set of very white teeth. "He must be hungry; indeed," May thought ; "even Robin could not have eaten that big bit so fast." Then she turned to the basket. 'A slice of bread and butter was still there; she of fered it to her new friend, who grasped it as eagerly as he had done the cheese-a&e, and then despatched it as quickly. " What 's your name ?" May ventured to ask when another nod of thanks had fol lowed. " Jim," was the answer. " Where do you live ?" " Anywheres." , " Anywhere ?" - - - "I be with the gipsies—l be. Sometimes I sleep in the tent ; sometimes I don't." May thought of her pretty little white bed in the tiny room next,her mother's, and sighed. " Oh, poor little boy I Can you read ?" But this was much._ too deep a question for Jim's capacity., ,Be stared at May for another minute, and then - slid down from the step into the lane, and was gone. The school-bell soon rang, and May was in her seat. But .she pondered much on Jim; and when,. OD theway home, Robin climbed a hedge, and said, "There is a•. gipsy or tramp tent out on the common; I can see the smoke," May clambered up to his side eagerly, and said, " 0, let me see, Robin. That poor hungry-boy said he lived with gipsies. f "What boy do yon mean?" "-Why, the - boy who waielied us- .eating our dinner, Robin. I could not help giving him a bit when you were gone." " You silly thing for your pains, then ! Gipsies and tramps, the whole lot or them, are thieves and vagabonds. Just you let Miss Smith see you feeding him, that's all !" was Robin's reply, as he slid down from the hedge, pulling his little sister with him. (To BE CONTINUED.) POOR PONTO. One of the most affecting stories I ever heard about a dog was told me many years ago, by . an uncle of mine who once lived in Paris. My uncle was walking on one of the quays, when he saw a, man approach, holding a dog by a chain. The poor animal was frightened, and yet did not attempt to struggle as he was being led along. Ile looked up piteously at his jailor, and every now and then tried to fawn about his feet as if pleading with him. " Poor beast, he might know seemingly , what was going to happen to him," said the than. " What is going to happen ?" inquired my uncle. " Sir, I'm going to drown him; that is what will happen. " But why, sir; are you his master?" "I ECM. certainly his master, and he is old —poor Ponto ! I am sorry, but it must be." The dog gave a low whine, and trem bling; crouched down to his master. " lie does not seem so veryold, and drown ing is a hard death," remonstrated my uncle. . . "Sir, he is - quite -useless." While he was speaking. .the words, the man unmoored a' little boat, lifted the dog in and rowed to the middle of the stream. When he came 'te 'where the wa' er was deepest, my uncle saw him lift the dog suddenly, and throw him with great force into the stream. If the master bad thought that the dog's age and infirmities would prevent his strug gling for life, he was very much mistaken, for he rose to the surface, kept his head well up, and trod the . water, bravely. The man then began to push the dog away with an oar, and at last losing all patience, he struck out so far to deal the dog a blow, by which he Overbalanced himself and fell into the river. He could not swim, and now began the generous animal's efforts, not to save his own, life, but that of the master who was trying to drown him. The dog swam to him, and seizing fast hold of his coat collar held him up until a boat put off to his rescue and brought him half drowned and wholly frighkned to the shore, his faithful, dog barking, crying, and licking his hands and face in. ihe greatest excite ment of affection. I . remember still the look with which my uncle used to tell 'how he stepped forward and asked the man, " Do you still think himAspless---this noble, generous dog?" ' "I think he deserves a better master," Said a gentleman who had witnessed the in and-there and-then he made an offer -to .buy - dog, No, sir, ,no, I .was wrong; as long as I have a crust, I will give half to my poor Polito." A woman , who had B. baiket on her, arm came up at ,the time and said, " I should think you• would, indeed; or else you ought to be ashamed to look him in the face," and out of herbasket she took a piece of meat, and the. tbg was feasted and- patted, and made "much of, and from that time as long as my uncle stayed in Paris he often saw Ponto on the quay, and the story of his generosity, to his master made him so many friends that the dog's keep was no longer