Flowers of spring-time or, Stories from "The Childs' paper"


Material Information

Flowers of spring-time or, Stories from "The Childs' paper"
Child's paper
Physical Description:
236 p. : ill. (some col.) ; 33 cm.
Knight, Helen C ( Helen Cross ), 1814-1906
American Tract Society ( Publisher )
American Tract Society
Place of Publication:
New York (150 Nassau Street)
Publication Date:


Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1875   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1875   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1875
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- New York -- New York


Statement of Responsibility:
by Mrs. Helen C. Knight and others.
General Note:
Illustrated t.-p.
General Note:
In prose and verse.
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier:
aleph - 002219288
notis - ALF9469
oclc - 21108800
System ID:

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Not the ripe fruit of Summer,
Nor yet the Autumn sheaf;
But Life in its sweet Spring-time-
Bud, and Flower, and Leaf.



Abendberg, The hospice of----------------------------------
Abraham and Lot-------------------------------------------
Accounts, How are your-------------------------------------
Acting lies------------------------------------------------
Advantage of being a little child -----------------------------
Advisers, The two --------------------------------------
Afraid of the wages --------- ------------------------------
Andre, Capture of Major-------------------------------------
Angel of the fireside ------------- -------------------------
Angels' eyes------------ ------------------------------------
Apples, The red ------------------------------------------
Apples, The first ripe--------- ------ ------------------------
Are you a brother? ---------------------------------------
At his post------------------ -------------------------
Avalanche, The -----------------------------------------


Baby, The dead--------------------------------------------- 136
Baby brother----------------------------------------------- 103
Baby nursed by the prison door ---------------------------- 77
Bad bargains ----------------------------------------------- 26
Badger welcome, A-------------------------------------- 190
Bankers, The three -------------------------------------- 218
Basket, The little girl's--------------------------------------- 88
Beacon, The old boatswain's --------------------------------- 180
Beautiful allegory --------------------------------------- 10
Beautiful reply------------------------------------------- 204
Be kind----------------------------------------------- 44
Benny and the prize ----------------------------------- 109
Bible lesson---------------------------------------------- 126
Bible truth-------------------------------------- 218
Bible, What it has done ----------------------------------- 166
Bible, Whipped for reading the-------------- ---------------- 235
Big talk -------------------------------------------- 16
Birds and serpent------------------------------------- 131
Birdsnest ------------------------------------------ 223
Birth of Georgia ------ ------- ---------------------------- 108
Birth of Maryland ---------------------------------------- 80
Blind Bartimeus--------------------------------------------- 281
Blind girl---------------------------------------------- 58
Blind man---------------------------- ---------------- 64
Blood, Circulation of------------------------------------- 1
Blue bag------------------------------------------------- 7
Bosom-companion -------------------------------------- 199
Boy and cherry-basket ------------------------------------- 177
Boy rescued from the flames -------------------------------- 33
Boy that didn't care--------------------------------------- 77
Boys and the bears------------------------------------------ 207
Boys' evenings ------------------------------------------ 192
Brick-maker's family--------------------------------------- 206
Bullets, or Bibles?----------------------------------------- 218
Bunker-hill monument----------------------------------- 141
Bunyan in Bedford jail -------------------------------------- 225

Cactus, The-----------------.-------------------------.. 122
Cake, The slice of------ ------------.. ----------.----------- 32
Care for the babies----------------------- --------------- 20
Casting our shadows ----------------------..--------------- 14
Cent's worth------------------------------------------- 32
Catacombs of Rome--------------------.---------.------- 176
Change, The great------------------------------------ 231
Character, The worth of a---------------------- ------ ----. 140
Charlie on the bridge ------------------------------------- 8
Chicken, The pet -------------- ----. -------------------. 136
Child in the clover-field---------------------------------- 124
Child Jesus, The----------------------------- -- --------- 153
Child's Paper, The---------------- ---------. -----------. 39
Chinese, The----------------------------.---------------. 63
Choice, The happy--------------------- --.--------------- 171
Christ at the well of Samaria---------------------------..----- 217
Christ onthe mount of Olives--- ------ ------- --------------- 229
Clerk, The upright-----------------------------..-----.------ 198
Clerks, The two ----------------------------------- ----.. 57
Codfishing-------------------------------- ------------------ 113
Colporteur, The--------------------------------.---------- .169
Colporteur's visit------------------ ----- ----- -------------- 68
Columbus-------------------------------------------- 111
Come, children, come--------------------------------------- 74
Confession-the o1st thimble--------------------------------- 16
Cottage in England, The old man's---------------------------- 220
Counterfeit shilling ----------------------------- ------.-- 150
Country, The-------------------------------------------- 105
Crab-apple-tree------------------------------------------ 210
Crusader, The little----.--------------------------------- 236
Crystal palace, The -------------------------------------0. 50
Cuckoo in the sparrow's nest-------------------------------- 155

Daughter, The eldest ---------------------.---------------. 14
Deaf and dumb boy----------------------------------------. 77
"Didn't mean to"------ ------------------------------- 142
Difficulties, How to meet-----------------------------------. 144
Dogs of kt. Bernard--------------------------------------- 51
Doll, My------------------------------------------.----- 206
Dorcas-work -----------------------------------------. 69
Do rich and happy go together?---------------------------- 126
Do your bcsst ------------------------------- ---- ------------ 98
Drivers, The --------------------------------------------- 232
Dromedary, The swift----------------------------------- 127
Ducks-----------------------------------------------. 85
Dying, Two ways of ------------------------------------- 224
Dyke, Boy at the------------------------------------------- 116

Eagle's nest------------------------------------------------- 125
Early impressions abiding ---------------------------------- 82
Eden, The garden of--------------------------------------- 181
Eli and Samuel------------------------------------------- 139


Emigrants, The two little------------------------------------ 78
Emily's wish----------------------- ------------------- 28
Evil thoughts----------- ------------------------------- 184
Eye, The all-seeing .-------------------------------------- 386

Faith------------------------------------------------------ 207
Family group --------------------------------------------- 82
Fanny's word ------------------------------------------- 192
Farming when the pilgrims landed --------------------------- 168
Farm-school at Boston ------------------- ---------------- 158
Fire! fire! fire!-------------------------------------- 135
First step to ruin---------------------------------------- 54
First twenty years of life ----------------------------------- 117
First wrong step----------------------------------------148,160
Fly on the wall---------------------------------------------- 118
Food in China--------------------------------------------- 191
Fourth of July, Four ways of spending------------------------- 183
Friend, The best------------------- ---------------------- 75
Friends-------------------------------------------------- 61

Garden, The ------------------------ ------------------ 59
German sailor, or the ship on fire---------------- ----------- 45
German cook------------- ----------------------------- 87
Getting angry------------ ----------------------------- 26
"God can see through the crack"---------------------------- 227
God in a body-------------------------------------------- 37
God counts-------------------------------- -------------- 46
God's commands, Teaching -------------------------------- 194
God's seal--------------------------------------------- 216
Going to a sight----------------------- ------------- 12
Going swimming ----------------------- -------------- 66
Good witness --------------- ------------------------- 92
Grace Darling------------------------------------------- 19
Great fraud--------------------- ---------------------- 86
Grace's change of heart ------------------------------------ 164
Gruel, The bowl of, or knowing how ------------------------- 132

Happy, the way to be------- ------------------------------- 152
Hardest part of the verse---------------------------------- 71
Have you the marks? -------------------------------------- 116
Haydon, the English painter------------------------------- 134
Haystack prayer-meeting-- -- -------------------- 161
Heartiness in religion ---------------------------------- 202
Heathen of.the city ----------------------------------------- 75
Heaven must first come to us ------------------------------ 24
Helen Jones---- ---------------------------------------- 234
Hen and chickens----------------------------------------94,97
Home, The new ----------------------------------------- 13
Housekeeper, The little--------------------------------------- 184
How a boy became a minister ----------------------------- 18
How a man made a horse------------------------------------ 60


I am sure-------------------------------------------
"I am the door"-----------------------------------------
"Iforgot" ------------------- -----------------------
Independence, Declaration of ---------------------------------
Indian letter-----------------------------------------------
Indian school ------------------------------------------
Insects, The usefulness of------------------------------------
Island refuge-----------------------------------------------
"It comes from above"-----------------------------------
"It will be such as pleases me"-----------------------------


Jack Frost and the south wind----------------------------- 17
Jacob blessing Ephraim and Manasseh ------------------------- 145

Japan opening her doors------ ------------------------
Jerry and the voice ------ ----------------------------
John Hanson's night-work -----------------------------
Joss House------------------------------------------
Jowler and the babe --------------------- ---------------
Judith --------------------- -------------------------


Keg, The pesky ------------------------------------
Key, A new----------------------------------------
Kitten, The disobedient------- --------------------------
Knud Iverson, the martyr-child--------------------------


Lamb, The stray--------------------------------------
Leang Afa--------------------- --------------------
Leeches, A talk about---------- ----- ------------------
Light, Aglimmering------------------------ ----- -- ---
Light of all nations - ----------------- -- -------- ------
Lion, The--------------------------- ----------------
Little Jean- --------------- ----------------------------
Little Mary ----------------- -------------------------
Little talk overheard---------------------- ----------------
Loaves, The lad's five ----------------------------------
Log-cabin Sabbath-school----------------------------------
Look-out at the masthead --------------------------------
"Love one another" --------------------------------------
Luther climbing Pilate's staircase -----------------------------
Luther, How he found a Bible---------------------------------
Luther, The boyhood of-------- ----------------------
Lyon, Mary---------------------------- ------------------




Mabel and her Bible lesson --------- ---------------------- 104
Mabel and her Bible verse -------------------------------- 95
Madagascar, Martyrs of------------------------------------- 221
Mark, A bad ---------------------------------------------- 202
Martyr, A noble---------------------- ---------------------- 232
Medal---------------------------- ---------------------- 64
Medicine, How to take------------------------------------ 135
Melon, The stolen ------------------ -------------------- 222
Merchant-monk------------------------------------------ 44
Mighty cure-all------------------------------------------- 47
Missionary beds --------------------------------------- 63
Missionary child-------------- ------------------------- 81
Missionary's horse--------------------------------------- 190
Missionary, The little ------------------------------------- 120
Moollys, The----------------------------------------- 227
Moses, The finding of ----------------------- --------------- 195
Moung-moung and his nurse----------------- ------------------ 98
Mouths----------------------------------------------------- 86
"Murder will out"--------------------------------------- 164
Mustard-seed-------------------------------------------- 211
"My mother knows best"--------------------------------- 100

Nails in the post ---------------------------------------- 384
Needle, Making a------------ ---------------------------- 86
Nestorian Christians -------------------------------------- 128
News-boy, The------------------------------- --------- 213
New Year's morning------------------------------------ 70
New York, A street of------------------- ------------------ 167
Niagara Falls ---------------------------------------- 185
Nobleman's son -------------------------------------- 148
Noble resolution----------------------------------------- 40
No pains, no gains------------------------------------------ 280
North, The frozen -------------------------------------- 188
Not ashamed of his religion------------------------------- 21
Nothing amiss----------------------------------------- 49
Nothing to live for --------------------------------------- 212.



No "till" in eternity ---------------- --- ---- --------------- 16
Now ---------------------------------------------------- 122

Obeying orders--------------------------------------------- 48
Old sick woman's wish-------------------------------------- 24
Only one sermon --------------------------------------- 151
Orphan boy--------------------------------------------- 226


Paper preachers-- -------------- -- -------- -------- 179
Parable-the good part---------------------------------------- 156
Paying for a supper------------------------------------ 187
P. D.------------------------------------------ 224
Peace----------------------------- -------------------- 15
Petition, The little child's--- --------------- --------------- 73
Pilgrims, First Sabbath of ----------------- ----------- -- -- 178
Pilgrims, Landing of the .--------------------------------- 89
Playing pranks--------------------------- ----------- 193
Pleasant something ---------------------------------------- 81
"Pleased not himself"---------- ------------------------- 18
Pocket-book, The found ------------------------------------ 204
Poor child's request-------------------------------------- 83
Prayer that suits the guilty----- ------------------------- 210
Prayer, The answered--------------------------------- 197
Preachers to the heathen --- ----------------------------- 197
Printing, The first--------------------------------- ------- 69
Printing, Invention of-------- ------------------------- 209
Prisoner, The--------------- ------------------------- 48
Protest at the Diet of Spires ------------------------------- 101


Rabbit and fox; afable-------------------------------------- 201
Rabbits-------------------------------------------------- 129
Rain or no rain----- --------------------------------------- 76
Rain, The great --------------------------------------- 228
Rain, The summer------------------------ ---------------- 160
Receipt for making every day happy------------------------ 228
Redbreast family ------------------------------------------2 200
Remembering, The use of -------------------------------- 17
Replace the stone---------------------------------------- 52
Robin, The dead-------------------------------------- 219
Root family--- ------------------------------------------- 112
Rose, The broken ------------------------------------------ 29
"Run, speak to that young man"-------------------------- 92
Ruth------------------------------------------------ 155


Sabbath-keeping mackerel-catchers --------------------- 20
Sabbath of the Creation ------------------------------------- 59
Sabbath of mount Sinai -------------------------------------- 146
Sabbath-school boy ---------------------------------------- 42
Samaritan, The good------------------------------------ 177
Sandwich islands, or God in history------------------------- 94
Save the fragments---------------------------------------- 30
Saviour's birthday, The ------------------------------------ 106
Schuyler, General, and his invisible armor---------------------- 26
Seaside------------------------------------------------ 202
Sea, The perils of- -------------------------------------- 128
Seeds-------------------------------------------------- 96
Sentence on a judge----------------------------------------- 114
Sermon, A little-- --------------------------------------- 214
Serpent, The brazen---- ------------------------------------ 115
Seventy times seven"------------------------------------ 25
Shepherd-king, The--------------------------------------- 79
Shepherd, The good ------------------------------------- 198
Ship, The mission----------------------------------------- 157
Ships, The missing--------------------------------------- 99
Sight-seeing long ago-------------------------------------- 121
Silver dollar, The-------------------------------------- 8
Sixpenny savings-bank----------------------------------- 102

Sky, The blue-------------------------------------------- 66
Sled, The new--------------------- ----------------------- 54
Sleigh-ride-------------------------------------------- 143
Smithsonian Institute----------------------------------- 154
Something to do------------- ----------- -------------------- 30
"Sowing his wild oats"--- ---------------------------------- 21
Splinter, The----------------------- ----------------- 118
Spring lesson, A----------------------------------------- 119
Squirrel family---------- --------------------------------- 174
Squirrel's nest and Isaac Hopper ----------------------------- 100
Step-mother ------------------- ------------------- 165
Stolen hides--------------------------------------- --- 11
Street education-------- ----------------- --------------- 220
Student, The poor -------------- -------------------- 170
Sugar-plums, The box of ------------------------------------ 60

Tailors, The two--------------------------- ---------------- 286
Taught to fight------------------- ------------------------ 90
"Thank you" --------------- ---------------------------- 215
Thanksgiving-day in the heart --- -- ---- ------- ------------- 146
Thanksgiving-day in Turkey--- - -------- ----------- -- 196
"That is a boy I can trust" ------------------------------- 40
"That little book"- ----------------------------.-------- 173
"The old man"------------------------------------------ 130
Thorn in the pillow ----------------- ---------------------- 132
Thunder-storms-being afraid-------------------------------- 84
Thief caught by a microscope------------------------- ------- 152
Tippet's worth ----------------- --------------------- 108
Tower, The unfinished ------- ------------------------- 211
Travellers attacked by wolves------------------------------ 93
Tree that never fades ------------------------------------ 80
Trial trip--------------------------------------------------- 78
True to his principles------------- ------------------------ 50
Turkey----------------------------------------------------- 133
Turn right at the turning-point----------------------------- 96
Twice rescued--------------------- ------------------------- 185
Two kinds of babies------- --- -------------------------- 65
Two to see-------------------------------------------- 42
Two ways of learning a lesson ------------------------------ 88

Uncle Robert ----------------------------------- -------- 178


Value of a good name------------------------------------- 75
Voyage, The first -- -------------------------------------- 107

Waking up in the morning------- -------------------------- 12
War ------------------------------------------------------ 15
Water-------------------------------------------------- 48
Water, The wonderful -------------------------------------- 184
Welcome home--------------------------------------------- 41
Wedding guest------------------------------------------- 187
Whale-fishing --------------------------------------------- 203
What o'clock is it? ---------------------------------------- 388
What the November wind says--- ----------------------------- 212
"What's the use?" ---------------------------------------- 121
Which?---------------------------------------------------- 71
Which tasted best? --------------------------------------- 22
White bookmen----------------------------------------- 186
Who rules the weather?----- ----------------------------- 34
Who settles our country? ----------------------------------- 182
Winter evenings ----------------------------------------- 162
Winter garden, The ------------------------------------- 49
Wrecked, The------------------------------------------ 131


Young America-------- -----------------;----- -------- 90




Beggars, The little ---------------------------------------- 148
Be good------------------------------- ------ ------ 70
Bethlehem, The star of------------------------------------- 42
Bid for the children, A------------------------------------- 94
Bird's song ------------------------------------------------ 22
Brook, The---------------------------------------------- 118
Childhood's hours ------------------------------------------- 46
Children's missions-------------------------------------- 18
Children's Bible-hymn---------------- -------------------- 216
Child's prayer for a new heart ------------------------------ 43
Clock, The old cottage--------------------------------- 130
Cows going to pasture ------------------------------------ 161
Crossing-sweeper, The------------------------------------ 73
Deserted nursery ---------------------------------------- 62
Dog, To a----------------------------------------- 385

Each mother's love the best --------------------------------- 117
Early rising ---------------------- ------------------ 95
Fable of the mountain and squirrel-------------------------- 87
"I laid me down and slept" ------------------------------- 16
Invalid restored --------------------------------------------- 170
"Love one another" ----------------- -.------------------.- 123
"My mother's dead" -------------------.--. ----------------- 40
Night, The stormy ---------------------------------------. 111.
Penny, The best use of a -------------------- --------------- 84
Robin's appeal, The ---------------------------------------- 182
Scholars, The little -----------------------: ---------------2- 25
Sorrowful good-night ---------------------------------------- 210
Turtle-dove's nursery------------------------------------ 100
Up and doing, little Christian-------------------------------- 179
Voices of nature----------------------------------------- 196
Watch, mother, watch----------------------------------- 52
Winter-king ---------------------------------------------- 109


r ,;

. :

I *" I'' in 'y.. ,'

,' */"i..
- V>,-

SMONG JOSEPHINE DAY'S beautiful playthings there
was nothing to equal the blue bag which Mrs. Gaw-
.',-'try gave her, at least to Sarah's eye. Oh, that lit-
tle blue velvet bag, such a beauty! and just such
a one as she wanted. And Sarah eyed it, and held it up by
the strings, and danced it on her fingers, and made believe
it was hers. After all, it was Josephine's. Oh dear,"
sighed the little Sarah. Many days went on, and every
time Sarah went to Josephine's house, she said, Oh dear,"
wishfully over the bag.
One afternoon, as she was going up the steps to call Jo-
sephine to walk, what should she spy dangling on the bush
under the window but the blue bag. Sarah darted her eyes
at every window, nobody was looking, she seized the little
blue bag and put it into her pocket. Some one then crossed
the entry and said Josephine was out, which Sarah was not
sorry to hear. So she ran home with the prize in her pocket.
"I only picked it up," she kept saying to herself; "there's
no harm in that-only picked it up."
Sarah then went by herself, took it out, held it up, put
her kerchief in it, hung it on her arm, and examined it to
her heart's content; it was such a beauty 1 But when she
heard steps on the stairs, she snatched it off her arm and
hid it in her pocket. Her mother came into the chamber,
but dearly as she loved her mother, what had just delighted
her she dared not ask her mother to delight in also. Oh
no; and Sarah stole away into the garden.
When night came, Sarah was at a loss to know how to
dispose of the bag: her mother might go to her pocket, so
it was not safe there; neither could she be sure of keeping
it hidden in any drawer or closet. Somehow or other every
spot seemed naked and open to people's eyes: at last she
put it under her pillow, and here it troubled her like a thorn,
for Sarah kept waking up and feeling after it all night.
" Oh dear," sighed the little girl in the morning, not as usual
hastening to her mother's room.
"Oh dear," she sighed, dropping her eyes when Jose-
phine entered the school-room, and feeling in her bosom for
the bag hid there.
"Oh dear," she sighed again, afraid to play at recess,
lest it should drop out; and by and by Josephine came,

and putting her arm about her neck as usual, told her how
the house had been hunted to find the bag, and how her
mother had reproved her for carelessness.
At the close of the day, Sarah could not smile: there
was a burden on her heart that grew heavier and heavier,
and she hardly knew what to do. Every way she turned,
a blue bag hung in the air: after she went to bed and it
was all dark, if she opened her eyes, there was the blue
bag; and if she shut them, there was the blue bag.
The worst of all was, Sarah had a grief she could not
speak of. Heretofore all her little sorrows and perplexities
as well as her joys her mother shared; now the child was
trying to bear the burden alone. Oh, will not Jesus help
me?" she cried aloud on her bed, tossing about. She tried
to pray, but there was no heart in her prayer.
Leaning on her arm, she lifted up her head and heard
distant footsteps in the entry. "Mother !" screamed the
child, "mother mother !" The mother, heard and ran to
the call. "My child," she said, "my child, what ails you?"
coming to the bedside and taking both of Sarah's hot hands
in hers. Oh, mother, I more than picked it up-I more than
took it; I stole it !" thursting her hand between the beds,
and drawing forth the little blue bag. "Mother, it is Jo-
sephine's bag; mother, will God ever forgive me? can I
ever be happy again?" and the child sobbed bitterly on
her mother's shoulder. What a sad and solemn hour was
this. "Yes, mother, I knew better: I kept saying it's only
picking it up; but, mother, it was more. I knew it was
more when I was afraid to show it to you, and I knew it
was more when I could not tell you how I felt. Mother, I
am a thief, neither more nor less, and Josephine may take
me to jail. I had just as lief go, now I've told. I had
rather tell; and, mother, will God forgive me ?"
The mother looked very pale; she did not try to make
an excuse for her little one; she only took her by her side,
and they knelt down together to ask forgiveness of God
and pray that Jesus would wash away her sins in his pre-
cious blood. And early the next morning the mother and
her child went to Josephine's house, Sarah carrying the
bag. "Mother," whispered the little girl, "it's no matter
what Josephine or any body thinks of me; if I only confess
my sin and be forgiven, is it not a great deal better?" As


the child spoke, the mother thanked God in her heart for
this sweet token of an humble and repentant spirit.
"Oh," said Sarah, many, many times afterwards, and
always with a tear in her eye, "I am sure that is sin which
you are trying to hide from your mother and from God;
and you can't smooth it over by any other name."

"Now," said Charlie Piper's mother to him, as he went
out of the door to go to school, "don't you harbor that thief
to-day: remember!" "No, mother, I will not," answered Char-
lie Piper, deliberately and emphatically.
What a child of Charlie Piper's bigness harbor a thief?
One would think he could have nothing to do with thieves.
Yes, one would suppose so, and yet there was one thief so
sly that he used to insinuate himself into Charlie's good
graces, and Charlie used to go with him; and although he
well knew that it grieved his mother, and certainly hurt
his character, yet it was some time before he had firmness
enough to take a manly stand against him.
As he pushes off to school, his mother bids him "remem-
ber I" On he goes until he gets almost across the bridge,

_--- __ .-

.= _~. - -

- .

-- -

when he stops a minute to watch the little minnows darting
around in the water below. He almost wished he was a
minnow, that he had no grammar to learn, or copy to write ;
he was sure minnows must be very happy, with nothing to
do the livelong day but play in the water.
Charlie well knew he had not a moment to spare on the
bridge; he knew that precisely five minutes after nine the
master fastened the door for prayers, and no tardy boy
could get in; he knew it was too bad thus to lose a whole
half-day's school, but for all that he kept stopping and
delaying. In fact his old companion the thief was by his
side, ready to steal his precious moments; so the boy kept
stopping and stopping, thinking about the minnows, and
saying, Oh, it is too pleasant to be cooped up in that old
school-room," until all at once his mother's word, "remem-
ber," rushed into his mind. It seemed as if she spoke it

again in his ear. He started up from his lounging attitude,
threw back his arms, as much as to say, "Hands off, Mr.
Thief !" and took to his heels in the direction of the school-
room. Charlie run with all his might. He arrived just the
moment the master was about locking the door, and hap-
pily got in. "Good said Charlie, looking as glad as
could be; "Good! I made my escape that time, I did.
Good-by, Mr. Thief; you and I, I hope, have done having
any more dealings together."
Charlie was as good as his word; and from this time,
instead of being a boy always delaying, always behindhand,
he became the very soul of promptness. Hereafter, "procras-
tination," which the proverb calls the "thief of time," kept
at a distance, and at last ceased to trouble him altogether.
Now, do the children think what a bad thing this pro-
crastination is? Procrastination, you know, is the spirit of
delaying, of being behindhand in all your undertakings and
engagements and duties. It is aptly called a thief, for it
robs us of one of our best treasures, time. Did you notice
how it was trying to steal Charlie's time on the bridge?
Avoid this thief. Say, "Hands off!" whenever he tempts
you to dally in your duties, and do resolutely and promptly
whatever you have to do; or as the Bible finely expresses
it, "Whatsoever you do, do it heartily as to the Lord." Such
a course will certainly rid you of his troublesome and dan-
gerous presence for ever. Try it.

It was a season of great scarcity on the hill regions of
New Hampshire, when a poor woman, who lived in a hut
by the woods, had no bread for her little family. She was
sick, and without either friends or money. There was no
helper but God, and she betook herself to prayer. She
prayed long-she prayed in earnest; for she believed that
He who fed the young ravens would feed her.
On rising from her knees one morning, her little bare-
footed girl opened the door to go out. Something shining
on the sill stopped her. The child stooped down, and be-
hold, a silver dollar I She ran and took it to her mother.
It really was a new, round, bright silver dollar. They look-
ed up and down the road; not a living person was in sight,
and neither footsteps nor wagon-wheels were to be heard.
Where did the dollar come from?. Did God send it?
Doubtless it was from his hand; but how did it get there?
Did it rain down? No. Did he throw it from the win-
dows of heaven? No. Did an angel fetch it? No. God
has ways and means for answering prayer without sending
special messengers. He touches some little spring in the
great machinery of his providence, without in the least
disturbing its regularity, and help comes. Sometimes we
do not see exactly how, as this poor woman did not; then it
seems to come more directly from him; while in fact our all
being taken care of ever since we were born comes just as
directly from him, only he employs so many people to do
it, fathers, mothers, servants, shopkeepers, that we are apt
to lose sight of him, and fix our eye only on them.
But how did the silver dollar get on the door-sill? some
boy may ask. It happened that a pious young blacksmith
was going down the sea-board in quest of business. It
was several miles before he could take the stage-coach, and



instead of going in the wagon which carried his chest, he
said he would walk. "Come, ride," they said; "it will be
hot and dusty." He kept answering, "No," to all his
friends urged. "I'll walk, and take a short cut through the
pines," and off he started with a stout walking-stick. As
he was jogging on through a piece of woods, he heard a
voice from a little lonely hut by the road-side. It drew
his notice, and he stepped towards it on tiptoe; then he
stopped and listened, and found it was the voice of prayer,
and he gathered from the prayer that she who offered it was
poor, sick, and friendless.
"What can I do to help this poor woman?" thought the
young man. He did not like to go into the hut. He clap-
ped fis hand into his pocket and drew out a dollar, the first
silver dollar he ever had-and a dollar was a big sum for
him to give, for he was not as rich then as he is now. But
no matter, he felt that the poor woman must have it. The

dollar being silver, and likely to attract notice as soon as
the door was open, he concluded to lay it on the sill and
go away, but not far ; for he hid behind a large rock near
the house, to watch what became of it. Soon he had the satis-
faction of seeing the little girl come out and seize the prize,
when he went on his way rejoicing. The silver dollar came
into the young man's hand for this very purpose, for you see
a paper dollar might have blown away; and lie was led to
walk instead of riding-why, he did not exactly know ; but
God, who directed his steps, did know. So God plans, and
we are the instruments to carry on his plans. Oftentimes
we seem to be about our own business when we are about
his-answering, it may be, the prayers of his people.
The young blacksmith is now in middle life: he has
been greatly prospered, and given away his hundreds
since then; but perhaps he never enjoyed giving more
than when he gave his first silver dollar.

I / ,,'

Who is the angel of the fireside, and where dwells he? in the stove, boiling the tea-kettle and making a cheery
SIs he in that large nice kitchen, into which the bright heat for puss and dog, children and mother. Yet the mother
morning sun is shining with his golden beams? and golden grumbles, "Cold, cross children, and this crowded room-I
as they are, they are not brighter than the platters, or wish I had a house as big as 'Squire Noyes'." "I wish it
cleaner than the floor, or warmer than the fire which burns wouldn't be winter-wish 't was always summer," said the
1 2



eldest girl with a sour look, patterning after her mother.
"I wish I had a pair of boots lined with fur instead of these
old cowhides," cried the second boy, despising the stout-
soled shoes that had carried him through many a quagmire
dry-shod. "'Most all the boys have got new red sleds, and
I want one," cried Tommy, the youngest, as if he thought
that only a. red sled could'be a good sled; and he began to
tease his mother with his foolish whim. Does the angel of
the fireside dwell here? Oh, no. He cannot tarry with dis-
content and unthankfulness.
Let us search further. Here is a parlor all beautiful
within. The skill of the world has helped to adorn it; here
are carpets from Turkey, and glass from Bohemia, and gold
from California, and silks from India, and pictures from
Italy. Here surely nestles the angel of the fireside, fan-
ning his wings in the warm and fragrant atmosphere of
this costly and elegant home. The door opens. "Please,
ma'am, and shure a poor woman and her child asks for
charity," says a servant. "For charity, indeed!" answers
the mistress of the mansion ; "and where are the poor laws,
and the city missionary, and the ward dispensary, and the
house of refuge, and the soup-hall; where are they, I should
like to know, that a poor woman and her child comes to me
for charity? Bid her go to the proper authorities. 'Am I
my brother's keeper?'" And the shivering mother and the
cld little child went from the inhospitable door, with the
tears frozen on their cheeks, hungry, forlorn, and desolate.
No, the angel of the fireside is not here; he cannot live in
the atmosphere of selfishness; he cannot nestle in hearts
and homes unblest with the sweet charities of Christ.
Where is he? Let us go to a humbler home. The old
grandfather sits in his high-backed chair; wife and sons
and daughters are dead; but two little grandchildren are
left, and they are orphans. His home is homely, but it is
home still. "Oh, grandsir," says little Mary, "is n't our fire
the warmest, in the world ?" and she stretched out her hands
to its genial influence. "Nobody has such bright, dancing
flames as we, grandsir." "And, grandsir," says the boy,
"I have put some clean straw round piggy to-night, be-
cause it is so cold; and stuffed up the chinks round the
hen-house; and I got an extra armful of wood for poor old
Betsy Cole." God is good," said the old man, looking into
the fire as if speaking to himself. "God is good. 'I have
been young, and now am old, yet have I not seen the right-
eous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.' God is good.
' A little that a righteous man hath, is better than the riches
of many wicked.' God is good and merciful."
"God is good," said the little boy reverently. "God is
very good to us, is n't he, grandsir ?" repeated Mary, with
a smiling and happy heart.
-Here dwells the angel of the fireside, for his name is
GRATITUDE, and he dwells in the humble and loving heart.
It is he that lightens every burden, and sweetens every
bitter cup.

There was once a king who had a very beautiful gar-
den, and grounds arranged with taste to please the eye, to
afford refreshing shade, retired walks, commanding views,
and besides, all the delightful fruits that could be produced.
There was one superb old oak, so high and grand that it

could be seen. for miles around. There were roses, and
lilacs, and flowering shrubs of every kind; in short, noth-
ing was wanting to make it a perfect spot.
One day the king's head-gardener came in, and exclaim-
ed, "Oh king, pray come out and see what is the matter
with your garden; every thing is wilting, and drooping,
and dying." While he spoke, the other gardeners came
rushing up, and all had the same sad story to tell. So the
king went out, and there to be sure, he found it all as they
had said.

-*'* ;--y ';' .. I

He went first up to his grand old oak-tree, his pride and
admiration, and said, "Why, oak, what's the matter with
you, that you are withering and dying?" "0," said the
oak, "I don't think I am of any use, I am so large and
cumbersome; I bear no flowers or fruit, and I take up so
much room, and besides, my branches spread so wide and
thick that it is all dark and shady under them, and no
flowers and fruit can grow there. Now, if I were a rose-
bush it would be worth while, for I should bear sweet flow-
ers; or, if I were a peach or a pear tree, or even like the
grape-vine, I could give you fruit."
Then the king went on to his favorite rose-bush, and
said, "Well, rose-bush, what's the matter with you; why
are you so drooping?" "Why," said the rose-bush, "I'm of
no use; I have no fruit, I bear nothing but flowers : if I
were an oak, like that grand one in the middle of the
grounds, I should be of some use; for then I should be seen
for miles around, and should do honor to your garden. But
as it is I might just as well die."
The king next came to a grape-vine, no longer clinging to
the trellis and the trees, but trailing sadly on the ground. He
stopped and said, Grape-vine, what's the matter with you;
why are you lying so dolefully on the ground?" "Ah," said
the vine, "you see what a poor weak creature I am: I can't
even hold up my own weight, but must cling to a tree or a



post: and what good can I do ?. I neither give shade like the
oak, nor bear flowers like the shrubs. I can't even so much
as make a border for a walk, like the box. I must always
depend on something else, and surely I am of no use."
So on went the king, quite in despair to see all his place
going to destruction; but he suddenly spied a little heart's-
ease, low down by the ground, with its face turned up to
him, looking as bright and smiling as possible. He stop-
ped, and said, "You dear little heart's-ease, what makes you
look so bright and blooming, when every thing around you
is wilting away?" "Why," said the heart's-ease, "I thought
you wanted me here: if you had wanted an oak, you would
have planted an acorn; if you had wanted roses, you would
have set out a rose-bush; and if you had wanted grapes,
you would have put in a grape-vine. But I knew that
what you wanted of me was to be a heart's-ease; and so
I thought I would try and be the very best little heart's-
ease that ever I can."
Children, can you see the moral? God didn't want a
grown-up, learned, rich, great man in the place where he
put you; if he had, he would have made one. He wants
each of you to be a child, while you are a child; but he
wants you to be a good child, and the "very best little
heart's-ease that ever you can." Will you try?

"Hear the birds. How sweetly they sing The robin,
the bobolink, the oriole. Do not your ears enjoy the music,
Fanny? Your ears love music." "My ears love music!"
answers the child; "no, not my ears, it is I. Ears don't
know hymns, ears don't know robins. Dead ears cannot
hear. I use my ears; it is Iwho hear and love."
See that bunch of grapes; how purple and tempting:
but Fanny's mother bade her not touch them. Yet the little
girl stretches out her hand and tears it from the vine. Fan-
ny's hand disobeyed; Fanny's hand forgot. The naughty
hand must be punished.
"My hands did not know it was wrong; hands cannot
forget," cries Fanny; "they only minded me. It was I
who did it; I was the naughty one."
The girls call Fanny to go to the meadow to make bul-
rush caps. Fanny runs to ask leave of her mother. "Not
this evening," says the mother, "it is too late to go to the
meadow." The child is angry. She goes off muttering, "I
want to go; I will go I It is not kind in my mother; I do
not love her I" After a while Fanny has done pouting.
"Oh Fanny, what a wicked mouth is yours; what bad
words it has said! It has talked against your mother,
your best friend. Wicked, angry, rebellious mouth!"
The tears start in Fanny's eyes: "Oh, it is not my poor
mouth," she answers sorrowfully, "that is to blame; it is I.
I made it speak so. I am to blame; it only minded me.
I am the one."
Who is "I?" It is not the ears, the eyes, the hands,
the mouth; they are only his tools to work with. Wheth-
er they do good or do evil depends upon the I who uses
them. How much power there is in I. What a responsible
thing is I, to be able to do so much that is right and so
much that is wrong.
What is I, children? It is the thinking, judging, will-
ing, loving, hating principle within you, called the soul.

Sometimes when your parents have talked to you about the
soul, you perhaps have stopped and thought, What is my
soul? I never saw it." Remember, it is that within you
which makes the "I." All that is good or bad in you springs
from it. Do you not see that it is one of the most serious
things in the world to have an "I;" and one of the most
awful things in the world to have an I that goes wrong? If
the I goes wrong, every member you have goes wrong with
it. "But how can it help going wrong?" the children ask
anxiously; "'I' does go wrong; it will do wrong in spite
of every thing. This 'I' within me gets angry, disobedient,
wilful, headstrong. It leads me to a great deal of sorrow
and bitterness. I wish that my 'I' would always think and
feel and act right ; but it does not-no, no."
Your parents and teachers can give you little or no aid
in this great difficulty; but there is One, higher and migh-
tier than they, that can help you, children. It is God, the
great "I Am," who spoke to his servant Moses in the burn-
ing bush, and who, in these later times, has revealed him-
self as God your Saviour, in the person of Jesus Christ.
Hear his gracious words: "He that abideth in me, and I in
him, the same bringeth forth much fruit; for without me ye
can do nothing. Abide in me, and I in you." Blessed words
Jesus will come and dwell in your heart. He will come
and take the direction of your rebellious "I." He alone can
govern it. He will stand at the helm and guide you into
the ways of pleasantness and peace. Call upon the Lord
Jesus, "Oh, Lord Jesus, rule in and reign over me. Let
me give myself to thee; no more I, but THou."

William Savery, an eminent preacher among the Quak-
ers, was a tanner by trade, and known by all as one who
walked humbly with his God. One night a quantity of hides
was stolen from his tannery, and he had reason to believe
that the thief was a quarrelsome, drunken neighbor, whom
I shall call John Smith. The next week the following ad-
vertisement appeared in the county newspaper :
"Whoever stole a quantity of hides on the fifth of the
present 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 obtaining
money by means more likely to bring him peace of mind."
This singular advertisement attracted considerable at-
tention; but the culprit alone knew who had 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 after-
wards, as the tanner'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 shoul-
der. 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 perhaps thou wilt come in, and tell me how
this happened. We will see what can be done for thee."
As soon as they were gone out, his wife prepared some
hot coffee, and placed pies and meat 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 fireplace in silence a few moments, he
said in a choked voice, "It is the first time I ever stole any
thing, and I have felt very bad about it. I am sure I
didn't once think that I should ever come to what I am.
But I took to drinking, and then to quarrelling. Since I
began to go down hill, every body gives me a kick. You
are the first man that has ever offered me a helping hand.
My wife is sickly, and my children are starving. You have
sent them many a meal: God bless you; and 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 still remains between ourselves. Thou art still
young, and it is in thy power to make up for lost time.
Promise me that thou wilt not drink any intoxicating liq-
uor for a year, and I will employ thee to-morrow, on good
wages. The little boy can pick up stones. But eat a bit
now, and drink some hot coffee. Perhaps it will keep thee
from craving any thing 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
become easy. When thou hast need of coffee, tell Mary,
and she will always 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." He
entered into his employ the next day, and remained with
him many years, a sober, honest, and faithful man. The
secret of the theft was kept between them; but after John's
death, William Savery sometimes told the story, to prove
that evil might be overcome with good.


When John waked up, there was only a streak of sun-
shine on the wall; he watched it as it kept growing bigger
and bigger, until it spread almost to the size of the window.
"The sun never gets tired of rising," thought he; "it is a
good sun." Then he heard a robin sing. "The robin is up
early," turning his eyes to the window; "he sings very
briskly. What makes him sing so ? Dear little robin."
Next he thought what a nice little bed he was in, and how
white the coverlet looked. Then he caught sight of his
new jacket, hanging on a peg in the corner: "That is cer-
tainly a grand new jacket; and there is my own comb and
brush," glancing at the table ; "what a sweet little brush
that is !" He lay and thought, looking first at one thing
and then another. "What a pleasant home I have got,"
said John almost aloud; "and father and mother, how real
good they are I"
He thought, and thought, until his spirit grew very
tender. "And who made the sun, and the robins, and my
parents, and all the things?" This question somehow or
other forced itself very powerfully on his mind: "Yes, who
really did?" It seemed as if John never saw so much of
God in every thing before. He saw God all around, giving
him things. Then his thoughts turned to the Bible account

of this great and good Being, and how it said that He also
"gave his Son to die for us." "And that's because we
broke his holy laws," said John to himself. He wondered
how that could be, seeing God was so good; and yet he
saw, as he had never seen before, that he had not minded
whether he obeyed God or not. "I am sure I have been
very wicked and ungrateful, very," thought John; "and
yet God did not cast me off, but sent Jesus Christ to wash
my sins away and make me be what I ought to be. Only
think what a God the great God is !" And he felt so sorry
and so ashamed that he did not know what to do. Tears
rolled down his cheeks, and he wiped them away with his
nightgown sleeve.
Soon John got up, and kneeling down, bowed his head.
He had often "said his prayers" before; but now it was
different. God seemed very, very near, all around him,
and he felt afraid. He thought of his sins, of his unthank-
fulness and neglect of God's commands. He hardly knew
which way to turn. Then Jesus seemed to say, "I am the
way," and the child tried from the depths of his heart to
pray, "For Christ's sake, forgive my sins." And then, as
a sense of God's mercy in giving his Son to die came over
him, he felt thankful as he had never done before, and
resolved that, by the help of the Holy Spirit, he would
trust in Christ and love and serve him.


Rev. Mr. Venn once told his children that in the even-
ing he would take them to one of the most interesting
sights in the world. They were anxious to know what it
was. Perhaps some children will guess it was a show, or
a circus, or a ventriloquist, or some such thing.
Mr. Venn did not gratify their curiosity, he only told
them to wait. When evening came, he took them by the
hand, and led them to a miserable hovel, whose decayed
walls and broken windows bespoke poverty and want.
"Now," said he, "my dear children, can any one that lives
in such a wretched place as this be happy? Yet this is
not all; a poor young man lies on a miserable straw bed
within, dying of fever, and afflicted with nine painful
"Oh, how wretched !" they all exclaimed at once.
Mr. Venn led them into the cottage, and going up to the
poor dying young man, he said, "Abraham Midwood, I have
brought my children here to show them that people carl be
happy in sickness, in poverty, and in want; and now tell
them if it is not so."
The dying youth, with a sweet smile, immediately an-
swered, "0 yes, sir; I would not change my state with
the richest man on earth who had not the views which I
have. Blessed be God, I have a good hope through Christ
of going to heaven, where Lazarus now is. He has a great
while ago forgotten all his miseries; soon I shall mine.
Sir, this is nothing to bear while the presence of God cheers
my soul. Indeed, sir, I am truly happy, and I trust to be
happy through all eternity; and I every hour thank God,
who has given me to enjoy the riches of his goodness and
his grace through Jesus Christ."
Could there be a more interesting sight than this?





"It is nigh thirty years ago," said an old farmer, "that
my son Jonas made up his mind to go west; and 'the West'
was a great way off then. His mother felt sore about it,
and wanted me to get the notion out of his head; but I saw
it was of no use, it was in him to go; so I said, 'Go, Jonas,
go, and I have only one bit of advice to give you-don't
leave your father's and your mother's religion behind you."
"'Father,' says he, 'I don't mean to.' The load was
lifted from my soul. 'God be praised,' I cried: 'let us
pray, Jonas;' and we fell on our knees down under the old
apple-tree, and I felt that the God of my fathers was my
God, and would be the God of my boy. Jonas had not
been a serious-minded child, but he grew up and married
and settled, and had almost every thing to recommend
him but religion; this want we accounted a pretty serious
one, and it was this which made his leaving us for parts
unknown so grievous to his mother.
"But God Almighty was better to us than our fears, for
he was already leading Jonas in a way which we knew
not. When he made up his mind to go, and was thinking
what to take and what to leave behind, the thought came
to him, 'I must be sure to carry the religion of my pious
ancestors. I can't do without that.' When I spoke to him
his heart was mellowed by the Holy Spirit, and he was
ready to receive the truth. He wept over his long years
of sin, hoped I'd forgive him, and that God for the sake of
Christ would forgive him; and he prayed that God would
make him a vessel to honor Him in time to come. That

was a glorious season. His mother and I could only praise
the Lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to
the children of men. Jonas united with the church only
the Sabbath before he started, and it was a solemn time.
The two neighbors' families who were going with him, came
to church and witnessed the scene; they were godless peo-
ple, but they did then see there was a meaning in true
"It was a long journey to Ohio, for people did not
steam it over the country in those days. Emigrants went
with their own teams. Jonas had a strong covered wagon;
he had a stove in it, and they stopped and did their cook-
ing by the way; and he had a bed in it, where they slept
at night: their wagon was coach, car, and tavern, eating,
sleeping, and sitting room, for six weeks or more ; yes, and
Sunday it was the Lord's house to them. Jonas never
travelled on the Sabbath. Saturday night they tried to
pitch their tent by a stream of water, and there they rested
on the holy day; and to make it profitable, he held meet-
ings such as they had at home, reading from God's word,
and praying and singing. One of the families called it a
waste of time, left the company and pushed on alone, and I
reckon they never prospered. When Jonas reach the town-
ship where he was going to settle, he never lifted an axe
until he called his family around him and knelt down on
that new soil and asked the blessing of the great God on
their land, 'their basket, and their store.' Then he went to
work to build his log house, and clear his land."


That is the true way to begin a new home : the first
thing to build is to build the family altar, and the first
thing to plant is Bible principles. Industry and prudence
will do a great deal towards making labor profitable and
home happy; but after all, something more is necessary;
and what is it? "The blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich,
and he addeth no sorrow.with it."

C" -- '_ -. ."
- i,._ .

"If people's tempers should cast shadows, what would
they be ?" said Augustine, as he lay on the grass and looked
at Amy's shadow on the fence. "Joe Smith's a
fist doubled up, and Sam Stearns' a bear, for he is always
growling, and sister Esther's a streak of sunshine, and
cousin Julia's a sweet little dove, and mine"-here Augus-
tine stopped.
According to Augustine, then, our inner selves are cast-
ing their shadows; that is, I suppose, we are throwing off
impressions of what we really are all around us; and in
fact we can no more help doing so, than we can fold up our
real shadows and tuck them away in a drawer.
Suppose we follow out Augustine's idea, and ask, "And
mine-what shadow would my temper cast?" It might
surprise and possibly frighten us, although it might in some
measure help us to see ourselves as others see us. The
fact is, our associates know us better than we know our-
selves; they see our shadows, and though they may some-
times be longer or shorter than we really are, the outlines
are in the main correct; for our shadow is, after all, the
image of our self.
We sometimes hear of people who are "afraid of their
shadows," and it seems cowardly and foolish; but if Augus-
tine's idea should come to pass, a great many would have
reason to be frightened by the image of their inner selves;
so deformed and unsightly it might be, or so disagreeable,
that nobody would wish to take a second look.
Now, it is this shadoiving out of what we really are, in
spite of ourselves, which makes it such a sober and respon-

sible business to be living, and which makes it so immeas-
urably important to be living right; for other people are
constantly seeing and feeling our influence, whatever it
may be. Every girl at school is throwing off a good or
bad impression upon her school-mate next to her. Every
boy at home is casting off kind and gentle influences in
the little circle around him; or, it may be, he is like the
image of a fist doubled up, or a claw scratching, or like a vine-
gar-cruet, pouring out only the sour. How is this? Let the
children look to this point.

