Of fantitg Ciiittit
BILL AND JOE.
BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
Come, dear old comrade, you and I
Will steal an hour from days gone by,—
The shining days when life was new,
And all was bright with morning dew,—
The lusty days of long ago,
When you were Bill and I was Joe.
You've won the great world's envied prize,
A nd grand you look in people's eyes,
With H 0 N. and LL. D.
]n big brave letters fair to see,—
Your fist, old fellow] off they go !
How are you, Bill? How are you, Joe?
You've worn the judge's ermined robe;
You've taught your name to half the globe;
You've sung mankind a deathless strain ;
You've made the dead past live again,;
The world may call you what it will,
But you and I are Joe and Bill.
The chaffing young folks stare, and"say,
' See those old buffers bent and gray,
They talk like fellows in their teens!
Mad, poor old boys ! That's what it means,'
And shake their heads; they little know
The throbbing hearts of 13111 and Joel •
How Bill forgets his hour of pride,
While Joe sits smiling at his side;
Now Joe, in spite of time's disguise,
Finds the old schoolmate in his eyes,—
Those calm, stern eyes that melt and fill
As Joe looks fondly up.at.Bill.
Alt, pensive scholar what is fame?
A. titful tongue of leaping flame;
A giddy whirliVibd's fickle gust,
That IA a pinch Of mortal dust •
7
A few swift years and who can show
Which dust was Bill and which was,.Joe?
The weary idol takesliis stand,
:Bolds out his bruised and aching hand,
`While gaping thousands come and go,—
How vain it seems, this empty show l
Till all at:once hie pulses thrill ;--
'Xis poor old Joe's God bless you Bill!'
shall we breathe in happier spheres
Ile names that pleased our mortal ears,'
In some sweet lull of harp and song
For'earth-bora spirits none too long,
Just whispering of the world below
Where this was Bill, and that was Joe?
No matter; while our home is here
No sounding name is half so dear;
When fades at length our lingering day,
Who cares what pompous tombstones say?
Read on the hearts that love us still,
Hie jacet Joe. Ric jacet Bill.
September Atlantic Monthly
GRAOE BOOHE'S LEGACY, MAP. I.
By the Author of Margaret and her Friends.—Front
Claxton's Reprint.
About half a mile from the village of
Woodthorpe, just where a shady lane opens
on a tract of breezy downs, stood a small
cottage by the wayside. It was built of
stone, and the roof was thatched; but the
thatch was hidden in many places by large
tufts of Louse-leek, which sent up its numer
ous leafy branches of pale red star-like flow
ers. There was a good piece of ground
around the cottage, and one sunny border
was well stocked with herbs of all kinds,
particularly with rosemary, rue, tansy, I
lemon-balm, and many other aromatic
plants to which village traditions attribute
medical virtues. Large clumps of the coin
mon mallow flowered against one side or
the cottage; the garden hedge was of elder,
and the water fig-wort grew by the side
a small stream which flowed through the
garden. The only inhabitant of the cottage
was an old woman, whom years and rheu4
matism had bent nearly double, and who
had the reputation of being a miser, and
also of being a "wise woman," or even a
witch. An ominous shake of the head usu ,
ally accompanied the expression of this last
opinion, and any further inquiries called
forth strange stories about a black cat,
which was said often to appear on moon
light nights at a certain breach in the hedge,
and of a surly one-eyed dog, who made a•
practice of flying at any one, who ventured
even to stop for a moment at the garden
gate.
No one in Woodthorpe had ever seen the
inside of the cottage since its present occu.s
pant had lived there, (and that was nearly
twenty-four years) except Dr. Clay, the
village surgeon, who had been sent for
many years back to set a finger which the
old woman had broken in a fall. There had
been quite a crowd of village gossips wait
ing round the door of the doctor's house for
his return from Grace Roche's cottage.
"He would have seen something; that
was certain sure I"
" Now they should know all."
Great was their disappointment then,
when Dr. Clay burst into a hearty laugh at
their eager faces, and anxious inquiries;
and told them, in his straightforward good
humored way, to go home, and mind their
own business, and not trouble themselve's
about the affairs of their neighbors.