burdensome,. No one, was, suffered to mo lest him, and his old , age was doubtless the happiest period of his life. FHB. BALFOUR. EVANGELNAII magruurs A HE AVAIt:A. a. at. HAtirsr.b. The- question i 2wiettier _Christians : , ay congsleittly chinteicauge . - arid,,,,stipporA the operais: just novlkreceiViiik *good deal of attention, our'\churelalc - ,:ispecifilly in thoW4Ateti l in la?ga..Scrwaa,..4lnd cities. With deflirence,for the opi l ions of those who differ from me, I wish to suggest some rea sons whY,Christians should refuse to patron ize or in any way encourage operatic per That they should adopt this course appears frona the consideration, Ist, That- by patronizing the opera they encourage' and supprat c profession that works the mord/ ruin ofinosttersops who engage in it. There are exceptional cases; but, as a class, the singers and-performers in the opera are known to be. impure and-dissolute. This is notoriously true, of the Italian women who sing and dance for the amusement and de lectation of‘Americam citizens. Gay.of plum age, with silver throats and melodigas voices, they are nevertheless a cage of unclean birds. Nor is'this to be wondered at. Therei are fey/ women who can receive a European training for ,the opera and remain what Cmsar desired his wife to be. And, the life of an opera-singer is fraught with pen sfrom which'few are strong enough to escape. On this subject Timothy Titcomb says : "1 never hear of an. American girl going abroad to study music for the purpose of fitting her self Tor a public inusical career without a pang. A musical education, an introdaction to public musical life, and a few years of that life, are almost certain ruin• for anv woman." How can it be otherwise, if, as the same author asserts,:]" they are constantly. doting in operas the whole dramatic relish of which is found in equivocal situations or openly licentious revelations." Knowinc , what we do of human nature, we can hardly hope that opera-singers and public dancers will be otherwise than cor rupt in themselves, and the corrupters of others. And, is it right or seemly in Chris tians to support a profession that corrupts and destroys most of those who practice Men of the world may answer this question, as Cain answered the question " Where is Abel, thy brother?" by saying, "Am I my brother's keeper ?" But no Christian may pursue such a course. We are required to look not every man on his own interests, but every man also on the interest of others. We may not bid God-speed to a business that drowns the souls of those for whom Christ died in perdition. 2d. Christians should not support the opera, for the reason 'that its moral tone is objection able. The plots of many of the Italian operas are immoral, not to say positively indecent. They hinge on intrigues, seductions, and adulteries of which it is a shame even to speak. A friend of mine purchased at a music store the librettos of twelve of the operas that are now fashionable in our country. On examining them, he found that more than half of all the whole t►umbor *ere saturated with the foul virus to whiehl have referred. How decent men and virtuous women can sit side by side and witness the unfolding of the plot of an opera like "Doe Giovanni," and not hide their faces for very, shame, passes comprehension. It will be said by the Christian who is enamored of the opera that it is , not the impurity of the plot, but the excellence of the music, that attracts him. Admitting this to be true, has the fol lower of the Lord Jesus Christ a right to countenance these indecencies for the sake of the music? Is the Italian opera so indis pensable that we must have it, even when it is made the medium for diffusing the ideas that undermine the foundations of social and domestic virtue ? 3d. The support of the opera by Christians is regarded as inconsistent and unbecoming by the irreligious world. A Christian is not to be a slave to public opinion, but he is to "walk in wisdom toward them that are without ." . No Christian is at liberty to impair his influence for usefulness in the pursuit of a merely personal gratifi cation. In his endeavors to walk as Christ walked he can afford to be misunderstood and misrepresented by an ungodly world. It is generally to his credit that the world charges him with fanaticism and folly. They have, it may be, heard us sing with great apparent fervor : "Not all the harps above Can make a heavenly place, If God his residence remove Or but conceal his face; Nor earth, nor all the sky, Can