There is no more interesting and important member of
a family, than the right sort of eldest daughter. The mother
has now some one to lighten her burdens and share her
labors. Who makes all the button-holes, and does all
the fine sewing? Who superintends cake-baking and the
preserving pans? Who does the honors of the table, so
that now and then the parent can enjoy the quiet of her
chamber, and feel that her second self is below stairs?
Who reads the paper to papa, sings him a favorite tune, or
accompanies him to the evening lecture? Whom do the
boys consult before opening the battery of their plans upon
their elders? Who hears all they have to say, patiently
reasons with them, and kindly bears their perverseness?
Who stands between them and blame, and speaks a good
word in their behalf? To whom do the little ones run, to
get help in their hurts, aid in their lessons, and sympathy
in their plays? It is the eldest daughter.
Her influence is gradually but growingly felt in the
family councils. Mother advises with her, father asks her
opinion, and the children aim to get her on their side. Her
position is one of no common trust. The moulding of the
younger members of the family is greatly in her power.
The tastes of her brothers, when they first begin to choose
their own associates and pastimes, can be essentially
strengthened and modified by her influence; in her sympa-
thizing affection, she can curb their impetuosity, foster what
is good, and expel what is bad. The sisters look up to her
for example, at an age when only a year or two makes all
the difference between the girl and the woman.
How important that the eldest daughter be of the right
stamp, of good sense, and firm principles, with a friendly
heart and a diligent hand. If she is the daughter of Chris-
tian parents, how important that she bear the fruits of pa-
rental training. What tender solicitude has been felt for
her soul! How many prayers have been offered in her
behalf How anxiously have the first blades of piety been
looked for in her opening character. Oh, how important
that she, the elder, the example, the guide-for she is all
this, whether she will or no-be the child of God, showing
in her daily life the excellence and purity of Christian prin-
Let every eldest daughter consider well her position.
Be and do all that it is your duty and your high privilege
to become and to accomplish in the dear home sphere. Do
not be merely a pretty picture or useless furniture, but-let
your presence elevate as well as please, quicken as well as
adorn; and let it be said of you as an eldest daughter and
a child of God, "She hath done what she could."




- ... ..... -- - -. "- s.,-
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-_-:--J le- L_ . -._ .. z_ _, ._

, .'.,



Angels have often been sent on errands to man, but the
sweetest message they ever brought was "Peace." They
came in the still night, and gave it to the shepherds keep-
ing their watch on the hill-sides of Judea. "Glory to
.God in the highest," they said, "and on earth Peace, good
will towards men."
But is not the world slow to prize her? Do kings and
statesmen, when they make war, know what they banish

from the land? Peace turns their swords into ploughshares,
and their spears into pruning-hooks. It crowns the hills
with corn, and clothes the fields with waving grain. It
stops the mountain streams in their wild bound to the
ocean, and puts them to honest labor. They grind corn and
turn the spindles, they saw timber and weave the wool, and
thrift and comfort spring up along their rocky beds.
It sends abroad ships over the pathless ocean, to come


-. r-. --

= --~t-;-~~'-s -----;


back laden with the fruit and produce of all climates.
Peace nurses schools, and all the useful and beautiful arts.
Peace builds churches, where men and women and little
children can worship God without disturbance or fear.
Peace holds the olive-branch, whose oil heals the smart-
ing wound and stills the angry waters. Peace is arched
in the rainbow, which is a token that the storm is over,
and the raging elements are hushed.
Peace gives courage to the timid, and tames the wild
beasts of the forest. And the time shall be, says the word
-of God, when the "lion and the lamb shall lie down togeth-
er," all savage instincts and devouring passions shall for
ever sleep in the kind charities of the gospel.

"We've just got home, and Oh, I saw a caterpillar that
frightened me almost to death, and we met a dog as big as all
out-doors; and now, mother, Eunice wants an immense horn
button to sew on my skirt, for the button's off."
This is a specimen of the way some children and grown-
up people use language, or rather abuse it. It is called an
exaggerated style, which means, making things appear larg-
er than they really are;, and it is one we should carefully
and particularly avoid, for it leads to untruthfulness, or
rather, is untruthful, even in the smallest thing that is said.
What must a dog be, as big as all out-doors ?" And what
sort of a button is an "immense" horn button? No one
who indulges in such habits of talking can be relied upon:
his statements cannot be taken as correct; he is, whether
he knows it or not, a teller of falsehoods.
Strive always to be plain and simple in all your expres-
sions. In our talk with one another, our aim should be to
speak the truth; to convey right notions, to give accurate
descriptions, to express our ideas distinctly. See how it is
with yourself, and if you find yourself liable to fall into this
bad habit of talking, set about correcting it as soon as
you can. It is a habit too common among us, and some
people seem to think it very fine; but remember, that can-
not be excellent or desirable which is untruthful. Purity
of taste is opposed to high and vulgar coloring of any kind.
"In all things show thyself a pattern of good works," says
the word of God, "in sincerity and sound speech, that cannot
be condemned."

Oh, mother, I do not know how to think of eternity, for
there is no 'till' in eternity-till next year-till to-morrow-
till New-Year's."
Yes, there are measures for time; we know none to
measure eternity. It is enough for us to know that heaven
and hell are there. One of these will be our final home. How
can we reach the one; how escape the other? Jesus says,
"Except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish." "I am the
way, the truth, and the life; no man cometh unto the Fa-
ther, but by me."
If you reach heaven, there will be no fear of a "till"
to disquiet your perfect peace; if you are among the lost,
there will be no hope of "till" to end your sorrow. Do not
delay to choose the better part till it be for ever too late.

The following circumstances took place in the family of the
Rev. E. P. Rogers of Augusta, Georgia, with regard to his little
Charlie, a beautiful and promising child.
A blooming group, at evening prime,
Moved by their parent's voice,
Each offered from the book divine
Some fragment of their choice.
And one, a beauteous boy, o'er whom
Four happy years had swept,
Raised his clear trustful eyes, and said,
"I laid me down, and slept."
"0 sweet, my son, the gem you bring;
Yet know you not the rest?
'I woke, because the Lord sustained'-
Complete the sentence blest."
But still that student of the skies
His first selection kept:
"No, dear mamma; just this alone,
'I laid me down, and slept.'
That night the fever smote him sore,
With dire delirious pain,
And fiercely on his heartstrings fed,
Till every hope was vain.
Then all at once in slumber soft
The darling sufferer lay;
And, like a lamb of Jesus, slept
His gentle life away.
He slept; but with what glorious joy,
In strains of seraph love,
The waking words he spoke not here,
Shall be pronounced above:

"Dear mother, it was I that lost your thimble; I was
afraid to own it. I have felt dreadfully since I told you I
did n't know. Mother, will you forgive me ? I told it all to
God; I prayed to him. From your sorry daughter, Hannah."
This note was once dropped into a mother's hand by one
of her little girls, and it is, you see, a confession of sin.
For days and nights perhaps this child suffered under the



-.C'i I
;I i'

"'' ''aiLI.I: iC~


consciousness of guilt; it took away her comfort, until at
last, no longer able to bear the burden, she came and
acknowledged it.
This brings up an important principle in our moral
nature, and one which children should early understand and
act upon-that if you have done wrong, you will never
have real peace of mind until you have confessed it. And
a confession, to be worth any thing, must spring from a
real sorrow for the fault, and a real desire to do better in
time to come. "Whosoever confesseth and forsaketh his sins
shall have mercy."
But confession does not of itself repair the injury or heal
the breach which our faults have made. Suppose Hannah
had had a gold piece, and had bought her mother another
thimble with it: besides the confession, this would have
been trying to make reparation, that is, to make up for the
loss, which in some cases can be done, when we have
wronged another. In other cases it cannot: thus, if a boy,
in a fit of passion, had put his brother's eye out, he might
confess his sin ever so penitently, but he could not restore
the lost eye; or, in the case of an offender at a court of
justice, he may confess his crime, but this will not save
him from the punishment he deserves.
Now, in doing wrong, you must remember that you not
only offend against your fellow-beings, but against God
himself. In telling a lie about the lost thimble, Hannah
not only deceived her mother, but she broke God's laws,
which command us to speak truth one to another; and
God's laws punish sin. "The soul that sinneth, it shall
die." Will confession save us here? Will minding in
future make up for our sin? Alas, no; and here it is that
Jesus Christ comes to our help as our Saviour and almighty
Friend. He "bore our sins in his own body" on the cross.
"By his stripes we are healed." In confessing our sins to
God, we have no reparation to make, and no future punish-
ment to suffer, for Jesus has done it all; and we can plead,
"For Christ's sake forgive our sins."
Is there no secret burden upon your heart? Little, it
may be, but is it not there? Are you not uneasy, dissatis-
fied, longing for a peace which you do not feel? A child
though you be, do you not often sigh that you are not a
better child? Ah, there is something wrong, which you
have done. And now, what shall you, can you do? Let
me tell you, my child, the Bible way to get relief: Go to
your heavenly Father, and say, "Father, I have sinned
against heaven and in thy sight, and am no more worthy
to be called thy son." Confess your sins humbly and
sincerely, and pray Him, for the sake of his dear Son, to
forgive you. "Whosoever confesseth and forsaketh his
sins, shall have mercy." Will you not do this?


"What's the use of remembering all this?" pettishly
cried a boy, after his father, who had been giving him some
instructions, left the room.
"I'll tell you what, remembering is of great service
sometimes," said his cousin. "Let me read you now from
the Living Age. Please hear."
'My dog Dash was once stolen from me," says Mr.

Kidd. 'After being absent thirteen months, he one day
entered my office in town with a long string tied round his
neck. He had broken away from the follow who had held
him prisoner. Our meeting was a very joyful one. I
found out the thief, had him apprehended, and took him
before a magistrate. He swore the dog was his, and called
witnesses to bear him out. 'Mr. Kidd,' asked the lawyer,
addressing me, 'can you give any satisfactory proof of this
dog being your property ?' Placing my mouth to the dog's
ear-first giving him a knowing look-and whispering a
little communication known only to us two, Dash immedi-


.^- tl- - ~^ ^S^

ately reared up on his hind legs, and went through with a
series of manoeuvres with a stick, guided meanwhile by
my eye, which set the whole court in a roar. My evidence
needed nothing stronger; the thief stood convicted, Dash
was liberated, and among the cheers of the multitude we
merrily bounded homeward."
That dog's remembering was of service to him; it was
taken as evidence in a court, and it fairly got the case.
Yes, he was set free, and a thief convicted. Well, if re-
membering his master's instructions served a dog so well,
how much more likely is it to be important for a boy to
treasure up the instructions of his father? no knowing
what straits they may keep him out of.

"It is my turn now," said the South Wind.
"Pity you are not more of a man," blustered Jack Frost.
"Ah, well, to do as well as we can is to do something,"
answered the South Wind good-temperedly; "that's all."
And in spite of a bite from Jack Frost he went about his
spring work. First he unchained the streams, and they
ran off in a bound; the miller looked out of his mill, and
the fisher went for his rod. Next he battered the snow-
banks, loosened the earth, and said to the grasses, "Take
courage." He swept through the forests, brushed over the
orchards, starting the sap, and crying, "Make ready," to
the leaf, bud, and blossom. The birds follow in his wake,
and he bids them have a thought on their nests. Then
what a waking up in the farm-yard. The cows low, the
lambs bleat, the hens cluck, the farmer bustles about, and
the housewife is all astir.
How inspiring is the South Wind. Though he has so
large a zone to work in, and so much to do that he cannot
sometimes help puffing and blowing, he does not think it
beneath him to step aside from his great out-door work,
and do httle things to comfort and to bless: so he breathes
gently into the chamber of sickness, and whispers to the



poor sufferer, Be of good cheer; I am the promise of bet-
ter things." Busy, busy, busy is the South Wind. "Every
thing in its season," he says; and every thing is beautiful
in its season.
Jack Frost seemed to melt a little at this sentiment,
especially when he looked round and saw what new life
every thing had. "Talents differ," wheezed he; "but it's
hard to give up the rule."
"Remember," said the South Wind kindly, "that of
ourselves we are nothing; we only do the bidding of a
Mightier than we, and we can serve him as much in yielding
as in doing-in being set aside, as in being set up."
"Well," sighed poor Jack Frost, "perhaps so." Tears
ran down his cheeks, and he shrunk away.

Children by our Lord were honored;
When on this poor earth he staid;
Fondly he embraced and blessed them,
Though a frowning throng forbade.

To his side a child he summoned,
Placed him in the midst, and told
Those that simple guide to follow,
Who God's kingdom would behold.
Still his gospel honors children,
Bids them to Christ's service move,
And their little rills of beauty
Swell the ocean of His love;
Bids them strive with zealous pity
For the desolate and sad,
Till the dark and desert places
Are for them exceeding glad.

Children, to our dear Redeemer
Yield the grateful homage due,
And by love to every creature,
Pay the love he bears for you.

L. H. S.

Two of the children had gone to bed. Ellen still sat
in her mother's lap, although she was quite ,a large girl.
She seemed to have something in particular to say; for
this mother always encouraged her children to tell her fully
all about themselves. At last she said, "Mother, I have
thought a great deal about what you read to us a little
while ago, how Jesus 'pleased not himself.'"
"I am very glad you did, my dear; I hope you will try
to be like him."
"Mother," said the child, choking, "I do try to, for I saw
after I went to bed that night, that I was just contrary to it.
Tom and Jane call me disobliging, and so do the girls at
school ; and, mother, it is because I like to please myself best."
"That is very sad," said the mother seriously.
"Very, mother," answered Ellen. "I felt it was; aid I
did wish, I do wish to be less like myself, and more like
Jesus. Well, it seems to me by striving I shall, I really
shall Yesterday, you know, I went to grandma's, and

grandma always wants us to do something for her. Tom
and Jane like to, but I do n't very well. When I went yes-
terday, I wanted to feel obliging and do willingly what
grandma wanted me to. I wanted to please her more than
myself; so before I lifted up the latch, I just went under
the lilac-tree and prayed. I kept asking the Lord Jesus
to make me like himself, that I might not please myself,
but him. Then I went into the house, and pretty soon I
saw grandma wanted something. I knew vhat was com-
ing, and said as quick as could be, 'Yes, grandma, I'll get
it for you;' and, mother, she thanked me: all along as I
went to get it, I felt '....'' ... It is a great deal better
not to try to please yourself."
What an affecting experience is this. "For even Christ
pleased not himself." "I came," he says, "not to do mine
own will, but the will of the Father, who sent me." It is
this forgetfulness of self, which is the very marrow of the
Christian spirit, as well as the essence of all true polite-
ness. Lord Chesterfield says, "Politeness is benevolence
in little things." Lord Chesterfield was a worldly man, and
only acted upon worldly principles ; but you see, in describ-
ing that which should regulate our behavior towards each
other, how he copies a great Bible principle. A disoblig-
ing, selfish, conceited spirit is neither Christian nor polite;
it is unlovely every way, and as unhappy as it is unlovely.


"I want to be a minister," was the chief desire of a
young lad whose heart was turned to God. He was an or-
phan, he was poor; for all the little property left him by
his father was lost by his guardian. Then he left school,
and went to his sister's; but her income was too small to
help him. He loved study dearly, and his uppermost wish
was to preach the gospel; but his prospects looked very
dark. At last a rich lady having heard about him, offered
to pay all his expenses at college, upon the condition he
would think upon religious matters as she did. He felt
very grateful to this lady for her kindness, but felt obliged
to refuse it, for he loved the faith of his fathers, and trusted
in the merits of Christ alone for salvation.
Troubled and anxious, he thought he would venture to
call upon a learned minister in the neighborhood, lay his
case before him, and ask his advice. The gentleman receiv-
ed the poor lad coldly, and said not a word of encourage-
ment. He told him he had better turn his hand to some-
thing else, and not think any more about preaching. This
disheartened him very much, and he went from the house
sorrowful. "Try the law, Philip," said some of his friends;
"we'll do what we can to forward you in your studies;"
and not long after, he received an offer to come and study
in a gentleman's office.
There did not seem to be any thing else for him to do;
but before finally deciding upon it, Philip set apart one morn-
ing solemnly to seek God's direction. While he was en-
gaged in prayer, the postman knocked at the door. He had
a letter for Philip; and what do you think was in it? It
was from an old friend of his father, who having learned
his destitute condition, offered, if he was still intent upon
being a minister, to take him under his care and help him



through his education. What a precious letter it was !
"This," said he with heartfelt gratitude, "I look upon almost
as an answer from heaven, and while I live I shall always
adore so seasonable an opening of divine Providence. I
have sought God's direction in all this matter, and I hope
I have had it, and I beg he would make me an instrument
of doing much good in the world."
His desires were gratified, for God enabled him not only

to become a beloved and useful minister himself, but to
train up young men to become good ministers also. He
wrote some excellent books, one of which is to-day preach-
ing all over this country the doctrines of the blessed gospel,
and many have been brought by it to the kingdom of God.
The book is called the "Rise and Progress of Religion in
the Soul," and Philip's whole name was PHILIP DODDRIDGE.
What a blessing waits upon them who wait upon God!

- _


The Farne islands are a rocky and desolate group off
Northumberland, on the English coast. A few stunted
bushes, with tufts of grass, force a growth in the sheltered
nooks; while nothing lives there but sea-fowl in the clefts
of the rocks, whose hoarse screams chime with the dashing
of waters and the roaring of winds. Sometimes there are
sounds louder than the wind and waves-the minute-gun of
distress from a foundering vessel, and the shriek of agony
from the shipwrecked mariner; for these islands are dan-
gerous to coasters, and many a bark has gone to pieces
upon their rock-bound shores.
It was on one of these islands that a steamer on her
way from Hull to Dundee, the 5th of September, 1838, struck
a ledge, and speedily broke up. She had on board a valu-
able cargo, with forty passengers besides the crew. It was
four in the morning, dark, wild, and stormy; all but nine
persons found a watery, grave. These clung to portions of
the wreck, exposed to the i- ll-,. t,, of the tempest, in thle
hope that daylight might bring succor, if succor could be

had. When morning came, the unfortunate men were de-
scried from the lighthouse built on Longstone, about a mile
distant, and kept by a weather-beaten tar by the name of
So perilous was their situation that it seemed hopeless;
no boat could stand the breakers, and the stout heart of the
hardy keeper trembled at the thought of braving the mad
fury of the sea, as it drove against the rocks. The little
solitary family in the lighthouse watched with painful anx-
iety the poor men struggling for life, yet doomed to certain
and speedy death if no aid could reach them, and that aid,
they well knew, could be given only by themselves. One
of the daughters was deeply moved by the terrible specta-
cle. "Let us go to the rescue!" she cried. The old man
surveyed the stormy heavens above and the angry sea be-
low and shook his head: besides, it was madness for him to
venture alone. "I will go with you, father," said the heroic
girl; and urged on by her entreaties, the keeper launched
his boat. The girl jumped in beside him, and each with an



oar, they made the perilous passage. What cool heads and
steady hands and brave hearts were needed to guide the
frail boat over the boiling eddies, drenched with the bewil-
dering spray But storm and wind and spray were all
After almost incredible skill and bravery, the men were
taken from the wreck and landed safely at the lighthouse;
and'as they looked at the young girl, to whom under God
they owed their deliverance, their hearts were filled with
wonder and gratitude. Her name was GRACE DARLING ; and
when the rescued men reached once more the main land
and told the story of her heroism, it filled all hearts with
admiration, and everywhere excited the liveliest interest in
her behalf. Many a token of respect did she receive from
both individuals and societies; a handsome subscription
was raised for her in London, and visitors flocked to her
island home for the pleasure of seeing her. One of the the-
atres of London offered to make her a fortune, if she would
consent to show herself on the stage in her little boat. But
Grace was as modest as she was brave. She did not seek
notoriety, for true nobleness always shuns parade. In
doing what she had done, she only followed the impulses
of a brave and generous heart, which will dare and suffer
all things to relieve the distresses of a fellow-being.
The admiration which this act everywhere called forth,
shows us what deeds are truly great; and though she died
only four years afterwards of consumption, the name and
memory of GRACE DARLING, the humble lighthouse girl, is
likely ever to stand beside those who have rendered them-
selves illustrious by a generous devotion and noble daring
for the good of others.



Who has not heard of the bleak sandy shores of Cape
Cod in old Massachusetts ? At the end of the cape, nest-
ling among the sand-hills, is a little village called Prov-
incetown, inhabited in a great degree by mackerel-catchers.
The ocean dashes almost all around it, and the sea-gulls
screech over it; and out of the way as it is, nobody per-
haps would expect the people to set any very great or good
example to the rest of the country. But hear this :
S"A fleet of nearly four hundred sail of mackerel-catch-

ers came into the harbor at sundown," says one in the fall;
"and by nine o'clock a perfect forest of masts was seen by
moonlight. A few of them left yesterday-Sunday-but
they were all out betimes this morning. The temptation
to take fish on the Sabbath is great, but with the vessels
from this place it is universally resisted. While on the
Grand Banks, many of the vessels which anchored about
our fishermen fished on the Sabbath ; but every vessel from
Provincetown laid by the lines on Saturday night, not to be touched
until Monday morning. The results show that, on an aver-
age, our vessels take more fish than those that make all
days alike. Men are beginning to learn that Sunday fishing
and rum are a curse in the end."
God bless the mackerel-catchers of Provincetown. We
thank you for your example. We would hold it up to
our Sabbath-breaking railroads and steam-boats and post-
offices and livery-stables, and to every Sabbath-breaking
man, woman, and child in the country. Let them look
out on Cape Cod, and learn that God has said, "Remem-
ber the Sabbath-day to keep it holy. Six days shalt thou
labor, and do all thy work; but the seventh day is the
Sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt not do any
work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy man-servant,
nor thy maid-servant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger that
is within thy gates."


About ten -years ago, a French gentleman visiting a
poor district in the city of Paris, came to the dirty yard of
a poor washerwoman, who stood at the door of her hovel
with a new-born babe in her arms, and another of eighteen
months held by the hand. "And where is your
oldest?" he asked, for he knew the woman. "In the
infant school, sir; infant schools are great bless-
ings to poor mothers," she answered. "And what
do you do with these little ones, when you go out
S to work?" he further inquired. "I give them in
S charge of a neighbor, who takes children so, and I
pay her fourteen sous a day, sir." Fourteen sous
S are about thirteen of our cents. The gentleman
s:_- then visited the neighbor, and found six or seven
little children playing on the floor of her miserable
room, whose mothers had gone away to work. It
S was this which first suggested to Mr. Merbeau, the
French gentleman, the idea of a public nursery,
where the babies of the poor could be carried and
cared for, while their mothers were absent on their
daily tasks. And forthwith a "creche"-pronounced
kresh, meaning a crib-a public nursery, was es-
tablished through the efforts of some benevolent ladies.
Let us look into it.
The establishment has three large, airy halls, with a
kitchen, clothes-room, and wash-room. The first room con-
tains twelve little beds; the second, sixteen; and the third,
for the very youngest, eighteen cradles. The doors are
open for children under two years of age, from early morn-
ing until eight or nine at night. As soon as a baby is
brought in, its clothes are taken off, marked with numbers
and put aside in the clothes-room; it is then nicely washed,
and dressed in the nursery dress, which it wears until it



goes home, when the nursery clothes are put off and hung
on a nail behind its cradle. One nurse is employed for
every five or six children. Among the regulations we find
that every child is to be washed twice a day. Every child
to have its own towel, washbowl, and spoon. No sugar-
plums, no cake. The children to be fed in regular order,
and no child to be forgotten.
Whenever mothers wish to see or nurse their children
during the day, they are encouraged to do so; and at night
they are obliged to carry them home. On Sundays and
holidays, the creches are closed; because they are not
meant to do away with family care and training, but only
to afford comfort and protection to the little ones during
the absence of motherly oversight. And when you contrast
the clean, wholesome, light, airy, pleasant creche, with the
filthy, low, wretched homes whence the children come, no
wonder that public nurseries have found great favor with
those who love to help the poor. Four hundred have been
established in France. In Austria, they are called by the
very odd name, Siuglings-Bewahr-Anstalten, or institutions
for the care of nurslings. In London, they are named public
nurseries, and are believed to be of great benefit.


Dartmouth college, on the Connecticut river, at Hano-
ver, New Hampshire, is one of the oldest and most respect-
able colleges in our country. It was named in honor of
,Lord Dartmouth, an English nobleman, who gave a large
sum of money to endow it. There is a fine picture of him
in one of the college halls. He was young and handsome,
and rich and accomplished; but he had something far bet-
ter than all these, he had piety. He loved and honored his
Saviour, and although at the time when he lived it was the
fashion to mock at serious things, he was never ashamed
of his religion. The king and some noblemen agreed on
one occasion to take an early morning ride. They waited
a few minutes for Lord Dartmouth. On his arrival, one of
the company seemed disposed to call him to account for
his tardiness. "I have learned to wait upon the King of
kings, before I wait upon my earthly sovereign," was Lord
Dartmouth's answer.


Spring, beautiful spring has come again. Cows, lambs,
birds, bees, seem all alive, lowing, frisking, singing, buzz-
ing. The farmer is out with his plough and spade. Every
body who is the happy owner of a patch of ground is look-
ing after it, raking in the dead leaves, turning up the damp
furrow, and searching for the new shoots. With what in-
terest and industry are men preparing the earth for the
seed, and how anxiously are the best grains, the best seed-
lings of all kinds sought for. Then the ploughing and sow-
ing come on: here a wheat-field and there a corn-field, all
according to the soil and the future wants of man to be
provided for. Why is all this labor, this sweat and toil?
Because, as is the sowing, so will be the reaping. Who
would value toil, to secure a rich and plentiful harvest?
A miserable husbandman would he be thought who did not

use his utmost diligence and care to do thoroughly the
spring-work of his farm.
But in the spring-work of the soul, how is it? In spite
of all the improved modes of farming, all the light thrown
upon seeds and crops, there is a kind of seed sown broad-
cast, which time and science have not yet improved ; it
still poisons the earth, corrupts the air, and bears a harvest
of bitter fruit. It is "wild oats," and many youth are busy
now sowing their "wild oats."

Some are doing this in saloons, or theatres, or taverns;
some abroad, some at home, some on the Sabbath, some at
midnight: almost everywhere this work is going on, slowly,
surely, or swiftly, terribly. There are those who look in-
differently on and say, "Oh, he is only sowing his wild
oats; by and by he will do well." No, no: "Whatsoever
a man soweth, that shall he also reap." The boy who is
disobedient to his parents, reckless of his reputation, idle at
school or the work-shop, fostering vulgar tastes, profane,
relishing the cigar, the dram, or corrupt reading, is sow-
ing the seeds of shame and sorrow for his manhood. He
never can recover the lost time; he never can root out evil
imaginations and pluck up low desires. From among this
number there may be here and there one who, through stern
discipline, may regain a respectable standing among his
fellows ; but he is never the man he might have been: there
are blots and defects somewhere. I know what the grace
of God can do: it can save the soul, but it does not restore
lost time or wasted talents, or give back ihe spring-time of the
The community are sometimes surprised at the sudden
fall of men in whom they had confidence: good men are
overtaken by dark sins; what can it mean? Ah, if we
could go back to their youth, we might see them then sow-
ing the seeds of corruption, little seeds it may be, "only
their wild oats;" but now, though they havelain seemingly
dead these many years, they are springing up, and the un-
happy man is reaping their bitter fruit. Let no one think
lightly of the condition of him who is sowing his "wild
oats." It is terrible work; it makes fearful drafts upon
the constitution: it is often night work ; possibly you may
live through it, though multitudes sink and die ; but if you
do, you will never be the man you might have been: you
are lamed for life.
Be careful what you are sowing in this spring-time of



the soul. Have you the good seed, God's revealed conm-
mands, the gospel of salvation, the doctrines and precepts
of the Lord Jesus ('CIn t? Plant the precious seeds of
penitence, faith, and love, of holy fear and upright aim,
deep in your soul; let them be watered by the dews of
heavenly grace, and watched with an unsleeping care.
These alone will bear the "good fruits" of a right and
noble manhood. See to it.

I asked a sweet Robin one morning in May,
Who sung in the apple-tree over the way,
What it was she was singing so sweetly about;
For I'd tried a long time, but I could not find out.
"Why, I'm sure," she replied, "you cannot guess wrong;
Do n't you know I am singing a temperance song ?
"Teetotal-O that's'the first word of my lay,
And then do n't you see how I twitter away ?
'T is because I have just dipped my beak in the spring,
And brushed the fair face of the lake with my wing.
Cold water, cold water, yes, that is my song,
And I love to keep singing it all the day long.
"And now, my sweet miss, wont you give me a crumb,
For the dear little nestlings are waiting at home ?
And one thing besides, since my story you've heard,
I hope you'll remember the lay of the bird;
And never forget, while you list to my song,
All the birds to the Cold Water Army belong."

Robert was five: though a little boy, he liked to have
his own way; he thought a great deal about pleasing him-
self, but lie did not always take the right way of being
truly happy. A very poor family lived down in the lane
behind his mother's house. The father of this family was a
drunkard; he .was very cruel to his wife and children; he
used often to beat them.
One day the woman came up to Robert's mother to beg
a little new milk for her sick baby. Mrs. Manly had none
to spare, except what she had saved for Robert's supper:
"But I will give the poor creature this," she said; "Robert
can do without his milk for once." When supper came, he
cried out, "Where's my bowl of milk? I don't want my
supper unless I can have my milk." His mother told him
how she spared it for the poor sick baby. He did not seem
at all pleased : he pouted, and did not take his bread and
butter ; he was sure it was his milk, he said.
His mother was very much grieved to see how selfish
he had become. She knew nobody but God could change
Robert's heart for the better, and she knew he often blessed
the means.which mothers use to improve their little boys.
After thinking for some time, she thought she would take
Robert to this poor family; perhaps their sad condition
might touch his heart. The next day, although it began to
snow, Mrs. Manly put on her cloak and moccasins, and ask-

ed Robert to take a walk with her, which he was very glad
to do. They went down the lane, arid visited the drunkard's
family. How very forlorn it looked, very, very. Robert
shivered as he cast his eyes here and there. The poor wom-
an thanked Mrs. Manly over and over again for the new
milk: "It kept baby still all night," she said; "her father
did not beat her, for he beats her when he comes home in
liquor and finds her crying. Poor thing, she can't help it;
she's hungry, and wants something nourishing." "But I do
not know as I can spare you any more," said R ..I.1 I'
mother. "I want to, with all my heart, but -- ;" she stop-
ped. "Ah, well," sighed the woman, "I know I can't expect
it.every night; you are very good." "Is there any thing
else?" asked Robert's mother. "Nothing, just now; the
most is a drop of new milk," looking at her child, and again
As they walked away, Robert never spoke, though he
was generally very talkative ; neither did his mother; she
only prayed in her heart. At supper-time, Robert's bowl of
milk was put by his plate. He did not come to the table,
but sat looking in the fire. "Come, Robert," said his father.
He obeyed, but gently shoved his bowl one side. In a few
minutes, he got up and whispered to his mother. She nod-
ded, and said, "Yes, my son." He went into the kitchen,
and presently Mary came in and carried out the milk.
Nothing was seen of the little boy for some time. By and
by he burst into the sitting-room covered with snow-flakes
and shouting cheerfully, "Mother, the baby's got the milk;
Mary and I took it to her. Now she'll sleep; wont she?
Her mother said; 'God bless you, my child;' that was to
me; and, mother, my milk tastes pretty good to-night,"
smacking his lips-" or my not milk."
How bright l i.-t-I' face looked! Ah, it was the not
milk that tasted so good. It was the not milk, boys. The
secret of his joy lay in that little word not. He had denied
himself for another's sake; and our heavenly Father has so
formed us, that this is really one of our purest joys. Our
Saviour says, "Deny thyself, and take up the cross and fol-
low me." This perhaps sounds hard, and yet all who have
tried it declare, with one accord, His yoke is easy, and his
burden is light." His ways are ways of pleasantness, and
all his paths are peace. Will you not try it, dear children?


"And what is a joss house?" you ask. It is a Chinese
place of idol-worship. One has been lately built at Sacra-
mento, California, by the heathen Chinamen, whose dedica-
tion services I will tell you about; and it is a strange
affair for Pagans to come and build their temples in the
United States, is it not? The performances began by
placing two carved images, or josses, which looked like
hideous owls, the presiding deities of the place, on either
side of the steps, and this act was followed by a tremendous
explosions of crackers. The company then went into the
building. Opposite the door was a stage on which sat a
dozen priests and priestesses, and a band of music, gongs,
trumpets, fiddles, and pipes, sending forth horrible discord.
After various exercises, a little doll, a young joss, probably

another deity of the house, was brought forward, and the



priest made a long speech to it, after which the whole coin- fe
pany danced round it, waving their fans and shaking their tc
horse-tail beards, the band in the meantime in full blast, v
while crackers were fired off outside the house. This was 0
followed by various exercises and chants, when the services tl
closed under an explosion of gongs and squibs. How dif- C

One of the sadd t .I t, . _- i i... I il ir-
ican Revolution is ti :.,'-. y'-1. .'. i in -:~
quence of it the death of Major Andre. Arnold, you know,
was an officer in the American army, who, though brave,
had a proud and impatient spirit. He fancied he had not all
the honor and the pay due for his services, and having plung-
ed himself into debt by his expensive style of living, these
things soured his heart; and as is the case with ungenerous
minds, he never acknowledged a fault or forgave an injury.
More than this, he sought revenge against his countrymen
by plotting treason against his country.
Soon after forming this bad design, he opened a secret
correspondence with the English general Henry Clinton,
and at the same time asked Washington to give him the
command of West Point, an important fort on the Hudson
river. Washington let him' have it, and this he determined
to betray into the hands of the enemy, provided he could
make out of it a good bargain for himself. He wrote to
Clinton what he would do, and asked to have a secret in-
terview with some English officer, in order to agree upon
the terms. Clinton was delighted, for he thought an army
divided against itself must prove an easy conquest, and he
asked Major ANDRE, a gallant young officer, to meet Arnold
and settle the price of his treason.
Andre did not wish to engage in such business, but he
obeyed and went up the Hudson in an English sloop of war
for this purpose. Arnold agreed to meet him at a certain
spot, and when night came on sent a little boat to bring
him ashore. He landed at the foot of a mountain called the
Long Clove, on the western side of the river a few miles

rent is this from the simple dedication of a Christian
temple. And how should such a contrast heighten the
alue of that religion which reveals to us the high and holy
ne who inhabiteth eternity, and whose commandment is,
hat "we should believe on the name of his Son Jesus
hrist, and love one another."


from Haverstraw,
where he found
the traitor hid in .
a clump of bushes. Little .
did poor Andre foresee
the fatal consequences of this step. All that still starlight
night they sat and talked; daylight came, and the business
was not concluded. Arnold dismissed the boatmen, and led
his companion to a solitary farmhouse on the river's bank,
where the papers were finally drawn up and hid in one of
Andre's stockings. Andre felt how exposed he was to dan-
ger in the enemy's country, and heartily wished himself back
to the sloop.
Forced now, however, to go by land, Arnold gave him a
pass to go through the American lines, and at sunset he set
off on horseback with a guide. They crossed the river, and
getting along on their dangerous journey with but few
alarms, the guide left the next morning, and Andre rode
briskly on, congratulating himself upon leaving all danger
behind, for he was rapidly nearing the English lines, when all
at once there was a loud shout, "Stand," "halt," and three
men issued from the woods, one seizing his bridle and the
others presenting their guns, as you see in the picture. He
told them he had a pass to White Plains, on urgent busi-
ness for General Arnold, and begged them not to detain
him; but somehow or other the men, suspecting that all
was not right, began to search him, and hauling off his
boots they discovered his papers in his stocking. Seeing



himself found out, he offered them any sum of money to let
him go. "No," answered the sturdy men, "not if you
would give us ten thousand guineas;" for though poor,
they were above selling their country at any price. Andre
was sent a prisoner to Washington's camp. Arnold on
learning the news of his capture immediately fled from
West Point, and made his escape to the English sloop.
According to the rules of war poor Major Andre was
sentenced to the death of a spy. Great efforts were made
to save him. General Clinton offered any sum to redeem
him. So young, so amiable, so gallant, and to meet a
felon's doom! but in ten days he was hung.
Arnold lived, but with the thirty thousand dollars-the
price of his treachery-he lived a miserable man, despised
even by those who bought him. And one impressive lesson
which the story teaches is, that the consequences of guilt do not
fall alone on the guilty man; others are often involved in dis-
tress, disgrace, and ruin. How the helpless children of the
drunkard suffer on his account How the poor wife of the
forger passes her days in grief! How vicious children bring
the gray hairs of their parents to the grave! The innocent
everywhere suffer with the guilty, for we are all bound
together by ties which cannot be broken. If the good may
bless us, so also the bad may prove a curse to us. What a
motive is this for you to live a virtuous life, fearing God
and hating every evil away.


"Heaven is so far off, I am afraid I shall never get
there," said a little boy, looking wistfully up to the sky.





"Heaven must first come to you," said his mother. The
child wondered much at his mother's words. "It is the
society and the presence of our heavenly Father and of his
dear Son our Saviour, which makes heaven," spoke the
mother. "And these holy Visitors can come and dwell in

our hearts while we are in this world; for what did the
Lord Jesus say ? 'If a man love me, he will keep my words,
and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and
make our abode with him.' So that heaven must come to us
before we can go to heaven."
If we were told some famous person would visit us-
if we heard that a mighty king would undertake a long
journey for the purpose of coming to see us, how anxious
should we be, what preparation should we make. It does
not say that an angel will come and abide with us, though
some people think they should be very safe with guardian
angels to attend them; but a greater than angels promises
and offers to come, even our God and Saviour: "We will
come and take up our abode with him." How kind, how
condescending is this I How privileged are we, poor, weak,
and sinful as we are. What more can we ask? Whom else
can we desire ? In such society is love and peace and joy
and safety. No discord, no sin is there. This surely is
heaven. Oh, yes; it is heaven begun below. It is heaven
come to us.
Will not children receive these heavenly Visitors ? for
they will come to you-the smallest and feeblest of the
household. Only mark how to receive them, that is all;
and Jesus tells you the way, when he says, If any one "love
me, he will keep my words, and my Father will love him;
and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him."


I- heard there was a sick woman in one of the families
of the lane, and went down to see her. A little girl showed
me up a narrow pair of stairs to her grandmother's room.
On a low bed lay a poor old creature, groaning piteously;
one arm was palsied, but the other she raised up and down,
and stretched out her skinny fingers as if trying to catch
something in the air. The room was very warm, the flies
thick, and there was much noise in the house. The wom-
an's daughter sat in the room, and told me how sick her
mother was. Presently she was called out. I tried to
speak comforting words to the poor woman about the best
of all physicians, the Lord Jesus.
"Yaas, yaas," she said, "I know him; he is a mighty
helper to the poor soul, as I know for sure. My mither,
mither, I wish she was here, jist to take care o' one a bit.
I've been rolling here and longin' for to see her; but she's
dead and gone, and it's no use; there's nobody like one's
mither, 'specially in sickness and the like o' that."
"How long has she been dead ?" I asked.
"I reckon 'bout fifty years," answered the poor old
Fifty years before! The poor creature had brought
up a large family of children, seen many, many changes,
struggled with the ills of life, and yet nothing could blot
the memory of a mother's love and a mother's care. What
care and what love must be a mother's, to be graven with
such a deep cut upon the memory.
To the children who are now nestling under their moth-
er's wing, let me say, that in all the wide world there is no
human friend who will love you, and endure for you, and
bear with you, and serve you, like your mother; and now,



what return are you making her for her tender care for you?
Now is the time to show your grateful sense of her affection,
for some of you will grow up and go away. Do you mind
her, and love to mind her? Are you ready with your little
hands and feet and eyes to help her? Do you go to her
and say, "Here are my little hands to bring things for you,
and my little feet to trot for you, and my eyes to thread
your needle or hunt after things that are lost; here am I,
mother, use me?" Do you do this? Remember how she
took care of you when you were a baby and when you were
sick, and how mindful she is for you all the day long. And
when you are out of her sight, do you think more of what
your mother would wish you to do and to be, than what you
want to do to please yourself? See how it is with you; and
while many a child has lost its mother, thank God that yours
is spared, and show your gratitude by your constant en-
deavor to be dutiful and diligent, meek and lowly in heart.

Dear Jesus, we've come here to learn about thee,
And we ask for thy Spirit our teacher to be:
Thou canst see where we stand, thou canst hear what we say;
Oh, help us to learn, and teach us to pray.

We have not come together for talk, or for play;
Oh no, but to hear what our teacher shall say:
To learn, our dear Saviour, of thee and thy love,
And the home thou hast made for thy children above;
And to learn to be like thee, as gentle and mild,
So that each of us all may be thy little child.
Dear Jesus, we ask thee be with us to-day,
And all through the week, at our lessons or play.

The favorite lesson among little boys and girls is usually
arithmetic. Here is a sum. Let some little child reckon it
up. But why choose this number? What is there special
in seventy times seven? Let us see. Peter once asked
the Lord Jesus a question which we should wish had been
asked, if Peter had not done so; Lord, how often shall my
brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Till seven
times ?" Perhaps he thought that was a great many. Now
mark the answer; it is very weighty: "I say unto you,
not until seven times, but until seventy times seven." As
much as to say, you must keep on forgiving. It leaves no
room to harbor ill feeling against any body.
When people get angry and will not speak to each
other, or talk against or try in any way to injure each
other, or lay up "hard thoughts" against their neighbors,
or are bitter and backbiting, they forget this rule; and to
forget it is a very serious thing, when we remember that
petition in the Lord's prayer, asking God to "forgive us
our sins, as we forgive those.who sin against us." Think
of that little word "as." Will God forgive us as we forgive
others? According to this rule, "seventy times seven" is
none .too large. Oh, how many, many more times have we
sinned against and grieved our heavenly Father, than have
any of our companions sinned against us How much we

need his forgiveness and favor. Every moment, every hour
are we dependent upon his mercies.
Let us always try to breathe a forgiving spirit. Let our
word be, "I will forgive, for I need myself to be forgiven."
Let the dear children always remember "seventy times
seven;" that is, let them cherish such an habitual desire for
the favor of God, that no room will be found in their hearts
for hard and stubborn thoughts against their brothers, sis-
ters, or play-fellows. x. x.

There was once a shepherd who had a great many
sheep and lambs. He took care of them, and gave them
sweet, fresh'grass to eat, and clear water to .drink; if
they were sick, he was very good to them, and when they
climbed up a steep hill and the lambs were tired, he used
to carry them in his arms. But every night, when it grew
dark and cold, the shepherd called all his flock, sheep and
lambs, together, and drove them into the fold, where they
lay as snug and warm and comfortable as could be, and
the dogs lay round on the outside to guard them; and in
the morning, the shepherd unpenned the fold and let them
out again.
Now, they were all very happy, and loved the shepherd
dearly, all except one foolish little lamb. This lamb did
not like to be shut up every night in the fold; and she

came to her mother, who was a wise old sheep, and said to
her, "I wonder why we are all shut up every night; the
dogs are not shut up, and why should we be shut up? I
think it is very hard, and I will get away if I can, I am
resolved; for I like to run about where I please, and I
think it very pleasant in the woods by moonlight." Then
the old sheep said to her, "You are very silly, little lamb;
you had better stay in the fold. The shepherd is so good
to us, that we should always do as he bids; and if you
wander away, I dare say you will come to some harm."
"I dare say not," said the little lamb. And so, when the
evening came, and the shepherd called them all to come
into the fold, she would not come, but crept slyly under a
hedge and hid herself; and when the rest of the lambs
were all in the fold fast asleep, she came out and jumped
and frisked and danced about; and she got out of the field
and got into a forest full of trees, and a very fierce wolf



came rushing out of a cave, and howled very loud. Then
the silly lamb wished she had been shut up in the fold;
but the fold was a great way off, and the wolf saw her
and seized her, and carried her away to a dark den, all
covered with bones and blood; and there the wolf had
two cubs, and the wolf said to them, "Here, I have brought
you a young, fat lamb." And so the cubs took her and
growled over her a little while, and then tore her to pieces
and ate her up.
So much for wanting to have its own way.

See Fred Turner; how furious he looks. His mother
teaches him and his two sisters at home. One day Fred
was idle and disobedient, and would not learn his lessons.
At last his mother led him up stairs to her chamber. Now
Fred," said she, "here you may sit and learn your spelling.
If you give your mind to it, it will soon be learned, and I
will hear you recite it." Then she went out and locked the
door behind her.
Was Fred sorry, and did he sit quietly down and study
with all his might, and soon join his sisters with a perfect
lesson? Ah, no. When his mother left, he threw down
the book in a rage, pulled at the lock, and bellowed like a
wild beast. Anger instead of sorrow filled his heart.

I ,I

I ' !'

i' ,
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I'; j

But did getting angry mend the matter? Getting
angry did not help learn his lessons; it did not open the
door; it did not make him obedient, or studious, or happy;
it did not gratify his mother or please God; it did not
allow him to play with his sisters, as he always used to do
when his lessons were well learned; and at this time it
prevented him from eating dinner with his parents, and
having a pleasant talk with his father after dinner, as the
children were in the habit of doing. What was the use,
then, of getting angry? It not only did him no good, but
as you see, it did harm; for it filled his heart with wicked
thoughts, and made him a poor unhappy boy all day.

When he joined the family, which was not until after-
noon, he felt so ashamed of his violent and unreasonable
conduct, that he could hardly hold up his head. Oh, moth-
er," he said at bedtime, "if I and all children would not
get angry, how much better it would be for us. If you for-
give me and God forgives me now, I mean to try not to be
angry again. I will try, mother, I will try. But, mother,
when I do feel it coming on, what shall I do?" "Pray,"
answered his mother softly.
Here are three serious questions to all boys and girls:
1. What good does it do to get angry?
2. On the contrary, does it not do much harm?
3. Will you not guard against it by making Fred's
resolution, and adopting his mother's advice?