If they followed the first part of the good
doctor's advice, it is certain they took no
heed of the second; and strange stories, the
- weak invention of idle brains, continued to
be circulated, founded on the least possible
amount of fact. The consequence was, that
an eccentric, miserly old woman, an enemy
to no one so much as to herself, who, for the
mere love of hoarding, had denied herself'
the common necessaries of life; who had
shut up her heart against love of kindred
and friendly sympathy, eV had chosen to
live unloving and unloved; this fit object for
pity and nothing more, was magnified, by
jolly and ignorance, into a being to be fear
ed and dreaded. This is no fancy picture
—the Original may be found in many coun
try districts, even at the present day. Any
miserable creature, living alone, who, by the
oddity of her manner, the crossness of her
temper, the habit of speaking to herself, or
any other signs of "the dotage Which at
tend. on comfortless old age," atiraots the
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN THURSDAY, OCTOBER 22, HOG.
attention of her credulous neighbors, is im
mediately looked upon with suspicion.
Poor wretched old Grace Roche ! Her
story had little romance or mystery attach
ed to it. In her case "the love of money"
had proved "the root of all evil." It was
love of money which had led her, in days
gone by, to ex rt such an unjust influence
over her infirm and weak-minded father,
that, at his death, it was found he had left
all he had to Grace; to the utter exclusion
of her two brothers, both of whom were
much younger than herself. It was the love
of money, also, in the lowest form of that
most degrading vice, which led her, after
her father's death, to Shut up herself and
her ill-gotten wealth in the solitary cottage
inrWoodthorpe lane.
Thenceforth began the life of lonely pri
vation, which, at the time this tale begins,
she had, led for nearly a quarter of a cen
tury. In early life, Grace Roche had ac
quired some knowledge of the medicinal
properties of native herbs from a great aunt,
with whom she had lived ; and, upon taking
up> her abode in Woodthorpe lane, she set
up as a herb doctor. Her fame spread
abroad, and, strange to say, was increased
by the reports as to her manner of living,
and the steries about her black cat, who
was fully believed to have its share in the
cures said to be performed by its mistress !
No patient ever entered the cottage. Grace
reoeived . her visitors in a'small wooden
porch outside the cottage doorwhich door
she carefully locked behind her while pre
paring the required medicine. •
She must have made a good deal of money
during those long lonely years—for her ad
vice was never given without fee. But in
crease of wealth made no difference in her
niggardly way of living, and she never al
lowed herself any fare except a pint of
skimmed milk, fetched daily from a farm
nearly apposite the 'cottage, and' 'some
coarse bread.
Andrew and - Geoffrey Reche, Grace's two
brethers, had both made way ia'the-world;
all the more from haying felt that they had
nothing - to depend upon 'but ' their own
steady industry. It is' a question, whether
" being born," as the proverh says, ":with a
silver spoon in his month," is,. in.rcality, an
advantage to a young' man: -Oartain - it is,
there is no bread so sweet as that which is
earned by "honest sweat;" and that there
is no greater earthly, happiness than to feel
that "heart within, and God iferhead," we
aro making way in the battle field of life..
Andrew fund Geoffrey Roche began the
world with Scarcely a . penny they could call
their own, but they "pat their shoulders to
the wheel," and earned for themselves a
respected position in their native village;
whilst their sister Grace, with her ill-gotten
and ill-used 'Wealth, dragged on a miserable
existence, and only escaped being burnt as
a witch, because she Was diving after such
barbarOuis eitstiind hid ceased to exist.
Andrew, and Geoffrey, had found a firm
friend "in Me. Kelly, , the' pastor Of -Wood
thorpel • He fit was, Who; at the time of old
Jacob's death, had lent the young men a,
helping hand, and had advised with them as
to their future course.
Before their father's death, both lads had
led an idle sort of life. Brought-up to no
business, and relying upon the property
they expected to inherit, the knowledge
that they were, left without a penny, came
upon them like la, thunder-bolt.
Mr. Kelly was the only one who did not
condole with them on their disappointment.
He knew that " want of occupation is not
rest," and that an idle life is far from a hap
py one. They were both strong and active,
and there was no reason why, with God's
blessing, theTshould not get on. The re
sult was, that Andrew entered into' the ser
vice of the worthy miller of Woodthorpe•
whilst Geoffrey went to live with the whed
wright of the village, who was distantly re
lated to the young Roche's mother. The
young men were of different dispositions.