one delight afford, Nor yield one drop of real joy Without thy prefence; Lord." And when.they see us at the opera-house, it never occurs .to them that spiritual de sires or holy affections have led us to the place. They rather feel like 'saying; "What business have -these Christians here ? The place is given over to the god of this world." And who can _gainsay their. words ? If the children of .Zion are joyful in their king, why should thge, join the giddy throngs 'Ell& are-V-ainly - striving-t(isitiefilllemselves with heskS and ashes? . A . Christian cannot fre quent the theatre or opera without com promising his character in the estimation of the world. If he will vacillate between the house of the Lord and the house of:Rimmon, he will be despised for his inconsistency— and he deserves to be. 4th. ,Such support of the opera afflicts large numbers of sincere and intelligent Christians. It is not always easy for a Christian to - determine in how far he is bound to respect the conscientious scruples of his brethren. Clearly he is not bound to renounce the right of private judgment at the demand of every weak and whimsical ignoramus who professes to be a Christian-. And it-is equally clear that he'is not at liberty to treat with supercilious contempt even the, - weakest member of the household of faith. "We that are strong ought to bear the infirmities - of the weak, and not please ourselves.'" Moreover, the Saviour has so identified himielf with his people that when we sin'against the brethren, and wound their weak consciences, we sin against Christ. In view of-these facts, the Apostle adopted the following rule for the government of his sown conduct : "If meat make my brother to offend, I will eat no flesh while the world standeth." Acting on such a rule,ltow often would members of evangelical chtrches visit the opera ? But it-is not merely the weak brethren with morbid consciences who are grieved when -Christians countenance and support the opera. The intelligent and spiritually-mind ed members of our chnrches are the`very ones who are most afflicted by such incon sistencies. The times demand whole-souled Christians—men who are. dead to the world and entirely consecrated to Christ. We need spiritual athletes ' seasoned veterans, who are at home amid the thunder of the hottest battle-field. Instead of these stalwart he roes the Church is infested with a class of dillettante Christians, who seem just fit To caper nimblyin a lady's chamber To the. lascivious pleasing of a luie." These exquisite young men have little taste for scouring the highways and hedges to bring inithe lost sheep of the House of Is rael; but they know just where to find. fan cy neck-tie% and nicely fitting kid-gloves. We need—Whow much we need—in all our churches, motherly Chrisfian women as helpers in the Go‘g , cl. All around US are, the children of sin , and ~wretchedness, who must be reached 'ands-.staved by Christian women, if saved at all. The work of saving them languishes; but our` leet ladies wear the most becoming opera;Noaks and are connoisseurs in laces, fans, an - Vashionable furbelows in general. It is no wynder that the truly godly sigh and cry over,the deso lations of Zion. The words of thti l prophet sound as if written specially for the times in which we live : "Let the priests, the min isters of the Lord, weep-between th4orch and the altar ; And let them say, Spare thy people, 0 Lord, and give not thine heritue to rqtroach."---b4ependent: ASYLUM FOR USELESS YOUNG mr , c , In every community there is 11 percentage of useless young men, u-11, ,„ timate condition must excite the svnip,,,' and consideration of every philanthr, -. What will become of them ? w e put the question as to their future stat e. how will they round off their earthly ence? They have no visible means port; still they hang on, they vegetate, keep above ground. In a certain sense, they may be said to live, move ; have a being. They lounge in oflicvs' menade the streets, appear at social a; 1 n;:,:. ments, play the gallant to good-nature , i 1.