General Schuyler was one of the American officers in
the army which fought for our freedom. He figured large-
ly in those stirring scenes which took place on the Hudson
and Mohawk rivers, when the English generals hired the
Indians to come and fight on their side. General Schuyler
had great influence with the red men; they loved and feared
him; so the English wished he was out of the way; and as
he did not get shot on the field of battle, a plot was hatched
to waylay and murder him.
Two men were picked out to do this bloody deed, an
Englishman and an Indian. The day and time was set;
they shouldered their rifles and took their stand behind a
clump of trees which he had to pass by on his way home.
After waiting and watching some time, the general hove
in sight. He was on horseback and alone. Now or never.
They took aim. In a minute more, the general would have
been a dead man. At that instant the Indian knocked
down the Englishman's gun, crying, "I cannot kill him; I
have eaten his bread too often.? The general rides on un-
harmed; he has buckled on an invisible armor stronger than
brass, and he is safe. What was it? The armor of friendly
actions. The general had often relieved the distresses of
the poor red men; he had fed them when hungry, and
clothed them when naked; and now British gold cannot
buy up the grateful memory of his kindness, as it melts the
murderer's heart.
Oh, what power there is in friendly actions. Remem-
ber, boys, they may defend you when a great name, a stout
arm, a brave heart, a good rifle, a fleet horse can avail
you not.

A teacher in a Sunday-school once remarked, that he
who buys the truth makes a good bargain; and inquired if
any scholar recollected an instance in Scripture of a bad
bargain. "I do," replied a boy. "Esau made a bad bar-
gain when he sold his birthright for a mess of pottage." A
second said, "Judas made a bad bargain when he sold his
Lord for thirty pieces of silver." A third boy observed,
"Our Lord tells us, that he makes a bad bargain who, to
gain the whole world, loses his own soul." A bad bargain,
indeed I





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Seventy-eight years ago the men whose forms and faces
adorn this picture, were living actors in the councils of our
country. The great struggle of the Revolution had begun.
The battle of Lexington had been fought. There was no
longer any hope of reconciliation between the colonies and
England, and the Continental Congress met in Philadelphia
in 1776, to determine their present duty and future course.
The men who composed it had great experience in public
affairs; they were men of large moral and mental power-
men of integrity, and prudence-wise, honest, brave. It
was a time of peril and solemn responsibility. The inde-
pendence of the colonies had indeed been talked about
among the people, but to break the tie which bound them
to the mother country and establish a government of their
own, was no light or easy matter. This was now the great
point of issue.
On the seventh of June, Richard Henry Lee of Virginia
brought in a resolution, "That these united colonies are,
and of right ought to be, free and independent states, and
that all political connection between them and Great Britain
is, and ought to be, totally dissolved," and he supported it
by one of the ablest speeches ever made in America. Its
views met with universal approbation; and on the second
of July a committee was appointed to draft a declaration
of principles breathing the same spirit. It was five in
number, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Benjamin Frank-
lin, Roger Sherman, and Robert R. Livingston. This com-
mittee had several meetings, and Jefferson, though the
youngest, being only thirty-three, was chosen to write the
paper which formed our famous Declaration of Independ-
ence, by which we declared ourselves free from England,
under the name of the Thirteen United States of America."
The five men in the picture, standing at the table, be-
fore the President of the Congress, John Hancock of Mas-
sachusetts, are the five committee-men. Their report was
thoroughly discussed, and finally adopted on the fourth of

July, 17 6. And thus on that day a "nation was born."
Its fifty-six signers were men of various occupations from
the north to the south. There were twenty-four lawyers,
sixteen farmers, nine merchants, four physicians, one gospel
minister, Rev. John Witherspoon from Princeton college,
and one manufacturer.
The manly stand there taken, though beset with dan-
ger and uncertainty, proved no rash step. Though a long
war followed with all the evils of war, peace at length
came, and the new nation began its career. God has high-
ly blessed it, and in many respects our institutions are the
wonder and admiration of the world. Here are schools for
every boy and girl; here the Bible is free; here every man
has a share in making his country's laws; here is bread
enough, and to spare. Here piety is honored, industry finds
plenty of work, and talent meets a reward. Let every
boy feel that it is worthy of his honorable ambition to
become a good citizen of this great Republic, to live and to
labor for the best welfare. If the old Romans thought
Roman citizenship one of the highest privileges a man
could possess, how much more should American citizens
prize theirs: for Christianity is here that glorious element
which gives "peace on earth, good will to men." Let us
not be boastful, vain-glorious, or blind to our country's
faults, but each "act well his part," and always remember,
that "wisdom and knowledge must be the stability of our
times, and the fear of the Lord our defence."

"I am sure somebody has been out this morning," said
little Redward the other day, "because I see some foot-
Redward was a little boy about six years old. The first
snow-storm of this winter had begun the night before, after
he had gone to bed, and now he stood looking out of the
window in his mother's room. It was so long since last
winter, that it seemed quite new and strange to him to see


is 'k

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every thing covered with white-the garden,-the trees, the
fences, all of the same color. There stood old Leo, looking
more like a white bear than like a real good-natured dog
as he was; but he took good care to shake all the snow off
his grey overcoat, before turning in to his comfortable cor-
ner under the seat by the front door.
"I am sure somebody has been out," said Redward.
"Why?" asked his mother. "Oh, because I ant," said Red-
ward again; "I see their foot-prints. "Couldn't the foot-
prints have come of themselves ?" said his mother; I want
to talk to you a little about them." "Why, no," said Red-
ward, laughing, and half thinking to himself that his moth-
er did not ask very wise questions; "and besides, mother,
there are the tracks of a wagon." "But," said his mother,
"couldn't the tracks have come of themselves ?" "No," said
the little boy-"No, mother, I do not think-any body could
have made them without a wagon. I am sure some one has
been out."
"You are right, dear boy," said his mother: "you are
right to be sure about it. It is right to feel sure about.
some things, and I want to have you think now about some
great and very important things about which we may be
sure. We may be sure that there is a God. We see the
sun, the moon, the world we live on. We see ourselves
and all the animals and things around us, and we are as
sure that they could not have come of themselves, as we
are that those foot-prints in the new snow could not have
come of themselves. Somebody must have made then. No
one could have made us and every thing around us but
"We may be sure that the Bible is true. Wicked men
would not have written such a good book, if they could.
Good men would not tell a lie, and say it was God's holy
word when it was not. The Bible says of itself, that 'the
testimony of the Lord is sure.' Testimony means here what
God says in the Bible.
"The Bible tells us, 'Be sure your sin will find you out.'
That means, that God knows all the wrong things we do,
and will punish us for them, unless we are sorry for them,
and ask to be forgiven for Jesus' sake, who died for us on
the cross.
"We may be sure that Jesus Christ is able to forgive our
sins, and take us to heaven; because he is the Son of God.
When he lived on the earth, he did a great many wonder-
ful things, such as no one but God could do. He made the
deaf people hear, and the blind see. He made the sick well
again all at once, and even brought the dead to life again.
So we have reason to say, as Peter one of his disciples did,
' We believe and are sure that thou art that Christ, the Son
of the living God.'
"The older you grow, the happier it will make you to
know that you may be sure of these things: There is a God.
The Bible is true. Jesus Christ is able to save." H. H.

"I wish, I wish, I wish!" cried a little girl. "I wish so
much. I wish I had curly hair; I wish I had a pony; I
wish I had as much money as I wanted. I wish-I wish !
Now, what would you wish for first, Emily, just suppose
wishes could come to pass?" turning to her cousin, who

sat quietly sewing patchwork: "think now; suppose wishes
could come to pass, what would yours be ?"
Emily turned up her sweet, serious face, and answered,
"A clean heart." Oh, what a wish was that. "A clean
heart"-a heart renewed by the Holy Spirit-a friendly,
obedient, grateful heart-a heart fearing God, full of ten-
derness, meekness, and love. What a precious wish was
Emily's; and the best of it all is, that while curly hair, or
ponies, or money, or any of this class of wishes may be
quite beyond your grasp, Emily's wish, which is ten thou-
sand times more valuable, is within your reach: you may
have it, Emily can have it, and all children who truly wish
for it, may become the happy possessors of a "clean heart."
Our gracious Lord can alone bestow this gift; and he
does it, if we trust in him and seek his mercy. "Ask,
and ye shall receive." How encouraging is this. Will
not Emily take courage, and try to get her wish? Are
there not many, many other little girls who feel the same
wish, though perhaps they never expressed it? Remem-
ber, that in the whole range of desirable things, there is
nothing greater or better than this, "a clean heart," or, as
the Scripture again speaks of it, -"a new heart." Let it
be your chief wish, and not your wish only, but your chief,
first desire above all things else, to obtain it. Let your
sincere, humble, and earnest prayer be, "Create in me a
clean heart, Oh God; and renew a right spirit within me."
"And will he hear the humble cry
Of such a little one as I ?
Oh, yes; for in his word I see,
Come, little children, come to me.'"

.;i ~ ,1 c-' ?

See this neat little farm-house in the town of Buckland,
half embosomed in the Green Mountains of Massachusetts.
A poor but pious farmer lived here. See the hill and the
sugar-maples, and there is a brook behind flowing over the
rocks. The Bible is prized in this family, who are brought
up in .the fear of God. The fifth child, fair, rosy, and brim-
ful of good-nature, is named MARY LYON. Mary trudges off
a mile to school in all weathers, where she is studious and
well-behaved as can be. When she was five her father
died, and the loss grieved her sorely She remembered his
instructions, and used often to sit on an old stump by the



school-house, telling her playmates at recess what her par-
ents had told her.
She grew up diligent and dutiful. Her aim was to do
what she had to do with all her might. She could study,
spin, weave, milk the cows, and make bread equally well.
And this skilful doing she soon turned to a good account, for
she earned the means of attending Ashfield academy with
her own hands ; and when the trustees saw how in earnest
she was, they gave her the tuition as long as she wanted
to stay. Here she "got knowledge by handfuls," as some
one said; she mastered the Latin grammar in a few days.
As Mary grew up, she began to form a purpose for life,
and that was to become a teacher. But first she gave her
heart to God. She loved to do his will, and felt it to be a
great privilege to labor in the service of his dear Son, who
loved us and died for us. After being a faithful and suc-
cessful assistant for some years, she began to think of
founding a school herself. It was not to make money or to
get a great name, but to bless and benefit the young. Mary
Lyon saw there were many girls of fine minds, but with
small means, who would prize an education, but who could
not afford to attend an expensive boarding-school in order
to get it. "Cannot there be," she asked, "a thorough but
cheap school, where pious girls can be trained for useful-
ness ?" "Cannot boarding-school expenses be lessened by
having the scholars themselves do the family work ?" Some
said the thing was altogether impossible; but Mary Lyon
knew how to distinguish between things impossible to be
done, and things only difficult to do. Difficulties she well
knew would vanish before a resolute spirit.
Others pronounced it a capital plan, but no one seemed
ready to start in the enterprise. "The work of building a
seminary," she said, "is, I hope, one which God will bless
and own, but I do not expect it will be carried forward 'on
flowery beds of ease.'" She found many hinderances, but
she planned and prayed, and talked and struggled, year after
year, and never gave up; till at last people began to believe
in her. They said, "Such a seminary will be excellent for
our daughters. Mary Lyon surely has their best welfare at
But where is the money to build coming from? She
offered to raise the first thousand dollars from among the
ladies; and the scholars of the Ipswich academy, where she
was then a teacher, raised two hundred and seventy-five.
Hearts and purses gradually opened. Mothers and widows
gave their mites; the farmer gave from his hard earnings;
men gave of their abundance; and "more than all, we want
the prayers of God's people for the enterprise," she used to
say; "the work is for him."
In 1836 the corner-stone of the new seminary was laid
in the beautiful village of South Hadley, in the western part
of Massachusetts, on the Connecticut river, When complet-
ed it was called the MOUNT HOLYOKE SEMINARY, and it is the
only one of its lknd now existing in the country. A thor-
ough course of Christian education can here be gained for
the small sum of sixty dollars a year. The course embraces
three years; and it is Christian education, for the motives,
the aims, the principles here presented and acted upon, are
all drawn from the word of God.
We had heard of its fame; we knew how God had bless-
ed it by the outpouring of his Spirit; we knew how many

pious and devoted young women had gone out from it as
missionaries, and teachers, and faithful servants of the Lord
over this and other lands; and not long ago, we paid it a
visit. It is a noble building, situated in a fine country, with
mount Holyoke full in sight. There were two hundred and
forty pupils, fourteen teachers, and no hired help. How
well-ordered was every thing within. What promptness and
thoroughness in every department of this large establish-
ment. If the housewifery shows skilful hands, the standard
of scholarship shows applying heads. The teachers are sis-
ters of charity in the noblest sense, devoting their lives to
their work, for it is not a money-making seminary, though
in part a self-supporting one. You but enter its walls to
feel that a hallowed influence is there.
Miss Lyon is dead, but her works praise her, and this
school eminently realizes and fairly embodies the leading
purpose of her life, which was to educate our daughters for
the highest Christian usefulness. She was born in February,
1797, and died in March, 1849. The above sketch of her
birthplace is taken from her Memoir, of which a new edition
is issued by the American Tract Society. H. o. K.

I was visiting my aunt Mary. I was named for her,
and as she took a great interest in me, I was anxious to do
all I could to please her. She was a great favorite among
the children. One day Kate Ray, who lived at the next door,
came in to see me. The little puss was in the parlor, and
we had a great frolic with her. By and by, I held her up
to catch a fly on the window; and it was quite funny to
see her try to pounce on it. On the sill was a new-blown
tea-rose, which aunt Mary thought a great deal of. "Take
care," said Kate, "or puss may jump on it; and then 1"
But I thought more of the fun, when suddenly she made a
spring at the fly, and she snapped the stem of the beautiful
rose. "What will your aunt Mary say?" cried Kate. Oh
dear I We raised it up and tried to make it stand, but it
kept toppling down; at last we made it lean against a
branch, and it looked almost as well as before. "I must
go now," said Kate, for there was no more fun for us.
"Had I better tell aunt Mary, or let her find it out?" I
asked myself. "Tell her, certainly," said a voice within:
"when an accident happens, always make it known to those
who ought to know it; why not ?" But I was afraid and
kept delaying, and went off to grandmother's room; then she
told me how to fix my patchwork, and so the time passed




on until afternoon, when a lady and her little daughter came
to see aunt Mary, and I was called into the parlor also.
"Ah, that rose I" thought I; but go I must. I had not
been in long, when the flowers were talked about, and aunt
Mary got up to show them her tea-rose. "Why, it is faded,
broken!" she said. "How did this happen? Mary, do you
know any thing about it ?" I felt frightened, and answered
quickly, "No, ma'am." No sooner were the words out, than.
I began to feel bad indeed. "Worse and worse," I said to
myself. "Why did I not say puss and I did it? Why did
not I tell the truth about it ?" Now I knew perfectly well
that aunt Mary would neither have scolded nor fretted, for
I did not mean to do it. I had not been as careful as I ought
to have been, but she would have forgiven me; my sin was
that I had told the lie. Aunt Mary liked to have things ac-
counted for, so she asked every one in the house about the
broken rose; nobody could tell how it was done. Pussy
could not tell, and I was afraid to, and now doubly afraid
lest she should ever find out. The idea of being caught in an
untruth and by aunt Mary too, who was so truthful herself
and so very kind to me, was dreadful. "What shall I do?"
I cried; "where shall I go ? I wish I had not come here;
and I thought I was going to have such a beautiful visit I"
I had no appetite for supper; my head ached, and my heart
beat hard. When aunt Mary kissed me for the night, and
said in her sweet way, Good-night, my dear child," I felt
as if I wanted to fall down and die.
Two days passed away. On the third I went up stairs
to put on my things to take a walk with grandma; it was
in the forenoon. While I was dressing, the front door open-
ed, and Katie Ray's voice sounded in the entry. All my
fears came back fresh upon me. ."She'll tell, she'll tell "
What a tumult was I in I Presently my name was called.
" I'm found out !" I cried; and without knowing exactly what
I did, I ran and hid in the closet. "Mary, Mary !" they call-
ed; no Mary answered. After a while, there were footsteps
in the entry. Oh, my mother, my mother !" I cried; "I
wish my mother was here: will not God help me ?" Some-
body came into my room and walked straight to the closet
door; the door opened, and there stood aunt Mary herself.
"My dear child," she said anxiously, "what is the mat-
ter? how came you here?" Then for the first time, I burst
into tears; and what a relief it was. She placed me on
the bed and sat down beside me, and talked to me so kind-
ly, just like my mother. As well as I could, I told her all.
Oh, how sorry she looked. After a while she spoke, and
then only said, "How true what the Scriptures say, 'The
fear of man bringeth a snare; but whoso putteth his trust in the
Lord, shall be safe.'" I shall never forget aunt Mary's
voice; so sweet and sorrowful. I shall never, never forget
the verse. Let every child who has had a bitter experience
of the first part, see how true and how precious is the last:
"Whoso putteth his trust in the Lord, shall be safe." c. c.

"Many a little makes a mickle," is a good old Scotch
saying. There is another that sounds English-like: "Take
care of the shillings, and the pounds will take care of them-
selves." But there is higher authority for frugality. When
our blessed Lord had fed five thousand people by miracle,

and could have created enough food for the world by ut-
tering a single word, "He said unto his disciples, Gather
up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost." The most
bountiful Giver in the universe would teach his followers a
lesson of economy, even of fragments of fishes and bread.
It is by little that men become rich, and great, and
good. The wealthiest man in America became so by taking
care of the pennies. The "learned blacksmith" acquired
some knowledge of nearly fifty languages by saving time
at the anvil, and in the evening hours, for study. The
most liberal men, who give thousands of dollars to benevo-
lent objects, gained their means by saving.
A while since, the dust and shavings from a bookbind-
ery, where goldleaf is used to make the titles on the backs
of books, was sent to the goldbeater's to be burnt out.
And how much gold do you think was found from the little
particles that had fallen on the floor? Why, a lump that
amounted to more than $100 1 Enough to buy 200 Bibles
or 20,000 tracts. The shavings from the edges of books in
the same bindery, sell for $3,000 or $4,000 a year for paper-
If boys and girls would save the fragments of time, and
devote them to reading and study, they might become learn-
ed and wise. If they would save the fragments of money,
they might become wealthy and useful. If they would save
the fragments of opportunity, they would do a great deal of
It is as right to be economical and saving as it is wrong
to be miserly and mean. Save to give, and give to save. Then
you will say as a good man did, "What I kept I lost, and
what I gave away I have." n. s. c.

Children often cry, "Oh, I wish I had something to do."
Something real to do, this means. Play does not always sat-
isfy you, and holidays often seem long and tiresome. One
of the pleasantest things nowadays is, that children are tak-
ing a part in helping on the Saviour's kingdom in the world.
Let them always keep in mind that the first and best thing
they can do for it is to give their hearts to him. There are
a great many ways of doing good, only one of which I will
mention now: that of sending out libraries to the log-cabin
children and Sabbath-schools of the great West.
The children of two or three families, or one family, if it
is large, or a Sabbath-school class, can club together for
this purpose. My boys have this plan, and they like it
very much. They earn the money, which is sent to the
Tract or Sunday-school Society to buy a ten-dollar library,
to be sent to some place which they already know about,
or if not, to some place which the Society may choose. Oh,
what good answers come back I The prairie boys are as
glad as can be ; the books are read and read; they go from
hand to hand, and from house to house.
Then it is such a real satisfaction to be doing good. Per-
haps you will say, "Earn the money ? I cannot earn money !"
Why, you surely would not filch it'from your mother's purse
or your father's pocket; in that case it would not be you
who sent the books. Earn money you certainly can. Go
to your father or mother, or uncle or guardian, and say,
"You are good enough to allow me a great deal of spare



time to play in; now I often get very tired of play. I
want to be doing something-something that will be of
some account. I should like to try to earn some money to
send good books to a log-cabin Sabbath-school. Books are
scarce out there. Will you please to put me in a way to
earn?" There is not a father or mother who would not be
thankful to hear the boys propose this.
There was one boy who spoke thus, and though his
father was sick, he answered gladly, "Certainly, my son;
go hire yourself to my neighbor working in that field; he
wants a boy, I dare say." Ned went and engaged himself

at twenty-five cents a day. At the end of three cays and
a half he received eighty-seven and a half cents. Better
than this, Ned said, This is the pleasantest week of vaca-
tion, father. I have been learning to farm: I've been a
real help to Mr. Dow, and I have got eighty-seven and a
half cents to put into the charity-box; and, father, I am
twice as stout I" There is an example for you. How do
you like this plan? What can you do?
"Do something-do it quickly-do it well:
An angel's wing would tire, if long at rest;
And God himself, inactive, were no longer blest."


Cloudy as the weather may be without, cloudier is often
the social sky within our homes. Fretfulness sometimes
enters our doors, breeding all manner of discontent and ill-
humor among the children, without our knowing exactly
how to get rid of him. There is no scolding him out, for
that makes him furious; or reasoning, for that makes him
sullen; or driving, for that makes him mulish. He gets on
the wheels of the family machine, and Oh, how they grate I
"But what can be done ?" Ah yes, "What?" asks many
a perplexed and harassed mother. Then you do not know
the power of "a pleasant something."
"A pleasant something What do you mean?" How
shall we explain it? Perhaps we may enter the Hamlet
cottage and there find out. Mr. Hamlet comes home from
the brick-yard tired and hungry; he finds neither smiles
nor supper; he sees at a glance how matters are, his sickly
wife hurrying with all her might, and the children not helps
but hinderances. There were sour looks, disobliging an-
swers, and pouts large and small. Did the spirit of fretful-
ness seize him also, and did he begin to scold and grumble ?
What a tempest there might have been I
"Ho ho !" exclaims Mr. Hamlet, with a friendly smile-

"Ho, ho !" taking off his peajacket and hanging it on a peg;
then he sat down, for he was tired. Phil came mourning
towards him, while the rest cast sulky and disquieted looks
here and there. The father then shoved his seat near the
candle; holding out his brawny arms, and twisting his
rough fingers, together, he cried, "Ho, ho I Look 1" nodding
at the opposite wall. The children all looked that way.
"Oh!" cried Philly, "see its eyes; its mouth opens; see
see !" clapping his hands with delight. Tom echoed it.
Amy drew near; then James, who never saw the sight
before, was soon lost in wonder. "A rabbit, a real, live
rabbit on the wall I" cried he; "there's his mouth, ears,
eyes, and fore-feet I" Nor could the mother resist the
charm. The table set and the cakes baking, she dropped
into a chair beside her husband, and taking Philly in her
lap, all troubles were forgotten in the wonderful antics of
the rabbit on the wall. Oh, oh 1" cried the children cheer-
ily; and while "oh, oh I" echoed round, fretfulness took to his
heels, for he cannot bear a friendly tone or a merry laugh,
and one cannot help thinking he has a particular antipathy
to the rabbit on the wall. Oh yes, fretfulness is a very
bad spirit, and when he gets possession of a family, as he



sometimes does of the best regulated families, nobody can
tell exactly how, the true way to get rid of him is to start
up new ideas, fresh feelings, cheerful thoughts, with a pleasant
something else-any thing that will draw the children's minds
from themselves and their little troubles. This Mr. Hamlet
could do, though he was no philosopher. "There was
nothing he so disliked to see among the children as fret-
ful frames," he said; "for they'd soon enough get into
habits, and then there is no curing them:" so he always
tried to have a "pleasant something" to frighten the bad
spirit away.
"Now," says the mother, as soon as the cakes are bak-
ed, "I want a pail of water." "I'll fetch it," answers James
briskly; "So will I," cried Tom. No longer saddled and
bridled by fretfulness, how quickly the children bestir them-
selves. Then every thing grows sunshiny. Let every fa-
ther, mother, brother, sister, learn how to banish the whole
troup of frets by the power of "a pleasant something."


The Sabbath evening's talk of a good mamma with her-
two little girls, was about those four little words which
have done so much good, "THOU GOD SEEST ME." Clara ask-
ed, "And can God see me in the dark closet?" "Yes."
"And if I hide under the bedclothes?" "Yes." "And in the
night, with the curtains all down?" "Yes." "And does
he mind me out in the street with ever so many grown up
people?" "Yes, always," said her mother. "Oh," cried
Clara, "always His eye on us I' and I do not know but she
was sorry for it.
"Always then taking care.of us," said Mary, and she
looked as if it were a sweet thought. The little girls went
to bed with the idea that the great and the good God was
watching over them; and when they waked in the morn-
ing, the first words Mary said were, "Thou God seest
me;" and all day, happiness seemed to be shining in her
Two or three days after this, when Clara came in from
school at recess, she saw a basket of fruit-cake on the table,
and she wanted a piece very much; but she did not ask
leave, lest her mother should refuse, for fruit-cake had made
Clara sick before this. She said to herself, "I'll help my-
self; nobody will know it, nobody sees me;" then she
thought a moment of the four little words, but she turned
her back to the window, as much as to say, "I'll hide from
God, he can't see me now;" and she snatched a slice, put
it into her pocket, and ran back to school. Oh," she cried,
meeting Bell Emery and Georgy, "Oh, you do n't know what
I've got; look in I" And they looked into her pocket and
cried, "Oh, did your mother give you all that ?" Clara did
not like the question very well, and just then her sister
Mary came running towards them. "Don't tell, do n't tell!"
cried Clara; "I don't want Mary to know what I have
got." They rather wondered at that, but said nothing. "I
will give you some," whispered Clara in order to bribe
Miss Pillow rung her little bell for the scholars to come
in, and there was no time to eat the cake; but now Clara's
troubles began, for she sat by her sister, and the worst of it

was, her pocket was next to lary, and she had hard work
to keep the slice from sticking out; and she was so anx-
ious about it, that she lost her place in the class and did not
finish her sums, and it was an anxious forenoon to her. As
soon as school was done, Bell and Georgy came up to
Clara's desk, saying, "Give me piece." "Give me piece."
"A piece of what?" asked Mary; "what you got, Clara?"
"Nothing," said her sister, "I've got nothing." Oh, Clara I
I do not know how she managed to dispose of her cake,
but I know she looked very miserable when she was un-
dressed to go to bed. "What have you had in your pocket
to grease your dress so?" cried Bridget, as she took Clara's
frock to hang up. "Nothing 1" said Clara, and with that
she began to cry. "What's the matter, sister?" asked
Mary kindly; "does your ear ache?" Clara made no an-
swer, but said her prayers and got into bed, crying still.
I suppose Bridget told her mother, for she came up before
long, and going to their bedside, asked Clara what ailed
her. The child hid her face in the pillow and cried the
more. But at last she said she forgot the four little words,
and had been behaving very naughty, stealing and lying,
and she was afraid God was angry with her, and that her
mother would be, and every body; and Clara cried as if her
heart would break. When she had told it all, her mother
was very sorry, but she forgave her; and she prayed God
to forgive her, and to give her his Holy Spirit to make her
afraid to sin, and to love to be good. "Oh, sister," said
Mary, putting her arm around Clara's neck, "you must hug
the four little words to your heart. I do, and that makes
me not forget God." And what are the four little words
which Mary hugs to her heart? Thou God seest me," for
she thought it was beautiful and blessed to have her heav-
enly Father's eye upon her. You will see how the words
were uttered by poor Hagar in the wilderness, in Genesis
This is a great truth, that we can never escape from the pres-
ence of God. David says, "If I ascend up into heaven,
thou art there; if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art
there; if I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the
uttermost parts of the sea, even there shall thy hand lead
me, and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, Surely the
darkness shall cover me, even the night shall be light about
me. Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee, but the night
shineth as the day; the darkness and the light are both alike
to thee2.


A son of one of the mighty chiefs of the mountains in Bur-
mah was converted by a single tract. He could not read.
They had no written language till the missionaries came
among them. This chief's son came to Rangoon, a distance
of two hundred and fifty miles from his own home. A mis-
sionary's wife taught him to read, and in forty-eight hours
he read the tract through. He was all ecstasy. He wanted
to take a lot of tracts home to the mountains. He filled a
basket two thirds full of tracts, covered them with plantain
leaves, put sugar on the top of them, and so reached the
gates of Ava. The officer of the gates searched the basket,
found the books, and the noble chief's son was condemned
to be a pagoda slave; the worst kind of slavery, for it is




perpetual. By the intercession of the missionaries, at last That tract cost one cent. Oh, whose cent was that? Who
he was released; but he was determined to have the books, gave it ? God alone knows. Perhaps it was the mite of
and he smuggled a basket full on his back out of Ava, and some little girl. Perhaps the well-earned penny of some
reached his home in the mountains, three hundred miles off. little boy. But it has taught hundreds the knowledge of
He preached the gospel there. The people flocked from their Saviour. It has cast down hundreds of idols from poor of the country to hear him, and in one year fifteen heathen hearts. Oh, how great the value of even one cent's
hundred natives were baptized in Arracan, as converts to worth of good, with the blessing of God upon it. Let us
the Lord. And all this was by the means of one little tract, take care of the cents.


"Fire! fire I fire 1" This terrible cry waked up the fa-
ther of a large family, who lived in a little village parson-
age. He jumped from his bed to see what it meant. On
opening the door, the smoke in the entry almost stifled
him, while he caught sight of the flames bursting through
the roof. He ran to the chamber where his wife lay sick,
and told her with the oldest girls to escape for their lives.
He then burst into the nursery where the five youngest
children slept, roused the servant, who caught up the baby
and called the rest to follow her. -On their reaching the
entry, they found the stairs on fire, while the roaring flames
were hemming them in on every side. Danger gave them
courage: some of the children scrambled through the win-
dows, and others made a narrow escape through the garden
door. But these passages seemed closed up to the poor sick
mother. She could not climb to the windows, and to reach
the door looked impossible. Once, twice, three times she
tried to face the flames, but they drove her back with their
fiery breath. "Oh Christ," she cried, "save me from this
dreadful death; but thy will be done I" She mustered her
strength for one more effort; despair urged her on: wading
through the flames, she escaped, scorched and naked, into
the street.
Were the children all safe? Were all the eight rescued

from the burning building? At that instant a scream was
heard from the nursery, louder than the roar of the fire; one
little boy was left behind. 0 the agony of the parents. The
father dashed into the house and ran to the stairs; they fell
beneath his foot, while the flames beat him back. The poor
father fell on his knees and committed the soul of his child
to a merciful God. The little fellow was. now seen climbing
up to the nursery window, surrounded by fire and smoke.
He stretched out his hands to the people below. Save him,
save him !" is shouted on all sides : now or never. Ladders
there were none; moments are precious. One man leaps
upon the shoulders of another; the walls are tottering, the
heat is suffocating, but the window is reached ; an instant
more, and the boy is safe in the arms of his deliverer. A
shout of joy goes up, "Safe, safe !" In a few moments
more the roof fell in, and the once pleasant home was a
heap of ruins.
"Come, neighbors," cried the grateful and glad father,
"let us kneel down; let us give thanks to God. He has
given me all my eight children ; let the house go, I am rich
This signal rescue from a death so dreadful made a deep
impression both upon the mother and the boy. She looked
upon him as the lost one saved, and with an ever-grateful


memory of his deliverance, she felt herself specially called
upon to train this child for the service of God. Nor did the
boy ever forget or overlook this peril of his childhood ; it
made him thoughtful and serious. He felt if God had thus
spared his life, he ought to love God, to obey and honor him:
he cherished a lively sense of his dependence upon him, and
could never speak of it without feeling deeply grateful; and
when be grew up to be a man, a house in flames was en-
graven under one of his portraits with the motto, "Is not
this a brand plucked out of the burning ?"
The boy thus saved was named John Wesley, born at
Epworth, in England, in the year 1703; he grew up to be
an eminent minister of the gospel, and so intent was he
upon bringing people to a knowledge of God, that he used
to go out in the commons and fields and highways to tell
them of their great deliverer Jesus Christ, who came to seek
and to save them which are lost. He afterwards became
the founder of that large and active denomination of Chris-
tians called Methodists.


"Stop the storm I I want fair weather." "Rain I we
want rain! The earth is parched. Corn wont grow.
Make it rain !" If you heard any one talk in this way, you
would think it very strange. "He is either foolish, or
ignorant, or wicked," you would say, "for nobody can rule
the weather but God." But there are people who talk
exactly so. Let us see who they are.
Last year some gentlemen were sent to Minnesota to
make a treaty with the Indian tribes of the North-west.
A thousand Indians assembled on the camping-grounds
with their dogs and horses and red blankets. The weather
was very stormy. This did not please the Indians. "The
Great Spirit does not smile," cried Walking Thunder, one
of their big chiefs. "He growls at us; something does
not suit him. Corn will not grow without sunshine. Our
tents are soaked. We want more beef, and less thunder.
The powder is wet in our rifles. We kill no game. Our
ribs can be counted. Our dogs are lean. They say the
great thunder-bird has dashed his wing and broken open a
fountain. Red man hungry. White man fat. We must
have the round dance and stop the storm. Ho, ho, ho !"
This speech pleased the Indians, and they shouted, Ho,
ho !" A large round space was now marked off, by stick-
ing down the limbs of the aspen-tree; at the four points
of the compass were four openings; a pole was stuck up
in the middle, from the top of which hung an image of the
thunder-bird cut out of bark. At the foot of the pole sat
an ugly-looking Indian with a wig of grass on his head:
before him lay a pipe and a red stone, which they said
represented the evil spirit; at a signal given by the Indian,
beating a drum and uttering horrible cries, the young war-
riors leaped into the circle and began the dance. There
were four dances, towards the close of which, the men and
horses went round and round like a whirlpool, beating,
blowing, yelling, until, all at once, several rifles were fired
at the thunder-bird, and the scene closed. Such is an Indian
way of making fair weather. Do you suppose the round
dance stopped the storm? Oh, no, you cry,

Now let us go to South Africa and see the rain-maker.
Once, when there was a dreadful drought in a region where
some missionaries happened to be, the tribe were determin-
ed to send for a famous rain-maker who lived some distance
off. They made him large promises, if he would come and
open the teats of the sky, which had become as hard as
stone. The rain-maker came, but not the rain; day after
day the sun blazed in the heavens. He found the clouds
hard to manage. When urged to keep trying, he said,
"You only give me sheep and goats, therefore I can only
make goat-rain-give me fat oxen, and I shall let you see
ox-rain." So you observe he meant to make the most out
of the poor people.
One day, while he was sound asleep in his hut, there
came a refreshing shower. The chief rushed in to thank
him. "Hela ka rare," cried the chief, shaking the lazy
fellow by the arm. Hallo I thought you were making
rain;" for he was very much astonished to find the rain-
maker taking his nap. Rubbing his eyes, and feeling
somewhat ashamed at finding how matters stood, he looked
round, and saw his wife shaking a milk-sack. "There," he
cried, "don't you see my wife churning rain as fast as she
can ?" The answer was satisfactory, and it was soon noised
all around that the rain-maker churned the shower out of a,
"Oh, what folly," you say. But do you know what
keeps us from such fooleries? It is the Bible. In the Bible
only can we find a true account of man and his Maker; and
it is this Bible which shows us what God does with or with-
out the agency of men. It is God alone who gives rain
and sunshine, though he has taught us to pray to him for
all these things, and he will hear our prayer so far as con-
sistent with his holy will. "lHe causeth the vapors to
ascend from the ends of the earth; he maketh lightning
for the rain ; he bringeth the wind out of his treasuries."
We know the boundaries between God's province and man's
province, and can act intelligently. Not so the poor hea-
then; he gropes about in darkness, and spends his strength
for naught.


There was once a farmer who had a son named John, a
boy very apt to be thoughtless, and careless as to doing
what he was told to do.
One day his father said to him, "John, you are so care-
less and forgetful, that every time you do wrong I shall
drive a nail into this post, to remind you how often you are
naughty; and every time you do right I will draw one out."
His father did as he said he would, and every day he had
one, and sometimes a great many nails to drive in, but very
seldom one to draw out.
At last John saw that the post was quite covered with
nails, and he began to be ashamed of having so many faults;
so he resolved to be a better boy, and the next day he was
so good and industrious that several nails came out; the
day after, it was the same thing, and so on for a long time,
till at length it came to the last nail. His father then call-
ed him, and said, "Look, John, here is the very last nail,
and now I'm going to draw this; are you not glad ?"



John looked at the post, and then, instead of express-
ing his joy, as his father expected, he burst into tears.
"Why," said his father, "what's the matter? I should
think you would be delighted; the nails are all gone."
"Yes," sobbed John, "the nails are gone, but the scars are
there yet."
So it is, children, with your faults and your bad habits;
you may overcome them, you may by degrees cure them,
but the scars remain. Whenever you find yourself doing a
wrong thing, or getting into a bad habit, stop at once; for
every time you give up to it, you drive another nail, and
that will leave a scar on your character.

Dear faithful object of my tender care,
Whom, but my partial eyes, none fancy fair,
May I unblamed display thy social mirth,
Thy modest virtues and domestic worth?
Thou silent, humble flatterer, yet sincere,
More swayed by love than interest or fear,
Truly to please, thy most ambitious view,
As lovers fond, and more than lovers true:
Who can resist those dumb, beseeching eyes,
Where genuine eloquence persuasive lies?
Those eyes, where language fails, display thy heart
Beyond the pomp of phrase or pride of art.
Thou safe companion, and almost a friend,
Whose kind attachment but with life shall end;
Blest were mankind, if many a prouder name
Could boast thy grateful truth and spotless fame.


In one of the wealthy homes of lived a little girl
named Mary. She had parents to educate her, servants to
wait upon her, and coaches to ride in. There seemed a
great deal around this child to make her happy; but Mary
was not pleased and satisfied with things which please and
satisfy other little ones. She knew she often did those
things which she ought not to do, and left undone those
things which she ought to have done; this filled her with

fear and trembling. What could save her from God's dis-
pleasure? Where could she flee for refuge?
Before she could read, she treasured up passages from
the Bible which others read to teach her, and went away
by herself to ponder them over. "Thou shalt love the
Lord thy God with all thy heart," Mary often heard from
the sacred volume. But I do not love him," she said to
herself; "I do not know how to love him; neither do I love
my neighbor as myself. I love my sister best of all. Did
ever any body love God with all their heart, and their neigh-
bors as themselves ? Did God really mean so ?"
She was required to be "Christ's faithful servant and
soldier, and fight manfully under his banner." This amazed
her greatly. I am sure I do not fight, neither do I know
what to fight against," thought she. Mary asked many
questions upon these perplexing subjects, but she was bid
not to trouble herself upon such matters. "The Bible is
not as strict as it seems to be," they said. This eased her
for a little while; but Mary was seeking after her Saviour,
and could not be long put off. It was forgotten by Mary's
friends, that as children sin, and do often bitterly feel the
weight of their ill-desert, they must seek forgiveness and
peace through Him who was bruised for our transgressions,
and by whose stripes we are healed.
When Mary was nearly seven, a pious servant-girl came
into the family, who, noticing her serious turn, sometimes
spoke to her upon the subjects dearest to Mary's heart. As
soon as this was known, she was sent away; but she left
some little books behind, which the child hid away and
read. If I could only be a Methodist, I should be sure of
salvation," Mary thought, until she read the Methodists'
little books, when she found it was not joining any particu-
lar people that could save her, but it was believing in Jesus
Christ. Still, the way seemed very, very dark. Looking
one day over Fox's Book of the Martyrs, "I wish a papist
would come and burn me," she thought; "then, perhaps,
I might be safe; for it is easier to burn than to believe."
"Oh," she cried, being greatly burdened, "what can it be
to know my sins forgiven, and to have faith in Jesus? If
it were to die a martyr, I could do it; or to give away all
I have, or, when I grow up, to become a servant, that
would be easy; but I shall never know how to believe ;" and
the little girl was filled with grief and apprehension. Then
the words of the hymn,
"Who on Jesus relies, without money or price,
The pearl of forgiveness and holiness buys,"
came to her mind, and the Holy Spirit opened her eyes to
behold and her heart to embrace its precious truth. "Rely
on Jesus. I do, I will rely on Jesus," she cried aloud. "I
will trust him, take him as my Saviour, and God counts me
righteous for what he has done and suffered; and he has
forgiven all my sins for his sake." Joy and gratitude filled
her bosom. Before, every thing seemed easier than to be-
lieve; now, the way of believing seemed easier than any
thing else. Thus the light of the glorious gospel broke
upon Mary's mind; and she became a holy and devoted
Christian woman.
It is not resolving to do right, or resolving to pray, or re-
solving to read your Bible, or wishing or hoping, that will
take away the burden: it is trusting Jesus Christ; he will
wash your sins away.


...... .b . ..

Children, I suppose some of you have heard your parents
talk about General Lafayette's visit to this country, about
twenty-five years ago. He visited most of our cities -and
larger towns. Triumphal- arches were erected in the streets
through which he passed, ornamented with evergreens,
flowers, and banners. Flowers were scattered along his
path: men, women, and children pressed near him, to shake
hands with the friend and companion of Washington, the
hero who helped us to fight and conquer in the war of the
Revolution. The whole nation seemed wild with delight
in welcoming him once more to our country.
Some years after his first return to his own country, he
was put in prison, and "those who imprisoned him were so
much afraid that he would escape, that they cut a small
hole in his prison-door, and watched him night and day.
He says that whenever he looked at the hole, he saw an eye
watching him-it made him feel dreadfully. Children, how
would you feel to have an eye follow you from room to
room, from place to place; meeting its searching gaze
whichever way you turned ? Though you may not think of
it, and though you may not care for it, there is an eye upon
you every moment of your life; not a human eye, but the
eye of the all-seeing, holy God. Sometimes the thought of
this makes me feel very sad.
As I sit with my Sabbath-school class, it distresses me
to see those bad boys in a neighboring class whispering
and laughing while the scholars are reading the Bible, at
the opening of thle school. Those boys watch the teachers,
and are afraid that they will see them: they do n't care
that God's observing eye is on them; they do not recollect
that a day will come when God will call them to account
for treating his word with contempt.
I felt very sad the other day, at hearing that one of the
boys in our school took money from the drawer in his fa-
ther's shop. He escaped his father's eye, but God's search-
ing eye was on him; and if he will turn to 1 Cor. 6 :10, he
may find out something very awful which will yet come
upon him, if he does not repent.
Sometimes, when I am sitting in church, I feel sad when
I see young ladies and girls whispering and laughing dur-
ing divine service. They do n't care to remember that God
says, "My house is a house of prayer." They forget that
God says, in the second commandment, "I am a jealous God."
Many years since, I knew a little girl who was a darling
pet with her parents and aunt. She was a merry little
thing then, and as happy as the little birds which were
singing in the trees, as she was dancing and skipping on
the lawn; but soon sickness came and laid its heavy hand

upon her, so that this little girl was confined for a long
time to her bed. She was a bright, intelligent little crea-
ture, and very fond of reading. She enjoyed very much
her aunt's reading to her, during her long weary days of
pain and illness.
One day she took up one of the little books lying on
her bed; an eye was pictured on it, and under it were the
words, The all-seeing Eye." She looked at it some time,
and said, Aunty, what does it mean ?" Her aunt said, It
is meant to explain that God knows every thing you do; he
is always with you; you are never alone; he, is always
looking at you." She did not speak for some time, and
then, her face expressing much feeling, she said, "Aunty,
take it away, take it away; I do n't want to think about it.
I do n't want God to see and know how bad my heart is."
Her aunt tried in vain to comfort her. She would not be
left alone a moment; but would say, "Don't leave me!
0 that all-seeing eye !" This continued for some days; but
at last she lost all her fears; she repented of her sins, she
put her trust in her Saviour, the all-seeing eye of her kind
heavenly Father rested on her in love, and she died in
It is pleasant, very pleasant, if you are Christians, my
dear children, to know that God's all-seeing eye always is
upon you. B.

It is curious to think how many people are at work for
you. "Me !" cries a little girl, looking up from her hem-
ming; "nobody is at work for me, I am working for my-
Let us see. In order to furnish you with the small
pocket-handkerchief which you are now hemming, the plant-
er sowed and gathered his cotton, the sailor carried it to
the manufacturer, the spinner and weaver made it up into
cloth, the shopkeeper kept it in his store: so many, at any
rate, helped you to it. Then, the needle you are hemming
with came thousands of miles, besides employing a great
many people to make it in the first place. The child looked
at her needle, so small, so slim, so simple. "It's only a
needle," she said. But it takes a great while and many
workmen to make a needle.
Let us go to England, where our best needles come
from, and take a peep into the workshops. In going over
the premises, we must pass hither and thither, and walk into
the next street and back again, and take a drive to a mill,
in order to see the whole process. We find one chamber of
the shops is hung round with coils of bright wire, of all
thicknesses, from the stout kinds used for codfish hooks, to
that for the finest cambric needles. In a room below, bits
of wire, the length of two needles, are cut by a vast pair of
shears fixed in the wall. A bundle has been cut off: the
bits need straightening, for they came off from coils. The
bundle is thrown into a red-hot furnace, then taken out and
rolled backwards and forwards on a table until the wires
are straight. This process is called rubbing straight."
We now ride over to a mill. There is a miller peeping
out at us. One end of his mill is for grinding flour, the
other for grinding needles. We go down into the basement,



and find a needle-pointer seated on his bench. He takes
up two dozen or so of the wires, and rolls them between
his thumb and fingers, with their ends on the grindstone,
first one end and then the other. We have now the wires
straight, and pointed at both ends. Back to the workshop.
Here is a machine which flattens and gutters the heads of
ten thousand needles an hour. Observe the little gutter
at the head of your needle. Next comes the punching of
the, eyes, and the boy who does it punches eight thousand
in an hour; and he does it so fast, your eye can hardly
keep pace with him. The spitting follows, which is run-
ning a fine wire through a dozen perhaps of these twin
needles; a woman with a little anvil before her, files be-
tween the heads and separates them.
They are now a complete needle, but rough and rusty,
and what is worse, they are so limber as to bend with a
touch. A pretty poor needle, you will say. But the harden-
ing comes next. They are heated in batches in a furnace,
and when red-hot are soused in a pan of cold water. Next,
they must be tempered, and this is done by rolling them
backwards and forwards on a hot metal plate. The polish-
ing still remains to be done, and to see this we must go
back to the mill. On a very coarse cloth, which lies upon
another coarse cloth, needles are spread to the number of
forty or fifty thousand. Emery dust is strewed over them,
oil is sprinkled and soft soap daubed by spoonsful over the
cloth; the cloth is then rolled hard up, and with several
others of the same kind thrown into a sort of wash-pot, to
roll to and fro for twelve hours or more. They come out
dirty enough, but after a rinsing in clean hot water and a
tossing in sawdust, they look as bright as can be, and are
ready to be sent to the manufactory, where they are sorted
and put up for sale. But the sorting and the doing up in
papers, as you may imagine, is quite a work by itself.
Enough has been told you to see how various are the
branches of industry, and that even to furnish so handy
and common a little instrument as the needle, much labor
is necessary, and many workmen are employed. It should
make us humble also, to see how dependent we are upon
one another. While the bird, the cat, and all inferior
animals are supplied with ready-made clothing, and need
no help from each other, we cannot live comfortably a
day without being ministered to by hundreds whom we
have never seen. This great law of mutual dependence
should help to impress upon us those precious lessons of
brotherly love taught? us in the gospel, as it makes wonder-
fully significant the whole-hearted rule of the apostle, "Do
good to all men, as ye have opportunity."