Andrew was frank, merry, light-hearted,
—always looking at thn , b,right side of
things—and laughing at his brother -Geoffrey
for heing so fond of wearing " black specta
cles," as he called it. Certainly, Geoffrey
Roche generally contrived to make the'
worst of everything, and secretly nursed a,
lingering regret in his mind for what
" might have been" had Grace acted fairly
by them.
Andrew Roche served 'his master well and
faithfully ; and, in the course of a few years,
married the old miller's only daughter. The
young couple went to live in a neat cottage
on the bank of the mill-stream. It, was
about the time when Grace Roche fell down
and broke; er finger ;, and' as Andrew. 4 was',
riding along Woodthorpe landoke rebrng,
on his way. to a distant 'market-town, he
saw the already bent and miserable' ooking
form of his sister, who was gathering herbs
in her garden. She had held' no sort of
communication with her brothers for years
past ; but, as the young man rode along—
his mind full of bright visions for the future
—the contrast between himself and his sister
struck him more forcibly than it had ever
doy before; and, impelled by a sudden kind
ly feeling, he stopped his horse at the garden
gate.
" I hope your finger is doing well, Grace,"
said her brother, in his pleasant genial
voice.
She made no answer, but continued her
occupation of picking herbs, without so
much as raising her head.
"'I beard of your accident, and didn't
like to pass you by withoat asking after
you. I owe you no ill-feelings, Grace; for
aught I know, you 'did the best thin 4 that
could be done for me. I might have turn
ed out to be a bad man, if had, led an idle
life much longer."
She had stopped her work now, and was
standing quite still, lookine at her brother
with a strange expression in her cold grey eye.
"Is it me or my money you're asking after,
Andrew Roche?" she said, with a sneer.
"Nay, Grace, I want none of your money.
Bessie and I have quite - sufficient for our
moderate wants. It was nothing but kindly
feeling that led me to speak to you as I
was passing."
"Kindly feeling I ' she almost shrieked;
"what have I to do with kindly feeling?
I have none, and I want none. And, why not
be honest at once, and tell the truth, instead
of coming here, canting about kindly feelings,
indeed. Much kindly feelings you and
yours can have towards me. Go home to
your wife, Andrew Roche, and tell her the
success of your scheme for getting Grace
Roche's money. But I saw through it all;
and, rest assured, neither you nor yours
will ever handle' a penny of mine."
Andrew was too happy to be angry even
at this unjust imputation; and he replied in
the same good-humored tone, "Yon wrong
me, Grace; and in your heart I think you
know you do. You say you want no kindly
feelings. You may change your mind some
day. God has given us hearts to love one
another, and you may live to mourn the
want.of that kindly feeling you are now so
willing to throw &way."
So saying Andrew rode off, leaving his
sister still standing, gazing after him with
the same sneer on her face—the same look
in her keen grey eye.
That evening, when sitting at tea with
his Sunny-faced little wife,. Andrew, told her
the adventures of ale morning.
"To think-of our envying hei, or wanting
her money," cried Bessie, with a happy con
tented laugh. "She's the last person in the
world I'd ever think of envying. Poor
Grace," she added, in a' kind and subdued
tone, "she deserves our pity instead 'of our
•
envy."
" True, Bessie," said Andrew, "and I have
no ill'-feelings towards her,notwithstanding
all the harsh things she said, this morning;
and if ever I can.do her a good turn, I'll do
that's Vire might have been like her
, -
for What we know, had rot God's grace
ordered it otherwise. That thought should
keep us humble, and - make us kind in judg
ing. the faults of others, Bessie."
Geoffrey Roche had likewise married ;
but, unfortunately, not 'sO'Wisely as Andrew
had done. His wife swas" the daughter of a
small` farmer in the imighborhOod; and her
disposition too much resembled that of her
husband's, whose gloomy nature and useless
regrets she encouraged rather than other
wise. This foolish conduct brought its own
'punishment. It was a constant thorn in
their sides ; a skeleton in the cupboard ; the
bitter drops which poisoned their cup of
worldly happiness,. With quite as much
worldly prosperity—for Geoffrey's relative,
the wheelwright, was dead, and the - whole
bushiess now belonged to Goeffrey, there
was far less real content and comfort in his
household than in Andrew's little cottage
by the mill-stream.