“ . dies, and attend to the necessities 0f; ; ,.. dogs. Their more quiet and demon.str al l.:: life may be described as an intermittent .por, in which meals, cigars, drinks and mark the changes. Their existence Irim, l be a mystery but for their bearing relati.. r ., to .other substantial people known as ;. " Ma," or " better half,' who- are able t make.provision for the waste and protecG, : i of their bodied - in the way of clothing food. Still, ought these young men to L left to the chances of parental or dome -Ai, affection ? All are , not equally fortunate. What shall we do with those whose d, pendence is precarioue ? They do not ad. mit of any utilitarian disposition. In ca:. nibal countries they could, be eaten as , substitute for veal; their bodies would ak, make excellent fertilizers for sterile land i. but the prejudices -of a Christian peopl e would revolt at this solution of the problem A certain number could be employed as l a , ; figures in shop windows to exhibit clotli;, on, but the tailors might not have coed. dence in them. Mos,t of them could cola; meerschaums, but.this business would p ro . duce little revenue.—What, then, shall done? The tax riow falls 'upon a few, see it ought to be distributed. We propose. therefore, a State Asylum for useless youn.:: men. An institution of this kind could be easily filled with those. between the ages of eighteen and thirty, who should be grouped and associated together, so that the rude jostling and friction of the work. ing world would not disturb their delicate nerves. - Here they could cultivate their moo.- taches, part their hair behind, and prac tice attitudes. In this resort, with a little enforced exercise to keep their circulation in a healthy state, with dollsto play with as a compensation for ticestosen ce ofladies' society these useless young men could be supported with easeand comfort, and all industrious peo ple would be willing to pay the expense of this institution, rather than bear the pain ful solicitude in regard to the welfare of these ,superfluous members of society When provision has been made by the State for idiots, for insane, poor, aged, and crippled,is it not astonishing that asylums have never been erected for a still more helpless class ? Let this philanthropic en terprise be started at once.— Watertown Re former. 'ROMAINE Or THE NEEDLE. " What a wonderful thing' is this matter of sewing l It began in Paradise, and was the earliest fruit of the Fall. Amid the odor of flowers , and by the meandering streams, and under the shadn' of the dark green foliage,, the cowering. forms of the guilty progenitors of our race bowed in an guish. and shame, as they took the first lessons in the art which has ever since been the, mark of servitude or sorrow. And yt t the curse has not been without its blessing. "The ,needle with the thimble has done more for man than - the needle of the com pass. The ne,edlework of the Tabernacle is the most ancient record of the art. Early used to adorn the vestments of the priests, it was honored by God himself, and became a type of beauty and holiness. ' The King's daughter is all glorious" within her cloth ing is of wrought gold; she shall be brought unto ;the King in raiment of needlework.' The magnificence of kingly pomp, the im posing spectacle of religion or wealth, the tribute of honor to the great, the charm of dignified society, the refined attractions of beauty are dependent upon .the needle."— Christian. intelligencer. OALVIRISM. The Tablet, a New York Roman Catholic paper, has the following remktrks on Calvin ism :-- " It cannot be denied that Calvin was the great man of the Protestant rebellion. Bet for him, Luther's moVement would, pro bably, have died ont with himself and asso ciates. Calvin organized it, gave it form and c osisteney, and his spirit has sustained it to this day. If Luther !preceded him, it is still by his name rather than Luther's that the rebellion should be called, and the ,only form of Protestantism that still shows any signs of life and vigor is unquestionably Calvinism. It is Calvinism that sustains Methodism, that gives what little life it has to Lutheranism, and that prevents a very .general retarn of Anglicans to the bosom of the church. It is hardly too much to say that no greater heresiarch than Jonn Calvin has ever appeared, or a mere daring, subtle, adroit, or -successful enemy of the Omen of God. Calvinists, tee, are the hardest of all the enemies of the truth to overcome and bring back to the truth, for, like their master, they believe only in might, and disregard all justice and mercy." CHRISTIANS HELP ONE ANOTHER !--A tea cher in one of the Southern States was sit ting at, the window of her room watching two negroes loading gmis into a' cart. `One of them was disposed to shirk; the other stopped, and, looking sharply at the lazy one, said, "Sam, :do yon :expect to go to heave . n?” " Yes." "Then take hold and
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