Can you see God? No; for he is a Spirit, and we can-
not see a spirit. Did Moses see him in the burning bush?
No; he only saw the fire, and heard God's voice. When
the Israelites were in the wilderness, God guided them by
a bright cloud, which hung over the tabernacle: when the
cloud moved, they moved; when it stopped, they stopped.
God sometimes spoke from the cloud. The cloud was not
'God; they knew he was there, but they could not see him.
God is in the sunshine, and the wind, and the trees; but

sunshine and wind and trees cannot feel for us ; they are
not God.
Where is God? Where can we see him, to feel how
good he is, and to know that he feels for us ? Perhaps, to
some, God seems like an almighty Being, far off; can we
ever get near to him, as to a kind friend ? Yes; Jesus
Christ is "God i.t;..-I in the flesh," showing himself in
the form, the body, and the soul of a man, so that we can
see him, hear him, and understand him. "In Him dwclleth
all the fulness of the Godhead bodily."
As Jesus Christ "was in the beginning with God, and
was God," he knows every thing about the universe, and
every thing about us. And lie became a man that we might
know him. He sympathizes with us, for as a man he was
"in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin."
As "he himself hath suffered, being tempted, he is able to
succor them that are tempted."
Every child has his trials and temptations, and he knows
that Jesus Christ was once a child, and had the trials and
temptations of childhood. The poor will remember that
Jesus was born in a stable, that he travelled on foot, that
he "had not where to lay his head;" their lot is not worse
than that of the Lord Jesus was. If you are despised or
persecuted because you are a Christian, Jesus had the same
sorrows, and you know how he bore them.
Thus God makes himself known in a personal form, that
we may conceive of him, and love him ; and seeing him
clothed in human sympathies, may draw near to him, and
lay open our hearts, and tell him our needs, and feel how
precious it is to have an almighty Friend and Saviour.

Once there was a little boy whose name was Jerry.
He had a kind mother and father, and two brothers youn-
ger than he. Jerry's mother often read the Bible to him,
and told him how to be a good boy; and Jerry, as soon
as he learned to read, used to read about little Joseph,
and Moses, and Samuel: he thought no stories were so
pretty as Bible stories. He wished he could be like Sam-
uel; he wished God would speak to him, and call "Jer-
ry," just as he did to little Samuel; then he would say,
"Here am I;" and he would mind every thing the Lord told
"Mother, if I could only hear God speak to me," said
Jerry. "Every time you think about doing wrong, Jerry,
if you listen, you will hear a still small voice in your heart,
saying, 'Jerry, Jerry !'-that is God's voice; it is bidding
you to do no sin." "Shall I hear it with my ears, my own
ears ?" asked he, taking hold of his ears with his fat hands.
"You will hear it with the ears of your heart, perhaps,"
said his mother. "If you ever are upon the point of doing
what is not right, stop a moment; stop still, and listen in
your heart, and see if something there does not seem to
say, 'Jerry, Jerry, do it not.'" "And that is God, mother,
is it," asked Jerry, looking very sober, "telling me not to?"
"Yes, it is God."
"And does God speak to every body so ?" asked Jerry.
"Yes, and he speaks very loudly to little children, because
he wants them to begin right. It is not listening to him
which makes so many bad boys."



"Then God does speak to us now," said Jerry, after think-
ing a little while. "Yes, both in the Bible and in our
hearts." "Pulling us back," said Jerry. "Yes, pulling us
back from sin. How very good God is to think so much of
us." "Mother," cried Jerry, "I mean always to hearken. I
mean to be like little Samuel. I mean to hear God and mind
him. I am sure I ought to, God is so kind, so good to us,
mother, giving us every thing. He gave me my new shoes,
did n't he? I should not have had them, if it had not been
for God, mother." His mother prayed in her heart that
Jerry might ever hearken and obey the voice.
Not many days after this, when Jerry came home from
school, he found his mother had gone out. "I wish I had
something to eat," he said. "You can go into the parlor
closet and get one of the green apples that are in the small-
est basket up in the corner," said Nancy; "your mother
will let you have one of those." Jerry skipped away after
one. He opened the closet and went in; it was a deep,
large closet, where the children did not often go. The
apples looked good, and he took one. As he turned to
come out, he spied the little cupboard door ajar, where he
knew his mother kept her nice things. A basket of rich
cake peeped out, with plums in it, and sugar over it. Oh,"
thought Jerry, smacking his lips, "Oh, how good it looks;
how good it would taste; I should like a bite." Jerry look-
ed. "Take a piece; your mother need not know it," said a
noisy voice in his heart. "Take it; it's a good chance;
nobody sees you; snatch it!"
"Jerry Jerry 1" spoke the still small voice-" Jerry !"
It only seemed to say, "Jerry," and Jerry knew it. He let
it speak, and he minded it. In a moment he shut the cup-
board close to, and ran away as fast as he could. "I must
not take that cake without mother's leave. I know I must
not, if it looks ever so nice, or tastes ever so good;" and he
tried to think no more about the cake, while he went
the garden and ate his apple. Jerry was very glad he
When his mother went to give him the good-night kiss,
as he lay in his little bed, he whispered in her ear, "Mother,
God seems to speak to me, and say, 'Jerry,' as he did to
Samuel. I hear him, and I try to answer, 'Here am I;' but,
mother, there are other voices too-bad voices. I am happy
when I mind God's voice." His mother felt very thankful
for the words of her dear boy. Jerry is a great boy now,
and his good conduct shows very plainly whose voice he
still hears, and still obeys. He is a great comfort to his
dear parents,
What is this still small voice? Conscience.

When I was a young lad, my father one day called me
to him, that he might teach me to know what o'clock it was.
He told me the use of the minute-finger and the hour-
hand, and described to me the figures on the dial-plate,
until I was pretty perfect in my part.
No sooner was I quite master of this additional know-
ledge, than I set off scampering to join my companions in a
game of marbles; but my father called me back again. "Stop,
William," said he, "I have something more to tell you."
"Back again I went, wondering what else I had got to

learn, for I thought I knew all about the clock as well as
my father did.
William," said he, "I have taught you to know the time
of day. I must teach you how to find out the time of your
All this was strange to me, so I waited impatiently to
hear how my father would explain it, for I wanted sadly to
go to my marbles.
"The Bible," said he, "describes the years of a man to
be threescore and ten, or fourscore years. Now, life is very
uncertain, and you may not live a single day longer; but
if we divide the fourscore years of an old man's life into
twelve parts, like the dial of a clock, it will allow almost
seven years for every figure. When a boy is seven years
old, then it is one o'clock of his life; and this is the case
with you. When you arrive at fourteen years old, it will
be two o'clock with you, and when at twenty-one, it will
be three o'clock; at twenty-eight, it will be four o'clock; at
thirty-five, it will be five o'clock; at.forty-two, it will be six
o'clock; at forty-nine, it will be seven o'clock, should it
please God to spare your life. In this manner, you may
always know the time of your life, and looking at the clock
may remind you of it. My great-grandfather, according to
this calculation, died at twelve o'clock, my grandfather at
eleven, and my father at ten. At what hour you or I shall
die, William, is only known to Him to whom all things are
Never, since then, have I heard the inquiry, "What
o'clock is it ?" nor do I think I have even looked at the face
of a clock, without being reminded of the words of my

If you have ever seen an idiot, one who has no sense,
you know how sad a state is idiocy. I once saw a poor girl
of this unfortunate class curled up in a hole in the ground
sunning herself. She was dressed in coarse tow cloth,
"and it pesters us to death to keep that on her," said the
woman showing us around, "for she gnaws and picks
every thing to pieces ; she has no sense at all." "Is there
any soul within?" I asked myself. There are various
stages of idiocy, and this was one of its extremes forms,
Idiots are found more or less everywhere, but they seem
to have been most numerous among, the Alpine valleys of
Switzerland, where they are called Cretins. In one village,
out of a population of one hundred, thirty were cretins, and
more deformed and ill-looking objects can hardly be imag-
ined. The sunless hollows of the Alps, huts built under the
ledges of rocks, basins where the rains and melted snows
cannot run off, seem to favor the development of this dread-
ful disease.
A Protestant gentleman from Zurich, Dr. GUGGENBUHL,
journeying at one time through the valleys of the Alps, was
pained by the wretched condition of so many of the people.
He could not keep the subject out of his mind. One morn-
ing he happened to see an old and very degraded cretin
stop before a wooden cross and mutter something like a
prayer. Perhaps you know that crosses and crucifixes are
set up by the road-side of all the Roman-catholic villages of



The doctor watched the poor creature. "There is an
immortal soul buried there," he said to himself, "and I will
dedicate my life to the deliverance of such." It was a
beautiful thought that sprung up in the heart of this good
man, and it inspired him to a noble work. Let us see what
he did. "In order to benefit them," he said, "I must begin
by giving them wholesome air, water, and sunshine." So
in selecting a spot to build an asylum on, or hospice as it
is called in that country, he chose a cheerful, sunny, grassy
plat, not far from the summit of a majestic mountain called
the Abendberg, four thousand feet above the level of the
sea, where there was a plenty of pure water, fresh air, and
good soil. In summer it is a lovely spot. The hospice
was opened in the year 1840, "in the name of God and
suffering humanity." Few entered at first, but when it was
seen how the patients were benefited, there was no want of
Let us visit the hospice: here are goats in abundance,
vegetables growing in the garden, and grain in patches
around. As you enter its humble rooms, you see a band of
helpless children, with vacant looks and awkward gait;
some of them are seated around a table in chairs made to
support those who cannot sit upright; some are on couches,
too weak either to sit or to stand. How clean and airy it
looks. There sits Dr. Guggenbuhl, their father, teacher,
and doctor, instructing his little patients. His fatherly

smile and kind manner are not lost upon them, for some
look up with a most happy and quite intelligent expression.
As you go round, you will find baths, tools, toys, and a
large room for all sorts of bodily exercise-in a word,
there is every thing to improve the health and wake up the
To show you how patient and persevering the doctor is,
there came once a boy six years old, named Fritz, who took
no notice of any thing, but sat from morning till night in a
sort of stupid stare. For months he never spoke ; but the
doctor finding his five senses all perfect, kept on trying to
excite and interest him. One afternoon, when the children
were out on the green looking at a glorious sunset, Fritz
suddenly cried out with a beaming face, "The sun, the
sun !" From that instant his mind took a start and began
to grow, and at the end of three years he was further along
in his studies than most boys of his own age in perfect
The doctor's experiment was successful. The hospice
attracted great notice. Many travellers visited his moun-
tain home, and the story of his self-sacrificing love in behalf
of the idiotic children of the Alps spread far and wide. The
poor idiot was no longer looked upon as a hopeless case;
there was a soul within capable of improvement; he could
know and love his Saviour; he could became useful and
rationally happy



Do the children who read this paper from month to month
sometimes wonder whose busy brain and hands produce so
much that is good and beautiful? Although it is received
with bright, thankful smiles, and read with eagerness, I
sometimes fear they are in danger of forgetting how much
care and labor it costs to prepare it. They enjoy its choice
pictures, and pages of reading, and then lay it aside, per-
haps murmuring that they cannot receive one every Sab-
bath, instead of once a month. So it is with many of the
blessings of life, such as the grass of the meadow, the wild
flowers of the wood, the fruit of the orchard, and the pure
breezes of summer. They become such a "matter of course"
with a healthful child who has never been debarred their
enjoyment, that'the Source of so much good is apt to be
I went, a short time since, to the Tract-house to see the
place where this paper is published. As I passed from

room to room through that noble building, I felt like telling
the children to prize this monthly supply of food for mind
and heart more than ever. To see so many persons at
work for children, made me realize as I never did before,
how much is done to bless the youth of this generation.
Even before the work of the editors commences, the paper
must be manufactured and purchased, and many hours of
busy thought be spent by the writers in thinking what to
say, and how to say that which will at the same time
please and teach young children. When this is done, the
editors, who value the souls of children, carefully examine
each article, and sanction only what they think will best
please and most benefit the readers. Then the type-setters
are obliged to handle each little metal letter separately,
until all the matter is set, and arranged in columns. Then
a mould of each of the four pages is taken in wax, and this
mould is immersed in a solution of copper, and by a gal-



vanic battery, plates of the four pages are formed, which
is called electrotyping. These four pages are duplicated,
and two papers, or eight pages, are printed at each impres-
sion of the steam press, by which the beautiful sheets are
laid in a pile. All this is done by an unseen power, with
the most perfect order and care. Then men take the print-
ed sheets, and pass them through a process of drying and
pressing, which imparts to the paper its fine glossy appear-
ance. When this is done, they are carried to another room,
where the folders double them into the shape in which you
receive them. Then they pass to the office, where they are
made up into packages, and directed -and distributed all
over the land. As each copy of the paper is handled many
times before it is completed, and as three hundred thousand
copies are printed every month, I need not tell you that
many men, women, and boys are busy from morning till
night, working for you,.
"But you have said nothing about the pictures," I hear a
little girl say, who feasts her eyes each month on the beau-
tiful wood-cuts which adorn her paper. I could fill a
sheet, should I tell you all I saw in my short visit to the
Tract-house, and describe half the labor and art spent in
making this paper so good, and true, and beautiful. I
wanted to see the artist who makes the pictures, as much
as you want me to tell you of him. I did not see the artists
who design the illustrations, but I saw the engraver. I
found him in a room by himself, where he labors from morn-
ing till night, using all his taste and skill, and employing
many others, in making pictures for books, and for The
Child's Paper. An artist first sketches the scene he wishes
to give you upon a block of box-wood, brought from a for-
eign country for the express purpose. Then the engraver
sits hour after hour looking through a magnifying-glass,
and cutting out parts of the picture with a small instru-
ment, until he has made it as perfect as he can, when it is
ready for printing. I saw in the. engraver's room many
pictures for books and cards, which have cost the artist
years of labor. Although he has a large collection, he 'is
constantly engraving something still more striking and
beautiful, lest your eyes should- weary of looking at one
picture too often.
All this work, and far more which I have no time to tell
you of, and which you could hardly understand, is spent in
preparing this paper for your hands. Forget not, when
you read its instructions and enjoy its illustrations, to thank
God for putting it into the hearts of men to give you such
a great blessing. Remember, too, that as you run about
the green fields, or sport in the parks, or on the sidewalks
of the city, how many men, women, and boys are spending
their time, talent, and bodily strength in trying to make
you happy and good. Let the lesson taught by this blessed
paper be well heeded; "for unto whomsoever much is given,
of him shall be much required." M E. w.

The Hervey islands are a group in the North Pacific,
which have been greatly blessed by the labors of missiona-
ries, and the whole Bible, translated into their tongue, has
just been printed in England, and sent to them. The joy
of the natives was very great when the first cargo arrived.

As they brought the cases from the sea-side to the mission-
houses, they sung in their own language,
"The word is come.
The volume complete:
Let us learn the good word;
Our joy is great.
The whole word is come;
The whole word is come."
At a public meeting held on the occasion, one of the
natives arose and said, "My brethren and sisters, this is
my resolution: the dust shall never cover my new Bible; the
moths shall never eat it; the mildew shall never rot it; my
light and my joy." And this resolution of a poor pagan just
come to the light of the blessed gospel, many an American
youth would do well to adopt.

I'm very, very lonely,
Alas, I cannot play ;
I am so sad, I sit and weep
Throughout the livelong day.
I miss dear mother's welcome,
Her light hand on my head,
Her look of love, her tender word;
Alas, my mother's dead I
I have no heart to play alone;
To-day I thought I'd try,
And got my little hoop to roll,
But ah, it made me cry ;
For who will smile to see me come,
Now mother dear has gone,
And look so kindly in my face,
And kiss her little son?
I'll get my blessed Bible,
And sit me down and read;
My mother said that precious book
Would prove a friend in need.
I seem to see dear mother now,
To hear her voice of love ;
She may be looking down on me,
From her bright home above.
She said that I must come to her-
She cannot come to me;
Our Father, teach a little one
How he may come to thee,
For I am very lonely now;
Our Father, may I come,
nd join my mother in the skies ?
And heaven shall be our home. E. R. P.

I once visited a large public school. At recess, a little
fellow came up and spoke to the master; as he turned to
go down the platform, the master said, That is a boy I can
trust. He never failed me." I followed him with my eye,
and looked at him when he took his seat after recess. He
had a fine, open, manly face. I thought a good deal about



the master's remark. What a character had that little boy
earned. He had already got what would be worth more to
him than a fortune. It would be a passport into the best
store in the city, and what is better, into the confidence
and respect of the whole community.
I wonder if the boys know how soon they are rated by

older people: every boyin the neighborhood has a reputation
of some kind. A boy of whom the master can say, I can
trust him ; he never failed me," will never want employment.
The fidelity, promptness, and industry which he shows at
school are in demand everywhere, and are prized everywhere.
He who is faithful in little, will be faithful also in much.


There was once a man who had two sons, and the youn-
gest wanted to go off and seek his fortune. Perhaps he was
tired of the restraints of home, and thought it was a fine
thing to go where he could do as he pleased. Young peo-
ple are apt to think so. He asked his father to give him a
fitting-out, which he generously did, and he went away.
He went into a foreign land, and, forgetful of the whole-
some instruction of a wise father-for he probably thought
he knew best-he fell into bad company and dissipated
habits; his money was soon wasted, and -he began to be
"in want"-in want of friends, in want even of bread-
so that he was glad of the very husks the swine fed upon.
What a fallen condition !
Then he thought of his father's house, that house of love
and plenty which he once gladly turned his back upon,
where even the hired servants had enough and to spare;
and with a penitent and humbled heart, he said, "I will
arise and go to my father, and will say to him, Father, I
have sinned against heaven and before thee, and am no

moro worthy to be called thy son; make me as one of thy
hired servants."
And how did the father receive his long lost son ?
While he was yet a great way off, he saw him, and with
all the tenderness of a father's'love, he ran to meet him,
and "fell on his neck and kissed him." What a welcome!
His past ingratitude and guilt, his poverty and wretched-
ness are all forgiven and forgotten, and a joyful feast is
made for the returning wanderer.
This affecting story Jesus Christ told to illustrate the
compassion of our heavenly Father towards his penitent
and returning children. How many of us are in the situa-
tion of the poor young man in a far country-we are in
want." I do not mean bodily want; we may have enough
to eat and drink and to wear; but is not the soul in want ?
Is it not hungry for the bread of life? Is it not thirsty for
the waters of salvation ? Does it not need a robe of right-
eousness ?
Some are apt to think if they should get riches, they



could have every thing; but many a rich man will tell you
that his fine house and furniture and bank-stock, things for
which he has toiled for half a lifetime, do not really satisfy
him; on the contrary, he often feels as a great king did,
who, after looking on all his fame and glory, only cried out,
"Vanity of vanities, all is vanity." There is a longing of
the soul for something else, he does not know precisely
what; while the fact is, his soul is "in want;" he has kept
it starved. Things which feed and satisfy the body do not
answer for the soul; they are like husks to it. Ah, the
poor man is really in a far country," an outcast from his
Father in heaven; he yearns to lay his head on his Father's
.bosom, to confess his ingratitude and folly, and feel that
sweet peace which springs from a reconciliation with his
God and Redeemer, and thus to enjoy a foretaste of the
:comforts of his heavenly home. So it is with every one.
Not only those who are acknowledged to be very bad, but
all who squander their time on any inferior good, and mis-
spend their means of grace, sooner or later find themselves
"in want."
It is a sad, sad state indeed. And how is it with the
little ones ? "I remember," said a lady, "how often, when
I was a little girl, I used to go out and sit under the old
pear-tree, in a very serious frame. I felt desolate; I want-
ed comfort, and sometimes I cried ; and yet I had brothers
and sisters and a very happy home." Ah, this little child
was "in want;" and I doubt not there are times and sea-
sons when many of you feel so. My children, you, little as
you are, have strayed from your Father's house and sinned
against him; and you need his forgiveness. He is ready
and willing to receive you, for he loves you still, and has
sent you a Saviour to bring you to him. He can give you
heavenly comforts, and feed you with angels' food. How
blessed a thing is it, that we have a Father's house to flee
to. Will you, then, stay "in want ?"


A small boy came to live in a pious family in one of the
larger towns of Michigan, where for the first time he went to
a Sabbath-school. He soon became deeply interested in his
Bible lessons, and the library books, and the little papers
which were given to the scholars almost every Sabbath.
Oh, he thought the Sabbath-school was a beautiful place,
the dearest place anywhere on earth. Then his teacher, too,
he loved him very much.
After a while the boy went back to his mother, who lived
in a village five miles off; there was no Sabbath-school in his
village, and he missed it so he did not know what to do. Yes,
he did know what to do. He determined to walk every Sab-
bath five miles to attend that dear school again, and so he
did until the bad weather set in; and then he told his teacher
he wished he would get married, and let him come to his
house and work for him, inorder to keep on at the school.
"Why, you must get up one where you live," said the
teacher, "and I will go over and teach it." How the boy's
eyes sparkled; it was a new thought to him, a very new
one, and good as it was new. "I'll try it," cried the boy,
"that's what I will; and you yourself will come over and
teach it?" "Yes," answered the teacher; "and I will give
you some books and papers to help begin with."

It was only a little while, when one day the little boy
marched into the teacher's office, looking quite big with the
great thoughts he had. "I've got a school; a good many
have promised to come: will you please come over next
Sabbath? for I told them all you were coming." The
teacher promised to go, and the little boy told him to come
to his house, and he'd show him the sight.
The next Sabbath the teacher was as good as his word;
and how many children do you think he found? Sixty-a
good-sized school indeed to begin with; and this done by
the efforts of one little boy. It is quite wonderful what chil-
dren can accomplish when they try. You may not indeed
have occasion to make a whole Sabbath-school all yourself,
but cannot you bring one new scholar into the school where
you now are? or two, or three? Is there not a poor neg-
lected child somewhere in your town, who would be very
glad to go, if it were only taken kindly by the hand and led
there? I am sure there are many, many such. Will you not
be a Sabbath-school missionary, and become the means, by
God's blessing, of adding one lamb to the flock of the Lord
Jesus Christ?

"Is that the star of Bethlehem ?" asked a little child,
who had been looking long and wistfully at the bright even-
ing star. "Oh, I wish it would always shine on me so."
High in the heavens, a glittering star
At twilight-hour in glory hung,
Shedding its radiance from afar,
And even to earth its bright rays flung.
With eager gaze, a little child
Watched its soft beams with longing eye;
When, turning round, in accents mild,
It gently uttered with a sigh,
"Oh, mother dear, is that the gem
That led the wondering wise men on
Their joyful way to Bethlehem,
And gentle Mary's holy Son?
"I would that star would ever shine
Into this little heart of mine;
It seems to say in language sweet,
I'11 lead thee to the Saviour's feet."

"Why did you not pocket some of those pears ?" said
one boy to another; "nobody was there to see." "Yes,
there was; I was there to see myself, and I do n't ever mean
to see myself do such things." I looked at the boy who
made this noble answer; he was poorly clad, but he had a
noble face, and I thought how there were always two to
see your sins, yourself and your God; one accuses, and the
other judges. How then can we ever escape the conse-
quences of our sins? We have a friend in Jesus Christ.
He says, "Come to me; cast your sins at my feet: I have
died to save you; trust in me, and I will befriend and plead
for you."
Will you not prize such a friend, and feel that he is
indeed One above all others."



God of mercy, God of love,
Hear me from thy throne above;
Teach me how in truth to pray,
Take my sinful heart away.
Often I offend thee, Lord;
I neglect thy holy word,
Break thy blessed Sabbath-day:
Take my rebel heart away.
When my friends and teachers kind,
Bid me their instruction mind,
Then I talk or idly play:
Take my careless heart away.
Oft I disobedient grow,
And ungrateful tempers show;
Evil things I do and say:
Take my wicked heart away.
When of Jesus' love I'm told,
My heart is very dull and cold;
Oh, to me thy love display,
Take my "stony" heart away.
Mould my nature all afresh,
Give to me the "heart of flesh;"
For I know that grace divine,
Changes even hearts like mine.

"Come, what shall we do this afternoon, John?" said
two boys, stopping before the front yard of a neighbor's
house, where one of their school-mates was standing. It
was Wednesday afternoon. To go a fishing, or raspberry-
ing, or up to the mills, or over to Back cove, they could
not decide which of all these would be on the whole the
pleasantest. At last it was agreed to go over to Back
cove, which was a strip of land running out into the sea,
where there were trees, rocks, and water, cake, and ale-
houses, and one or two low taverns.
Off the boys started, with no clear notions of what they
meant to do, only it was Wednesday afternoon, and they
meant to make the most of it. After reaching the cove,
they amused themselves skipping stones on the water,
carving their names on the trees, looking about here and
there, until they came in sight of the bowling-alley, a noted
gambling-house, where a great deal of wickedness had been
carried on. There were several carriages here, many boys
and men around, smoking and lounging, while the alley
was full of customers.
Come, let's go to the alley," cried one of the boys; "it
will be real fun. Father would not like me to go, but I
suppose he never need know it. Let's go, I say. Come,
John; come, Frank."
"No," answered John, "I am not going; I'll have nothing
to do with any such places."
"That's great," cried the boy who proposed going;
"why, you are not so easily hurt as all that comes to, are
you? That's all fudge. Come, boys: come, Frank; come,
John." Frank went forward. "It will be no harm only to
be a looker-on, and father will never find it out."
John stopped. The others looked behind and saw he

was not following. "Come," they both shouted; "come.
Don't be womanish." "Can't," shouted John back again;
"can't break orders." "What special orders have you got?"
they asked, looking round. "I'm sure your aunt never told
you not to go."
"I've got orders, positive orders not to go there ; orders
that I dare not disobey." "It's all nonsense," said the boys ;
"you need not try to make us believe any body has been
giving you orders not to go to the alley. Come, show 'em
to us, if you can; show us your orders:"
John took a red wallet from his pocket, which he opened,
and pulled out a neatly folded paper: "It's here," he said,
unfolding the paper and showing it to the boys. They both
took it, and Frank read aloud:
,"Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not in
the way of evil men. Avoid it, pass not by it, turn from
it, and pass away." "Why, it's nothing but scripture," he
cried. "Yes," John said, "it is nothing more or less than
the word of God; it is his order. This was almost the first
verse I ever learned, and I do not know how many times
my mother used to repeat it to me before she died, and
when I have a pen in my hand, and am going to write
without thinking, this verse always comes uppermost; so I
always keep it with me, and I've always minded it: I
minded it when I was a little boy, and I mean to now I am
older. And so, boys, when any body asks me to go to bad or
doubtful places, as I expect this is, I've got an answer for
them-my orders forbid it. Go not in the way of evil men;
avoid it, pass not by it, turn from it.' There 's no mistake,
you see ; so, if you go to the alley, I go home."
This is indeed a manly stand. Would that every boy
who knows the right-and few are ignorant of it in these
days-could steadfastly maintain it; for it is not so much
ignorance as indecision, that ruins so many. Take John's
motto; learn its full meaning; impress it upon your mind;
carry it about with you; make it the man of your counsel,
for it is the warning and command of the holy Scripture.
"Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not in the
way of evil men. Avoid it, pass not by it, turn from it,
and pass away." Proverbs 4:14, 15.



Robert was a playful, intelligent lad. He did nothing
by halves. If he studied, he did it with all his might, and
was sure to be at the head of his class. If he played, it
was in earnest. Woe to the boys who stormed his snow-
forts. Yet he was gentle and affectionate. He had a
famous dog who shared all his sports, and seemed as happy
in them as his master. Lion, for that was his name, would
take Robert's dinner-basket in his mouth, and carry it care-
fully and safely; and he would defend his master from rude
boys, as if he were his guardian. This lad grew to be a
man and a minister of the gospel; but his attachment to
Lion never ceased, and he has never been known to do a
cruel act to a brute creature. He has often been heard to
say that he could not love or trust a boy that was unkind to
animals. God made them for our service, but not for cruel


Rome is the capital of the Romish religion; here is the
palace of the pope, and the splendid cathedral of St. Peter.
There was a time when this church needed repairs, and the
pope wanted money not only for this object, but to support
the very extravagant style of living in which he indulged.
He tried many ways to get money, and at last hit upon a
new, and as he thought, a capital method to keep his purse
full. This was the sale of indulgences; that is, making peo-
ple pay for having their sins pardoned. Each sin had a
certain price, but the rich were obliged to pay much higher
than the poor.
Monks were sent to open a market for this new traffic
in all the cities of Europe. One of the most famous of
these merchant-monks was Tetzel, who went to Germany.
He travelled in great state, and on entering a city, the
pope's bull, or letter, was carried in front on a velvet
cushion; then came Tetzel bearing a large red wooden
cross; then followed a long procession of men, women, and

~-~-- ~--~



children, with lighted candles in their hands, while sing-
ing, prayers, and the ringing of bells made altogether a
great clatter. The cross was carried to the principal
church and placed in front of the altar, when Tetzel went
into the pulpit and began to preach to the people. Here is
a specimen of his preaching :
"Indulgences are the most precious and the most noble
gifts of God. I declare to you, though you should have
but a single coat, you ought to strip it off and sell it, in
order to obtain this grace. The Lord our God no longer
reigns; he has resigned all power to the pope. Come, I
will give you letters all properly sealed, by which even
the sins you intend to commit may be pardoned. Do you
know why our most holy Lord distributes so rich a grace ?
It is to repair the ruined church of St. Peter and St. Paul,
so that it may not have its equal in the world. This
church contains their bodies ; shall those saintly bodies be
beaten upon and dishonored by the rain and the hail?
Alas, shall these sacred ashes remain longer in the mire?
Give, give, give. I would not change my privileges for
those of St. Peter in heaven; for I have saved more souls
by my indulgences than the apostle by his sermons."
What strange and awful preaching was this! How
brutish must the people be to bear it; for multitudes flocked
to the stall; money flowed plenteously in; and the great
iron chest in which it was kept rattled with the price of
Though the pope then governed the Christian world,
and imposed his tricks upon the people, there were some,
here and there, who saw through his hypocrisy and wicked-
ness.. "My son," said a pious father to his son Myconius,
"pray frequently to God, for all things are freely given to
us from God alone. The blood of Christ is the only ransom
for the sins of the world. Roman indulgences are nets to
catch silver. The pardon of sins and eternal life are not
to be bought with money."
When Tetzel came to Annaburg, where Myconius was
at school, he quite frightened the poor lad. "There is no
other means of obtaining eternal life," cried Tetzel in a
voice of thunder, "except by purchasing it of the Roman
pontiff. Soon I shall take down the cross, and shut the
gates of heaven; so bring your money, citizens of Anna-
burg, for 'now is the accepted time, now is the day of sal-
vation.' "
"I am a poor sinner," said young Myconius, "and I
have need of a gratuitous pardon."
"Those alone can have a part in Christ's merits," said
Tetzel's people, "who lend a helping hand to the church;
that is, give money."
"I cannot," answered Myconius; and a great voice
seemed to speak within him, "There is a God in heaven,
who pardons penitent souls without money and without
price, for the love of his Son Jesus Christ." He burst into
tears; Oh, my God," he cried, "do thou have pity upon a
poor sinner." So Myconius cast himself upon his Lord and
Saviour, who says, "Come unto me, all ye that labor and
are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest ;" and there is
nothing in all the Bible to contradict this precious invita-
tion. The Lord Jesus has never given his authority to
angels or to men. And Myconius found peace. "To live
with God, and to please him, was now my sole desire," he
sweetly says.


These were times just before the great Protestant Ref-
ormation in the days of Luther. You see how much a
reformation was needed; and you see also, that in spite
of the ignorance of the people and the wickedness of the
priests, the light of piety was glimmering here and there
in some humble hearts. These were the streaks of day-
light which foreshadowed the Reformation.

I -


-- '

The three little Mays were made very happy one day
by a letter which their father received, saying that a friend
of his was coming to see them, accompanied by his son.
"A brother," said Jessie, the eldest of the three; "he shall
be our brother while he stays, we always wanted a brother
so," and she looked much pleased. "Will he really be?"
asked Mary, the second little girl. "He will be like a
brother," answered Jessie; "and wont it be nice to have
even such a brother?" His name was Lewis; the little
girls were glad they knew his name, and they kept saying
it over, so as to "get it by heart."
Lewis and his father came at the time they were expect-
ed, but it was quite the children's bed-time; so they could
only be introduced to Lewis, and saw that he had black
hair, and was "beautiful looking," and they all knew they
should like him. After breakfast the next morning, the
first thing to be done was to show Lewis the baby-house.
So little Sarah led the way, and Mary took him by the
hand, and Jessie followed on, feeling very happy. These
little girls had no brother. Jessie, especially, thought she
would give all the world for one-a brother to go with her
and help take care of the younger ones-for her sisters
were always put under her care, when they went out to-
gether; and sometimes Jessie felt a great responsibility
about them. "Oh," she often thought now, "if we only
had a brother to take care of them, and me too."
As soon as they reached the chamber where the baby-
houses were, Lewis spied a little dog, and he ran and
grasped it, crying out, "Oh, may n't I have this ? Give me

this." "You may have it in your hand, Lewis," said Mary,
"but not to keep; for my cousin Jenny gave it to me to
remember her by, and now she's dead." "Dogs to remem-
ber girls by!" cried Lewis; "why, it's sugar, and sugar
dogs are made to eat up." "Please-" began Sarah, look-
ing a little frightened; but before she had time to say
more, Lewis bit off the dog's head, and sat munching it in
his mouth. The sisters stared at Lewis, but they neither
stirred nor spoke, only a tear came into Sarah's eyes, which
she tried to wipe away with her little fat fingers. Present-
ly she stole out of the room, and was soon sobbing in her
mother's lap. This was but the beginning of sorrows.
The poor children found themselves almost at the mercy of
a self-willed, selfish boy, and Jessie had her hands full to
stand between him and her little sisters, whom he took
delight in teasing.
Towards the afternoon, after Lewis had lost his own,
Jessie's, and Mary's balls, he-wanted Bell Emory's, a little
girl who came to visit them. "Please do n't," said Jessie,
"because you may lose it, and we can't make it up to her."
"But I want it, and I will have it," said Lewis roughly.
"It is a law here for each of us to give up sometimes," said
Jessie; "now, wont you take your turn, and give up,
Lewis ?" "Give up I never give up to girls; I will have
the ball;" rushing angrily towards Jessie, who held the
ball in hef hand. Jessie never flinched. "Lewis, are you
a brother ?" she asked, looking the rude, selfish boy calmly
and steadily in the face -"Are you a brother, Lewis?"
Lewis knew enough to feel the reproof. He looked much
ashamed of his conduct; and whether it had any abiding
good effect I cannot tell, but he behaved better in Jessie's
presence while he stayed.
What a question Jessie's was. "Are you a brother?"
the boy who reads this story. Remember that a selfish,
tyrannical, overbearing spirit is not the spirit of brotherly
love. "Are you a brother?" do you cherish a brother's
tender care, a brother's protecting hand and watchful eye
over the sisters whom God has given you? "Are you a
brother?" and will you never abuse the confidence and
ruin the happiness of one who should be treated as a sis-
ter? "Are you a brother? remember a brother's duty and
a brother's responsibility, and never abuse a brother's love.


Several years ago, a fine ship, on her voyage from New
York to Liverpool, encountered a severe thunder-storm.
The lightning struck the ship, knocked down several of the
crew, and run down into the hold, which was filled with
bales of cotton. There was a smell of fire, and the dreadful
discovery was soon made that the cotton was on fire. What
could be done ? The hatches were speedily closed, if possi-
ble to keep the fire under, while efforts were made to reach
the nearest port, which proved to be Portsmouth, New
Hampshire, not many leagues off. With what gratitude
did the sailors descry the land, as it hove in sight; for, by
the time the vessel reached the mouth of the harbor, her
decks were hot, and a suffocating heat steamed up through
every open seam.
As she came up the harbor, word of their perilous situa-



tion was sent on shore, and preparations were made to
scuttle her-which means to bore holes in the sides and
bottom of a vessel, in order to sink her as low as possible
in the water. The fire-engines of the town were speedily
brought down to the wharf; as soon as the crew landed,
the hatches were opened, and the fire, long stifled, now
fanned by the air, flamed wildly up the masts ; but the
engines were on hand, and streams of water were poured
over the deck, down the hold, and among the rigging.
Among the sailors who were injured was a German
lad, who had one of his legs dreadfully shattered by the
lightning. The poor fellow found himself helpless, suffer-
Sing, in a foreign land, and hardly understanding the English
language; but a sailor's home, kept by a pious widow,
opened its friendly doors, and there he was carried. The
doctor was sent for, who said the limb must be cut off. I
What suffering days and sleepless nights did he endure;
but every thing was done for his comfort: Christian friends
were raised up in his behalf; he was nursed, provided for,
and at last the limb healed, and he got well; but he could
no longer follow the seas; he was a cripple, a poor stranger
in a strange land.
Did he grumble over his hard lot? Oh, no; he kept
up a good heart, and sought work; and what was better,
he began to inquire more about that merciful God who had
spared his life in the storm, and given him a safe anchorage
through a long and tedious illness. He learned the English
language, and diligently attended on the means of grace;
and by the blessing of God, he saw that his soul was beset
by far greater perils than those from which he had just
escaped on the ocean, and he felt the need of that hope
which would be an anchor to his soul, both sure and stead-
fast; and that hope he found in the atoning blood of his
Redeemer. This gave him peace and joy, and he esteemed
it a great privilege to unite himself with the people of God.
Not only had he the believing heart, but the diligent hand;
he was industrious and frugal.
Several years have passed, and what of him now? He
is an American citizen, beloved and respected, though his
German accent still betrays his foreign birth; and he loves
and labors for his adopted country. Sabbath-schools, the
missionary cause, the Tract Society, are all dear to him;
and when the sailor's home was burned down a few years
since, he was himself able to rebuild it, and now owns it.
When he read those excellent treatises upon systematic
giving, published by the Tract Society not long ago, he
immediately said, "I too will weekly lay by of my store,
according as the Lord prospers me;" and he began to put
the earnings of one day in the week into the Lord's treasury.
This soon enabled him to say to the Tract Society, "Pick
me out a pious German, to labor as a colporteur among
my own countrymen in this good land, and I will support
him." The Society did as he wished; and now, though he
is always found behind his counter or in his shop, he is
preaching, through his colporteur, to numbers of his coun-
trymen, that gospel which he esteems so precious, and
distributing good books, full of the word of life, besides
making generous offerings to every other good cause. "It
is not hard to give, when it is all laid by," he says.
Does not this story give us a heart to welcome the for-
eigners who come to our shores? Let us take them by

the hand, sympathize with them, encourage and aid them,
show them our institutions, teach them our language, give
them that Bible which is the corner-stone of our greatness,
and point them to "the Lamb of God, which taketh away
the sin of the world."

Amid the blue and starry sky,
A group of hours one even
Met, as they took their upward flight
Into the highest heaven.
They all were merry childhood's hours,
That just had left the earth,
Winging their way above the world
That gave to them their birth.
And they were going up to heaven,
With all that had been done
By little children, good or bad,
Since the last rising sun.
And some had gold and purple wings,
Some drooped like faded flowers,
And sadly soared to tell the tale,
That they were misspent hours.
Some glowed with rosy hopes and smiles,
And some had many a tear;
Others had unkind words and acts
To carry upward there.
A shining hour, with golden plumes,
Was laden with a deed
Of generous sacrifice a child
Had done for one in need.
And one was bearing up a prayer
A little child had said,
All full of penitence and love,
SWhile kneeling by his bed.
And thus they glided on, and gave
Their records dark and bright
To Him who marks each passing hour
Of childhood's day and night.
Remember, children of the earth,
Each hour is on its way,
Bearing its own report to heaven,
Of all you do and say. MRs. K. P. GORDON.

A plate of sweet cakes was brought in and laid upon
the table. Two children played on the hearth-rug before the
fire. "Oh, I want one of those cakes," cried the little boy,
jumping up as soon as his mother went out, and going on
tiptoe towards the table. "No, no," said his sister, pull-
ing him back-"No, no; you know you must not touch."
"Mother wont know it; she didn't count them," he cried,
shaking her off, and stretching forth his hand. "If she
didn't, perhaps God counted," answered the sister. The
little boy's hand was stayed. Yes, children, be sure that
God counts.




Several gentlemen were talking one evening at the
house of a friend, when one of them exclaimed, "Ah, depend
upon it, a soft answer is a mighty cure-all."
At this stage of the conversation, a boy who sat behind
at a table studying his Latin grammar, began to listen, and
repeated, as he thought, quite to himself, "A soft answer is
a mighty cure-all." "Yes, that's it," cried the gentleman,
starting, and turning round to see where the echo came
from-"Yes, that's it; don't you think so, my lad?" The
boy blushed a little at finding himself so unexpectedly ad-
dressed, but answered, "I don't know as I understand you,
"Well, I'll explain, then," said the gentleman, wheeling
round his chair: "for it is a principle you ought to under-
stand and act upon: besides, it is the principle which is
going to conquer the world." The boy looked more puzzled
than ever, and thought he should like to know something
that was equal to Alexander himself.
"I might as well explain," said he, "by telling you about
the first time it conquered me. My father was an officer, and
his notion was to settle every thing by fighting: if a boy
ever gave me a saucy word, it was, 'Fight'em, Charley;
"By and by I was sent to the famous -- school, and
it so happened my seat was next to a lad named Tom
Tucker. When I found he lived in a small house behind
the academy, I began to strut a little and talk about what
my father was; but as he was a capital scholar, very much
thought of by the boys, besides being excellent at bat and
ball, we were soon on pretty good terms, and so it went on

for some time. After a while, some of the fellows of my
stamp, and I with the rest, got into a difficulty with one
of the ushers; and somehow or other we got the notion
that Tom Tucker was at the bottom of it.
"' Tom Tucker ; who is he ?' I cried angrily. 'I'll let
him know who I am I' and we rattled on, until we fairly
talked ourselves into a parcel of wolves. The boys then
set me on to go down to Tom Tucker's, and let him know
what he had to expect. Swelling with rage, I bolted into
his yard, where he was at work with Trip and his little sis-
ter. 'I'll teach you to talk about me in this way,' I thundered,
marching up to him. He never winced, or seemed the least
frightened, but stood still, looking at me as mild as a lamb.
'Tell me,' I cried, throwing down my books, doubling up
my fist, and sidling up to him; 'tell me, or I'll'-kill you,
I was going to say, for murder was in my heart. He step-
ped one side, but answered firmly, yet mildly, 'Charles,
you may strike me as much as you please; I tell you I
sha"n't strike bade again: fighting is a poor way to settle dif-
ficulties. I'm thinking, when you are Charles Everett, I'll
talk with you.'
Oh, what an answer was that; how it cowed me down:
so firm, and yet so mild. I felt there was no fun in having
the fight all on one side. I was ashamed of myself, my
temper, and every thing about me. I longed to get out of
his sight. I saw what a poor foolish way my way of doing
things was. I felt that Tom had completely' got the better
of me-that there was a power in his principles superior to
any thing I had ever seen before ; and from that hour Tom
Tucker had an influence over me which nobody else ever



had before or since : it had been for good, too. That, you
see, is the power, the mighty moral power of a soft answer.
"I have been about the world a great deal since then;
and I believe," said the gentleman, "that nearly all, if not
all the bickerings, the quarrels, the disputes, which arise
among men, women, or children, in families, neighborhoods,
churches, or even nations, can be cured by the mighty moral
power of a soft answer; for the Scripture has it, 'A soft
answer turneth away wrath.' Yes, yes, it is just so; it
stops the leak in the beginning."
The fighting principle has been tried these many thou-
sand years in the world, and every body admits that the
remedy is worse than the disease; in fact, that it increases
the disorder. Anger begets anger, fighting makes fight-
ing, war leads to war, and so on. Difficulties are neither
healed nor cured by it. Let us turn about and try the
peace principle.

Here is a murderer in prison. See how wretched he looks.
Would you like to exchange places with.that young man?
You shudder at the mention of it. His name was Nathan
Crist, and he was executed a few months ago at Mobile for
his crime, which he fully acknowledged. I have brought
him before you now, because I want you to think seriously
upon the last words of his confession:
I have nothing more to say, but to warn all others to
fly from temptation. The first thought of crime, if not
resisted, may lead to the destruction of both body and soul.
I can scarcely realize now, that I have committed any thing
so awful as to stain my hands in my brother's blood. Satan
seems, when I first yielded to the thought, to have bound me
with chains, and blunted my feelings, and blinded my eyes ;
so that, although I tried again and again to get loose, I was

dragged to the commission of my foul offence. Oh, may
God have mercy on me-as I hope he has-and save my
soul from hell."
Hear Nathan's words, "Fly from temptation. The first
thought of crime," or sin, if not resisted, may lead to the
destruction of both body and soul." Who can describe the
danger of harboring sinful thoughts in the heart? For,
"out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, thefts,
blasphemies." A wicked thought lying in the heart: it is
little, it is still, it is hid, it has no hands or feet or mouth, it
seems quite harmless; who could think it would do mis-
chief? But it is powerful, and if allowed to stay, it will be
sure to gain strength, and gain the mastery; it will govern
the man or the boy, and it will drag him down to shame
and to destruction, both of soul and body. Fly, then, from
temptation; drive out sinful thoughts; let your prayer be,
"Create within me a clean heart, 0 God, and renew within
me a right spirit."

Some children were in my room the other day, and I
asked them to tell me "what water was good for."
"Good to drink," said one.
Good to wash clothes with," said a second.
Good to wash dishes with," said a third.
And a little timid blue-eyed girl, whose cheeks were so
clean they fairly shone, lisped, Good to wash our faces
"Pshaw," exclaimed her brother John, "I should be
ashamed to say that, Fan; I say it's good to swim in."
This magnificent assertion produced a momentary silence.
At length some one said,
"Good to make tea with."
"And coffee," said another.
"Good to paddle a boat in," said John.
"And steam-boats," added another.
"And ships; great big ships with sails," shouted a third.
Then came a pause, in which all seemed buried in profound
"It's good to rain with," said the clean-faced little
"And for snow," added John.
"Why, snow is n't water, by a great deal," stoutly
asserted Mary T- a child of five years old, with very
rosy cheeks.
"I should like to know if it's any thing else?" said John,
"Melt it, and you'll see what it's made of."
Another pause. "You have remembered many of the
uses of water," said I; "but there are some important ones
still omitted. There is one I should expect you to think of
now," I said, as a train of cars went whizzing by, not twenty
rods from my window.
"Cars don't go by water ?" inquired little Fanny.
"No, indeed," said some one in reply.
"It's good for cows to drink."
"Yes, and for horses and dogs and sheep."
"And our little canary-birds," said Mary T-
"Yes, every animal drinks water," I said; "but there
are still some things forgotten. Who will think ?"
"Oh, I don't love to think," said little Fanny.