• [To .BE CONTINUED.]
N ..WILLIE'S
was, tke - pifentS.
When very young his mother began to teach
him. about God and heaven, and his mind
seemed to drink in all the sweet things she
told him, just as the flowers receive into
their bosoms tlie drops of dew that give
them strength and beauty. Before he was
three years old he would often sit gazing
into the sky and would .say:
"Willie's watching for the hOly angels,
and waiting to hear them sing."
The lesson that his mother endeavored to
impress most deeply upon his young heart
was that of faith in God: faith in Him for
,all things, and that for Jesus' sake he would
bestow upon him all necessary good.
When_ he was four years old a terrible
shadow settled , down upon him, ,and by the
time Willie was seven, their home and every'
thing was taken from them, and they were ,
thrown upon.theicharity of 'friends. Soon
clothes and boots began to wear'
914 t, but, his mother was to poor to purchase
new ones. On one occasion he came to her
saying:
"Mother; can't I have some new boots?
My toes 'are all out of theie. The snow
gets in, and I am so cold I"
A tear filled his mother's' eye, when she
answered, - "Soon, Willie, I hope to give
them to yon = '-' ' •
He waited} patiently'several; days, until
one morning, as he stood at the window
watching, the, boys trundling thpir hoops, be
sobbed :
"0 mother, it is too hard! :Can't I get
some boots anywhere r •
"Yes, Willie, you can."
"lean V' he eagerly exclaimed. " Where?
Whore? 'llan me 'quick r ,
"Do you not know, my son?" replied his
mother. "Think now."
Willie stood for a 'moment, as if in deep
thought; then ,with a smile looked up to
his mother's face,
and said
"Oh, I know ! God will give them to me,
of course. Why didn't I think of that be
fore ? I'll go now and ask him."
He walked out of the parlor into his
mother's room. She quietly followed him,
and, standing concealed from his view, saw
him kneel clown, and covering his face with
his hands ; he prayed:
"Oh God;! father .drinks; mother has no
money; my feet get cold and wet. I want
some boots. Please send me a pair ; for
Jesus's sake. Amen."
This was all. He often repeated his pitiful
little petition, and the best of all was, he
expected an answer to his prayer.
" They'll come, mother !" he would often
say, encouragingly; " they'll come when
God gets ready.'
Within a week, a lady who dearly loved
the child. came to take him out walking. He
hesitated for a few moments, but soon de
termined to go, and they started off. At
length the lady noticed his stockings peep
ing out at the toes of his boots when she
exclaimed.:
"Why, Willie, look at your feet! They
will freeze: Why didn't you put 'on a better
pair?", . -
"These are , all I , have, uneam.""
" All you have! But why don't you have
a new pair ?" she inquired.
"I will, just as soon as God sends them,"
he confidently replied.
" Tears filled the lady's eyes, and with a
quivering lip, she led him into a shoe shop
near by, saying, "There, child, select any
pair you please." The boots were soon se
lected, and a more happy, thankful boy
never lived.
On his return he walked into the centre
of the room, where his mother was sitting,
and said—
" Look, Mother ! God has sent my boots !
Mrs. Grays money bought them, but God
heard me ask for them, and I suppose he
told Mrs. Gray to buy them for me."
There he stood, with an earnest, solemn
light ie his eye, as though he were receiv
ing a new baptism of faith from heaven ;
then quietly added—
" We must always remember how near
God is to us," and, kneeling at his mother's
feet, be said, "Jesus, I thank you very
much for my new boots. Please make me a
good boy, and take care of mother. Amen."
Willie is now fourteen years of age, and is
a consistent member of the Church of
Christ. In all things he trusts his Saviour;
every desire of his heart he carries directly
to God, and patiently waits the answer, and
it always comes.
'" Ask and it shall be given you "
vii. 7.—Children's Friend
MY FIRST LESSON.
In my earliest years my dearest play.
mate was little Henry G—, of a neighbor.
ing family, a sweet child less than three
years,olcl. I loved him dearly, and his sis
ters, often.committed him to my charge in
our plays.