1: -



S"It's good to turn mills with," said John. "Whydidn't station. Johnny perhaps had A hammer, and nails were
I think of that before? Saw-mills and grist-mills and all not always as plenty as Johnny could wish, so that he could
kinds of mills go by water." heartily appreciate the missionary's wants. At any rate, it
"Yes," said I; "that opens a wide field of usefulness shows the quick sympathies of childhood, which, if early
before us, for all our manufacturing machinery is carried by enlisted on the side of Christian benevolence, promise a
water. Who will think again?" Finally all declared they rich harvest of "good works" for the church and the world.
could think of nothing else, and even John Patterson gave
out, as he called it.
"Water is good for steam," said I; "and steam is one
of the most important agents known. It is doing wonders .
in our day."
"Why, how many things water is good for !" exclaimed
little Fanny; "I never thought of them all before." l '
"Little girls ought to think," said I. "To go through- -
such a world as this without thinking, is very much like
taking a journey with your eyes shut. Unless the eyes of
your mind are wide open, you will never perceive the excel- .
lency and beauty with which you are surrounded, or know ,' '
the exceeding kindness of your heavenly Father. Having '..
now seen how useful water is, you will understand why it.
is found in all portions of the earth, and so plentifully dis-
tributed. Just imagine for a moment a world without water.
What would be the consequences? Every human being,
man, woman, and child, would perish pf thirst, whether liv-
ing in city or country; whether rich or poor; whether Amer-
ican or European, Asiatic or African; all would die a dread-
ful death."
"But could n't they drink milk ?" suggested Mary. -
"Why, the cows would n't give any milk, if they didn't ''
get water to drink ?" inquired John.
"No. Not only all human beings, but all the races of \ -
animals found on the face of the earth.would perish. Every
beast that prowls through the lonely forest; every animal THE WINTER-GARDEN
that loves the dwelling of man, or ministers to his wants ;
all the feathered tribes; and all the fishes in the great sea, "This is almost my last nosegay from my dear garden,"
would at once die for want of water. All these are thirsty said a child, pressing close to his mother's side with a
as well as man, and to all God has given drink. He is a bunch of flowers in his hand. "Oh, it seems but a little
kind Father, who never forgets the wants of his creatures, while since I planted the seeds, and watched and watered
or fails to supply them. Let us be thankful for his good- and weeded them; and what splendid flowers I had, and
ness, and praise him for it with loving hearts continually." how I loved my garden, and how I never was tired of it.

"Mother, may I spend my five cents for something?"
was about the first thing a little fellow by the name of
Johnny asked his mother one morning. She saw by his
serious manner that it was not cake or candy that his money
was going for; and as he did not seem quite ready to tell
her, and as he was a boy his mother could trust, though he
was quite small, she gave him leave to do as he wished
with it. He went out, and after a while came back and
laid in her lap his own little red tin trunk full of shingle
nails. "What is this for, Johnny?" she asked, quite sur-
"Why, I kept thinking, ever and ever so long last
night, about that poor missionary the minister told us
about, who had no nails to mend his house with, and I
thought I'd take my money and just buy him some," answer-
ed Johnny, all in a glow of interest, "and put them in my
tin trunk; and he may have that too." The young ladies
were making up a box at that time, to send to some western

And now it's all over, this is my last nosegay. Oh, winter,
winter, winter I it has no flowers, nothing beautiful; it is
almost horrid."
"No, no, my child; winter is not as horrid as you sup-
pose; it can be made very pleasant. What do you think
of a winter-garden?"
"A conservatory, do you mean, with glass on the top
and all round-a hot-house ?"
"No; something far less costly than that: every child
can have a winter-garden. It will be necessary for you to
work in it very diligently and carefully every day, for the
weeds, perhaps, will be more forward and meddlesome than
they are in your summer-garden; but then it will be sure
to reward all your labors, and make you very happy.
Would you not like a winter-garden ?"
"But would not Jack Frost or the biting north winds
hurt it ?"
"Oh, no; they cannot do it the least harm."
"But where can it be?"
"Around your own fireside, certainly. In the first place,
there must be the 'good ground,' and the 'good seed,' to be
sown in the 'good ground;' then there must be labors of



love, and the dews of sympathy, and the Sun of righteous-
ness; then there will be buds of promise, and flowers of
affection, and fruits of holiness; and if it be all fenced in
by friendliness and prayer, nothing can nip, or blight, or
destroy it. It will bbd and blossom like the rose all the
season through. Will you not have a winter-garden?
They are planted in many homes, and it is so beautiful there;
other homes have them not, and it is all winter there, both
within and without. Will you not make a winter-garden ?"

dCome," said England in the year 1850 to all the nations,
"it would be a fine thing for each of us to have an opportu-
nity of seeing all the improvements which each has made in
machinery, in tools, in science and the arts, :without the
cost of visiting the different workshops of all the different
nations. Now I will build a great show-shop, and invite
every body to come and bring the best specimens of their
work for exhibition. I will show you mine, and you shall
show me yours." And it struck the nations favorably, and
they said, "Yes, we will come, and bring our work with
us." And from this arose the famous Crystal Palace, built
of iron and glass, in Hyde Park, London, which was the
wonder of the world in 1851. In its shape, its materials,
and its object, it was altogether new. Millions flocked to
see it, and for taste, and talent, and ingenuity, and in-
dustry, and splendor, the exhibition was perhaps never
The next year the people of this country said, "Let us
now, on this side of the waters, have an exhibition, and let
the people of Europe come over with their fabrics, and see
us;" and for this purpose an "Association for the Exhibi-
tion of the Industry of all Nations" was formed to carry
out the enterprise. New York took the lead, and this was
the origin of the beautiful crystal palace in the city of New
York, which so many from all parts of the country flocked
to see. It was situated in Reservoir square, four miles
from the Battery, and was built of iron columns panelled,
not with wood, nor marble or granite, but with. glass, of
which there were 15,000 panes. Of the iron columns, there
were 190 on the ground floor, and 148 on the second. In
its form, it was at its base an octagon, or eight-sided, and
above it had the form of a cross at right angles, the four
naves or wings extending north, south, east, and west; the
centre was surmounted by a vast dome of great beauty,
148 feet high. The length and breadth of the building were
each 365 feet, and it covered four acres. The inside was
painted cream-color, with pictures and statues in every
direction. Water and gas were carried by pipes into every
part of the building; and when lighted up in the evening
it presented a shining and splendid appearance. This vast
building, with its long galleries and magnificent stairways,
filled with all manner of useful, curious, elegant, and won-
derful objects; its brilliant and stately look from without,
surrounded by a vast throng of people coming and going-
in a word, "the Crystal Palace" was an object to excite the
wonder and admiration of every beholder.
And I sometimes think, if a crystal palace is so beauti-
ful and attractive, what would a crystal city be? There is
a city like crystal, which we read about, very glorious, and

people every year are making pilgrimages to it. Have you
read about it in your geography? No. Did you ever see
any body that returned from it? No; and perhaps you
will say you never heard 6f it before, for it does not make
much stir. Yet it has twelve gates of pearl, and the streets
are of pure gold, as it were transparent glass; it has no
need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine upon it, for it
has within it a glorious never-fading light. But the most
striking fact about this city, and that which forms such a
strange and remarkable contrast with New York, or New
Orleans, or any other city which you know of, is, that there
is there no death, or sorrow, or crying, neither any pain ; no
little child cries there, it has no need of tears ; once there, it
is an all-happy child for ever and for ever.
We notice also there are some strict rules about who
shall enter into this city, and who shall not. "There shall
in no wise enter into it any thing that defileth, neither what-
soever worketh abomination, or maketh a lie; but they that
are written in the Lamb's book of life." 0 how pure must
it be within! And now, do you know where it is? "Ah
yes," you say, "it can mean only one place, and that is the
heavenly city, and I must have all my sins washed away
in order to go there." Yes, my child, no one but the Lord
Jesus Christ can give you a passport to this bright abode;
hear his call, join his company, love him, follow him, and
you shall enter those everlasting gates with songs and
great joy. Will you not press into this crystal city?


A gentleman met another one Saturday, who invited
him to dine'with him the next day. "I cannot accept your
kind invitation for to-morrow," was the answer, "for I never
dine out on the Sabbath."
Some years afterwards the same gentleman was travel-
ling in a coach, when opposite to him sat another reading
very attentively from a book which he held in his hand. On
looking up they recognized each other, and the reader said,
"This is a book which I once did not value much, and it
was you who first turned my thoughts to it. It is the
Bible." "Indeed," said the other, "I do not remember it."
"I suppose not," was the answer; "but I once asked you
to dine with me on the Sabbath, and I was quite angry
that you gave as a reason for declining, that you never
dined out on the Sabbath. But the more I felt angry, the
more it fixed itself in my mind, until at length it led me to
inquire into your principles, and by inquiring into them, I
was, by the blessing of God, led to adopt them, and to
become, as I hope, a Christian."
Let every Christian boy, or man, remember that there
is nothing which so commands respect and commends the
truth, as a firm standing up to his principles. Be true to
them. Show your colors; and let every body know, that as
for you, you are on the side of God and the Bible.

SProcrastination says, Oh, it will be pleasant to do your
work by and by; wait a little while." The Bible declares,
"Do with thy might whatsoever thy hand finds to do."
Which do you mind?




Four ro.:adl i'-: thf- All, t' fr:ii t... S vitz. rl,iid,
one of whi'ih ii tih- lpsi .it' St. Br.rn:rrid. At th, t.p t '.f thi-
road, eight thi-..andi f, t al',.-.': the:- l.-ev.l t thi s'*, i
dreary re-rioni '. .-now aud i,...:k, ik th'. i','tii:.-rv 1'
St. Berna '11. It i-, a E'le.t .- tr,,.-.i ,-.i '_.r u h,-,tuil'ii'.'-'
standing ,,,il:,u I _-c |[)-.d \.,y i ,.,ik,. id' ,t,.,.__' -, w ,i-:i-e k'il
attention t:, trl.v ,l:.i-i l 1i..-r nIhi:.l1 ti-1iu 1 iriijiii, tLr' lij-2',l.: it th .
world. Ev'- -ticl; .t w. norid *,.-r; tliirr I.) -.,tt, hl t.:,
be brought ui, tr.:i the- il -'' 1,:-low, o.i the I.' ckr m:,i' iyl-i,
at a great (ex*:-'. 1" tim- -.itul mi... y. Ar:unjri .:tr? till --iior
rocks, a little like., -.'.ir.-lyv tlhwi.-,- in Au,-'i:t, .i,.l -u.:Vw-
banks, g'itl'i-r-iij; thlr..-ih1i ll ti,:e I- mi!u,:r -uahbirn... Drr.airy rs
it would .-rae n t,, I -, ;a .beautiful i .l,..t Iu%, .: 1 :. e .,-. in t, lif:.
on the s,.,iilthl-ii .-Ilp'"-.s inl in the .iunny
hollows :,t' thi. r..i:k-, I.linn:;r t-i i t littl,-
pink-blue aind iarliir t:.r, nj.Likng: '-
feel that tli,- Um.'t .l..-.,-'it:- ,th m:, .- a.-- "
friendly -mile-. ,
Perhal, the i, .-- t iitt:-r,:-tinir2- -i ,ht at tlih.
monastery is tlj'- 'I- n, ti lki2 ani. r..lii-
about in tii, p,..i>,h in [l,:.-,.s-nt we.,th:r- -:
great b:..,l-I-.:-td, sh,...rl .h-ir-d,, Str. -' -
lim bed f,:ll:, -', t.:- v t'i m_.iy a d i.,,:,r I,,:-
nighted ti.,v,ll,-r, !:'..,.'ih _- in th:.-- wil.l
snows, cw'.- his liti Fr...u till -
M ay, a tiru-ty .'rvdhit, a.:-It.. i t'cl 1'- a '1"'

'I '

nIl~I: I
-_= - , '
~-FI '" -. ,'',i" -h

1.71' ,I i

monk, goes half way down the mountain every day in
search of travellers. Two large dogs follow on with
little casks of meat and drink strapped on their backs;
and so keen is their scent that they will discover a man
at a great distance, and find out the road in the thickest
fogs and heaviest falls of snow. Oftentimes all they can
see of the dogs is their tails, moving along through the
One of the most remarkable of these noble dogs, was
Barry, who is known to have saved the lives of forty indi-
viduals. Besides his cask round his neck, he carried a
warm garment on his back; and if he failed to rouse the
poor traveller into some sense of life by his warm tongue
'and breath, he would race back to the house and bring

somebody to the rescue. One day Barry found a poor boy
asleep, and almost frozen to death in the celebrated glacier
of Balsore. Barry warmed the boy, licked him, woke him
up, and gave him something to drink, and carried him on
his back to the monastery. The joy of the poor parents,
who can describe? After a life of active service, Barry
was sent down the mountain to a warm and comfortable
home, where he passed the rest of his days in honorable
quiet; at his death his body was carefully buried, and his
skin was stuffed, and there he may be seen in the museum
of Berne, standing as large as life, with his collar and bot-
tle round his ieck, ready to start on his labors of love.
The dogs are short-lived. Many die from diseases of
the lungs, and others are lost in the falling of avalanches,





- _


and other accidents. Neither men nor dogs can long stand
the severe climate and thin air of so great a height. Both
are often obliged to go down into the valleys below and
recruit amid milder scenes. The leader of the pack now, is
named Pluto-so it was, at least, when I last heard from
them-a brave, big creature, doing deeds of usefulness and
valor which might put to blush the life of many a one of
human understanding, who never risked a thought, much
less a deed, to help his fellow-men.

Mother, watch the little feet
Climbing over the garden wall,
Bounding through the busy street,
Ranging cellar, shed, and hall.
Never count the moments lost,
Never mind the time it costs:
Little feet will go astray,
Guide them, mother, while you may.
Mother, watch the little hand
Picking berries by the way,
Making houses in the sand,
Tossing up the fragrant hay.
Never dare the question ask,
"Why to me this weary task?"
These same little hands may prove
Messengers of light and love.
Mother, watch the little tongue
Prattling eloquent and wild,
What is said, and what is sung
By thy happy, joyous child.
Catch the word while yet unspoken,
Stop the vow before 'tis broken:
This same tongue may yet proclaim
Blessings in a Saviour's name.
Mother, watch the little heart
Beating soft and warm for you;
Wholesome lessons now impart;
Keep, 0 keep that young heart true:
Extricating every weed,
Sowing good and precious seed;
Harvest rich you then may see,
Ripening for eternity.

In a circle of brothers and sisters who lived in a large
stone house near a mountain pass in Switzerland, let us
look at the youngest. His name is Jean-John-he has
a bright face, and his very looks seem to be asking ques-
tions. It is not among his playmates or his books that he
is most interesting; but when he goes away by himself
into the forests, as he often loves to go, then he seems very
thoughtful, as if his little mind was deeply impressed with
great and serious subjects.
As he looks round, he feels there is something mightier
than the mountain, and higher than the sky, and more
spreading than the branches of the forests; and he asks
himself, "Is this God, all around me; the same God who
rained fire on wicked Sodom, who took care of Joseph in
Egypt, who talked with Moses in the mount ?" The boy is
tenderly alive to these stories of the displeasure and the
goodness of God. He treasures them up in his mind, he
thinks of the&i in the woods, and he says, "I will mind this
great God." He does not want to forget God. He prays
God not to forget him, a little boy.
One day there was a disagreement among the brothers,
in which Jean was to blame. At bedtime when his nurse
undressed him, she said that God was angry with naughty
children; he would punish them, nor suffer any such to go
to heaven. Jean went to bed, but the nurse's words sunk
deep into his heart. "I am a wicked boy," he said to him-
self, "and how do I know but God may call me to an
account this night?" A burden lay upon him. He tossed
about upon his pillow. The thought of displeasing God
grieved him, and he could find no rest. Then he got up,
and falling upon his knees, he penitently confessed his sins,
and begged to be forgiven. "I think God did hear me that
night," he said, long afterwards, "for I began to feel a
little of that peace which I have since known so much of."
Let all little children take courage from this. If you
have done wrong, and feel the dark, cold, heavy weight of
sin, making you afraid of God, of your parents, afraid even
of yourself, remember what little Jean did. He was only
seven years old then. He did not try to forget it, to sleep
it away, to comfort himself that to-morrow or next day all
would be well. You may indeed forget your sins, but God
will not. Jean believed this, and it led him to carry his
burden before God, to beg for favor and forgiveness for
Christ's sake, who takes our burdens for us. Did God
regard the prayer of little Jean? Oh yes; for he who hears
even the young ravens when they cry, will graciously listen
to the humblest prayer of the little child. He gave peace
to Jean; then the boy slept, for he was no more afraid of
God; penitence and prayer had cast out fear.
This little boy afterwards became an eminent minister
of the gospel. He was the Rev. John W. Fletcher of Madely.

One day General Washington and some of his officers,
while stationed at Boston, went to visit Chelsea. On their
way they stopped to rest and refresh themselves at the
mansion of Mr. Dexter, a beautiful spot surrounded by state-
ly elms and green fields. The coolness of the shade and the



kindness of the host were very tempting to the tired horse-
men on a warm summer's day. They alighted, and after
hitching their horses under the trees went to partake of the
good cheer within. When the party came out, one of the
gentlemen accidentally knocked off a stone from the wall
which run before the house. Washington said he had bet-
ter replace the stone. "No," answered the officer, "I will
leave that for somebody else." Washington then went
quietly and put the stone up again, saying as he did so, "I
always make it my rule in visiting a place, to leave things
in as good order as I find them."

.--- ..

:.' : :

3 _: ,- -

More than sixty years ago, in 1790, while on a voyage
to the Pacific ocean, a mutiny took place one night on board
an English ship called the Bounty, headed by the mate,
Fletcher Christian. The mutineers tied up Captain Bligh,
and pitched him with several others of the crew into a
small boat, and set them adrift upon the wide ocean. After
suffering incredible hardships, with brave hearts and trust
in God, Captain Bligh and his weather-beaten comrades
reached a Dutch port in the East Indies. Here they receiv-
ed help to reach England, where the news of the mutiny
excited great indignation, and a vessel was immediately
sent out to scour the seas in search of the criminals. Some
of the crew who had left the Bounty at Otaheite were
arrested and put in chains, but no tidings of the ship or the
ringleaders could be found, and for twenty years their fate
was not known.
But where were they all this long while? Let us fol-
low their steps, and see where crime will lead us. After
leaving their commander and his companions to perish on
the seas, the mutineers began to think what they must do;
for after committing such a deed they felt themselves to be

outlaws, safe nowhere. The mate found a book of voyages
in the Captain's library, in which he read an account of a lit-
tle lonely island, rising like a rock from the Pacific ocean,
called Pitcairn's Island, and this he determined to make
their place of refuge. Taking on board a few of the savages
from Otaheite, men and women, they steered for Pitcairn's,
and after much difficulty found a landing; for the waves
dashing against the steep rocks made it both dangerous
and difficult to land. They found the island only four miles
and a half round, with fruit good for food growing in a
rich soil between the cliffs. After landing, they stove the
ship in pieces, and thus cut themselves off from the civil-
ized world.
And now, what had they gained by the mutiny ? Could
they make homes here and be happy? Ah, no. With no
society but savages and their own wicked thoughts, for
ever banished from happy England, or returning to it except
as felons, these men were miserable indeed. Fletcher Chris-
tian tried to preserve order as well as he could; much of his
time was spent on a high cliff which he called his "look-
out," where he could look over the ocean and watch a dis-
tant sail; for the sight of a ship filled them with terror,
lest it might be coming to capture them and carry them to
England for punishment. What would not Christian have
given to undo all that he had done? but that could not be,
and he must reap the bitter fruits of wrong doing. Terrible
quarrels took place among them, ending in bloodshed, until
almost every man was killed. Christian himself was mur-
dered, and at last only one man remained alive-an English
sailor, John Adams. How true is it that the way of trans-
gressors is hard, very hard.
Poor Adams had seen better days; and when he thought
of his happy English home and his present wretchedness, it
led him to serious reflection. Happily there was saved from
the Bounty a Bible, and the miserable sailor opened this long-
neglected book to find some ray of comfort. He felt that
he was lost, and there he found the Saviour of lost men,
saying, "Come unto me, and I will give you rest." John
Adams laid hold of this offer of mercy; he went to this
Saviour, and found peace in trusting in him, and henceforth
he was a penitent and altered man. And now there began
to spring up in this little island a holy Bible i'i.-Den'ie-, the
tree of life whose leaves are for the healing of the nations.
Adams was surrounded by the children of his murdered
companions, and these he determined to instruct in the
knowledge of God. He had morning and evening prayers,
and he rewarded their good behavior by reading to them
the Scriptures, in which they took great delight; and the
little island began to bear the golden fruit of industry and
peace and love.
In 1808 an American vessel touched at the island; and
what was the surprise of the captain to find such a commu-
nity in such a spot, and to find them descendants of the
mutineers of the English ship Bounty. On his return home
he sent word of his discovery to England, and this was the
first news they had received of their fate. After a while
an English ship of war was seen approaching the island,
and John Adams then thought his hour had come; but he
was soon comforted with the tidings that he was not to be
arrested. The English captain was delighted to find every
thing true which the Americans said; there were aeat huts,



pretty gardens, and virtuous, religious, and kind grown-up
young people, with their children. Some of them were
invited to visit the ship and take a lunch in the cabin.
Before eating, they clasped their hands and said solemnly,
"For what we are going to receive, the Lord make us
truly thankful," and the act deeply affected the officers of
the ship, who perhaps were not in the habit of thanking
God for their daily bread. The Sabbath-day was kept holy,
and the Sabbath services highly prized.
John Adams lived until 1827 ; he was loved and obeyed,
the father, minister, and friend of the- little flock. Just
before he died, a good man arrived at the island, who came
to live and labor for the islanders, and Adams welcomed
him as a man sent by God to succeed him. A sweet Chris-
tian love sprang up between him and the people, and at
the death of Mr. Adams, he became their pastor and teacher.
His name was George Nobbs. Many years afterwards the
Fitcairnerd wanted him to be regularly ordained for the
ministry, and for this purpose he consented to leave his
island home and visit England in the next ship that should
come. He had then been there twenty-six years, and per-
haps it was no wonder, even while he was in London where
he was cordially received by all good people and was intro-
duced to the queen, that he pined for Pitcairn. "I long to
go home to my little flock," he used to say. This was in
1852. He was ordained chaplain of the island, and money
was raised to buy a bell for his church, a clock, and many
other useful things. He went back by way of the isthmus,
and was then to go to Valparaiso, where he hoped to find a
ship to take him home. May God give him a good passage,
for the happy islanders long to see him.
And now we will close this beautiful story of God's
sovereignty and love in the words of another, who says,
"Nobody can read the history of Pitcairn without being
deeply affected by the results flowing directly and unmis-
takably from the Bible, which contains the revelation of
God to man. It was a fountain of living waters in the
desert, making the wilderness blossom as the rose."

My first step to ruin," exclaimed a wretched youth, as
he lay tossing from side to side on the straw bed in one
corner of his prison-house, "My first step to ruin was going
fishing on the Sabbath. I knew it was wrong: my mother
taught me better; my minister taught me better; my mas-
ter taught me better; my Bible taught me better. I didn't
believe them, but I did n't think it would come to this. I am
undone II am lost !"
Perhaps he said, "It is too pleasant to be cooped up in
church. What harm is there in taking a stroll into the
woods? What harm in carrying my fishing-tackle and sit-
ting on the banks to fish ?"
What harm I Why, the harm is that God is disobeyed,
who says, "Remember the Sabbath-day to keep it holy.'
The moment a youth determines to have his own way,
choosing his own pleasure before God's will, that moment
he lets go his rudder, his compass, his chart; nothing but
God's word can guide you safely over the ocean of life.
Give that up, and you get bewildered; you are drifting;
you will be lost.


"Mother, here is my new sled," said a rosy-cheeked little
fellow, tugging his sled -into the house in order to show it to
his mother, "and the first thing it shall do is to go an errand
for you. What do you want me to fetch you home from
the store, mother? And the next thing it shall do, shall be
to carry Alice to ride. She's a little girl, and would like a
ride on my new sled, I dare say. Would it not please her
dearly, mother? After that I'll go on the hill, and slide
with the boys."
This is one or the best order of exercises for a new
sled that I ever heard of, and I wish every boy to mark it.
First and foremost was Jamie's sled to be used to help his
.mother, then to give delight to his little sister, and not
until lastly did he mean to use it for his own special amuse-
ment. I venture to say, most boys would have begun with
themselves first; would they not ? Mother and sister would
have come last, or come not at all, or had perhaps only a
grudged share in the new sled. Suppose that, when you
came home from sliding down hill, your mother had asked
you to go an errand for her, would you not have said how
tired, you were, or asked if to-morrow would not do, and
wished "some body else would go errands?" Or if your
sister had said, "0 take me a little ride on your new sled,"
you might have roughly answered, "It's my sled; I sha'n't
take girls on it," or some unkind answer like this, which
boys are too apt to make.
But do you think this would have been the best way to
enjoy your sled? No, I think not. James had learned the
true secret of taking the greatest amount of enjoyment
with his, and that was not by beginning with himself first.
There is a great sale of sleds when the first snows come, and
I hope every boy who reads this will try James' way of
enjoying his

These are the words of the Lord Jesus. Is he then
board and nails? Oh, no. He meant to liken himself to a
door. Look at your own door. It opens, and lets you into
the joys and comforts of home; it shuts, and defends you
from harm. Our sins have shut us out from God. Jesus is
the door, because he opens a way to God's forgiveness and



favor, by shedding his blood upon the cross for us. "By
me," he says, "if any one enter in, he shall be saved."
This is surely the door of mercy.
But is it not shut? How will it open? Hear again:
"Knodc, and it shall be opened." Oh, what gracious words!
"Knock, and it shall be opened." Jesus himself said them.
They are true.
How many children there are standing outside, covered
with sins, sad and sorrowful, while "Satan, like a roaring
lion, is going about seeking whom he may devour." If they
can enter that blessed door they will find safety; and rai-

ment clean and white is laid by in store for them. Happy
are those children who knocked and have entered in. God
is their father, and Christ their guide and everlasting friend.
Their ways are ways of pleasantness, and all their paths
are peace. They are travelling on to their heavenly home,
where they will dwell with a great multitude of the holy
and happy children who have gone before them.
Do not you want to go in at this door? Are you will-
ing to stand ontside, a poor sinful child? Come and knock,
with an humble and penitent heart, crying, "Lord Jesus, is
there not room for me?"



The following letter was received by Mr. McDougall,
from a band of northern Indians, as he was starting to
attend a missionary conference at Montreal.
"BLACK COAT-I want to say a few words to you. I
want to say them strong. We want you to repeat them to
the big Black Coat, and to the Black Coats assembled in
"The Indians down south have fathers and mothers.
We are orphans. The Great Spirit has done a great deal

for them; he has given them a rich country. He has also
sent them missionaries, who have been parents to them.
The great Woman Chief (the queen of England,) has been a
mother to them. She has assisted their missionary to build
large schools for them, and teach them how to work. They
are not poor; they have plenty of kind friends. Not so with
us: we are orphans-we who live on the north shores of
Huron and Superior. The Great Spirit has not given us a
rich country; the missionary has not taught us the white


"''- *"- -


man's religion; no teacher has been sent us, nor school-
house built for us; we are worse than our forefathers were
many years ago. Our forests were full of wild animals-
deer, bear, beaver-but the white man came, and induced
us to kill off all our furs. He brought his steam-boats, and
large nets, and drove the fish from our shores. We are
poor, and we are getting more so every year.
"Now we want you to say to the big Black Coats, that
we ask them to help us. We want them very much. We
want our sons and daughters to understand paper, and to
learn to work. Tell them that we live in a very large
country, and that there are a great many of us. Tell them
about this place-that it lies between Huron and Superior;
that the land is good; that we raise potatoes, oats, turnips,
and all sell for great price; but the Indian knows little
about making gardens. Tell them we ask for a school like
the one some of us saw at Alnwick, when we went to mone-
yaung, (Montreal,) three years ago. We are willing to give
some of the best of our land for a farm, and help in build-
ing the houses; but we must have white men .to teach us
the way."
This interesting letter expresses the feelings of many a
poor Indian chief, who sees that if his people remain sava-
ges-idle, wandering, and shiftless-they can never main-
tain their ground against the spade, the axe, and the Bible
of the white man. The spade, the axe, and the Bible, are
the great civilizers of the world; and no tribe or people
can long make a stand against them. Rejecting them, they
will be swept away; receiving them, the "wilderness will
become a fruitful field, and the people shall dwell in sure
dwellings," and God will be their God.
Some of the Indian missions strikingly illustrate this
great truth. "After the gracious effects produced by the
gospel on the wretched Indians of St. Clair, there is no room
left to doubt," says a governor of Canada, "that all the tribes
in North America may be converted to the faith in Christ."
What effects were produced? "Instead of lodging in the
wretched wigwam, and depending upon a scanty supply of
food by hunting and fishing, they live in comfortable houses,
surrounded by gardens and fields which they themselves
cultivate. Habits of intemperance and idleness give place to
sobriety, industry, and order. The 'songs of Zion' are now
sung in those forests where, for ages, the war-cry of the
savage and the growling of wild beasts were the only
sounds that were heard."
A gentleman entering one of their pleasant cottages, was
met at the door by the father of the family, who said, while
tears of thankful joy streamed down his cheeks, "When I
came here nine years ago, I was a poor drunken Indian. I
had nothing but one dirty blanket; but now," pointing to
the various articles in his room, "now I have all these good
things that you see, and what is best of all, I have the love
of Christ in my heart."

In France I once knew a poor boy who was called
"Little Peter." He was an orphan, and begged his bread
from door to door. He sang very prettily, and people
seldom sent him away empty-handed. He had the singular
custom to say on every occasion, "It comes from above."


When his father was on his death-bed-if indeed he had a
bed, for he was very poor--he said to his son, "My dear
Peter, you will now be left alone, and many troubles you
will have in the world. But always remember, that all
comes-from above: then you will find it easy to bear every
thing with patience."
Little Peter understood him, and in order not to forget
the words, he often thought them aloud. When he knocked
at a door and the people asked, "Who is there?" he would
answer "Alms for little Peter." Or he would say,
"Alms to little Peter give;
Without shoes or hat I go,
To my home beyond the sky;
I have nothing here below.
They needed no further information, and would give
him something at the window or the door. He acknow-
ledged every gift with the words, "It comes from above."
As little Peter grew -up, he used to consider what the
expression meant. He was intelligent enough to see that
sin could not come from God; yet as we must believe that
God rules the world, we may well say of every thing that
happens, It comes from above."
This faith of little Peter frequently turned out for his
benefit. Once, as he was passing through the town, a sud-
den wind blew off a roof-tile, which fell on his shoulder and
struck him to the ground. His first words were, "It comes
from above." The bystanders laughed and thought he must
be out of his wits, for of course the tile could not come from
below; but they did not understand him. A minute after
the wind tore off an entire roof in the same street, which
crushed three men to death. Had little Peter gone on, he
would probably have been at that moment just where the
roof fell. Thus you see the tile did indeed fall from above-
not from the roof simply, but from heaven itself.
Another time a distinguished gentleman employed him
to carry a letter to a neighboring town, bidding him make



all haste. On the way he tried to spring over a ditch, but
it was so wide that he fell in and was nearly drowned.
The letter was lost in the mud, and could not be recovered.
When little Peter got out again he exclaimed, "It comes
from above." The gentleman was angry when little Peter
told him of his mishap, and drove him out of doors with a
wnip. "It comes from above," said Peter, as he stood on
the steps. The next day the gentleman sent for him. "See
here," said he, "there are two ducats for you, for tumbling
into the ditch. Circumstances have so changed on a sud-
den, that it would have been a misfortune to me had the
letter gone safely."
I could tell much more about Peter. When he had
become a large boy he was still called "Little Peter." A
rich Englishman who came into the town, having heard his
story, sent for him in order to bestow on him some charity.
When "Little Peter" entered the room the Englishman
said, "What think you, Peter; why have I sent for you?"
"It comes from above," replied Peter. This answer greatly
pleased the Englishman. After musing a while, he said,
"You are right; I will take you into my service and pro-
vide well for you. Will you agree to that?" "It comes
from above," answered Peter; "why should I not ?"
So the rich Englishman took him away. We were all
sorry that he came no more to sing his pretty verse under
our windows. But he had become weary of begging, and
as he had learned no trade we were glad that he was at
length provided for. Long afterwards we learned that
when the rich Englishman died he bequeathed a large sum
If money to "Little Peter," who was now a wealthy man in
,irmingham. But he still said of every occurrence, "It
homess from above." REV. DR. C. G. BATH.

'"Now," said an old puss to one of he children, as she
washed her face and paws. "I change you Kitty, not to go

at home; we have a snug garden, a sweet haymow, kind

plenty. So, do not stroll off with bad company, visiting

S" Now," said an old puss to one of her children, as she
washed her face and paws, "I charge you, Kitty, not to go
into the next gentleman's yard, for great dog Jowler lies
there; he has horrid teeth, and a terrible snarl, and he is
always on the look-out for stray cats. Remember, and keep
at home; we have a snug garden, a sweet haymow, kind
friends, capital titbits, and work enough-rats and mice a
plenty. So, do not stroll off with bad company, visiting
places where you have no business to be, and disgracing
your bringing up; for you know better, Kitty, you do."

But Kitty had a saucy look ; she boxed her mother's
ears, in play to be sure, hoisted her tail, and away she
frisked after a dead leaf. Kit did not look at all like mind-
ing, and after her mother had gone to bed on the haymow,
she kept up her moonlight rambles, going about nobody
knows where, and cutting up all sorts of capers, like a
silly little Kit as she was. One night when she and some
of her thoughtless companions were scudding across Jow-
ler's yard, he, much disturbed by their noise at an hour
when he thought all honest folks ought to be abed and
asleep, started up and made after them in a violent rage;
and poor Kitty, in her fright, got entangled in some briar-
bushes, and so fell into Jowler's power. IIe seized her by
the neck with his terrible mouth, shook the breath out of
her body, and tossed her over the fence.
Oh, oh !" cried Mary and Willy, when they found their
little favorite stiff and cold the next morning ; Oh," cried
their mother, pussy's mistress, "you little puss! she bid
fair to be an excellent mouser." "Oh dear," mewed the old
cat, "0 dear, such are the fruits of disobedience. How
many a wilful child comes to an untimely end !"

Boys are apt to think they are kept too strict, having to
get such perfect lessons, and to work, and to go to Sab-
bath-school, and having to be so punctual, and so particu-
lar, and not allowed a great many amusements and indul-
gences which they would like so much. What's the use ?"
they often discontentedly ask. Well, boys, there is a great
deal of use in being brought up right; and the discipline
which sometimes seems to you so hard, is precisely what
your parents see that you need in order to make you worth
any thing; and I will tell you an incident which has just
come to my knowledge, to illustrate it.
William was the oldest child of a widowed mother, and
she looked upon him, under God, as her future staff and
support. He was trained to industrious habits, and in the
fear of God. The day-school and Sabbath-school seldom
saw his seat vacant. Idleness, that rust which cats into
character, had no opportunity to fasten upon him.
By and by he got through being a school-boy, ."
ceeded in getting a situation in a store in the city. Will-
iam soon found himself in quite altered circumstances ; the
stir and bustle of the streets was very unlike the quiet of
his village home; then the tall stores, loft upon loft, piled
with goods--boxes and bales now, instead of books and
bat; then the strange faces of the clerks, and the easy
manners and handsome appearance of the rich city boy
Ashton, just above him in the store. William looked at
Ashton almost with admiration, and thought how new and
awkward every thing was to himself, and how tired he got
standing so many hours on duty, and crowding his way
through the busy thoroughfares. But his good habits soon
made him good friends. The older clerks liked his obliging
and active spirit, and all had a good word for his punctual-
But William had his trials. One morning he was sent
to the bank for money; and returning, laid the pile on the
counting-room desk. His master was gone, and there was
no one in the room but Ashton. Mr. Thomas soon came




back. "Two dollars are missing," said he, counting the
money. The blood mounted into poor William's face, but
he answered firmly, "I laid it all on your desk, sir." Mr.
Thomas looked steadily into the boy's face, and seeing noth-
ing but an honest purpose there, said, "Another time put
the money into my hands, my boy." When the busy sea-
son came on, one of the head clerks was taken sick, and
William rendered himself useful to the bookkeeper by help-
ing him add up some of his tall columns. Oh, how glad he
was now for his drilling in arithmetic, as the bookkeeper
thanked him for his valuable help.
Ashton often asked William to go and ride, or visit the
oyster saloons, or the bowling-alley, or the theatre. To all
invitations of this kind William had but one answer, and
that answer was, No. William always said he had no
time, or money, or strength to spare for such things. After
the day's work was done, he loved to get back to his
little chamber, and read a good book, or enjoy a pleasant
little talk with some of the boarders, or think of home and
his mother's love, and all she prayed he might become.
He did not crave perpetual excitement, or any more eating
or drinking than was supplied at his usual meals.
Not so with Ashton. Ashton had indulgent parents,
and a plenty of money, or it seemed so to William; and
yet he ate it, or drank it, or spent it in other things so fast
and so soon that he was often borrowing from the other
clerks. Ashton joked William upon his stiff notions, but
the truth was that William was far the happiest of the two.
At last a half bale of goods was missing; searching inqui-
ries were made, and the theft was traced to Ashton. Oh,
the shame and disgrace of the discovery; yet, alas, it was
not his first theft. Ashton had been in the habit of petty
pilfering, in order to get the means of gratifying his taste
for pleasure ; and now that his guilt had come to light, he
ran off, and before his parents were aware of it fled for
California, an outcast from his beautiful home, from his
afflicted friends, from all the comforts and blessings of
virtuous life.
William is rapidly rising in the confidence and respect
of his employers, fearing God, and faithful in duty. There
is nothing new in all this: such things are happening
every v; and what I want you to do, boys, is to mark
the ..-,! which they teach, that vicious indulgences will cer-
tainly lead to shame and ruin, while true religion and solid worth
hace a exceeding great 'reward.

Little Mary Dale was playing on the side-walk before
her father's house. Ellen Green saw her, and running to
her, called out, "Mary, Mary, come and play with me in
the sand-bank."
"No, Ellen; my mother has forbidden me to play there."
"Oh, do come; we 'll have a good time, and she never'11l
know it."
"No; I can't disobey her. You know it would be
"Well, go along, then. I do n't want you to play with
me,' said Ellen quite angrily, and giving Mary a sudden
push, threw her upon the side-walk, and then ran away.
Mary's bonnet flew off, and the side of her head struck hard

against the pavement. She lay still, as if insensible. Her
mother saw her from the window, and hastening to her,
took her up in her arms and carried her into the house.
She was soon able to speak, but there was a great pain in
her head, and a mist before her eyes, so that she could see
nothing distinctly. A physician came and prescribed for
her relief, but in vain; her sight grew dimmer and dimmer,
until she could not see at all. She was blind. When she
had been quite blind for several days, she asked her mother,
"Can I never see again?"
"I fear not, my dear child," was the answer.
"Jesus could open my eyes, if he was here. He made
the blind to see."
"He is not on the earth to open blind eyes now, but he
is continually giving sight to blind souls, which is a greater
miracle to those who understand it."
"I think I know what you mean, mother; making those
who didn't care any thing about God, and who never
thought any thing about him, to see him and feel him all
the time, and love him too for his goodness."
"You understand something of what I mean. If you
should be blind all your life, yet if you see God with your
heart you will be happy. The light of his presence is bet-
ter than the light of the sun, and the smile of his love is
sweeter than the face of parents and friends."
"I think God does smile on me sometimes, mother, and
then I feel a very sweet peace in my bosom, and I love
every body. I am not sorry, then, that I am blind, because
God made me so."
"Do you love Ellen Green, then?"
"Yes, mother; and I am always sorry for her. She
must feel so badly for what she has done, and I think she
do n't know how pleasant it is to feel that God loves her.
Could n't she come and see me now, sometime? Perhaps
it would do her good."
It was told Ellen that Mary wished to see her. Ellen
seemed very much troubled when she went into the chamber
where Mary sat quietly holding her hands, and whisper-
ing to herself little verses that she had learned when she
could see. When she heard that Ellen was come, she took
hold of her hand and spoke very kindly to her. "I can't
play much with you, Ellen, but I wanted you to see how
happy I am. God is very good, even to blind people."
The tears came to Ellen's eyes, and one of them fell on
Mary's hand. "Don't cry, Ellen. It is best for me to be
blind, or God would not have permitted me to become so;
and perhaps, when you see me blind, you will be sorry for
the bad temper that sometimes makes you unkind, and will
learn not to get angry any more." Ellen still wept, but
she could say nothing.
A few days afterwards she went to lead Mary out for a
walk in the beautiful sunshine ; and it was pleasant to see
how careful she was that no harm should happen to the
little blind girl. But Oh, how sad and sorry she looked!
And though Mary smiled, and talked of the fresh air, and
the sweet-smelling grass and flowers, and the songs of the
waters and the birds, and of God in all of them, and seemed
very grateful and happy, Ellen looked unhappy and misera-
ble. Those blind eyes continually reproached her with her
sin. There was no peace for her till she had sought and
found the forgiveness of God; but even now, when she



looks on Mary's pretty, sightless face, joy dies within her,
end her spirit lies low in humility. She will never cease
to mourn for her great sin of anger, by which, though she
meant it not, and little dreamed to'do such harm, she put
out the eyes of her friend and playmate. p. n.

~ ~

.,i'I "-' S
--R -1 d
7 ,


Bunyan, who wrote the famous book called, "The Pil-
grim's Progress," in his early life, before he knew God, was
very wicked. One day when he was cursing and swearing
under the shop-window of one of his neighbors, the woman
of the house told him he was "the worst fellow for swear-
ing that she ever heard; that he was enough to ruin all
the boys in town, if they came in his way." Such a reproof
struck him with shame. He stood silent and hung his head ;
and what thought was passing through poor John Bunyan's
mind at that moment? "Oh, how I wish I might be a little
child again, that my father might teach me to speak without
this wicked way of swearing."
By this wish it would seem there are some advantages
in being a little child, and one of these advantages is that
little children nmay begin right. Bunyan was so sorry he had
not begun right. Never speak the first wicked word, nor
tell the first lie, nor steal the first filbert, nor play truant,
nor forget your prayers, or profane the holy Sabbath, or
be unkind or disobedient to your parents, or do any thing
wrong for the first time. Little child, begin right, and your
heavenly Father promises to keep you; for he says, "They
that seek me early shall find me."


"When was the Sabbath instituted?"
At the creation of the world.
"What are the reasons for thinking so?"
The Bible says so, in the second chapter of Genesis.
The division of time into weeks was very early. The sun
and moon divide time into days, months, and years, but the
sun, moon, or stars, have nothing to do with making the
weeks. The period of seven days is often mentioned in the
history of Noah, and weeks in the story of Jacob. The same
division is known in the early accounts of heathen nations.

Homer says that in his time the seventh day was holy.
The Sabbath must have existed then. When Moses led the
Israelities out of Egypt, and they were living in the wilder-
ness, before reaching mount Sinai, God gave them manna to
eat; and he told them to gather twice as much on the sixth
day as on other days, for none would fall the next day be-
cause it was the Sabbath; proving that the Sabbath was
known and regarded before it was proclaimed on mount Sinai.
If the Sabbath was a benefit to Moses and Aaron, and is to
you and me, if it is necessary for people now to have one
day set apart particularly for God's service, it was just as
beneficial and necessary for Enoch and Abraham and Sarah,
and the people who lived in those days. The Sabbath was
therefore set apart at the creation of the world, for the good
of all mankind.
When we consider that the Sabbath was established by
God himself, as soon as he finished making the world, how
much should we respect and honor it. He also early made it
a delightful privilege to keep it. He not only set apart, but
"blessed the day." It is a day when we may, in a special
manner, enjoy God's presence. He will meet us, and be
found of us, and if we approach him with penitent and
believing hearts, he will give us great enjoyment in his
service, and we shall find it the most delightful and profita- of all the week.

Isabel had a little garden of her own. It was long and
narrow, and separated by a path from the other ground.
She worked in it morning and night; for she loved flowers,
and was an industrious child, willing to work for what she
had. She sowed a great many seeds in this precious bed,
and watched eagerly to see them spring up : sweet-williams
and pinks, fox-gloves and mignonette, the pretty little blue-
bells and the yellow lilies, all were there, and many other
little darling flowers. The weeds, "ugly, naughty old
weeds," Isabel called them, would also come up all over
the bed, right among her choicest flowers. It was very
vexatious; for when she had pulled every one out, the next
day some would thrust up their heads again as 1."Il and
vigorous as ever.
"Isabel," said her mother one.evening, when they were
sitting on a little board seat in the garden, "do you know I
have a flower-bed ?" "No, mamma; where is it?" "I do n't
think you have ever seen it, Izzie, but it is one which is
very dear to me, and in which I am trying to raise some
very rare and valuable plants. I watch it as carefully as
you do yours, and try as hard to keep the weeds out of it;
but they will keep springing up."
"What plants have you got in it? I want to see them."
"I have sowed the seeds of many; one of the choicest
of these is called Benevolence, and a very fair and lovely
plant it is, which diffuses fragrance all around it when it is
in bloom. I think it is growing rather slowly in my gar-
den, but the weeds sometimes grow so much faster that I
can scarcely see it. Humility is a dear little flower, very
fragrant, also, but so low and delicate that it makes little
show, and is known by its exquisite perfume rather than
its color. There is the beautiful Good-temper, so bright and
lovely that all admire it; the pretty purple Industry, and



the tall, snowy Truthfulness, never sullied by a stain. They
are all beautiful when well rooted and flourishing; but the
weeds do trouble me so ; they come up everywhere, right
among my most precious flowers; and though I pull them
up over and over again, still they show their ugly heads in
the very same spot, till sometimes I am almost discouraged
in attempting to destroy them. One grows very tall and
rank, Pride we call it; and Vanity is very similar in shape
and root, though the blossom has a different shade. But
I. il-li, -.. troubles me more than all. It is a running vine,
spreading in all directions, and twining itself around every
stalk and leaf. I cut it up in one place, and it seems to
gain new life in another. Do you think I shall ever get it
out of my garden, Isabel ?"
Isabel looked down; she knew her own heart was the
garden meant ; she knew too how carefully her mother had
sown precious seed in it, and how many, many weeds were
choking them. She sighed, but said nothing. "I cannot
tell you," said her mother, "how much I am rejoiced when
I see these lovely plants growing, and, I trust, some of
them are putting out strong shoots. Yesterday, when you
stayed at home from Abbie's party to gratify poor Susan, I
knew a large, ugly root of selfishness had been plucked
up; and, I trust, a few more such vigorous efforts will
lessen its growth materially. It is by constant effort you
keep your flowers from being overrun, and you must never
lose courage, nor cease to watch them. So in the garden
of the heart, watch, labor, and pray, if you would behold
precious flowers."


My children were made happy by a basket of presents
from a city friend. Among other things, a box of candy
created considerable excitement. Sarah and Emma shouted
that they had "never, never seen such funny sugar-plums
before." The interest growing louder and more loud, I
turned from my writing to learn the cause of it.
"Oh, father," cries Emma, "see these sweet little sugar
bottles ; full, too. Wont they be pretty for our baby-house !
wont they be new!"
'N N-w !" exclaims my son; "nothing new. The boys at
school treat with them; they are almost the only sugar-
plums the boys buy now. At first I could not bear them, but
they taste good now. Father, they are only brandy-drops."
I took the box up to examine the contents. There were
little sugar bottles, labelled, "Porter," Whiskey," "Wine ;"
and bell-shaped candy-drops filled with all sorts of liquors,
thus put up to evade the law of our state, which forbids the
sale of intoxicating drinks.
"And the boys like these kind of sugar-plums, do they,
Frank?" "Yes, sir; they get to like them first-rate, and
some of the boys are buying them all the time." "Do you
buy them, Frank?" I asked. "No, sir, not very often,
because I do n't have money to spend so ; the boys give
me some." "Well, which of you does this box of candy
belong to?" I asked, glancing round upon the group. They
looked at each other, and Frank answered, "To us all, I
suppose, as it had no name on it."
"Now, children, I want you to empty this box into the
fire." They looked as if it were a tough case, and not one

of them moved. "Which of you," I repeated calmly but
firmly, "has confidence enough in your father instantly to
obey ?" Frank looked earnestly into my eye for an instant,
then seizing the box, he poured its contents upon the glow-
ing coals. The sugar melted, the bottles burst, and such
a fume of liquor we never had in our sitting-room before.
The children watched the blue flames in silence, until all
were consumed; then they took a long breath and turned
wistfully to me.
"What is our only safe rule about intoxicating drinks ?"
I asked. The children again surveyed each other, when
Sarah timidly answered, "Touch not, taste not, handle not."
"Frank, my boy, 'Touch not, taste not, handle not;" never
forget this; never fail to act upon it; never suffer yourself
again to be imposed upon by a sugar temptation."
I have felt this matter deeply. My boy, it may be,
acquiring, unknown to me, unknown even to himself, an
appetite that might ruin him for this world and drag him
to perdition hereafter. Is there not a fearful responsibility
resting upon both the maker and seller of these well-named
"devil's sugar-plums ?" A heavy woe must rest upon the
seducer of children.


There is in the city of Washington a fine equestrian
statue of General Jackson, that is, a statue that represents
him on horseback. It is made of bronze, a combination of
metals resembling brass, and shows the old hero in his mil-
itary dress, even to the very sword which he wore. The
horse on which he is mounted is a perfect war-horse; and
now let us see how Mr. Mills the artist made so good a
In the first place, he wanted the very best model which
could be had, and this he found in a famous Virginia horse
called Olympus. He bought Olympus, and on the green
around his studio or workshop, trained it to the attitude
which he meant his statue to have. He studied the horse's
face; his ears, nostrils, muscles, haunches, the arch of his
neck, and his various positions. He studied the character
of different breeds of horses ; he made sketches, moulds, and
models ; until, after months of study and painstaking, he
selected the various points of beauty and of strength from
them all, and made a splendid bronze horse, which is said
to be a perfect specimen of that noble animal, and the admi-
ration of every one who looks at it.
Now, do not the attempts of Mr, Mills to form his statue
give us some good hints how to form a character. In the
first place he fixed his eye upon a perfect model, studied it,
and then copied it. But where will you look for models
of character? There are the noble examples of old time,
Joseph and Samuel and Daniel. There are Peter and John
and Paul; there are Washington and Cornelius and Harlan
Page, in our own country, besides a great many more
whom you know and respect and love. Study their char-
acter, in order to understand the various points of strength
and beauty which make up their excellences, and then make
those excellences your own. But there is yet another which far
excels them all. Our heavenly Father has sent his Son into
this world not only to redeem it from sin, but to "leave us
an example, that we should follow His steps, who did no sin,




neither was guile found in his mouth." Above all things, remain a monument of their genius. But at last they
study this heavenly pattern, must perish, while the character you are forming will live.
What a work, then, is before you. Artists will give This work of yours will never die. Your character, what-
a lifetime to paint a picture, or chisel a statue, that shall ever it may be, will live for ever.

/ -I

A iLi


There is a wonderful spirit of sociability in the brute
-reation. Dumb animals love society, are open to kindness,
nid have their favorites almost as much as human creatures.
Many horses, though quiet with company, will not stay in
:i field by themselves. My neighbor's horse will not only
not stay by himself abroad, but he will not bear to be left
alone in a strange stable, without showing the utmost
impatience, and trying to break the rack and manger with
his fore feet. He has been known to leap out at a stable
window after company, and yet, in other respects, is re-
markably quiet.
There were two Hanoverian horses which had drawn
the same gun during the whole Peninsular war, in the Ger-
man brigade of artillery. One of them was killed in a
battle after which his companion was picketed as usual.
and his food. was brought him. He refused to eat, and
kept turning his head round to look for his mate, and some-
times calling him by a neigh. Every care was taken, and
all means that could be thought of, were used to make him

eat, but in vain. Other horses were around him on all
sides, but he paid no attention to them; he showed the
deepest sorrow, and at last died from hunger, not having
tasted a bit since his companion fell.
Even great disparity of kind and size does not always
prevent friendly intimacies. A very intelligent person told
me, that in the former part of his life, keeping but one
horse, he happened also to have but one solitary hen. The
two animals spent much of their time together in a lonely
orchard, where they saw no creature but each other. By
degrees an acquaintance began. The hen would approach
the horse with a kind of sociable cackle, and rub herself
gently against his legs ; while he would look down with
great satisfaction, and move with the utmost caution, lest
he should trample on his little companion. Thus, by mutual
good offices, each seemed to console the vacant hours of
the other. The history of animals presents many lessons
worth our study. "0 Lord, how manifold are thy works I
in wisdom hast thou made them all."


The little crib is empty,
Where oft I've seen thee lie,
So beautiful in thy deep sleep,
Emblem of purity;
And Oh, how silent is the place
Where late I heard thy voice,
In gleeful shout or merry laugh,
Making my heart rejoice.
Thy playthings lie around me-
The silent rattle here,
Gay toys and picture-books are there-
Ah, sure thou must be near.
Thy tiny pair of half-worn shoes,
Thy lifelike frock of red,
Thy whistle, hat, and favorite whip-
Sweet baby, art thou dead?
My trembling hand encloses
Thy bright and clustering curls;
Millions of gold can't buy them,
Nor India's gems or pearls:
'T is all that's left to mortal sight
Of thee, sweet baby, now;
Oh, holy Pather, teach my soul
Submissively to bow.
Father, forgive my anguish;
Thy ways are ever just;
Speak comfort to our broken hearts,
For thou art all our trust:
With thee the spirit liveth,
So cherished and so dear,
Sent to us for a little while,
Our earthly home to cheer.

About one hundred years ago, Dr. Wheelock, a good
minister of Lebanon, Connecticut, became very much inter-
ested in the Indians who lived near him, and he seized every
opportunity of saddling his horse and going to preach to
them. But the good he did was not equal to his wishes,
and as ministers were scarce in those days, he thought it
would be better to educate the Indians to become their own
preachers and teachers; and for this purpose he took sev-

eral promising Indian boys into his family to instruct them.
Mr. Jacob Moor, a pious farmer, seeing how poor the minis-
ter's accommodations were for the enterprise, gave a house
arid some land to help carry it on.
The school prospered. The boys worked on the farm,
people around lent a helping hand, and above all, God fav-
ored it with his Spirit. Several of the scholars, who once
were savages, gave evidence of piety, and became truly
Christian boys. The excellent Mr. Whitefield, when he
came to this country, visited Dr. Wheelock, and was highly
delighted with the intelligent and modest appearance of his
Indian youth. When he went back to London, he told his
pious friends there about the school, and they rejoiced
greatly; for God's people are always glad when good is
done anywhere.
There was so much to encourage the enterprise, that
Dr. Wheelock thought it advisable to lengthen the course of
study, as those intending to fit for the ministry were obliged
to go to colleges some distance off, and this was attended
with considerable expense and inconvenience. "Now," said
Dr. Wheelock, "what I want is a college"-for our forefa-
thers thought a great deal of a thorough education-but
the colonies were poor, and where were the funds to come

"English Christians have shown a substantial interest
in my school," said Dr. Wheelock-for they sent him many
presents-" and they will help the college, I know. I will
send over and ask them." And he sent one of his Indian
preachers, as a specimen of what the gospel could do for the
savages, in company with a gentleman who was friendly
to the enterprise. Whitefield was then in London, and he
gave the strangers a hearty welcome. Oh, what an object
of curiosity was the Indian preacher, SAMSON OccuN, to the
people of London! Crowds went to hear him preach, and
the object found great favor. "Yes," said the Christians
of Old England to the people of New England, "you are
young and just beginning, and want help to build your
institutions of learning, and we will help you. If we give
you help' now, you will be sooner able to take care of your-
selves;" and they made generous subscriptions. Dr. Whee-
lock thanked God and took courage, and began to look
about for the right spot to locate his college.
Offers were made from several states, but that from
New Hampshire was accepted, and the doctor went up
through the thick forests which skirted the Connecticut
river to search out the land. It was then a wilderness.
In August, 1170, his family and scholars set out to fol-
low him, and find their new homes; the ladies in a car-
riage, and others on foot or horseback-seventy in all.
The doctor was already waiting for them with his axe and
men, as in small detachments, with their packs on their
backs, the emigrants straggled into the lonely clearing.
Like a pious patriarch, he gathered his people around him
and knelt in prayer, and then, for the first time, those forests
echoed with a hymn of praise.
The little colony suffered many hardships during their
first winter. The weather was extremely cold, and the
snows deep; many had only pine and hemlock boughs to
sleep upon. But no matter; the emigrants worked and
studied and prayed, and prayed and studied and worked;
and though the cold north winds were enough to freeze



them, there came from heaven a spirit that warmed and
cheered them. God visited this little clearing with the
tokens of his favor, and before spring a church of thirty
members was gathered in the name of the Lord. Generous
help came from English Christians, and thus, begun in toil
and begirt with hardships, yet kindly fostered by those
who loved it for the Lord's sake, began DARTMOUTH COLLEGE,
in Hanover, New Hampshire, which has trained great num-
bers of good men both for the church and the state. It
was named in honor of Lord Dartmouth, one of its most
substantial friends, a pious nobleman, who felt it a privilege
to honor God with his property.
It is good to go back to our origin and see how a lit-
tle one has become a thousand, so that when our western
brothers come to us in the east, and say, "Help us on
with our schools and colleges and churches and Sabbath-
schools, for we are weak, and now you are stin..-" we
may not turn away and grumble, but cordially respond,
"Yes, yes; as we have been helped, so we will help others;
freely have we received, freely will we give ; we will give
you our prayers, our sympathy, and our substance. We
want to see you growing up strong in the institutions of
the gospel. We will teach our children to love you and to
deny themselves for your sakes; for we would always re-
member, that to whom much is given, of them will much be
required by the great Bestower of mercies."

"It is almost time for us to be thinking of our mission-
ary beds," said a little girl to her brother, turning from
the open window into which the bright April sun was cheer-
ily shining.
I am thinking so too," he answered, not looking off his
work; for he was busy trying to niend a little hoe.
"Missionary beds; what were these? Feather-beds,
straw-beds, mattresses?" So thought a gentleman who

sat in the room reading a newspaper, and yet heard what
the children said. "Missionary beds! Is that beds for
missionaries?" At last he asked the children what they
"Why, garden-beds," briskly answered the little boy,
dropping his hoe and looking earnestly up. ".My father
gives us children a bed in the garden, to plant and take
care of and do every thing ourselves. Then we sell what
grows, and so earn our missionary money. My bed is
asparagus, and my father and uncle John bought it all.
Jane's is a bed ,f herbs, and last year she sold almost all
her sage to the apothecary. We like to be gardeners first-
rate: mother was afraid we should not hold out, but we did;
for we like to be doing what is really sonmehing."
There is a great deal of meaning in this child's remark.
The fact is, children like to be doing, a part of the time
at least, "what is really somethingg" that is, exercising their
mind, limbs, taste, ingenuity, for an object of sufficient
dignity and importance to make them ashamed of giving it
up, and to reward them for persevering.
How many children are going to have missionary beds?

China never wanted to go abroad, or have company.
Her laws will not allow her to be on sociable terms with
other nations, though for a long while she has made tea for
us, and laid our tables with her beautiful China ware.
China is very thickly peopled; so much so, that in some of
the cities families are forced to live in boats on the rivers,
and eat rats and mice. Notwithstanding this, her people
had none of that enterprising spirit which leads the poorly
fed and lodged of other nations to set out and seek better
homes in other countries. Their junks never ventured
further than Borneo and Siam, and then they were terribly
afraid of pirates and squalls.
Lately, however, the Chinamen seem disposed to be
very neighborly with us, and great numbers have broken
over their formality and visited California. They are de-
lighted to find how safely they can sail in foreign vessels,
and how they can earn as much in one day at San Fran-
cisco as they could in a whole month at home. Many have
opened shops, on which you see signs with ;he names of
"Sam Wo & Co.," Toucoo," Chang," Tongkeen." And
no less curious are the looks of the Chinamen, with their
wooden shoes, long cues, copper complexion, and gibberish
At Marysville they have a large laundry, which, you
know, is a place where washing and ironing are done.
They do not sprinkle clothes as we do; but whoever does
it, puts his head into a bowl, and fills his mouth with
water, which he squirts out like mist; their flat-irons are
shaped like washbowls, with long handles and smooth
bottoms, and a fire is kept burning within all the time.
They are very peaceable and industrious, and promise to
make very good citizens.
But there is one view of the case which makes the com-
ing of the Chinamen to our shores of particular interest to
us. They are a nation of idolaters, and we are sending
missionaries, at a great expense, over the sea to China, to
make known to them the knowledge of the trLe God and of



his Son Jesus Christ, who died for the Chinamen as well as
for us. God now seems to be bringing the heathen to us, to
live among us, to learn of us, to be our scholars in the arts
of Christian civilization. They will find a great deal of
wickedness and many bad people in this O'I i,-1!, nation;
but let us pray that they may have the Bible in their own
language, and that they may meet many pious men and
women who will point out to them its precious truths, and
show by their own lives the excellency of its principles.

Who is this strange-looking man, dressed in bark-cloth?
It is blind Bartimeus ; but not he whom Jesus cured on the
road to Jericho. It is the one he cured in the Sandwich
Was Jesus ever at the Sandwich Islands ?" some little
one may ask.
Oh, yes, and he has wrought miracles of mercy there:
not in his human body, as he was at Jericho, but by his
Spirit; for though he is out of sight, he can help us just as
really as if we saw him face to face.
When the missionaries went to the Sandwich Islands,
Bartimeus was a poor blind dancer, earning a scanty living
by making fun for others; but those who laughed at his
odd antics, took no notice of him when he fell sick and
could no longer amuse them. He was a pitiful object-
sick, blind, dirty, poor, and as degraded as a heathen could
be. There seemed to be little hope for such a poor crea-
At last a Christian islander told him about a great
Doctor who could cure his sickness and restore his sight,
and asked him to go and see the missionaries. A new

thought penetrated his dark mind-it was, that there was
help and comfort for him somewhere. It was a very good
thought, and it did not deceive him. He got a heathen boy
to lead him to a house of Christian worship where prayer
and praise were offered to the true God; and the very first
sermon he heard was about just such a Friend and Saviour
as he needed. The poor blind man understood enough of it
to want to know more, and he began to attend steadily
upon the preaching of the missionaries.
Puaaiki-for this was his heathen name-now felt that
his soul was worse off than his body; yet he was some
time finding his Saviour, for his mind was very dark; but,
taught by the missionaries and by the Holy Spirit, he
became at last a happy and humble believer. When he
professed faith in Christ, he took the English name of Barti-
mcus, from the poor blind beggar of the Bible, the story of
which always interested him very much.
What a change in Bartimeus I A steady improvement
took place in his character, and he grew so much in heav-
enly knowledge, that in a few years he became himself a
preacher of the gospel to his countrymen; and a truly
eloquent and excellent preacher, and a most useful helper
to the missionaries, did he prove to be.
To show you how he tried to pattern after the Bible
rules, he gave up drinking "awa," which is the intoxicating
drink of the islanders ; but for a time kept on smoking, for
he, in common with his people, took great delight in it.
One day a missionary asked him, "Why do you hold on to
your pipe, Bartimeus?" "Why, indeed?" he asked, for
want of a better answer. "Ask the missionary, if the
Bible forbids smoking tobacco," said somebody to Barti-
meus. He modestly did so, and was asked in return,
"Does the Bible authorize it?" But when the epistles were
translated into his language, and he read how Christians
were told to "lay apart all filthiness," to "prove all things"
and "hold fast that which is good," to "abstain from the
very appearance of evil," Bartimeus did not hesitate about
his duty; he broke up his pipe, and used tobacco no more.


"What have you in your purse ?" I asked a little boy.
"My medal. I always keep that in it; do n't you want
to see my medal ?" and William handed me a round bright
piece which looked like gold, although I do not suppose
it was, but it had golden words inscribed upon it: on one
side, Tobacco tends to idleness, poverty, strong drink, vice,
ill-health, insanity, and death;" on the other, there was the
figure of a boy with a very resolute expression upon his
face, treading a bunch of tobacco leaves under his feet, and
saying, "I will never use tobacco in any form." A capital
resolution, I thought. William keeps the medal in his purse,
and what is better still, he sticks to its principles in his
conduct. But as good principles are sometimes assailed,
and his companions may try to make him believe that smok-
ing or chewing are manly and commendable accomplish-
ments, every time he opens his purse the medal stares him
in the face, reminding him of his principles, and putting a
decided "No" into his mouth, against all such advances.
It is a painful sight to see so many boys, and some of



them small boys, standing at the corners, or swaggering they can never form that good character which is a boy's
along the streets, with cigars in their mouths. It is a pain- best recommendation to situations of trust, of usefulness, and
ful sight, because it shows that these boys are in the down- of promise. Adopt the principles and words of William's
ward road-they are on their way to ruin ; with such habits, medal, and do not hesitate to depart from every evil way.


Here is a mother and her baby, and a pussy with her
two babies. One kitty is lapping its breakfast; the other
thinks more of play. Pussy has not much to do for her kit-
tens. They were born with their clothes on-a great sav-
ing of time and care in that. Puss nurses and keeps them
warm, and purrs to them; and when she goes out, they do
not cry, and want to be held and rocked, but they curl up
to each other and go peaceably to sleep until she comes
back. She does not stay long: she does not stay out all
night scudding in the garden by moonlight as she used to.
She loves her babies too well for that. And when they are
old enough, she catches mice, and if she can get a chance,
traps a nice fat squirrel for them. In a few weeks they
frisk about, and soon learn to take care of themselves. One
kitty perhaps is given to one little girl, and the other kitty
to another, and they quit their mother never to see her

more. They do not cry or mind it, nor does pussy. In a
short time they forget all about each other. If she gets old
and friendless, they will never repay her love by taking
care of her. They don't know they must. By and by they
die-and that's all.
How is it with the mother and her baby? His infancy
is full of wants. She clothes, and washes, and rocks, and
holds, and soothes him. Who can count the stitches and
steps which she takes for him? How tender and patient
she is with him, and how much care and watching he needs.
And besides his dear little body, for which so much has to
be done by night and by day, he has a soul to be saved.
This is something which pussy knows nothing about. Kit-
tens have no souls. The little boy will live for ever in
heaven or hell, after his body dies and is put in the ground.
And his mother says, "My chief work is to have my little




boy fitted to go to heaven, and live with God and angels." "Oh no," said Emily, "I cannot sing that at all; you
But playful and pretty as he is, lie is often disobedient and must play something that I can sing well:" and while they
angry, and unkind and wilful, and she knows there is no were putting away their sewing and smoothing down their
place in heaven for such children. How then can he go hair, there seemed to be some contention, for each wanted
there? Then she remembers that, sinful little child as he to have her own way, and that is the secret of the difficul-
is, he has a Saviour who, if he trust in him, will wash all ties between brothers and sisters; every one wants to do
his sins away-a Saviour who, though seated on the throne as he pleases. Jane and Emily were called very lovely
of God now, was once a little child on earth, and can feel children, and could they be really coming to an open dis-
for little children; for he loved to bless them, and died on agreement like this? Let us see.
the cross to bring them a still greater blessing, the pardon When they were ready to go down stairs, and on their
of their sins, and to open the door of heaven to their pilgrim way to the door, Jane threw her arm round Emily's waist,
feet. And the mother prays for her little boy; and folds and said, "Well, Emily, I will play what you sing best;"
his little hands in prayer. and Emily answered, No, sister, play what you like, and
And when he grows up and goes away, he remembers I'll try to sing as well as I can." This was indeed lovely;
all this, and loves his mother tenderly, and walks in the each giving up so sweetly. A yielding and obliging tem-
path of her commandments. And when she gets old, he per is called the blue sky of the soul, and a very pretty com-
is kind and dutiful, and tries to do every thing he can to prison it is. It makes blue sky in the home also, for it
make her happy. My mother," he says, "how can I repay dispels clouds in the family horizon, and allows no rude and
you for your care and love ?" He knows lie cannot, but he angry storm to rage in the family atmosphere. It makes
never leaves off trying. And when they both die, will they that soft answer which turneth away wrath," and utters
ever meet again? They will meet in heaven, and there live that kind word which is better than honey or the honey-
together for ever and for ever in the society of Jesus Christ comb.
and saints and all holy beings-happy, very very happy.


S /. "Come, let's go swimming, it's horrid hot," said James
Jones to Henry Arnold, as the little boys came to a lane
that led to the water. "I want to," answered Henry.
"Want to? well, then, what's to hinder? Come." There
was an undecided look on Henry's face for a moment, and
then he said quickly, "Yes, I'll go;" and away they skip-
ped, to a little point of land which run into the river, where
S,., the boys usually went, swimming. Two or three boys
were already there, their black heads bobbing up out
.- of the water, and their arms moving to and fro like great
"-, James and Henry began to undress; and James was
S7 just ready to make his plunge, when Henry buttoned up
again. "Come, what does that mean?" shouted James.
.* ',i- ; -- "Not going in," Henry answered. "Why not? you afraid
S''. because Bill Parsus was drowned here? coward 1" cried
SJames. "I'm not afraid of drowning, either," said Henry,
,I' f-- reddening with sudden anger, for boys hate to be called
"'cowards. "Then why don't you go in, I should like to
'know?" asked his companion, in no very pleasant tones.
S -:-- "I am not going in, because my mother told me not to,
-. without her leave," answered Henry. "Just thought of it ?"
'- asked James, with a sneer. "No, I have not just thought
-_ of it; but I did not think of it enough when I agreed to
---_ --- come with you: now I do, and I'm not going in."
-- "Why, your mother will never know it," cried all the
boys together. "She'll never be the wiser." "But I shall
"THE BLUE SKY." know that I have disobeyed her," answered Henry, and I am
"Your mother wants you to come down in the parlor not going to do a thing which makes me feel mean; so I'm
and play the lady a tune," said Bridget, bolting into the off." "Tied to his mother's apron-strings," yelled the boys.
nursery where all the children were sitting; "you, Miss "Glad I got a mother's apron-strings to be tied to," shouted
Jane and Emily, come." back Henry from the top of the hill; "they are the best
The girls jumped up: "Something that we can play strings in the world-the police and the prison never get
and sing together, I suppose," said Emily. such boys ;" and he marched bravely and joyfully home, a
"I'11 play the last one I learned, because I can play better and a stronger boy.
that best," cried Jane. There are two capital points in Henry's conduct, which



I want you to notice. One is, he thought time enough before- ingly, boys. The other gooc thing is, Henry was not afraid
hand to obey. You may say, he ought not to have consent- of the ridicule of his companions. Knowing that he was
ed at all. I know it; but the fact is, we are all weak and right, he was above being laughed at. That is a strong
liable to be tempted, and it is only by resistance to tempta- point in character. Keep to it. Never let any body ridi-
tion that we grow strong. Think in time and act accord- cule you out of the right and true way.

_ ,.


An Arab family are crossing the desert. The mother
and her two children with their household goods are mounted
on the camel. The father rides a noble horse. On they
peacefully travel over the plain. Suddenly a shaggy face
with glaring eyes peers over the rocks, and a loud and ter-
rific roar strikes upon the ear. It is a lion prowling for his
prey. The horse rears and snorts and plunges. The poor
camel has fallen to the ground. A desperate fight must fol-
low. I am afraid it will be a bloody day for the poor family.
The lion, on account of its strength and courage, is called
the king of beasts; and so people of great courage are
called lion-hearted. He is often said to possess many noble
qualities, and many interesting anecdotes are told of him.
But he is in fact only a very, very huge cat, for he belongs
to the same, or feline species. His paw has wonderful
strength of muscle; a single stroke of it will often kill a
large animal. The lurking places of the lion are generally
beside water, a pond or river, where he can spring upon
the animals which come down to drink. His roar is loud
and terrific, and fills the wild beasts of the forest with
terror and dread. When angry, his cry is terrible; he
beats his sides with his tail, shakes his mane, scowls his
shaggy eyebrows, and spreads out his dreadful claws.

Lions live only in warm regions. Africa seems to be
their natural home, though they are found in Persia, India,
and Arabia. People differ about their age ; one in the Tower
of London lived seventy years. The number of lions is thought
to have been greatly lessened since the older ages of the
world, for the old Roman writers speak of great multitudes.
Sylla had one hundred; and Pompey presented six hundred
at a circus, where sometimes a hundred were destroyed in
an evening. For lion-fights were a favorite kind of diversion
among the Romans, as bull-fights were among the Spaniards,
and as cock-fights are still to people of vulgar tastes.
But a taste for such bloody diversions and spectacles of
suffering has passed away as unworthy of Christian nations.
When the millennial day which the Bible predicts shall
come, and the temper and spirit of Christianity universally
prevail, Isaiah says, "The wolf shall dwell with the lamb,
and the leopard shall lie down with the kid, and the calf
and the young lion and the failing together, and a little child
shall lead them"-a most striking image, showing how the
wildest passions will be tamed, and the most savage pro-
pensities subdued into gentleness and peace, by the presence
and the power of the gospel of Jesus Christ in the latter
ages of the world.

I' ''




There was once a poor woodcutter who lived in the lit-
tle German town of Eisleben. He was very poor, but the
family were industrious, and feared God. On the tenth of
November, 1483, a baby was born in their humble cottage,
and they called him Martin. The next summer, in the hope
of bettering their condition, the family moved to Mansfeld,
where the woodcutter got work at the mines. His wife
often went out in the forest to help him fetch wood to the
furnaces, and as soon as the little boy was big enough, he
used to follow his mother, carrying his little fagot also.
Martin was brought up in habits of obedience and in-
dustry, and his father often knelt by his bedside and prayed
God that his son might fear his great name, and grow up a
wise and good man. While so small as often to be carried
in his father's arms, Martin went to school, and learned the
catechism and commandments, and a great many hymns.
His father had a great respect for learning, and wished to
make his son a scholar. The sober and studious habits of
the child seemed to favor the wishes of his father, and by
the time he was fourteen, he was sent from home to a fa-
mous school at Magdeburg.
The high schools and universities of Germany were sup-
ported by princes and nobles, and were free to poor stu-
dents; but while it cost Martin nothing for instruction, he
was yet barely provided with the necessaries of life, and
the poor child was often reduced to great straits on account
of his poverty. His parents could do little towards his sup-
port, as they now had a large family, and Martin, pinched
by hunger, was sometimes obliged to beg his food from door
to door. When his father heard of his hardships, he removed
him to Eisenach, where he had some relations living, who
he thought would sometimes help the lad, and besides, he
kept hoping to do more for Martin himself. But at Eisenach
he fared no better than at Magdeburg; and the young
scholar, in company with some school-fellows as poor as
himself, used to go and sing from house to house, hoping
to get a morsel for his supper. Instead of food, they often
received only harsh words, and many were the tears he
shed in secret over his friendless lot. Let the boys who
are now struggling through privations to get an education,
think of Martin; when almost discouraged at the dark
prospect ahead, let them remember that Martin Luther had
darker times than they. "What is to become great, should
begin small," says an old man; "and if children are brought
up too delicately and with too much kindness, they are
injured for life." Privations, I know, are hard to bear; but
you must remember how the Lord Jesus ('ii -1. once had
not where to lay his head, and if he bore poverty for you,
you must be content to bear a little for yourself. But let
us turn to Martin, and see what happened to him next.
One day, when he had been rudely treated at several
houses, and was slowly returning to his lodgings hungry
and sad, plunged in disconsolate thought, he suddenly stop-
ped: "Must I," said he to himself, "must I give up my
studies for want of a little bread, and go and work with
my father in the mines of Mansfeld? Am I forced to this?"
Just at that moment the door of an opposite house opened,
and a woman appeared on the threshold. She had often
noticed this poor scholar at church, and her heart had been
touched by the sweetness of his voice, and his serious and

devout behavior. She now beheld him standing sorrow-
fully before the house, and she came and beckoned him in,
and asking the cause of his distress, she gave him a warm
supper. Ursula was the name of this friendly woman, and
she was called the "pious -liii,, i.i ,," because her conduct
resembled that of the good woman of old who pressed the
prophet Elijah to come and eat bread with her.
Ursula's husband approved of what his wife had done,
and so pleased did he become with the modesty and intelli-
gence of the lad, that he asked him to live with them; and
henceforth Martin found a comfortable and happy home with
Conrad and Ursula. At a time when he knew not what would
become of him, God opened the heart and house of a ('lii--
tian family. He was not now obliged to return to the
mines of Mansfeld, and bury the talents which God had
given him; and this event inspired him with confidence in
God: his prayers were more fervent, his thirst for know-
ledge greater, and his progress in study more rapid.
It was here that IM.,, ii! prepared for the university of
Erfurth, which he entered with high hopes at the age of
eighteen. His father destined him for the law, and every
year the boy's talents and progress strengthened the ambi-
tious expectations of his friends. Martin did not merely
cultivate his mind, he tried to have his heart right before
God. Every morning he began the day with prayer, and
then went to his studies, losing not a moment in the day.
"To pray well," he used to say, "is the better half of study."
And yet all this while, Martin Luther had never seen a Bible !
The art of printing had but just been discovered, and there
were no Bibles in the hands of the people. Let the children
in this land of Bibles, who have been instructed in the Bible
from their infancy, line upon line and precept upon precept,
think of this. And remember, that to whom much is given,
of them will much be required.

Would you like to see a picture of a scene such as the
colporteurs sometimes witness, while they are travelling
about the country for the sake of supplying the people
with good books? "As I was approaching an old log-
house," says the colporteur, "five children were playing in
the sand under a locust-tree. When they saw me coming,
the oldest boy cried out, 'Run; here comes a man on horse-
back;' and away they started for the house. The youngest
being about three years old, and a fat, ragged little fellow,
could not keep up with the rest; so the oldest boy and girl
took him by each hand and dragged him into the house,
shut the door, and pushed an old table against it. When I
dismounted and went to the house, they began to cry and
scream. I talked to them very kindly, and then began to
sing; and taking out of my saddle-bags some pretty little
books in paper covers, pushed them in between the logs
for them. They then moved away the table, and let me
come in.
"Their father and mother had gone away for the day.
I began to pat them on the head and shake them by the
hand, and talked very kindly to them, and soon they stop-
ped crying. I asked them if they went to school. They
replied that there was no school near there. I then asked



if they had a Bible or any books. 'There is a piece of a
book in the closet,' was the reply, 'that papa brought from
town the other day, it has a man standing on his head in
it;' and here the oldest girl took out of an old cupboard a
piece of a circus show-bill.
"After talking and praying with these dear children, I
gave each of them a little book, and some books and tracts
for their parents. When I mounted my horse, I could
hardly get the children to go back to the house. They
would follow me some distance into a cluster of persim-
mon-trees; and here I again dismounted, and read and
talked and prayed with them all; and now some of them
cried because I was going away. Lord, bless these dear
neglected children."

-- cj


What is this man doing ? Carving something out of the
bark of a beech-tree. What shape is it? You will notice
it looks as much like the letter A, as any thing. It is A.
This man is in the woods whittling out the letters of the
alphabet. When he went home, he strung them together,
dipped them in ink, and stamped them on paper. That was
the first printing.
About 1440, Guttenburg formed a partnership with
Faust, a rich man who warmly entered into his designs,
and gave him the means of improving the idea, as it existed
in a very rude state in his mind. Letters were cut out of
metal, and then cast in lead, hardened with antimony. It
took many years to put the original idea into working or-
der; and people have not done improving the art of print-
ing even now. The first book which they printed was the
Bible, in Latin; they took copies of it to Paris, and offered
them at sixty crowns, while the manuscript copies, that is,
those that were written with a pen, were sold for five hun-
dred. The cheap Bibles were in great demand, and the
price was lowered to thirty crowns.

How were they made so fast ? for you know it took a.
long time to copy a Bible. And why did they all look so
wonderfully alike ? People were both puzzled and fright-
ened. "Dr. Faust is a magician," they said: "h11 is in
league with the devil." Just as if the devil would take to
printing the Bible !
The first English New Testanment was printed in Ant-
werp, in 1526, and secretly brought into England. lead-
ing it was punished as a crime. People found guilty, were
condemned to ride with their faces to the horses' tails, will
papers on their heads, and the book tied round their waists,
to a certain spot in London, where they were to throw their
Bibles into the fire, and besides, pay a heavy fine.
Notwithstanding this, there were many who hungered
for the word of God, and were willing to take any risks in
order to hear it read, or to buy it for themselves. One
poor man gave a load of hay for a few chapters of St.
James in English. At last Henry the Eightlh allowed an
English edition of the Bible to be printed and sold; but so
small was the number that could read, and so many hinder-
ances were thrown in the way of a general circulation, that
six hundred copies were not wholly sold off for three years,
in all England.
Contrast that time with the reading and the printing of
the precious volume in this day. Besides the Bibles which
are printed by other societies and publishers, the American
Bible Society last year circulated, by square measure, four
acres of Bibles ; by long measure, eighty miles ; and in
round numbers, 800,000 Bibles and Testaments. A good
year's work, one would think. And yet the demand was
not met.


One chilly evening we visited a house, and found three
little girls busy with their knitting-work. There were books
and puzzles on the table, but the knitting-work ruled tile
hour. Ah, knitting your own stockings," we said ; "how
pleasant, to see children -.-, ifill., employed."
This is our Dorcas-work," they answered ; "we chil-
dren all have our Dorcas-work to do." This perhaps was
better still. Let us be thankful for the beautiful example
which Dorcas has set us, and for the little copies of her
which we sometimes find among the family group.
How different is Dorcas' fame from that of Helen of Troy,
who wickedly ran off from her family; or queen Mary, who
persecuted her pious -.1i. .:l -.; or Herodias, who pleased
Herod with her dancing. The fame of Dorcas certainly
rests upon very different ground: it is recorded of her, that
she was "full of good works and almsdeeds which she
did;" and Jesus Christ says, Herein is my Father glori-
fied, that ye bear much fruit." It is by the fr'dits of piety
that you can honor your heavenly Father.
D.orcas lived in a Jewish seaport called Joppa; and it
seems that in the midst of her usefulness she was taken
sick and died, and they laid her body in an upper chamber
until it was time to bury it. Peter was preaching in a
neighboring village, and when they were told how he had
cured a man who had been bedridden eight years of the
palsy, they sent two men to fetch him without delay to
Joppa; hoping, no doubt, that something might still be



done for Dorcas. Peter came with the men; and when he
reached the house, all the widows stood by weeping and
showing the coats and garments which she had made. No
wonder they were afflicted at the loss of such a friend.
Then Peter went alone into the chamber where she lay, and
he kneeled down and prayed, and turning him to the body,
he said, "Dorcas, arise," and she opened her eyes; and
when she saw Peter, she sat up, and he gave her his hand
and lifted her up; and when he had called her friends, he
presented her alive.
With what feelings of gratitude and joy must they have
welcomed her, restored to life and usefulness. When it
was known in Joppa, people were deeply affected by this
wonderful display of God's power, and many believed on
the Lord Jesus Christ.
How much longer Dorcas lived after this, we do not
know; but we do know that her influence was not confined
to the little circle of Christians in Joppa. She was not
only a shining example to them nearly two thousand years
ago, but her light has shone ever since. How many have
read of her, and gone and done likewise; how many little
circles of humble children and pious women, while engaged
in their labors of love, have been called by her name.
In the family mentioned at the beginning of this article,
there is a large work-basket called the Dorcas-basket, where
various articles of clothing are cut out, cotton flannel, yel-
low flannel, calico, clothing suitable for the sick and the
poor ; and all the little girls, as well as the mother and aunt,
devote a certain portion of time every week to the Dorcas-
work. How many of "us children" are busy at it? How
many have a Dorcas basket? Many, many, we hope; for
the Scriptures say, "Blessed is lie that considereth the poor."

"Be good, little Edmund," your mother will say ;
She will whisper it soft in your ear,
And often repeat it, by night and by day,
That you need not forget it, my dear.
If temper should rise to your reddening cheek,
Or naughtiness speak with your tongue,
She will point to the nest where, so gentle and meek,
The tuneful birds dwell with their young;
While the ant at its work, and the flower-loving bee,
And the robin that flies through the wood,
And the lamb in the field at its innocent glee,
Seem to echo her precept, Be good."
And when to a man, little Edmund, you 've grown,
As the acorn unfolds in the tree,
I'm sure you '11 remember your mother's sweet tone
When you lovingly sat on her knee.
For if you obey her, and all in your power
Endeavor her care to repay,
The blest recollection will brighten the hour
When the hair on your temples is gray.
So, be good, little Edmund, her pride and her joy;
And as onward your journey you hold,
This lesson, well learned from your cradle, my boy,
Will be more than a fortune in gold. L. H. s.

A little girl awoke one new-year's morning, and she
said, "I shall be happy, I shall be; I knozu I shall!" And
she was so positive about it, that her cousins were quite
curious to know why she was so sure. After breakfast, a
little box came, containing a pearl necklace for Rosa, from
her rich grandpapa. The child had had a hint of it before,
and this was the secret of her being so sure. Rosa fairly
trembled with excitement. It was all, Oh, oh, oh!" and
how she capered, and how she laughed. She showed it to
several of the school-girls, but whether they praised it as
much as she expected, I do not know. She came back not
looking very much pleased, neither was she very good-hu-
mored during the day. In the afternoon I found her sitting
on the table before the looking-glass, twisting the necklace

over her ears. Oh," she said, with a discontented sigh,
" I do n't think much of this, after all. I had rather have-I
had rather have-something That was Rosa's experi-
ence. She had been excited, but not satisfied. And why
not, do you suppose ? Because that which begins and ends
in self cannot make people really satisfied.
Now for another case, which was told me by a lady,
whose little servant-girl came to her one day and said,
"May be, you will let me go and pick some barberries."
"Yes," answered her mistress, "you may go; but it is very
hot, and the walk is long; and then, what are you meaning
to do with them ?" "I'm going to get three skeins' worth,
ma'am." "Three skeins' worth, child; what do you mean?"
"Sell 'em for three skeins' worth, to knit my grandma'am a
pair of stockings for New-year's, ma'am," answered the
child. What with the long walk, and broiling sun, and
heavy load, Sally had a tug of it; but no matter, she ex-
changed the berries for the yarn at a neighboring grocer's,
and her mistress set up the stockings, and she was going
to knit all her spare moments; and knit, knit, knit she did,
with a pleased diligence which it was quite inspiring to
see. Her mistress prophesied she would not hold out; but
her mistress was mistaken: by New-year's day the stock-
ings were done, and stout and warm they were. New-year's
afternoon, Sally had leave to carry them, nicely wrapped
up in a piece of brown paper. "She's a happy child," said
her mistress, as she saw her set off: and when Sally came
back, what a glowing face had she. Oh, miss," she said,
full of the matter, grandma'am did not believe I knit'em;



and when she did, she said, 'Lord, bless the child.' I've
had the best New-year's day that ever was; and now I want
to begin another pair."
This was Sally's experience; and can you doubt that it
was a happy one ? Here was a three months' work, and
the delight she took in it ran like a little golden stream
through her life, day by day. God has so made us, that
our greatest happiness is found in benevolent action, that is,
in loving and doing for others. Jesus Christ set us an example
of this, when he left the bosom of the Father and came here
to be a "Man of sorrows" for our sake; and so many of
his followers have counted it "all joy" to suffer for him: it
is a wonderful principle, and it seems almost like a con-
tradiction, but it is genuine. Try it and see.

Among the girls of a district school was one named
Lydia, a studious, obedient, serious-minded child. Lydia
and the teacher went down the same green lane on their
way home, and became well acquainted; and Lydia lost
her bashfulness, and used to ask the teacher of many things
which she did not quite understand, especially about the
Bible verses and stories which the teacher used to read and
talk about at the opening of the school.
The child's turn of mind interested the lady very much,
and she could not help hoping that the Spirit of God was
teaching her the way of truth and duty. She sat in school
beside Elsie Graham, a poor lame child, who was often
absent from school, and was quite backward in her studies.
Lydia was very kind to Elsie,. and used to help her about
her lessons; indeed, Lydia was a great friend to all the
neglected children in the school. If any one fell down, she
was sure to run and pick her up; if any one cried over a
hard lesson, she was by her side, trying to help her out of
her perplexities. The teacher often thought, if any body
was mindful of the precept, Weep with them that weep,"
it was Lydia.
It happened one day that Elsie Graham got to the head
of her class, above Lydia. It was the first time, and she
was very happy. At recess, the girls cried out, "Elsie
Graham has got up to the head;" and all flocked around
her except Lydia, who kept her seat, with her hand over
her eyes, and her eyes. on her book. The rest of the day,
the teacher saw that she looked very sober, and stayed at
her desk.
When school was done, she overtook Lydia trudging
slowly home, with her dinner-pail on her arm, and she
asked the little girl if she did.not feel well.
Yes, ma'am, I feel very well," answered Lydia.
"I thought something seemed to be the matter with
you," said the teacher.
Tears came into her eyes; but after a little kind talk
from the teacher, Lydia said, in rather a hesitating manner,
You see I do n't feel glad Elsie has got up to the head,
and I know I ought to; for you know the verse you read to
us, and what you said, Rejoice with them that do rejoice.'
Oh, that's the hardest part of the verse," and the child looked
down, seeming quite ashamed.
Poor Lydia. And is this true? Are there boys who,
provoked by the praises bestowed upon a school-fellow,

ever meanly try to lessen his merits? Are little girls ever
sorry if others have what they have not ? Do children ever
seek to undervalue what is pleasing to their brothers and
sisters? Is not this breaking the blessed Bible rule, to
"rejoice with them that do rejoice ?"
And how is it with children of a larger growth? Does
jealousy never breed hard thoughts against those more
favored than ourselves? Does envy never seek to dispar-
age the merits of a friend? Are we not sometimes too
pleased to hear our neighbor evil spoken of? And is not
all this breaking the blessed Bible rule, to "rejoice with
them that do rejoice?"
Many perhaps feel so, without considering, as Lydia
did, how opposed such feelings are to the temper of the
gospel; and, in fact, this brings forcibly out the necessity
and the beauty of the one grand regulating principle of the
gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, which is love-"good will,"
as the angels sung to the shepherds. It is this principle,
above all others, which will enable us to exercise right
feelings, and make us "rejoice with them that do rejoice,"
a well as "weep with them that weep."

Lucy loved her Sabbath-school dearly, and her
mother hoped she was not only her child, but. God's child.
Her teacher had often seen the tear in her eye when she
talked of the love of Jesus Christ, and her dutiful and
affectionate conduct seemed like the fruit of that love shed
abroad in her heart. One Sabbath the teacher proposed
that each scholar should try to get some new scholars: she
thought each little girl in her class might become a little
Sabbath-school missionary, and so she might get up another
class. Lucy listened eagerly, and her whole face seemed
to say, "Oh yes, I will." The teacher did not offer any
reward, like a book or a pencil-case, or any thing of that
kind; shesaid she wanted them to do it for Christ's sake,
and that as He had done so much for them, she hoped they
would love to go and gather in the neglected children, that
they might be taught to love Him.
When Lucy went home she told her mother of it, and
her mother said, "Very well, my child, you cannot spend
your spare time better." Wednesday afternoon it rained,
and there was no going out. Saturday was a beautiful
sunshiny day, and uncle Harry sent for all the children to
take a ride to the beach. "The beach I Oh, that will be
fine !" they all said, Lucy's brothers and sisters, clapping
their hands and running round; for what child does not
like to take a ride ? Lucy looked pleased too, but she was
pleased for them; for she went into her mother's chamber
soon after, to have a little talk.
"Mother," said Lucy, "now which would you like me
to do; to go with uncle Harry, or go and get my scholars-
which, mother?" "Just which you please, my dear ; this is
a question which you may decide yourself," said her mother.
"You can do precisely which, upon the whole, you think you
had better do," and she smiled kindly upon the little girl.
Lucy thanked her mother, and went away by herself. Her
mother could not help feeling a great interest in knowing
what the decision would be; and thought of it often during
the forenoon. At noon, when the children came to get



ready, Lucy was not among them; and when the carriage
drove away, Lucy was not one of the jovial company.
"Well, my dear, so you decided not to go," said the
mother, meeting her on the stairs. "No, mother," said the
little girl, looking up with a sweet expression on her face,
"I thought I had great deal rather deny myself, than please
myself, for C'li;-l'- sake." Oh the beautiful simplicity of
this answer; let Christians of a larger growth ask which
they had rather do, deny themselves, or please themselves,
for C'0i I'-, sake.