But little Henry was taken sick. For
two weeks he lay on his little bed, while I
almost hourly crept softly into the room,
growing sadder every day to see the dear
sufferer unable to. smile. One morning
when I rose, I went to my mother and re
peated my daily question, " How is little
Henry ?" With a sad tenderness of voice,
and 3et with . a smile I still remember, she
said,," little Henry is well, my dear."
" Is he mamma ?" said I with a bright
ened face. "May I go up and see him ?"
" Yes my dear, when you have taken your
breakfast." At last my mother took my
hand and led me to his room.
She drew me to the place where his crib
was covered with a white sheet, and turn
ing it down, lifted me to look on the small
form lying there cold •and still. I can feel
even now the thrill which • trembled through
my young heart as she said, "See, dear, lit
tle Henry is well."
"Oh, mamma, he is dead!" and-I laid my
head on her shoulder • and sobbed aloud.
We sat there. alone in .. my grief, and. my
dear mother, in low, sweet tones, told me
how Christ had called the little ones " bless
ed .;" hOvsr he4taid r gg_Their,angels. do aways
behold the face of my Father who is in hea
ven." She told me of the :flower-seed, plan
ted in the garden to die, and rise again to
life and beauty. And thus, she said, would
little Harry lie in the grave till the resur
rection morn, when he would be once more
alive, sweeter, prettier than ever, lovelier
than the loveliest flower and would never
die, again. "So, darling, little Harry is well,
is he not ? His soul is with Jesus, and his
body will sleep only tilf Jesus comes again."
For many years, when I heard of one who
had died, my first thought and my first
question was, "Is he WELL ?"—Messenger.
JESUS MADE ME WHOLE.
" Brother, we need your help in our pray
'er-meetings. Can you`not give us a word
of exhortation or experience ? Can you
not lead us in a short prayer ?"
"'No I can't ; I have no confidence, or
talent. I know I could not say a word."
" Well, brother, we are organizing our
forces to go into the world and fight against
sin. We shall try to draw men from Satan's
ranks into Christ's army. You will at least
aid us in the fight. You can, by saying a
word, privately, help us recruit for Jesus."
Ah, you do not`know how weak and
slow of speech I am."
‘‘' Always thought you were a good talker ;
I never knew= beforethat you were troubled
for words."
" Well I know I can talk sometimes, and
about some thing but I cannot speak upon
religious subjects, especially to those who
are not: Christians. I always think of
what I used to be; and fear they will re
member my former life, and so my words,
if 'I could speak, would do no good."
"Yon, speak of your former life ; then
you do think 'you are different from what
you once were ?"
" Different ! Oh, blessed be God, sinful as
I am, I know lam a new creature. Old
things have passed away. All things have
become new, nothing but Jesus' love could
overcome my wicked heart, and help me to
give up ley slavish devotion to the intoxica
ting cup. I used' to profane the name I
now Jove.
_Yes, poor. a Christian as I am,
I know Christ's love has made me different.
Death cased to be truly the king of terrors
to me. 1 trembled at his very name. Now
I think of him no more, but of Jesus, who
will bear all his children safely to the other
shore."
"And who has wrought all this change ?"
" Who but Christ could do it?"
" When the Master was on earth he saw,
at Bethesda's pool, a poor man who had
been sick for thirty-eight long, weary years.
He was poor and friendless. Christ, look
ed upon him and pitied him, and said to
the man who had not walked for almost forty
ears. Take up the bed and walls. Now
ife flowed through his veins; health came
back again; joy.was in his heart; he was
a different man. Does he sit down to enjoy
this new, this. priceless blessing? No; he
went round and' told the Jews that it was
Sens Who had 'made him whole. He told
them of the Great Physician, that they
might go and be healed. And how could
they help believing, if they had ever seen
the cripple before ?
" So brother, you have the same reason
for speaking a word for Jesus. Ile has
made you whole. You feel that you are
different. All who see you know it. Can
you not tell those whom you meet that it is
Jesus who has wrought this change in you ?
Can you not ask them to go and healed,
also ?
Go to those who are as you used to be.
Tell them how Jesus has helped you; per
haps they will listen gladly.
" Tell the simple story of your healing in
your little gatherings for prayer. Tell it
as you have told it to me.
" He who has made you whole, may bless
your words to the healing of many a sin
sick soul, to the comforting of many a,de
sponding Christian heart.
" Your words have been blessed to me,
brother; will you not let others share the
blessing ?"