Little Delia was one day sent by her mother to do some
errand in the yard. A wood-sawyer was at work there,
and a pile of wood was thrown up directly before the door.
Little Delia climbed carefully over the wood, and did her
errand. When she was on her way back, the wood-sawyer
took her up in his strong arms and set her down safely in
the door-way, smiling as he did so, and saying to her in a
soft tone, "There, my little girl; I was afraid you might
fall, and I didn't want you to."
Delia thanked him very pleasantly, and went up stairs
to tell her mother. "Now, mother, I like the woodman
very much, for he was so good to me," she said; "may
not I give him something ?"
"What would you like to give him?"
"That large red apple that you gave me this morning.
Wouldn't that be nice?" said Delia.
"Yes, that would do very well," her mother answered.
Delia ran down and gave the apple, quite delighted.
"Thank you; you're a good dear," said the wood-sawyer,
as he received it; "and what shall I do with it? Would n't
you like to have me give it to my poor little Johnny ?"
"Johnny and who is Johnny?"
"My poor little boy, that is burnt and crippled by the
fire. When he was a baby he was tied into a chair, and
tipped himself over against the hot stove, and his clothes
took fire, and he was sadly burned indeed. But he's a good
little thing, and so loving; shall I give him the apple ?"
"Yes, indeed," said Delia; and she ran quickly back
into the house, and with her mother's permission, brought
out a little brown wooden-horse with a red soldier on his
back. "There, give that to Johnny too," said she; "for
I 'm sorry that he's so burnt."
When the wood-sawyer returned home at night, little
Johnny sat watching for him at the window; and when he
gave him the horse and apple, Johnny thought he had never
seen so fine a plaything as the horse, nor so large and red
an apple before. He kissed his father, and thanked him
heartily ; and then he kissed the horse and the soldier, and
the apple too. When he learned who sent them to him, he
said, "How good she is to me; how 1 should like to see
What are you going to do with your presents ?" said
his father.
Johnny thought a moment: "I know what I shall do
with the apple," he said. "Don't you know that big boy
that looks in here and makes me cry sometimes, looking so
bad, shrivelling up one side of his face, and drawing his
head down to his shoulder, as if trying to make fun of me

because I am so burnt, and my head is all drawn to one
side by the fire-do n't you know that boy ?"
"Jim Norton, do you mean?" asked the father; "that
bad fellow that I drove away from the window last week?
You do n't like him so much, do you ?"
"Not so much; but I want him to like me. I want to
show him that I do n't hate him because he tries to make
me feel bad, and makes fun of what I can't help, and what
I am sometimes so sorry for; though I know I ought not
to complain, for God did it, and he knew it was best for
The next day little Johnny watched at the window, and
when he saw the bad boy that tried to make fun of his
misfortune, he beckoned to him to come nearer. "Here,
Jim," said Johnny, "here's a nice apple. I do n't hate you.
Wont you love me now, Jim ?"
The bad boy reddened with shame and guilt. To use
Bible words, Johnny had "heaped coals of fire upon his
head." He could not take the apple. "No, little boy," he
said, I do n't want your apple. I can get apples."
"Yes, I want you to take it," said Johnny ; "then you
wont hate me, perhaps."
The apple was tempting, and Jim took it; but as he
went away, he thought, "What a good boy that Johnny is,
when I've acted so to him. I'm sorry I took his apple, for I
do n't suppose he gets half as many as I do. I wish he had
it back again." He could not eat the apple, so he took it
home and divided it among his brothers and sisters, which
was a new thing for him to do. lHe made no more bad
faces at Johnny, and soon began to smile as he passed his
window; and Johnny, as you might know, was very glad
to see the change in him, and always smiled pleasantly in
Jim Norton sometimes thought, I wish I had something
to give Johnny. I ought to give to him, rather than he
to me." Then he thought, "I have sometimes earned a
few cents for myself by selling shavings : why can't I earn
some for Johnny ?" He set about it, and sold two baskets
of shavings. With the cents so gained, he bought a few
hickory nuts and some sugar-plums. He gave them to
Johnny, and was never so happy in his life before. He was
now by degrees growing generous and kind to every body,
but particularly to Johnny, for he felt something like grat-
itude towards him, and he was learning to pity him and
love him. When the spring came, he brought him green
boughs and flowers, which he gathered for him whenever
he went into the fields beyond the city.
One day he told Johnny of a plan he had to snare a
little bird and bring it to him, so that he might hear its
fine song in his own room, since he was lame and could
not go out into the fields and woods, and was so often
alone; but Johnny said, "No, Jim.; it is hard enough for
me to be so shut up here, and I'm used to it since I was a
baby. The bird isn't used to it, and it would be very
dreadful for it; I do n't want any thing to be miserable for
me; I should n't be happy; I'd rather not, Jim. The flow-
ers you bring me are enough."
So Jim left the birds to sing in freedom in the pleasant
woods, but he took up a root of pretty sweet-briar and
planted it in a little pot, and set it in Johnny's window;
and though it does not bloom very often, it is always fresh
and sweet, like the odor of good deeds.




Have not you noticed, little reader, how, in this story, good acts for you to do all the time. Be sure you do them ;
one little good act brought along another and another, till and who knows what may come of them? A little seed
there was quite a chain of kind deeds? There are little makes a great tree when God smiles on it. r. H.

I ", 1I
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-- _- --

.-. 5 :
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"My father is sick, and my mother is dead,
The little ones still are asleep in their bed,
While I and my broom are out earning their bread-
Please, sir, give me a penny."

And what do you do in the pattering rain ?
"Why, under the eaves there is plenty of room,
For poor little me, and my little corn-broom-
Please, sir, give me a penny."

And how do you hide from the scorching sun ?
"My little blue kerchief, it covers my head,
And nothing does trouble me, earning my bread-
Please, sir, give me a penny."

But dangers may trap you, alone in the street.
"Our Father in heaven-an' sure he will keep
A fatherly watch o'er a poor little sweep-
Please, sir, give me a penny."

Oh, who would have thought, out here in the dust,
From a little girl trying to earn her crust,
To have learned such a lesson of heavenly trust?
There's a handful of pennies, my child.

"Oh, heavenly Father, please not let the cow hook me,
nor the horse kick me ; and not let me run into the street,
when my mother tells me not to."
Here is the feeling of helplessness. Straying from his
mother's side, and begirt with dangers even at his own
door, how weak is the little one. Who shall protect and
defend him from harm? Tempted to disobey and forget, and
to do those things which lie ought not to do, where shall he
get strength to do right? The child, even the little child,
feels the need of help from one greater than he, greater than
even father or mother ; for no mother's eye can follow him


every way, and no father's hand can be always near to
befriend and save.
And this feeling of helplessness may lead him to look
beyond father or mother, brother or sister, master or mistress,
to a greater than they all. If we have effectual help, we
must have the help of One who sees us always, who rules
everywhere, who in his strength and greatness condescends
to be mindful of us, who will hear us and will help us.
This almighty being is God, the God of the Bible, who has
sent his dear Son to teach us to say, "Our Father,' and to
pray, "Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from
evil;" and more than all, has graciously added, for the
sake of those who might still think that children had no
understanding of these things, "Suffer little children to
come unto me, and forbid them not."

I was visiting the house of a friend where there was a
boy named Oliver; and I am going to say something about
Oliver which I hope will prove to be a looking-glass for
some other boys to see themselves in.
Oliver, did you carry that basket to the store, as I told
you?" asks his father. "Oh no, sir ; I forgot all about it,"
answers Oliver. The father looks as if the omission had
put him to considerable inconvenience.
"Why did you not come directly home from school,
Oliver?" asked his mother; "you knew I had a special
errand for you to do." "Oh, mother, I forgot it, till this
very minute."

j-- .. -
I, -

. : ..c-. . _
I ,4- ,

S -

"Where is your Sabbath-school lesson; why are you not
studying it?" says the teacher, when Sunday comes, and
Oliver does not seem to have his lesson. "I forgot to carry
my book home," is the child's excuse.
These were the kind of questions and answers which
were continually heard; and as you may suppose, Oliver's
forgetfulness was liable to hinder the family work, and
give trouble to his parents, for he could not be at all de-
pended upon. For all his disobedience and failures and
unfaithfulness, it was, "I forgot," just as if that was any
excuse at all. Suppose the father forgot to provide for his
family, and the mother forgot to do her sewing or bake the

bread, and the butcher to bring the meat, and the master to
go to school, what disorder and distress would follow. By
thus looking at the habit of forgetting, you see what a mis-
erable habit it is; and just so far as any child indulges it,
just so far he helps to disorder the family he lives in.
But there is something more serious about forgetting,
than all this. Let us see in what light God looks upon it.
When the children of Israel, whom God took such kind care
of, and gave them the beautiful land of Canaan to live in,
"forgot the Lord their God and did evil, his anger was kin-
dled against them," and he allowed their enemies to come
and plunder their cities, and carry them away captives.
He did not regard their forgetfulness of him as an excuse
for their sins, but as a sin in itself worthy of punishment.
And on the contrary, who does the apostle James say
shall find a blessing? "He that is not a forgetful hearer, but
a doer of the word, shall be blessed in his deed." A for-
getful person cannot be a doer; his great fault is, that he
does not do. Oliver, and all the children who resemble
him, are "forgetful hearers," and it is forgetfulness of God
which lies at the bottom of all your faults. How afraid
David was of it: "Bless the Lord, Oh my soul," he cries,
"and forget not all his benefits." Think seriously on this
subject, and do not put it off, for there is a time spoken of
in the Bible when a "book of remembrance" will be opened
against us; and we shall then find, if we forget God, that
God has not forgotten us.

A few nights ago, just as I was going to bed, a lady
came in, and asked me to come over to a neighbor's house
and see "little Robbie," less than three years old, who was
dying. Her statement of the strange scene induced me to
go. Just before I went in, he had several times called,
"Come, children, come," and I found all the little ones of
the household had been brought into his chamber by his
parents, to take their last farewell. He called each one by
name. One by one they kissed him. It was a scene of
great tenderness, and of many tears. One of his brothers
was absent at a boarding-school, and him he did not call
as he did the rest, but said, Tell Willie, come." After the
children retired to bed, he repeated again and again the
call, Come, children, come ; come, children, come." And
whenever his parents would ask, "Where, Robbie?" he
would answer, To heaven." Then he would say, as he lay
on his back with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, "Please
God, take Robbie; please God, take Robbie." These ex-
pressions were continually interspersed with "Papa, come;
mamma, come; come, children, come-to heaven." The
last words he spoke were a mere whisper, "Come, children,
The chamber where Robbie died seems now a hallowed
spot. One of the little children well expressed this, a while
after his death. "Mamma," said she, "I was always afraid
of a dead person; but here there seems to be a glory all
about." The whole scene is indelibly impressed on the
memories of all that were present-a scene that would
startle the sinner, confound the infidel, and delight the



Caty Parker is a very sweet little girl; she has large
blue eyes, and soft silken curls, and a sweet little mouth,
and pearly teeth. We all love her very much, not for her
beauty only, I assure you, but because she is kind and gen-
tle and loving. I went into the nursery one morning, and
little Cate sat in a high chair clasping a book very closely
in her arms.
Aunty," said she to me as I came into the room, "this
book is about my best friend." "Your best friend, Caty,"
said I; "what book is it?" "It is God's book," said she;
"and it is about my best friend." "Whom do you mean
by your best friend, Caty?" said I. "Why, I mean Jesus
Christ," said she; "this book is about Jesus Christ." "How
do you know Jesus Christ is your best friend?" said I.
" Oh, because he loves me," said she, and the book says
"Well, Caty, your father and mother love you; are they
not your best friends too ?" Not like Jesus," said the lit-
tle one; "they love me, but not so much as Jesus does."
"They would do any thing for you, Caty," said I; "what
has Jesus done for you, that your father and mother could
not do?" "Ah, aunty, don't you know?" she said; "he
was nailed to the cross-Jesus died for me." I looked in the
dear child's face, and she folded the precious book closer in
her little round arms, and tears filled her blue eyes.
"Why did he die for you, Caty?" I said, as I wished to
see what the little one knew of Jesus' death. "Because he
loved me, aunty-that he might wash away my sins and
make me one of his own little children." "Can others also
be saved by his death?" "Yes, aunty, you, and father and
mother, and all who give their hearts to him. Now, is not
Jesus my best friend, aunty; and is not this book all about
my best friend ?" I took her on my knee and told her much
of the love of Jesus. I spoke of his leaving the bosom of
the Father, and taking our nature upon him, and offering
himself a sacrifice for sin.
Is not the Lord Jesus your best friend?4 Does he not
do infinitely more for us than father or mother can do? As
little Caty said, he was nailed to the cross, he died for you,
for little children who know it not. The blessed Jesus died
for you; let each feel and know, The Saviour died for me-
for me he suffered, that I might live. Oh he is indeed the
friend of sinners, the best friend. If then he is our best
friend, ought we not to love him above all others, and try
to serve and please him; to do his will in every thing, and
give him our hearts, that he may wash them white in his
Precious blood ? Cc. R. P.


When quite a little fellow, Fowell Buxton was sent tc
Dr. Burney's school. Upon one occasion he was accused
by one of the teachers of talking during school hours, for
which he was about to be punished. When Dr. Burney
came in, the boy appealed to him, and stoutly denied the
charge. The teacher as stoutly maintained it; but Dr.
Burney stopped him, saying, I never found the boy telling



The children in clean, happy, comfortable Christian
homes throughout the beautiful i!1 ,. -. of our land, will
be surprised to hear about the thousands of hungry, home-
less, vagrant children in our great city of New York. They
perhaps think of New York as only full of fine houses,
where every body has plenty of money; or very good,
where the great Bible House is, and the Tract Society
which publishes so many Child's Papers and good books;
but the sad truth is, there are thousands of children in New
York as truly heathen as any in Burmah or Africa.
Within a year or two past attention has been particu-
larly directed towards them, and the feeling is getting very
strong that they must no longer be neglected, and a society
has been formed, called "The Ci !n.!I..'-. Aid Society," the
object of which is to render relief in some way or other.
One of its officers passing through a street in the Seven-
teenth ward, saw a little boy sitting under a cart, gnawing
a bone. He was hardly eleven yet, but had one of those
-wan, sad faces often seen here, and a fine dark eye. The
gentleman drew him out, and asked him where his home
was. "I haven't any home." "But where is your father?"
"Don't know, sir." "You have a mother, haven't you?"
"Yes, sir." "Where does she live?" "She washes, and
she lives out anywhere, and a woman has took me."
The gentleman followed him to the house, and down
into the poor little room of the woman who had taken
charge of him. She was almost as poor as the child, but
she had seen him in the street, and thought she could put
him on the floor and give him a bit now and then. The
mother it seemed was in the bad habit of drinking. This
boy is now in a comfortable home with a Staten Island far-
mer, and may yet, we trust, grow up a good and useful

One day two boys came into the office bringing a third,




a lie, and I will not disbelieve him now."


ragged and dirty to the worst degree, but with a mild blue
eye, a well-formed head, and an intelligent face. He had
no father or mother, he said; had lived with his aunt who
beat and ill-treated him, and now he had no home, slept in
the straw in a place in street-worked a little, enough
to buy him a meal. "Have you ever been to school, Pe-
ter ?" "No." "Were you ever in a church?" "Yes, sir;
once or twice." "Do you remember your mother ?" "Yes,"
he said, and his face twitched. "Did you ever hear of
Jesus Christ?" No, he hadn't. "Did you never hear of
Christ who came upon earth to do good, and who died to
save others ?" No, he 'd never heard of him. "Have you
ever heard of God ?" Yes, he had, but he didn't know what
he was. And after some talk he said he had heard of
heaven-should go there if he didn't curse, and steal, and
fight, his mother told him; and he never did swear and
steal; he had lied though, sometimes, not often; used to
say a prayer sometimes in the dark night, when he lay on
the boards; didn't now. Then they told him they would
send him into the country, where the people would treat
him kindly, and where he might learn to read and become
a good and useful man. His face lighted up with joy, as if
a new and better day had dawned upon him. He is now at
a good home in Connecticut.
There are thousands of such boys in the cellars, alleys,
and docks and ship-yards and garrets of our city ; home-
less, motherless, pinched with hunger, dirty, ignorant, vi-
cious, growing up-for what? for what? To live miserably,
to tenant the jails and prisons, and to die miserably.
But a good work is begun in their behalf. And while
a band of Christian men and women are trying to gather
them into day-schools and Sabbath-schools, and lead them
to the Saviour; while they are trying to get them better
homes in the country, or put them to honest callings in the
city, the sympathies of every Christian father and mother
are asked in their behalf; the prayers and offerings of chil-
dren in good and happy homes are asked for the poor home-
less vagrant. While you thank God, my dear child, for
your own neat, comfortable, and Christian home, ask your-
self, Is there no poor fatherless, motherless, homeless child
somewhere, that I can help give a home to? Is there no
ignorant, vicious brother or sister that I can help to bring
to Jesus Christ my Saviour ? I can give him bread to eat,
but Jesus Christ can give him bread from heaven. I can
give him clothes to wear, but Jesus Christ can give him
the garments of salvation. I can give shelter for his head,
but Jesus Christ can give him "a house not made with
hands, eternal in the heavens."

The little parish of Yellowdale farmers had long been
without a minister. One day Rev. Mr. Surely visited the
village, and was asked to stay over Sunday and preach to
them. The people were pleased with his sermons, and
some were anxious to have him stop. A meeting was
called to know the mind of the parish. "I do n't see any
use in having a minister," said Sharp, a rich old farmer;
"a parson can't learn me any thing: if we've any money
to spare, we better lay it out in something that will bring
a fairer return." The Sabbath-loving part of the people

argued strongly against him. "Well," answered Sharp,
not choosing to show himself convinced, "I've heard tell
of ministers that could pray for rain, and bring it; if we
could hit one of that sort, I 'd go for hiring him."
Mr. Sharp was a man of consequence, and the younger
and less knowing of his neighbors were quite taken with
the idea. That would be a minister worth having," they
thought. And after much talk, it was agreed to hire Mr.
Surely upon this condition-that he would give them rain,
or fair weather, when they wanted it; for their farms often
suffered both from severe droughts and heavy rains. Mr.
Surely was immediately waited upon by a committee of
the parish, who soon came back, bringing the minister with
them. "I will accept your terms upon one condition," said
he, "that you must agree upon what sort of weather you
want." This appeared reasonable, and matters were ar-
ranged for a year's stay at Yellowdale.
Weeks passed on, bringing midsummer heats. For
three weeks it had not rained, and the young corn was
beginning to curl with drought. Now for the minister's
promise. "Come," said Sharp, with one or two others
whose hilly farms were suffering, "we need rain; you
remember your promise." "Certainly," answered the min-
ister, "call a meeting." A meeting was called. "Now, my
friends," said the pastor, "what is it you want ?"
"Rain, rain," shouted half a dozen voices.
"Very well; when will you have it?"
"This very night, all night long," said Sharp, to which
several others assented.
"No, no; not to-night," cried Mr. Smith; "I've six or
seven tons of well-made hay out; I would not have it wet
for any thing."
"So have I," added Mr. Peck; "no rain to-night."
"Will you have it to-morrow ?" asked the minister. But
it would take all to-morrow to get it in. So objections
came up for the two or three next days. "In four days
then?" said Mr. Surely.
"Yes," cried Sharp, "all the hay will be in, and no more
need be cut till"-
"Stop, stop!" cried Mrs. Sharp, pulling her husband
smartly by the sleeve,."that day we have set to go to
Snow-hill. It mus' n't rain then.
In short, the meeting resulted in just no conclusion at
all, for it was found quite impossible to agree.
"Until you make up your minds," said the pastor on
leaving, we must all trust in the Lord."
Both Mr. Smith and Mr. Peck got their hay in, but on
the day the Sharps were to go to Snow-hill, it began to rain
in good earnest. Sharp lost his visit, but his crops gained.
And so it happened once or twice again. The year
rolled by, and the people could never all agree upon what
kind of weather they wanted. Mr. Surely of course had no
occasion to fulfil his part of the contract, and the result
was, that they began to open their eyes to the fact that this
world would be a strange place if its inhabitants should
govern it. They saw that nature's laws could be safely
trusted in the hands of nature's God.
At the close of the year the minister spoke of leaving.
This the people would not listen to. "But I cannot stay
under the old contract," said he.
"Nor do we want you to," said Sharp, much humbled;



"only stay and teach us and our children how to know God
and obey his laws."
"And all things above our proper sphere," added the
pastor, "we will leave with God; for 'He doeth all things

Ben Poor had a bad father, but a pious mother. She
had a hard time, yet the faithful creature kept up a good
heart, and the girls rewarded her for her pains. It was not
so with Ben. One day the neighbors saw her in the little
back bed-room talking to him, with tears in her eyes, about
associating with bad boys; but the moment he was out of
her sight, he was with them again-he didn't care, he said.
He played truant, and the master and the school com-
mittee faithfully pictured to him the evils of idling away his
time and growing up in ignorance. "I don't care," he cried,
as soon as he was out of their hearing, and did no better
than before. People who knew his mother wanted to em-
ploy him, that he might earn a little for the family; but he
worked carelessly, or forgot his errands altogether, and
when kindly or sternly reproved, he turned on his heel with
a "don't care." At last he was apprenticed to a cabinet-
maker, and his friends hoped as he grew older, he would
mend his ways; but the cabinet-maker, after giving him a
fair trial, shipped him off, saying he would have nothing to
do with so careless and stubborn a spirit as Ben Poor was.
The last I have known of him, he was seen sprawling on
the green grass by the road-side on a bright summer day,
without either jacket or hat, but with a jug by his side.

Ben is looked upon as a hopeless case; for there is
nothing so utterly hopeless as a "don't care" spirit. It
defies authority, disobeys parents, disregards kindness, and
hates all wholesome restraints. What ruin it works The
last report of the State Reform School of Massachusetts at
Westborough, says a considerable portion of those com-
mitted are children who defy all parental authority," and
adds, "those are the most difficult cases to reform, and
little can be done for their permanent good until they are
taught to respect the authority of others."
Some boys seem to think it is manly not to care-that
it is smart to cast off restraint. I will tell you it is a very
bad sort of smartness-a very mistaken notion of manli-
ness. True manliness is never rude and lawless ; it sub-
mits to just restraints, and respects wise counsel. Cain
" didn't care" when he sAew his brother. The people of the
old world "didn't care," though they saw Noah building
the ark and heard his awful warnings of approaching ruin.

Judas did not care, when he sold his Master for thirty
pieces of silver.
Boys, have a care how you spend your time, what habits
you form, what company you keep. Your parents care for
you, your teachers care for you, God cares for you, angels
care for you; and will you not care for yourselves? Re-
member, that as a man soweth, so shall lie reap; and he
that soweth to the wind shall reap the whirlwind.

At the examination of a deaf and dumb institution some
time since, a little boy was asked in writing, Who made
the world?" He took the chalk and wrote underneath, "In
the beginning God created the heaven and the earth."
The question was then asked, "Why did Jesus come
into the world?" A smile of-gratitude overspread the face
of the little fellow as he wrote, "This is a faithful saying,
and worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came into
the world to save sinners."
He was then asked the trying question, "Why are you
born deaf and dumb, when I can both hear and speak?"
"Never," said an eye-witness, "shall I forget the look of
sweet resignation and peace as he again took up the chalk
and wrote, 'Even so, Father; for so it seemed good in thy
Truly might it have been said, "Out of the mouths of
babes and sucklings thou hast ordained praise."

A poor woman might once have been seen sitting on a
stone near a prison, nursing her baby. Her husband is
confined within. Is she the wife of a murderer or a robber ?
No. The prisoner is a good man; he fears and obeys God;
he is a school-master and a deacon, beloved and respected.
But why is he among criminals? He is a Non-conformist.
That, you will say, is a new crime; you never heard of it in
the United States. Let us bless God that no such oppres-
sive and cruel law is known here. But it used to be in
England, where this poor woman lived. The English sov-
ereign is considered the head of the church, and the kings of
that time wanted all their subjects to think precisely alike
upon religious truth, to conform to one standard of rule and
doctrine. This was hard. Good people differ about the
true meaning of many passages in Scripture, and we say
they have a right to exercise their own judgment in such
matters, and this right is called "liberty of conscience." It
is to God alone, man must stand or fall.
Those who did not conform to the standards of the Eng-
lish church were called Non-conformists, and they met with
rough treatment. They were fined, imprisoned, and ban-
ished. Some fled to foreign lands, like the Puritan fathers
of New England, who were of this band, and who were
willing to brave every danger for conscience' sake.
The little nursing baby of this non-conforming father,
who is willing to go to prison rather than compromise his
principles, is named Isaac, and he grew up to be the famous
Dr. IsAAc WATTs, the author of that sweet cradle-hymn,
"Hush, my dear; lie still and slumber," and of those many



beautiful psalms and hymns, so dear to millions of Chris-
tians. By the time he grew up, a wiser king sat upon the
throne, and an act was passed called "The Toleration Act,"
which allowed people liberty of conscience, and non-conform-
ity ceased to be a crime. Perhaps it was because he was
nursed in sorrow, that Dr. Watts was so strong in faith, and
so compassionate and loving in his heart.


There was a ship anchored at the Battery in New York
last winter, which created an unusual stir. It was the ca-
loric ship, built upon a new idea, to go by hot air instead of
steam; and it was considered a great improvement upon
steam, in being safer, cheaper, and more comfortable. She
was named the ERIcssoN, in honor of her inventor, Captain
Ericsson, who for twenty-five years was experimenting how
to put his idea into a machine and make it work well. A
great many people did not believe he could, and all the time
the ship was building at the docks in Williamsburgh, they
prophesied it would prove a failure.
At last she was finished, from stem to stern, inside and
out, and came to New York to make her trial trip. Crowds
assembled on the wharves, and flags and huzzas and hand-
kerchiefs and cannon cheered her off. There was no hissing
of steam, no huge black smoke-pipe, no crater-like furnace,
whose hot breath makes one shudder; but the immense
wheels got slowly into motion, and the ship glided beauti-
fully from her anchorage. As she moved down the bay, the
curious multitudes had little idea of the anxiety with which
her inventor within was scrutinizing every part of her vast
machinery, and watching all her motions. He seeks to
ascertain whether there is any flaw in the iron, or friction
in the joints; how well the air heats and the pistons play;
how the furnaces, and cylinders, and shaft and crank, and
rod, and generator, each do their work. How desirous is he
to ascertain every defect and imperfection, in order to tighten
here, to oil there, to lessen a strain on one part, or stop a
jar in another-and all this is for the sake of improvement.
The Ericsson must be proved before she is fit for future ser-
vice. She needs to be put on trial, before she is freighted
with rich cargoes, and trusted with the lives of men, women,
and children.
The importance of a trial trip, the use of such a probation
in order to test her qualities, in case of the caloric ship, or
any other ship, or any piece of machinery designed for future
use, is clear enough. And so does the Father of our spirits
deal with us. He has made childhood and youth a trial trip
for the sake of improvement-a season of discipline, in order to
strengthen your qualities and fit you for future usefulness.
Your kind teachers, and parents, and guardians are anxious
to correct what is wrong, and strengthen what is good;
they are trying to improve you, and to fit you for becoming
useful men and women. All the wholesome discipline which
you go through in youth, rightly improved, will certainly
make you better, wiser, and happier when you grow up.
As you can have but one childhood to spend, strive to make
the best use of it, for there is nothing which grown-up peo-
ple mourn over more bitterly than a misspent and wasted

Two ladies were walking, when one looked over the
fields, and said, "There are some little children; they look
pitifully; let us go and see who they are; they must be
foreigners." "How strange 1" said her companion; "what
do you want of them ? I believe nothing interests you more
than the sight of a dirty child. I can't conceive of it." The
other lady could conceive of it, for she remembered how they
were not beneath the notice of the Lord Jesus, and she loved

% __
V. U.

what the Lord Jesus loved; so she called the children tow-
ards her, and began to talk with them. She learned that
they were from over the seas, and how "Effie and Tommy"
died, and were left in the ocean.
"I wish you would please come and see my mother,"
said the little girl; "this country is n't like ours." The lady
asked where they lived, and the children tried to tell her,
and she promised to make them a visit the next day. She
was as good as her word; and she had so pleasant a visit,
that she felt as if the Lord had sent her there. Oh," said
the mother of the children, tears streaming down her cheeks,
"I am thankful for your comfortable words ; they are what
I was used to in the old country. He's took to drink since
he came to 'Merica, my husband has. He took to heart Effie
and Tommy's dying so and being buried in the big sea, he's
not the same since; and here is Mary and her little brother,
they are all I have left, and we have hard times; do n't we,
Mary ?"
Mary laid her head on her mother's shoulder, and said,
"Don't cry, mother, now this lady, may be, has come to help
us." Yes, the lady found work for the poor woman, and a
seat in church for her; and Mary she took into her Sabbath-
school, and the little boy too, I dare say. Mary looked as
pleased as could be the first Sabbath she got there; for
"indeed, Miss," said she, "it is like the old country, and I
will try to be very good." How delighted she was with a
book to carry home, and a .. ,l if1il little paper; it was not



The Child's Paper, for that was not printed then, but the
American Messenger was, and the lady sent one home to
Mary's mother.
The child entered upon the Sabbath-school duties with
her whole heart, and it was not long before she brought a
new scholar, and then another, and then another; and she
really was almost a Sabbath-school missionary in the neigh-
borhood where she lived. "Dear Mary," her teacher used
to sa4, "she is so tender-hearted and faithful; I believe she
is one of the Lord's flock."
Mary was a scholar three years, and though quite mod-
est, there were many others besides her mother and brother
and the teacher who loved her dearly, and who were made
happy and made better by having known her. At the end

.0 , '. :'- ::- - -_ -

.)- ) -- -

-* 5 ...-... i.-'' ,'

,, .. ..... 0. S-:

of three years, Mary had the scarlet-fever, and it went hard
with her; the doctor could do no more for her, and the lady
came to see her die. It seemed very hard to her mother,
but Mary said, "Mother, Jesus Christ will stay with you, I
know he will; and I am going to see Elie and Tommy, and
I am going to see God, mother." Then turning to her
teacher, she said, "Miss, I thank you for taking me into
your class. I love you; I love the class; I love every
body." How precious were the thanks of this dying child.
To ease her position, she was then taken up; and her last
look was a look of love and joy and peace, as she fixed her
last anxious glance upon the dear friend who held her little
hand. Do you think that lady was ever sorry for caring for
the children ?


LI ~

/ '

---S B"


The first king of the children of Israel was named Saul.
He was a great general, but he disobeyed God, who made
him king, and God determined to take his kingdom from
him and give it to another. God said to the prophet Sam-
uel, "Fill a horn with oil, and go to Jesse, who lives in
Bethlehem, for I have chosen one of his sons to be king."
Jesse was grandson of Ruth, and was now an old man
with a large family of grown-up sons.
Samuel went to Bethlehem and called upon Jesse and his

sons, and he looked at the oldest, Eliab, who had a tall
figure and noble face, and thought he must be the person
God had chosen for a king. "Look not on his countenance,"
said the Lord to Samuel, "or on the height of his stature;
because I have refused him: for the Lord seeth not as man
seeth: man looketh on the outward appearance, but the
Lord looketh on the heart." God does not care how a per-
son looks ; he cares for the heart. Then Samuel looked at
Abinadab, the second son; but God had not chosen him;



nor the third son, nor the fourth, or fifth, or sixth, or
Samuel was surprised; and he asked Jesse if he had any
more children. "There is the youngest," answered Jesse,
"who is tending the sheep." "Send and fetch him," said
Samuel. I suppose Jesse did not think it worth while to
send for David, so young and inexperienced as he was, out
in the fields taking care of his flock, as you see in the pic-
ture. But at the command of the prophet, he was sent for,
and he came in-a youth of a beautiful countenance and
very pleasing to look upon. That was not all, for his hand-
some person, without something better, would have found
no favor with God, for God looks at the heart. David loved
God in his heart; he tried to do God's will; and out in the
fields with his flocks he loved to think of him and praise
him and pray to him. As soon as he came into Samuel's
presence, the Lord said, "Arise and anoint him, for this is
he." So Samuel took the horn of oil and anointed him while
his father and his seven older brothers stood by.
Then Samuel went home; and David, though he knew
he should one day be king, went back to his work as duti-
ful and industrious as before. He did not grow proud or
haughty, and think himself better than his brothers, in con-
sequence of the high honor put upon him. It was a great
thing to exchange the shepherd's crook for a crown and a
kingdom, and both in peace and in war to direct the affairs
of a great nation, and that God's chosen people. God gave
him his Spirit, to make him truly wise and brave, 'and fit
him for his kingly duties. And I suppose the thought of
what was before him, drew him closer to God as his
almighty Friend and Helper.
David often played on the harp and expressed his love
to God in sweet songs. His songs are called Psalms. Here
is one which he perhaps wrote while tending his flocks.
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh
me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside
the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in
the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea,
though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I
will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy
staff they comfort me. Thou prepares a table before me in
the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with
oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy
shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in
the house of the Lord for ever."


"Mary," said George, "next summer I will not have a
garden. Our pretty tree is dying, and I wont love another
tree as long as I live. I will have a bird next summer, and
that will stay all winter."
"George, do n't you remember my beautiful canary ? It
died in the middle of the summer, and we planted bright
flowers in the ground where we buried it. My bird did not
live as long as the tree."
"Well, I do n't see as we can love any thing. Dear little
brother died before the bird, and I loved him better than any
bird, or tree, or flower. Oh, I wish we could have some-
thing to love that would n't die !"

The day passed. During the school-hours, George and
Mary had almost forgotten that their tree was dying; but
at evening, as they drew their chairs to the table where
their mother was sitting, and began to arrange the seeds
they had been gathering, the remembrance of the tree came
upon them.
"Mother," said Mary, "you may give these seeds to
cousin John; I never want another garden."
"Yes," added George, pushing the papers in which he
had carefully folded them towards his mother, "you may
give them all away. If I could find some seeds of a tree
that would never fade, I should like then to have a garden.
I wonder, mother, if there ever was such a garden ?"
"Yes, George, I have read of a garden where the trees
never die."
"A real garden, mother?"
"Yes, my son. In the middle of the garden, I have been
told, there runs a pure river of water, clear as crystal, and
on each side of the river is the tree of life-a tree that never
fades. That garden is heaven. There you may love, and
love for ever. There will be no death-no fading there.
Let your treasure be in the tree of life, and you will have
something to which your hearts can cling without fear, and
without disappointment. Love the Saviour here, and he
will prepare you to dwell in those green pastures, and be-
side those still waters."


I told you not long ago about the birth of Georgia. Let
me now tell you of the birth of another of the sister states,
Maryland. She seems, like Moses, to be almost cradled in
water, with the Atlantic ocean on one side, the Potomac on
the other, and the noble Chesapeake bay in her bosom, with
innumerable little streams which glide noiselessly down to
the bay, the river, and the ocean.
The first Englishman who visited this region was the
famous John Smith, from the Virginia colony, who cruised
up its bays and rivers, spying nothing but wild beasts and
Indian wigwams among its stately forests. The king of
England bestowed this beautiful region upon a favorite of
the royal family, Lord Baltimore, who agreed to pay for it
a yearly rent of two Indian arrows, and a fifth of all the
gold and silver ore found there. Lord Baltimore was a
Roman-catholic, a gentleman of large and liberal mind, who
drew up such an excellent plan for the government of his
future colony, that emigrants were very anxious to join it.
And on the twenty-second of November, thirteen years after
the Pilgrims landed at Plyniouth, about two hundred per-
sons, most of them Roman-catholics, set sail from England
in two vessels, the Ark and Dove, to make the first white
men's homes in Maryland, the name Lord Baltimore gave to
his province, in honor of Henrietta Maria, the wife of king
The names of the vessels, Ark and Dove, were expressive
of the principles of the colonists. They reached the Chesa.
peake in February, and after making a short stop at Point
Comfort, where the Virginians gave them a hearty welcome,
they sailed up the bay and entered a small stream. Cruis,
ing about, they at length landed at a little Indian village



called Yoacomoco. The Indians received the strangers in
a very friendly manner, invited them to live in their town,
taught the white women to make corn-cakes, and took their
husbands to hunt in their favorite hunting-grounds; and
they promised, after harvest, to sell their whole villag.efor
axes, hoes, and knives. And thus the colonists came into
possession of corn-fields and gardens ready made, which
gave them a much pleasanter experience of the new world
than the poor Puritans had. The colonists named the vil-
lage and the river St. Mary's, and it improved more in six
months than their neighbors the Virginians had done in six
There was one feature about this little Maryland colony
which deserves to be widely known, for in this respect it
was unlike any other community in the world. What was
it, pray ? you will quickly ask. It was this : it hsd no lawo
perseculing people for their religious opinions. I "will not," was
the oath of the governor of Maryland, "by myself or any
other, directly or indirectly, trouble, molest, or discounte-
nance any person professing to believe in Jesus Christ, for
or in respect of religion." Persecutions for opinion's sake
were common all over Europe, and indeed everywhere, at
that period, except in this one little spot the colony of iMary-
land, in the quiet harbors of the I.'l.. P- .i: Here, in this
humble village, religious liberty had a home-its only home
in the wide, wide world.
This, I dare say, will surprise you, because you have
always read about the persecutions of Romanism, and per-
haps you are thinking now of the poor suffering Waldenses
in Piedmont, or of the Portuguese exiles of Madeira; a
great deal also is said at the present time about its intol-
erant spirit in Europe, and even in America. And these
accounts are too true. But let us give honor where honor
is due. The morning star of our religious freedom stood over
St. Mary's, the forerunner of this day of good-will and kind-
ness which has spread over our land, where Baptists and
Presbyterians and Episcopalians and Catholics and Quakers,
and all religious sects, can enjoy their worship without any
to molest or make them afraid. And let us pray that
Roman-catholics throughout the United States may ever
show the noble and tolerant spirit of the fathers and foun-
ders of Maryland.


"I love the missionaries," said Sarah, as she dropped a
cent into the family mission-box. "Wouldn't you like to
have me be a missionary, mother ?"
If you are prepared, my child," answered her mother.
A little girl with a basket in her hand came loitering
down the road. Her dress was faded and ragged; she had
an old black hood on her head, which did not hide her tan-
gled hair, and her bare feet were almost black with dirt.
Her father was a drunkard, and her mother a sickly, shift-
less woman. Nancy was now on her way to school.
"There is a little child that needs a missionary," said
Sarah's mother, who sat at the window.
"Who, mother?" asked Sarah, running to look out.
"Oh, Nancy?"
"Yes," said her mother. "The poor girl needs the

heart of a missionary to love her and do her good. And a
child of pity and sympathy and self-denial would, I think,
be the best missionary for her. Children like to learn of
each other, and love springs up quick between them."
"Why, she is a very hateful girl," said Sarah, the
worst in the school; nobody can go with her."
"I thought she was in great need," said her mother.
Could I do any thing for her, do you suppose ?" asked
Any one who has the heart for it, can do good."
"I am sure I want to do good," said Sarah, as she ran
for her sun-bonnet and books. She plucked a branch of
roses as she passed through the gate, and then joined
Nancy on her way to school.
Good morning, Nancy," she said, as she came up with
Nancy was unused to attention, or even civility, and
looked up surprised.
"Is n't it a pleasant morning ?" said Sarah.
"Humph! I don't know," said Nancy.
Sarah offered her a fine rose, saying, "See how sweet
it is."
Nancy was pleased with it, for there are few children
who do not like a sweet-smelling flower, and whose little
hearts do not smile at the sight of one. Your folks have
got a great many roses, hav n't they?" she said. "I wish
ours had. Once I had a root, and father trod on it and
broke it down."
My mother'll give you plenty of roots in the fall, if
you want them," said Sarah.
"Mother says it's of no use; :i..i i!,'!l grow for us."
"You might have a root in a box, and put it in some
place where it would not be disturbed. I'll give you a
pretty rose-bush in a box next season, if you '11 water it."
Guess I could do that," said Nancy, smiling and put-
ting back her uncombed locks under her hood.
A beautiful bright-feathered bird sung merrily on a tree
by the road-side. "See that beautiful bird," exclaimed
Sarah. How lovely every thing is."
"I'll make him fly," said Nancy with a roguish look, as
she stooped to pick up a stone.
don't," said Sarah; you might kill him."
"No I wont, but I'll scare the rascal."
0 don't. How can you make him afraid when he is



so happy, and singing so sweetly for us? God takes care
of every little bird."
"How do you know?" said Nancy.
"Jesus himself said that a sparrow falleth not to the
ground without him."
When Sarah entered the school-room, she bade the
teacher a pleasant "good-morning," and Nancy had already
felt enough of good influence to follow her example. Good-
morning; I am glad to see you in good season," answered
the teacher encouragingly, and Nancy felt a -,Itr. *... t.
quite new to her.
At noon she was at some of her old tricks, snatching the
girls' bonnets, throwing them in the dirt, and upsetting
their dinner-baskets, because they would not play with her;
so Sarah left her own quiet play and offered to see-saw with
her, to soothe and keep her out of mischief. The other girls
wondered at this, not knowing that Sarah had a good thing
at heart for her.
After school, she said to Nancy, "Come along early to
school to-morrow, wont you ?"
Why ?" Nancy asked.
"I sha'n't tell you now," said Sarah, laughing.
Nancy's curiosity was excited, and she was early the
next day. Sarah was watching for her at her own gate,
and was glad to see that her feet had been half-washed and
her hair half-combed. She had one of her own sun-bonnets
in readiness, and gave it to her, saying, "Your hood is too
warm." Nancy smiled, and handed her a wild flower she
had plucked by the way. She had not learned to say
" thank you" in words, still her heart could express the new
and pleasant feeling of gratitude.
And in such quiet little ways as we have told, Sarah
tried to do Nancy good without embarrassing her and giv-
ing her pain, and it was not long before she had a strong
influence over her. Nancy was one of the poorest scholars
in the school. She could not read at all, and was in the
lowest class in spelling. She now took a start in learning;
and when at her lesson, if she caught Sarah's eye fixed on
her with interest, she tried her best.
Sarah knew well that decency of looks, and kindness of
manner, and diligence in study, are but little in comparison
with true excellence of character and the conversion of the
heart to God; and Nancy was very ignorant of God and his
Sarah wanted her to go to Sunday-school; but Nancy's
mother said "it was too long a walk there for her to go,
and she hadn't clothes fit; besides, she wanted her to take
care of the children, for Sunday was the only day she got;
and more than all, 'twa'n't no use to go to Sunday-school."
Sarah talked with her mother and planned to have a little
Sunday-school of her own after church, and have Nancy
come to it and bring all her brothers and sisters along with
her, so that her mother could not complain. Her own
younger brothers and sisters were to make up the school.
So Nancy began to learn of Jesus and his wonderful
life, and her heart was melted within her at the story of
his love and his death. "Oh, I love him !" was her simple
expression as the tears rolled down her cheeks.
Was not Sarah a missionary child to the poor neglected
Nancy? Are there no other missionary children, and is
there no work for them to do? Have they looked around to
find out the forgotten and the perishing ? p. H.


"Of course it is often impossible to determine what cir-
cumstance in our childhood has had the greatest weight in
forming our character," said a pious gentleman; "but I
think the little prayer-meetings which my sisters and I used
to hold around our mother's knee, have made me what I
am;" and here we may see the little group. What a hal-


I 'i'



lowed sight is it. He who graciously said, "Ask, and ye
shall receive," and who, while on earth, took little children
in his arms to bless them, will not forget his promise. He
is now ready to take them in the arms of his love, and lead
them from temptation and deliver them from evil, and make
them children of God.

It is said by a pastor, that the aged Germans in his
parish in Pennsylvania, when on their sick and dying bed,
will often begin to talk in the German language, the tongue
of their childhood, although they had long ceased to speak
it, and while in health seemed altogether to have forgotten
it. This shows that early impressions are indelible; they
cannot be rubbed out; and it is this which gives such impor-
tance to the instructions of children. It is this, children,
which makes it of such immense account, that what you
learn now, should be worth learning. Among the many things
which you are taught, there is one truth more precious than
all the rest, and it is, that "God so loved the world, that
he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth
on him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Seek
a saving knowledge of this Son of God, your Saviour; that
is a knowledge which will save you, for it is a knowledge
i.ii cannot be gotten for gold, neither shall silver be
weighed for the price of it."