" And the man departed and told the
people, that it was Jesus which had made
him whole. _Sunday School Times.
A MODEL PATRIARCH.
How completely the pastoral life of the
East now reproduces the pictures so vividly
drawn for us in the Scriptures, has been
many times remarked, but it is long since
we have seen so eloquent and striking a de
scription of a scene which fulfills these con
ditions as in the following picture of a model
patriarch among the Algerines, from Mr.
Henry Blackburn's "Artists and Arabs.:"
"Around the camp this evening there are
groups of men and women standing, that
bring forcibly to mind those prints of the
early patriarchs from wbich.vi e are apt to
take our first, and, perhaps, most vivid im
pressions of eastern life; and we cannot
wonder at French artists , attempting• to il
lustrate Scriptural scenes from incidents in
Algeria. There are Jacob and Yoseph, as
one might imagine them, to the life; Ruth
in the fields, and Rachel by the well; and
there is a patriarch coming down, the moun
tain, with a light about his head• as the sun's
last rays burst upon him, that Herbert
might well have seen when , he was painting
Moses with the tables of the law. The effect
is accidental, but it is perfect in an artistic
sense, from the solemnity of the man, the
attitude of his crowd of followers, the
grand mountain forms which are partially
lit up by gleams of sunset, and the sharp
shadows cast by 'the throng. This man
may have , been a warrior chief, or the head
of a tribe; be certainly was the head of a
large family, who pressed round him to an
ticipate his wants and do him honor. His
children seemed to be everywhere •about
him ; they were his furniture, they warmed
his tent and, kept out the wind, they begged
for him, prayed for him, and generally
.helped-hini• on his way. Looked upon as a
colored statue, he was in some respects a
perfect type of beauty, strength, and dig
nified repose—what we might fitly call a
'study,' as he sat' waiting, whilst the women
prepared his evening meal; but whether
from a moral point of view he quite de
served all the respect arid deference that
was paid to him, is another question. As a
picture, as we said before,' he was magnifi
cent, and there was a regal air with which
he disposed the folds of his bournous, which
we, clad in the custom of advanced civiliza
tion, could not but admire and envy. lie
bad the advantage of us in every way, and
made us feel it acutely. He had a splendid
arm, and we could see it; the fine contour
and color of his head and neck were sur
rounded by white folds, but not concealed."
—Matt
A gentleman once said to Rowland Hill:
"It is sixty-five years since I first heard,you
preach, and the sermon was well worth while
remembering. You remarked that some peo
ple are very squeamish about the manner of
a clergyman in preaching, but you then add
ed : Supposing one is hearing a will read,
expecting to receive a legacy, would you
employ the time in criticising the lawyer's
manner while reading it? No; you would
give all your interest to ascertain it anything
were left to yourself, and how much. Let
that, tikei4. be, the way in which you listen to
the gospel."'
For more than 100 years Mont Blanc
has been treated as the monarch of European
mountain's;the peaks in the northern part
of the Caucasus being either unknown or
forgotten. Few people thought they were
in Europe; all the heights standing on the
eastern, shores of the BIIXiIIO being gene
rally considered, like the main'chain of the
Caucascus, as in Asia. Yet Elbrons and
liasbek. are both in Europe ; and as three
Alpine climbers—Messrs. D. W. Freshfield,
A. W. Moore, and C. C. Tacker—have just
been to their summits (respectively 18,526
feet and 16,540 feet), they are in future
to be known as the superiors
_to Mont
Blanc.
A correspondent of the Germantown Tele
graph says a few sprigs of gum or elder,
fresh from the bush, if deposited in and
about grain boxes, will be an effective pro
tection from rats and mice; also, that the
stalks and leaves of the common mullein
will drive rats from their haunts.
Goats are pronounced profitable to farm
ers if for no other purpose than clearing the
land of noxious weeds, which they will de
vour with avidity in all stages of their
growth.
Every farmer's family can find good use
for the, soot which is usually so abundant in
their stove-pipes and chimneys. Twelve
quarts , of water well mixed with soot, will
make a powerfial liquid - manure, which will
improve the growth of Rowers garden vege
tables, or root'crops. In either a liquid or
Boild Wit() it makes au excellent top-dress
ing fon grimmer. ceteaLekops.