Cold weather has now fairly set in. The birds have
gone south, the trees are bare, the sap has crept down
among the roots, the grass has gone to bed, and all along
the northern states, Jack Frost and the snow king are be-
ginning to take possession of the land. Every thing looks
dreary. Winter is locking up the life of the landscape in
icy fetters, and at the same time he is knocking af the door
of our hearts-not to come in and freeze us, as you may sup-
pose, but to speak a word or two in behalf of those whom
he cannot benefit, but whom he knows we can-the poor.
"Please, sir," said a pitiful-looking child, stopping and
addressing the foreman of a shop, "please, sir, mother is
sick, father is in liquor, we've no bread to eat, no wood to
burn, no clothes to wear; and what shall we do ?"
There are some people who say that nobody need to be
destitute in this country; there is enough to support every
one, if they will work; and if they wont work, they ought
not to be helped. That may be, and yet cases are constantly
coming to light, like this poor boy's, where there is sickness
and vice. No one is proof against sickness; and drunken-
ness, alas, with so many tippling-shops on the right hand
and on the left, so many temptations, both from within and
without, to take a glass, there is dreadful certainty that
there will be drunkenness-and shall not the drunkard's
family be cared for ? Shall not the sick wife and the suffer-
ing children be sympathized with and helped?
There is one thought which throws light upon this point:
Jesus Christ never tried to excuse himself from coming to
save us from our sins, and the sorrows which our sins have
brought upon us. He never said, "They need not have
sinned; and now that they are in want, they may get out
of it as they can." He loved the world; he so loved the
world, that he came to redeem it, even by his own blood;

and the spirit which we ought to have towards men, is just
this spirit of love. We must love men for Jesus' sake.
What has not he done for them ? Let the sick, the homeless,
the friendless, the wicked, never remain beyond the reach of
our heartfelt interest. Do for others, because lhe Sraiour hIis
done for them--do for others, because your Saviouir has done for


You remember the struggles of Martin Luther's boyhood
in order to get an education, with what diligence he prose-
cuted his studies, and how important he felt it was to have
the blessing of God on them. Students sometimes f i.
they are too busy to spend much if any time in devotional
exercises ; but Luther said, To pray well is the better half
of study."
While he was at the University of Erfurt, in his spare
moments he used to visit the library and explore the books,
for books were scarce in those days ; and on one of those
occasions, as he takes down one book and another, he lights
upon one written in Latin, called "The Bible." Luther turns
it over, and is surprised to find it so much bigger than he
supposed, for he has always heard of this famous book,
though this is the first time he ever saw it. How many
books and chapters it contains He opens it and begins to
read, and the place happened to be the story of little Sam-
uel: how his parents lent him to the Lord, and how the Lord
spoke to Samuel and made him a prophet. Luther was de-
lighted with the account. Oh that God would give me
such a book," cried the young man. Luther was nearly
twenty years old when he first met with this precious vol-
ume; and it shows in what a different age we live, when
almost every child has a Bible of his own, and knows the
story of Samuel almost by heart; and how much better
should the children of this generation be, for our Lord says,
"To whom much is given, of him shall be much required."
Not long after this, Luther had a dear friend, Alexis,
who was stabbed in a fray and suddenly killed. The death
affected him very much, and he thought, What would be-
come of me, if I were thus called away without a warning ?"
And surely it is a very solemn question for us all; for we
know neither the day nor the hour when death may come to
us. Luther became anxious for his soul; he felt himself a
sinner ; he knew he had no love to God, so he was much
afraid of him, and kept wishing he could do something to
gain his favor. One day when he was returning to the
University from paying his father a visit, a violent storm
overtook him in the mountains. The thunder and lightning
were terrific. The woods seemed to be on fire, and a heavy
bolt fell nearly at his feet. Luther was terribly frightened.
He fell on his knees and made a vow, if his life was spared,
to devote himself to the service of God; for he dared no
longer live without his friendship and favor; and to die
without them seemed more dreadful still.
The Romish church taught that the best way to live a
holy life and please God was to quit the world and shut
himself up in a convent, which is a religious house for this
purpose ; but the true piety which the Bible teaches, does
not ask us to withdraw from the world, but to keep our-
selves unspotted from it. Luther, in order to fulfil his vow,


determined to enter a convent. His friends were filled with
grief when they heard of it; for they felt that his shining
mind and splendid scholarship fitted him for the highest post
of usefulness in active life. "It is an idle, unfruitful life
you will spend there," said some who were beginning to
perceive a more excellent way. But Luther was in earnest;
he wanted nothing so much as ease for his troubled con-
acience; and if peace and pardon were sure to be found in
a convent, he would and lie must go. So one night he took
leave of his studies, his books, his friends, and all the scenes
once so dear to him, and went to a convent of St. Augus-
tine, where he humbly knocked for admittance, and begged
permission to live there.
The monks were astonished when they saw it was the
elegant scholar Martin Luther, and they were not sorry of an
opportunity of humbling him all they could: Come, come,"
they said, "it is not by studying, but by begging, that a
monk renders himself useful;" and they gave him the bread-
bags and sent him ;.-' from door to door. Martin did
every thing that was imposed upon him; he fasted and did
penance, and thought no .. l;... too great in order to be-
come a saint and win a title to heaven. But alas, poor
Luther soon found that by entering the convent lie had
changed his garments, but not his heart. He found no
peace there: "Oh," he said, "what will deliver me from my
sins, and make me good and holy? How shall I be recon-
ciled to God?" And he almost pined away in sorrow of
By and by a good old man named Staupitz came to the
convent, who soon observed how ill the poor young man
looked; and he asked, "Why are you so sad, brother Mar-
tin ?" "Ah," said Luther, I do not know what will become
of me; it is in vain I make promises to God-sin is ever
the strongest. ""Oh, my friend," said Staupitz, remember-
ing his own experience, "instead of torturing yourself on
account of your sins, throw yourself into the Redeemer's
arms-look at the wounds of Jesus Christ, to the blood that
he has shed for you. God is not angry with you, it is you
who are angry with God. Listen to the Son of God; he be-
came man to give you the promise of divine favor. By his
stripes are you healed; by his blood are your sins wiped
away. Love him who first loved you; and in order that
you may be filled with the love of what is good, you must
first be filled with love for God." What good words; what
light and peace did they afford. Luther listens for his life,
and Jesus Christ began to appear to him as the one "alto-
gether lovely." An unknown joy began to steal into his
soul. "It is Jesus Christ-yes, it is Jesus Christ," he thinks,
"who so wonderfully consoles me."
Luther received much more instruction from Staupitz of
the same nature, and when he left lie gave the young man
a Bible. "Let the study of the Scriptures be your favorite
occupation," said lie. And thus Luther became a Bible
student and a Bible Christian: thus was God preparing him
to become the leader in the glorious Reformation which
shook Popish rites from the consciences of the people, and
brought them to a knowledge of the pure word of God, as it
is found in the blessed Bible.

"Be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving
your own selves."

Should you wish to be told the best use of a penny,
I'll tell you a way that is better than any:
Not on apples, or cakes, or playthings to spend it,
But over the seas to the heathen to send it.
Come, listen to me, and I'll tell, if you please,
Of some poor little children far over the seas.

Their color is dark, for our God made them thus;
But he made them with bodies and feelings like us:
A soul, too, that never will die, has been given,
And there's room for these children with Jesus in heaven.
But who will'now tell of such good things as these
To the poor little heathen far over the seas?

Little boys in this land are well-off indeed;
They have schools every day, where they sing, write, and
To church they may go, and have pastors to teach
How the true way to heaven through Jesus to reach:
Yet, sad to remember, there are few of these
For the poor little heathen far over the seas.

Oh, think then of this when a penny is given,
"I can help a poor child on his way home to heaven "
Then give it to Jesus, and he will approve,
Nor scorn e'en the mite, if 't is offered in love;
And Oh, when in prayer you to him bend your knees,
Remember the children far over the seas.

"I-I-I hate summer !" said a child one day, hesitating
a little whether she ought to say so, but at last speaking
out very much in earnest. "Hate the 1.,: ,i i!,,1 summer!
What can it be for ?" asked her aunt. "Oh, because God
thunders so. His voice frightens me just as it did the chil-
dren of Israel at mount Sinai. Aunt, I do n't wonder they
felt so."
There are many who are afraid of thunder-storms, just
as this child was. But why so? God rules the storm, and
can't we trust him to rule it? God is our Maker, our
Father, and our Redeemer; can't we trust him to take care
of us?
There is a great deal of fear and dread in the hearts of
both children and grown-up people; they feel as Adam did
when, having eaten of the forbidden fruit in the garden, he
tried to hide away from God. It is our doing wrong, it is
sin which makes us afraid. Fear of coming evil follows in
the track of disobedience. Do you remember, when you
disobeyed your father or mother, how afraid you were to
meet them, and how you wanted to get out of their way?
But as soon as you have been forgiven and every thing is
made up, how delightful to be sitting beside them, looking
up into their faces and hearing their voices.
So as to our heavenly Father. If your disobedience has
been forgiven for the sake of Jesus Christ our Saviour, and
you see in God a reconciled and smiling Father, would you
any longer be afraid? Oh, no; trust takes the place of
fear. You will look around on the orchards and skies and
ripe fruit, and say, "My Father made them all," and you
will love them for his sake. You will watch the tempest



and hear the thunder roar and the lightning flash, and him ; yes, I will trust him, for 'blessed are all they that put
sweetly say, "These also belong to my Father ; they obey their trust in him.'" It is in fact the only way to be truly
him and can only do just what he bids them, and I can trust brave.

S.. '* .'


I, -


At h -


Among the various species of ducks is the canvasback
duck, whose juicy and tender meat makes a favorite dish
for the dinner-table. It arrives in the United States about
the middle of October, when great flocks of them alight
around the shores and rivers of the Chesapeake bay, draw-
ing sportsmen from all parts of the Union. They weigh
about two pounds, and sometimes have been sold as high
as three dollars a pair.
If the canvasback duck furnishes a choice dish for the
table, the eider-duck furnishes a warm coverlid for our beds.
This duck lives on the western islands of Scotland, on the
coasts of Norway, Iceland, and Greenland, and some parts
of North America. The mother-bird builds her nest among
loose stones and rough plants, and to make it comfortable,
lines it with the softest down plucked from her breast. This
down, called eider-down, is in great demand, for it is so
light and expansive that a couple of handfuls will fill a
quilt. The men who go out to gather it carefully take the

duck from her nest, strip her of her down and eggs, and
put her back again. Her desolated home she immediately
begins to repair, and lays fresh eggs. It is again robbed
and again repaired, to be robbed again. When her own
down gives out, the drake comes to her help and covers the
nest with his down. About half a pound is taken while she
is laying. A company in Ireland export two thousand
pounds of this down, besides what is bought at private
As soon as the young are hatched, they trip after their
mother, who leads them to the shore. Here they climb on
her back, when she swims out a few yards and dives down,
leaving them floating on the surface and obliged to look
out for themselves. Rather a harsh way of weaning the
ducklings, but they understand it and are seldom seen
much on the land afterwards.
A tame duck, accustomed to feed from its master's hand,
was once offered some spiced bread, which it at first refused


S'w V
A 1.
^^' -*^^II

--r-" ^ ^ < ^ ,^


to take; after several attempts, however, it took the bread
in its bill, and carrying it to a neighboring pond, soused it
about in the water, as if to wash away the disagreeable
taste and smell, and then swallowed it. Was not that a
knowing duck?
Like other water-fowl, ducks have very oily feathers;
and between the quill part and the stem of the feathers
lies a very soft feathery down, fitting closely to the skin,
to defend their bodies from the water.
The duck's mouth also shows the wisdom and goodness
of its Maker. The duck is fond of hunting for its food in
muddy pools, and its bill is formed to do this well. Inside
the edge of the bill there are rows of short, strong, sharp-
pointed prickles, which though they might be called teeth,
are never used for chewing. The duck pokes her beak into
a puddle, sucks in the water, which filtering through the
little openings between the prickles, leaves whatever bits
she selects for food, and passes off. Indeed, even the mouths
of different animals, so wonderfully formed for different sorts
of food and the different modes of obtaining it, speak the
wisdom and intelligence of the great Author of all being-
a perceiving, designing God at the head of creation, by
whose will every thing is made that is made.

It is curious to see how many different kinds of mouths
there are, each adapted to a different kind of food, and the
different ways of taking the food, and the different places
where the food is found.
The human mouth has a good set of tools for biting and
chewing, with the hands to wait upon it, to prepare and
bring it food. The rough tongue, the broad cutting teeth
of the horse, with his long neck, fit him for browsing in the
pastures, and gathering up his food from the earth. The
mouth of a chicken is a pair of nippers, long, sharp, and
bony, to pick up the corn and little seeds.
The woodpecker's mouth has not only to find the food,
but it has to work pretty hard for it. It feeds upon the'
worms and insects which live in the hollows of old trees,
and they have to be taken out some way or other. For this
purpose it has a long, sharp, hard bill like a mallet, and
with this it chisels and taps and taps, and was probably
very busy getting its dinner when the poet went out in the
woods and heard him, and wrote the song,
"The woodpecker taps the hollow beech-tree,"
which has made the woodpecker a famous little bird ever
since. He keeps on working until a hole is deep enough to
reach the poor worm, when he darts out his tongue and
seizes it. This tongue is made on purpose, for it is long,
sometimes darting out two or three inches beyond the bill,
and at the end it is sharp and long, and set with little teeth
like a saw, only running backwards like the barb of a fish-
hook. There is now no escape for the worm; it is hooked
and drawn into the woodpecker's mouth, and made a meal
All this is very curious; yet very different is the but-
terfly's mouth, for the butterfly eats honey, and the flowers
sometimes stow their honey down in little cells, quite out
of the way. But the butterflies have an instrument to work

with; their tongue is hollow inside like a tube, made of a
great many little rings, moved by little muscles. When it
is not in use, it is coiled up, so as not to be in the way;
but when it is wanted, it is unrolled and darted down into
the bottom of a flower, and the honey is sucked up through
it very much as boys sometimes suck cider through a straw.
As you study the mouths of other insects and other
birds and other animals, and the finny tribes, you will find
this wonderful adaptation of the mouth to obtaining the
proper food. These different mouths could not have hap-
pened so ;" they could not have made themselves; could they?
Does any body seriously suppose they could have come by
chance? The study of mouths brings out a degree of skill
and contrivance which could belong only to a great, intelli-
gent, contriving mind, and it forms a deeply interesting
chapter in the great book of God.

About ten years ago, a young man from the United
States, by the name of G- went to Mexico as a travel-
ling dentist. He was pleasing in his manners, and made
friends and money wherever he went. The war which
broke out between Mexico and the United States, I suppose
interrupted his business, as it did also the farming and
mining operations of a number of Americans, who were
obliged to abandon their farms and mines at a great sacri-
fice of property.
When the war was closed, Congress put aside three
millions of dollars to pay these men for their losses, and a
committee was appointed to decide upon their claims and
pay them their just dues. Among these claimants G-
appeared, who came to Washington and set up a claim to
nearly half a million of this money, for the loss of a silver
mine which he said he owned in Mexico. He brought a
great budget of papers to prove his claims, and engaged
able lawyers to manage the business. After examining his
proofs, they said it was all right, and he was paid 420,000
dollars. G-- was now a very rich man: he was young
and handsome, and a great many, I dare say, envied his
good fortune. After dashing about in Washington and
New York, leading a life of gayety and fashion, he went to
Europe to enjoy all that was to be enjoyed on the other side
of the waters. Every thing seemed prosperous and well
with him, and his rise from a poor boy to a rich man was
thought to be very wonderful.
All the papers relating to the Mexican claims had to be
filed and put away for safe-keeping in the State depart-
ment, and while G- was in Europe, it fell into the hands
of a newly appointed Secretary, the Hon. Mr. Davis, to do
this work. This gentleman, it happened, had lived fifteen
years in Mexico. While examining G- 's papers about
his silver mine, in order to file them, he was extremely puz-
zled. "Why," he said, "I have lived for years at San Luis,
where this silver mine is said to be situated, and there is
no such'mine there! Here is a clear cheat;" and perhaps
there was no man in the United States who was so well
acquainted with that locality, and of course so able to ex-
pose the cheat, if there were one. Thus God by his provi-
dence unravels the designs of wicked men. But able law-
yers had examined the matter, and pronounced it all right;



the money had been paid out, and all the country knew
about it: could he dare to rise up and call it all a cheat?
"Yes," said Davis, firmly, "I do dare: there is no such
mine as G-- lays claim to, and government has been
defrauded out of this great sum of money by a lie."
He wrote to the Attorney-general, whose business it is
to look into such things, but no notice was taken of his let-
ter. He then published his views in a newspaper, which
President Fillmore saw; and he immediately sent for Davis
to ask what he meant. Mr. Davis stated his suspicions,
and, before all the Cabinet, persisted in his declaration.
"There is no such mine," he said. The President imme-
diately sent five gentlemen to Mexico to explore the coun-
try, and examine and ferret out the truth. They came back,
and said Davis was in the right.
And now, how do you suppose G- felt; for he had
got back from Europe, and a writ of prosecution was out
against him ? Oh, he made quite light of it, for he had pow-
erful friends who had the utmost confidence in his integrity,
and money enough to employ the ablest counsel in his be-
half; and sure enough, the first trial acquitted him. But
those who knew where the truth lay, determined never to
give up. Another delegation was sent to Mexico, and these
confirmed what the others had said, and brought home fresh
evidence against him. The case was in the court more than
three years, and at last drew to a final close. This was
last March. There must have been a terrible burden on his
heart, although he kept up a good appearance, laughed and
talked, and was seen in the streets as usual; and besides,
he was on the point of marrying a beautiful lady in George-
At last the case was given to the jury, and his friends
waited with anxiety and impatience for their verdict. After
twenty-three hours it came-Guilty. Oh, what a change of
hopes and prospects. He was immediately taken into cus-
tody, and the next day was led out a prisoner to receive his
sentence-ten years in the state prison. It was an awful and
solemn hour. Clad in a felon's dress, he was carried to his
solitary cell; but no sooner had he entered it, than he fell
to the floor in the agonies of death. Unable to meet his
ignominious fate if the case went against him, he had pro-
vided poison beforehand, which he had taken, and thus mur-
dered himself-adding suicide to forgery, and leaving an
impressive confirmation of the Scriptures, "He that pursu-
eth evil, pursueth it to his own death."


"Do you want to buy some good books, sir?" asked a
colporteur of the captain of a vessel. No," answered the
captain, "I've no time to read; my cook is so good a man
that he does all the reading and praying on the ship."
"Then you think there is such a thing as piety?" said the
colporteur. "Certainly I do," answered the captain; "no
man can go a voyage with my cook, and not be convinced
of that fact."
With your leave I should like to see him, sir." Cer-
tainly," answered the captain, and kindly leading the way
to the galley, he told the steward who the colporteur was,
and what had brought him aboard; and while the men

stood round his basket of books as he read over the titles,
the German cook pointing to the basket, exclaimed, "Che-
sus Grise in dere, and (.'l. Grise up dere ;" and clasping
his hands on his breast, Chesus Grise in here, too." Tils
simple burst of pious feeling touched the hearts of the sail-
ors. The captain bought a package of books and gave one
to each of his men, and turning to the colporteur, said,
"That is our Christian." The poor cook was a lircin sermon
to both captain and crew; and the captain, though pro-
fessing no religion himself, always allowed his men fifteen
minutes in the morning and fifteen minutes in the .._
for their private devotions. No man has a more orderly
crew than mine," he says; "they are always ready."

The mountain and the squirrel
Had a quarrel.
The former called the latter, Little Prig:"
Bun replied, "You're doubtless very big;
But all sorts of things and weather
Must be taken in together,
To make up a year
And a sphere;
And I take it no disgrace
To occupy my place.
If I'm not as large as you,
You are not as small as I,
And not half so spry:
I'11 not deny you make
A very pretty squirrel track:
Talents differ; all is well and wisely put:
If I cannot carry forests on my back,
Neither can you crack a nut !" EMERSON.

"I've got no father; he's dead," said one little girl.
"I've got two fathers; one down in High-street, and
one is my heavenly Father," said her companion.
I thought how sweet it was to have two fathers; one
might indeed die, but the other will never die; my heavenly
Father will love me and take care of me all my days; He
can carry me through the gate of death, and take me to his
blessed home in heaven to stay with him for ever.



"Reuben, have you learned all your lesson?" asked a
Sabbath-school teacher. "All but the long references;
they looked so hard, I did not try," was the answer of one
of the tallest boys in the class.
"Frank, have you got yours; all of it?" "Yes, sir,"
was the prompt reply of one of the smallest boys in the
same class.
"Not afraid of the references, then ?"
No, sir, I hope not."
The two ways in which these two boys learned their
Sabbath-school lesson, probably expresses the spirit with
which they will meet all the difficulties of life ; they are the
ways which make men or unman them. In one case the boy
masters his work; in the other, the work masters the boy.
In the one are resolution and industry, which must conquer;
in the other, weakness and indolence, which must make
cowards. Let the boys look at this and remember, that
what they are contented to be as boys, they will be as men.


A little girl seven or eight years old was going up one
of the steepest streets in N-- carrying a basket full of
bits of wood and shavings on her head: she had no hood or
bonnet, and her face and ears were very red and cold; so
were her naked hands. The wind blew hard, and a great
deal of sleet had fallen the day before, freezing as it fell,
and making the pavements very slippery. As the little girl
stepped slowly and carefully, to keep her basket well bal-
anced, a large boy, dressed in warm comfortable clothes,
went behind her, and slyly knocking her basket, sent it
tumbling to the ground, scattering the wood in every direc-
tion. The shavings went flying down the hill, and the bas-
ket rolled over and over after them. The boy who had done
all this mischief, burst into a loud laugh. The little girl
turned upon him a sorrowful and reproachful look, and said,
"No, no," and then ran for her basket. She slipped and
fell. Poor thing! her troubles were many, and she began
to cry aloud. The boy still stood and laughed. Just then,
a gentleman who had seen the whole, came up, and laying
his hand on the boy's shoulder, said,
See what you have done. Was it a smart thing for a
great boy to knock over a little girl's basket on a cold,
windy, slippery day? What skill or cunning was there in
the trick? Any body could have done it that had a heart
bad enough. What fun was there in it? I cannot see any.
Did you feel happy when you did it ? I know very well you
did not; although you laughed, you didn't feel well in your
The boy said nothing, but held down his head and looked
"You are sorry for what you have done," continued the
gentleman; "I see that you are. Now do all you can to
make up for it. Pick up the wood, and as many of the shav-
ings as you can, and put them in the basket for the little
girl. Her fingers are already stiffened with the cold." The
boy did so; and then turning to the gentleman, said, "Shall
I put the basket on her head, sir ?" No," was the answer;
"you are stout and strong, and you had better carry it

home for her. You ought to help her all you can, after
what you have done."
"\Where do you live?" said the gentleman to the little
girl. "Plemot-street," she answered in broken English.
" Plymouth-street; that is not far from here. What is your
name?" Lena Schneider." "You are a little German
girl, are you not?" he asked. She nodded her head, smiling
as she did so; for though he was a stranger, her heart was
warmed by his sympathy and kindness. Pleasant tones
and kind acts make acquaintance and friendship and love
very quickly. Oh, how much happiness they make both for
those who give and those who receive them.
The gentleman walked beside the little Lena on her way
to her home, while the boy followed with her basket. She
turned into a narrow street of old wooden houses, and
stopped at the cellar-way of one of them : "Tank ye; good-
by," she said, as she reached for her ba-sket.
"Do you live here?" asked the gentleman. -!H. again
nodded her head and smiled.
"We'll go in and see your mother," said he.
Lena went down the old stairs, and opening a door, led
them into a low, dimly lighted cellar, where sat a woman
making baskets. On a blanket by her feet lay a miserable
child, though its face looked old and withered. Two other
children were sitting on the floor playing with small pieces
of basket-stuff. The mother and Lena spoke together in
German, and the mother rose to offer what seats she had to
the visitors, while Lena put some of the wood she had been
gathering on the dying fire. The gentleman asked some
questions about the family, but the mother could not under-
stand a word of English. He learned from Lena that the
husband and father had died on the passage from Germany;
that their money was all gone, and they had no friends in
this part of the country to help them. He gave them some
money, and then took his leave with the boy.
When they had reached the street, he asked the boy his
name. "William Leonard," he answered. "Now, Will-
iam," said the gentleman, as he wrote a few words on a
scrap of paper, I am sure you would be glad to do a little
to help that poor woman and her children." Yes, sir,"
said William, his face brightening as he spoke. "Then
take this note to my house, No. 54 V- street, get as
large a basketful of hard wood as you think you can well
carry, and take it to the poor Germans. Those icy bits of
old boards that they have, wont do much towards warming
them in that open fireplace; they will need something more
before I can get them a load of coal from the city, and a
stove. Now, good-morning; will you not come and see me
in a few days?" "I should like to," said William. "And
then you may perhaps be able to tell me that there is more
pleasure in helping people and doing them good, than in
playing unkind tricks upon them." "I think there is now,"
was the answer.
William got a very large load of hard wood at the house
he was directed to, but it did not seem very heavy to him,
his heart beat so lightly and happily. When he carried it
to the cellar, he found the mother and children gathered
around a rude table, on which there was a single dish of
stewed vegetables, which they were sharing together.
William was surprised at such humble fare. It did not
seem to him sufficient, and he asked Lena why they had no
bread or meat, and if they did not like them.



"Yes; goot, goot," she answered; "no money."
William told her that the gentleman had given her
money, but she made him understand that it must be saved
for their rent. He at once thought of a few cents which he
had in his pocket, hurried to the nearest grocery, and
bought a loaf of bread. He laid it on the table before the
poor family without saying a word, and departed, feeling,
0 how much better, than when he stood, that very morning,
laughing at little Lena, as she lay crying on the ice, her

wood scattered, and her shavings and basket flying away
before her. As he closed the cellar-door, he heard Lena's
loud, "Tank ye," and the laughter of the other children,
mingled with the mother's German blessing.
He heard something else, too-a gentle voice in his own
breast approving his conduct. It was the echo of a voice
from heaven, which speaks forgiveness to every child that
repents of wrongdoing, forsakes it, and begins to do right,
trusting in Christ for mercy. p. H.


The Pilgrim Fathers were a company of pious men, with
their wives and children, who came from England to this
country two hundred years ago, in order to found a colony
according to their views of truth and duty. In England,
at that time, people were obliged to worship God accord-
ing to certain prescribed methods. These were thought by
many pious people not to be necessary to God's worship-
indeed, to be hurtful to true religion; they wanted more
piety and less pomp. This displeased the king and nobles,
and they persecuted the Puritans, as these people were call-
ed, until finding no hope of comfort and quietness in Eng-
land, they determined to seek new homes in some other land.
I suppose it must have been a very severe trial to leave
their dear homes, and pleasant gardens, and schools and
churches, and friends and neighbors, and a plenty to eat
and to wear, for a home in a howling wilderness, as New

England then was; but they were willing to make any sac-
rifice for conscience' sake. The free enjoyment of their relig-
ion was far dearer to them than all the ease and plenty of
They made the land on the cold and desolate shores of
Cape Cod, and on the 22d of December, 1620, landed at
Plymouth rock, after a long and tedious voyage across the
Atlantic. The beautiful little poem of an English lady de-
scribes,and enters into the spirit of this scene with great
power and pathos. It is familiar to many of you, I know;
but it is one of those beauties in which there is so much soul,
that we never get tired of it, and we want every body that
does not know it, to make its acquaintance and love it too.
The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches tossed;


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And the heavy night hung dark
The hills and waters o'er,
When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.
Not as the conquerors come,
They the true-hearted came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drum,
Or the trumpet that sings of fame:
Not as the flying come,
In silence and in fear;
They shook the depths of the desert's gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,
And the stars heard, and the sea!
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
The ocean eagle soared
From his nest by the white wave's foam,
And the rocking pines of the forest roared-
This was their welcome home!
What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war ?
They sought a faith's pure shrine.
Aye, call it holy ground,
The spot where first they trod;
They have left unstained what there they found-


A gentleman who was on a journey, and somewhat fear-
ful, from the appearance of the sky, that rain was not far
off, asked a poor shepherd whom he saw by the wayside,
what sort of weather it would be on the morrow.
It will be just such weather as pleases me," answered
the shepherd.
Though the answer was spoken very civilly, in a mild
tone, the gentleman thought the words themselves rather
abrupt, and asked him how that could be.
Because," replied the shepherd, it will be such weath-
er as shall please God; and whatever pleases him, always
pleases me."
This beautiful answer was made by David Saunders, a
shepherd on Salisbury Plains, England, about whom Mrs.
Hannah More has written a very celebrated tract. He was
poor in worldly goods, but rich in heavenly treasures. His
life was a lonely one, and often he had little to eat; but he
said his Bible, which he used to keep in the thatch of his
hut, was often his meat, drink, and company. This little
talk with the stranger showed him to be a true child of
God, for he saw and loved the authority of his heavenly
Father in every thing, even in the fair or cloudy weather
of to-morrow.
This spirit of sweet submission to God's rule in the
little events of life, would save from the grumbling and ill-
humor which cloud the sunshine of many a child. We are
often disappointed and blamed; we often make mistakes
and forget; things do not always turn out as we expect;
but by these God is pleased to try us, and we must accept
them from his hand, and strive to improve by them, and
feel that whatever pleases him should please us.
A little boy wants to go a skating Saturday afternoon,

but his mother has good reasons for not giving him leave
to go. Shall he pout and fret and rebel against his moth-
er's authority? God pleases that I shall mind my mother,
and whatever pleases him, pleases me," says the little boy,
cheerfully giving up. Is not that the true and happy
Sickness visits a blooming little girl, and she has suffer-
ing days and wakeful nights. God might, if he saw fit,
immediately cure her; and because he does not, shall she
give way to an impatient and complaining temper? If it
pleases God to afflict me in this way," she says, I will try
to bear it patiently; for whatever pleases God, ought to
please me."
Do you not see how such a spirit would help to lessen
her pains, and even give her songs in the night? Is it not
a sweet and lovely' spirit? This is the spirit of the child
of God.

More than two millions of boys in the United States are
now attending the various schools and institutions of learn-
ing in this country. This is a great multitude, and it may
be safely said that the future political state of the nation,
and the future interests of the church, much depend upon
the principles which they are now taught and acting upon.
These boys will soon be voters, and share the heavy respon-
sibilities of our elections; many of them will be church-
members, to be the Pauls, the Peters, or the Judases, of the
American church. It may not be amiss to watch "the
signs of the times," and ask, under what influences and
agencies the young Americans are growing up to manhood.
What is the tone of morals among them ? What the stand-
ard of religious character ? What the prevailing tastes
and popular pleasures? What books do they read? What
kind of literature is most sought after? These are ques-
tions of deep import. Are parents and heads of families,
and instructors and preachers and lecturers, and sabbath-
school teachers, and editors and book-makers fully alive to
them ? Are we teaching, both by example and precept, Bible
principles, noble aims, and generous ideas, and manly pur-
poses, and integrity, and justice, and the charity which
suffereth long and is kind? for "righteousness exalteth a
nation, but sin is a reproach to any people." "Happy is
that people whose God is the Lord."


Casey, a murderer who was executed at San Francisco
a short time ago, just before the rope was put around his
neck, made a short and broken speech, in which he traced
back his crime to its fountain-head. Gentlemen," he said,
I am no murderer. My faults are because of early educa-
tion. Where I belonged, I was taught to fight, and that to
resent my own wrong was my province. I have an aged
mother; and let her not hear me called a murderer or
assassin. I have always resented a wrong, and I have
done so now.
Oh my poor mother, my poor mother; how her heart
will bleed at this news! I but resented an injury; my



poor mother. This will wring ner heart. Oh God, have
mercy upon me. My Jesus, take care of me. 0 God, with
the accumulated guilt of twenty-eight or twenty-nine years,
have mercy upon me. My poor mother !"
The hot passions of the boy, as you see, had never been
bridled. He was suffered to fight out an angry spirit, like
the wild beasts of the forest. It is a mistake to call this
manliness: it is brutality; it is a thirst for blood. True
manliness checks personal resentments ; it is temperate and
forbearing; if wrongs are to be righted, they are to be
righted not by personal violence, which would turn the
world into a den of tigers, but by reason, by just and sober
views; often by forgiving and forgetting many things
which cannot be helped or atoned for.
The patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit."
"An angry man stirreth up strife, and a furious man
aboundeth in transgression."


About fifteen years ago, in 1838, a Japanese junk was
blown by bad weather far away into the Pacific ocean. Her
sailors, who had never ventured beyond the islands of the
Japan coast, knew not how to guide their frail boat over
the pathless waters, nor were they acquainted with the
great countries that lay beyond it. She drifted along with
the winds and currents, and was at length cast away on
the shores of Oregon, and the frightened crew found them-
selves on a strange soil, they knew not where.
The poor fellows were picked up by the American ship
Morrison, whose captain generously offered to carry them
back to their native land. Continuing her voyage, she put
in at the port of Jeddo in Japan, and word was sent on
shore of the object which she had in coming.
And how do you think the captain was rewarded for his
kindness,.and how were the long lost men received by their
countrymen? The ship Was fired upon and driven from the
Japan coast, while the poor returning shipwrecked sailors
were put to death, under a cruel law two hundred years
old, which says, "All Japanese who return from abroad
shall be put to death." This was Japan policy, and Japan
was the only country in the world which turned her back
upon other nations, and shut up her heart, her doors, and
her ports against every foreigner.
For the cause of this uncivil and cruel policy, we must

look a little into her past history. More than two hundred
years ago the Romish church sent missionaries to chris-
tianize the East, and Japan allowed them to enter her do-
mains. A great many Japanese embraced Christianity;
and although it was an imperfect Christianity, as that must
ever be which does not carry an open Bible with it, yet it
told of Jesus ('l! i. who died to save the world, and many,
it may be hoped, heard his invitations of mercy and became
his true followers. The heathen priests did not like lhe
new religion; and at last, when the emperor took oflence
at something which did not please him in the Romish mis-
sionaries, the flames of persecution were kindled, and thou-
sands of Christians were put to death; churches were
pulled down, crosses were trampled upon, and every ves-
tige of the Christian faith which the Roman-catholics had
introduced, was destroyed. Over a huge grave where a
great number perished, the emperor set up this blasphe-
mous inscription: "So long as the sun shall
warm the earth, let no Christian be so bold as
to come to Japan: and let all know that the
king of Spain himself, or the Christian's God,
or the great God of the universe, if lie violate
this command, shall pay for it with his head."
It is of course very difficult to get much
knowledge of the interior of Japan; its best
known production is her famous varnish, taken
from the varnish-tree, which yields a rich, milky,
glutinous juice. There she has long stood, with
her population of 25,000,000, on the great high-
way of nations, shutting up her ports against
shipwrecked sailors; refusing to sell supplies
._ to starving crews on long and dangerous voy-
- ages; driving from her shores with gunpowder
--- and ball the tempest-tossed mariner who would
seek shelter from the storms; doinq no good,
and letting nobody do good to her.
And can this long continue? Ah, no; she must learn
the lesson of brotherhood and submit to the law of kind-
ness. She will again receive the Lord Jesus, for God him-
self has said, "The earth shall be full of the knowledge of
the Lord as the waters cover the sea," and "from the rising
of the sun unto the going down of the same, my name shall
be great among the heathen." The gospel will again go to


There was once a little girl whose name was Kitty, and
she had two advisers, who were always telling her what
she had better do. One generally spoke the quickest, and
that I shall call the first adviser: the other, who was mod-
est, though very faithful, shall be called the second. Some-
times she minded one, and sometimes the other; and accord-
ing as she heeded the one or the other, so she behaved.
Kitty slept in a near her mother's, and her
mother usually waked her in the morning with, "Jump up,
Kitty." Early one winter's morning, Jump up, Kitty,"
waked the child, and she lifted her head, and it looked
early, and felt quite wintry. "I would not get up," said
the first adviser, who was always sure to be at hand; be



quiet in your snug little bed; it is very cold and early;
stay where you are warm."
"Kitty, it is time to be stirring," whispered the other,
for they were always cross-counselling each other. "It is
time to be stirring, Kitty; your morning duties are wait-
ing for you; up, up !" Kitty thought a moment, and then
jumped up. She carefully dressed herself; then she shut
the door and knelt down to pray, thanking God for his kind
care through the night, and asking for help through the
day. Then she skipped out, crying joyfully, Mamma, can
I help you? can I help you, dear mamma ?" but her mamma
had gone down stairs; so she sat down by the fire in her
mother's chamber, and began to study her spelling lesson ;
and study Kitty did with all her might. After breakfast,
she dusted the parlor, and fetched papa's boots, and hushed
the baby, and did all she had to do with a sweet and will-
ing spirit; and her mother thought, as her little one went
to school, "What a comfort Kitty is to me." All the morn-
ing Kitty was hearkening to the second adviser.
I do not know how it was during the forenoon at school,
but as Kitty was walking down the sunshiny side of the
street, on her way to school in the afternoon, "It is too
pleasant to be cooped up in a school-room," whispered the
first adviser; "it is nice to walk, it is nice to play, to slide,
or do something else." Kitty listened, and as she listened,
she lagged and lagged more and more, until, in quite a
discontented mood, she reached the school-room. School
had begun, and she was tardy; this was quite provoking.
Kitty went to her seat, and sat down in rather a pettish
manner. "Pleasanter to be walking than to be here,"
whispered the same adviser. Then she opened her desk,
and screened by the cover from the teacher's eye, she began
to whisper to one of the girls to go to walk after school;
but the teacher saw it, and it grieved her. Then Kitty
nibbled a cake. Then, when her class was called up, her
lesson was not learned, and she missed, and she pouted,
and the first adviser kept saying, "It is too long a lesson
by half;" and Kitty cried, and said she could not learn
it. Alas, Kitty had not tried, and the teacher was sorely
grieved, and she said, "Kitty can be studious and good,
but sometimes she is very troublesome."
Now, which adviser was the safest and best; the first
or the second? The first was called Feeling, and the sec-
ond Principle. Feeling seeks only to gratify for the mo-
ment; Principle endeavors to do what is right. Feeling
looks only at self; Principle has an eye on the comfort and
interests of others as well as self. Feeling is uncertain,
unsteady, and not to be relied upon; Principle is true,
straightforward, and trusty. Which adviser is safest and
best; and which do the little girls follow who read this?

The Hon. Lewis Cass of Detroit, one of the oldest men
in his country's service, having been for many years an
officer both in the civil and military departments, gives this
valuable testimony: I have never tasted ardent spirits in
my life, and therefore know they can be dispensed with.
Probably few men have undergone more fatigue than I
have. The most active portion of my life was passed in a
new country on the very verge of civilization, and much of

it beyond, and I have had my full share of its exposures,
exertions, and privations, in peace and in war. I have had
too my full share of health. I might almost say that I have
enjoyed uninterrupted health; and I am therefore a living
proof that ardent spirits are not necessary for physical en-
durance, under any circumstances of toil or trial. It was
this conviction which led me, when Secretary of War, to
authorize the commutation of the ration of ardent spirits
previously issued to the troops, for its equivalent in coffee
or sugar, which has since made part of the supplies fur-
nished to our army."

These are the words of an angel in a vision of the
prophet, and they are urgent. Run; make haste; moments
are precious: what you do, do quickly. Why and when is
all this haste ? I will tell you. It is when the young reach
the turning-points of life, and every thing is depending upon
their turning right. It is when temptation is drawing them
into forbidden paths, and good principles are laying hold to
keep them back.
A young man is going with gay companions to an even-
ing carousal. They make a mock at sin. The jest, the
joke, the glass, allure him on. His mother's prayers and
his father's counsel are fast losing their hold upon him; his
principles and pledges will be soon forgotten. If he now
take the social glass, by and by he may take the solitary
glass. "Run, speak to this young man."

S. -..

Another is away from the restraints of home. It is the
Sabbath, and his fellows invite him to a trip of pleasure.
" We have toiled the livelong week," say they; let us now
go and make merry." Shall he leave the house of God?
Shall he profane holy time ? Only once," says the temp-
ter; "and what harm is there in once?" He is halting
between two opinions. ('In;- t; ',, "run, speak to this young
man," and tell him, for this was the anger of the Lord kin-
dled against his people, "because they profaned his holy
things and despised his Sabbaths."



The Spirit of God is striving with another, and he feels
anxious for his soul; death and judgment, and heaven and
hell have a solemn meaning unfelt before ; he begins to con-
sider his ways, and the great question, What shall I do to
be saved?" trembles on his lip. The tempter beckons him
away, and says, "Rejoice, 0 young man, in thy youth; and
let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth ; and walk
in the ways of thy heart, and in the sight of thine eyes;"

and as he listens, his seat at the prayer-meeting is empty,
and he turns his back upon pious friends and the means of
grace. Christian, run, speak to this young man," and say
further, But know thou, for all these things God will bring
thee into judgment." Seek the Lord, while lie may be
found; call upon him, while he is near."
May the Lord's people be always ready to obey this

" i-r ---..- -
, - *- .

ij <~--~. -;^ ^ '.
" i:;.--'. -
/td ',. I

.5.. ~-.1


The scene is in Russia. It is winter. A box-sleigh,
roughly built, is filled with men driving through the forest.
I suppose they were merry, and never thought of danger;
and yet there was danger. The wild beasts of the forest
are stirred in their lair. They snuff the air, and the smell
of prey sharpens their appetite. Crackling among the dead
bushes and patting over the crisped snow, a pack of hungry
wolves eye the unwary travellers, and hover on their track.
Soon they spy their danger, and, Escape I escape 1" is their
cry. The horses are urged forwards ; they clear the woods,
they leap over the frozen snow, but the wolves press on:
they gain upon them; they draw nearer and nearer; foam-
ing and glaring, they surround the sleigh right and left,
rear and front. One springs upon the horses; the men
fight from the sleigh, but they have a terrible enemy, and
the result-what will it be? Travellers, it is said, thus
attacked, sometimes throw out one of their number, hoping
while the beasts halt to devour him, to gain time for their
own escape.

Is n't it the very worst thing that could happen," said
Robert, "to be chased by a pack of hungry wolves ?"
"It is very bad, Robert; but is there nothing worse ?"
"There are other sorts of wolves that may be just as
bad," said he, looking earnestly up into my face.
"Ah, what?" I asked, interested to learn the drift of his
He did not answer immediately, but at length said, "I
think intemperance is a real wolf, dogging people, sucking
out their lifeblood, and at last tearing them to pieces."
I cordially agreed with Robert, and asked if he thought
of any other. He stopped longer than before, and then
answered, "Temptations to dishonesty. A clerk begins by
taking his employer's money little by little; by and by he
is overrun by the temptation, and finally it ruins him. And
it seems to me," said Robert with an expression of sober
and earnest thought, "that all temptations to do wrong are
like a pack of wolves lurking round to destroy you; and



they come-creeping and creeping and creeping nearer, until
at last, especially if you are on their ground, they pounce upon
you, and master you in spite of yourself."
Surprised and pleased at the boy's remarks, I was ask-
ing further in relation to them, when he said his minister
preached something like it once in one of his sermons, and
he had never forgot it.
"Then it is safe to keep off their ground, is it not,
Robert ?"
Indeed it is," answered the boy.


"Now I am out of the coop," said mother hen to her
chickens, "let me show you this fine barn-yard; it is a nice
place to scratch for a living; there are a plenty of grubs
and worms, and many a stray crumb you will find round
the door. Besides, every night and morning we shall have
a mess of chicken dough from the woman who lives in the
house. She thinks a good deal of my chickens, and I hope
you will behave in a manner worthy to be thought of-
that's all. I am thankful to be out of the coop again,
taking a walk with you and showing you round," and the
hen mother looked with a proud "cluck" upon her brood,
and all the little ones chirped, "chick," "chick," "peep,"
" peep."
"But, chickens," said the hen mother, "you must try
and remember all the advice I gave you before we left the
coop: you are now beginning to act for yourselves, but do
not be selfish; love each other, help each other; do not be
greedy; if one finds a grub, call the others to share your
meal; if one finds a worm, don't scamper off and go away
alone to eat it by yourself; help your brothers and sisters
to a mouthful, it will taste all the sweeter. But selfishness
and greediness will be sure to tempt you away from the
brood and expose you to great dangers; for if one of you
is caught alone, the cat will watch her opportunity and
pounce upon you; or worse still, the hawk, that great ene-
my of our race, will dart down upon a straggling chicken,
carry you up in the air, and eat you up; so remember, and
share with each other, and you will be as happy a flock of
chickens as ever hen had." And they all cried "chick,"
"chick," "peep," "peep," and ran cheerily around the good
hen mother in the bright sunshine.
But after a while there was one who began to think
more of his crop than his mother's counsels; he snatched
the grubs from the bills of his brothers, and always ran off
when he got a rich morsel. One day he found one of the
fattest and nicest worms of the season. "Good," clucked
the greedy chicken, I sha'n't spare a bite of this to any
body; I '11 have a feast all to myself." And he ran as fast
as his little legs could carry him, with the big worm dan-
gling from his bill, behind the shed under the great elm-
tree. There he expected to be very happy.
But selfishness in one way or another always makes
people wretched; and so it happened with the little chick,
for lo, a hawk which had long been watching the brood
from a neighboring tree, spied the stray one behind the
shed, made a sudden dive, and by the time it had swal-
lowed its last mouthful, seized it bythe throat and wheeled

away with it into the air. What a scream of agony and de-
spair came from the poor affrighted chicken as it caught a
last look of the hen mother nestling her little ones under
her wings, safe from the hungry hawk. "If I had only
shared my worm with them," said the dying chick.
"See the consequences of a selfish and greedy spirit,"
said the poor hen mother with a sigh. "Do good with
what you have, or it will do you no good;" and all the
trembling little ones answered, "Peep," "peep," "chick,"

Who bids for the little children-
Body and soul and brain;
Who bids for the little children?
Bid quick, who the lot would gain.
"We bid," said Pest and Famine,
"We bid for life and limb;
Fever and pain and hunger
Their bright young eyes shall dim."
"I bid," said Beggary, howling,
"I'll buy them, one and all;
"I'll teach them a thousand lessons,
To lie, and skulk, and crawl."
"And I'll bid higher and higher,"
Said Crime with a wolfish grin;
"For I love to lead the children
Through the crooked paths of sin."
Oh, shame !" said true Religion,
Oh shame, that this should be !
I'11 take the little children;
0 give them all to me.
I'll raise them up in kindness,
From the mire in which they've trod;
I'll teach them words of blessing,
And lead them up to God."

As long ago as the year 1806, a vessel came into New
York, bringing two copper-colored boys from the Sandwich
Islands. Little was then known about the Sandwich
Islands, except that they were in the Pacific ocean, on the
other side of the globe, inhabited by savages, who killed
Captain Cook the great navigator. One of these boys the
captain took to New Haven, where his family lived; and
when it was known among God's people that the poor lad
was a heathen, a great interest was felt for him; for a mis-
sionary spirit was just kindled in New England, and the
claims of the heathen, perishing without a knowledge of the
Saviour, were beginning to excite the sympathies of Chris-
tians. They determined to teach this poor Sandwich
Islander, and he soon left the captain's house to live in the
family of Dr. Dwight, President of Yale College. His native
name was Obookiah, and Henry was soon after added for
his Christian name.
At first, Obookiah had a dull, heavy countenance; but



as soon as he began to learn, his face brightened, and
"What dis? what dis?" showed how anxious he was to
improve. Obookiah soon saw the folly of idol-worship.
" Hawaii gods !" he cried ; "they wood-burn-they no see,
no hear, no any thing; we make them-God make us."
After a while he was sent to a school at Andover, and the
pious instructions which he received were blessed to his
soul. Obookiah felt himself a poor sinner, but when he
found that Jesus could wash his sins all away, he went to
Jesus, and prayed, "Lord, save me, or I perish." Then he
said, "The Lord Jesus did appear altogether lovely, and his
mercy was welcome to a sinner as I." What a blessed
change was this for the poor heathen: once his mind was
" all black, very black," his heart mud, all mud;" when the
knowledge of God and his Son Jesus Christ shined into him,
what light and comfort did he experience. When out in
the field, I can't help think about heaven," he says. "I go
in the meadow-work in the hay, my hands-but my
thoughts in heaven all the time-then I very happy."
Obookiah's first and chief desire now, was to prepare
himself to go back and preach the gospel to his country-
men-" to tell the folks in Hawaii no more to pray to stone
gods-to tell them about heaven and hell." All his studies
were directed towards the ministry, and he made great
improvement not only in his studies, but in true piety.
After a while he used to go on missionary tours with Rev.
Samuel J. Mills, one of the first foreign missionary agents,
and his presence everywhere kindled an interest, because,"
they said, here is evidence that a heathen can be converted,
and become a true ('1.i- lti:i man." Just before Obookiah
completed his studies at the mission-school in Cornwall, he
was taken sick. Oh, how I want to see Hawaii," he said;
"but now I think I never shall. God will do right. He
knows what is best." And though he felt sweetly submis-
sive to God's will, the tears ran down his cheeks, for his
heart yearned over his poor land. Instead of going to
Hawaii, Obookiah went to heaven.
His death was universally felt. Every body who knew
him loved him; and when it was remembered how he
prayed for his countrymen, and longed to have the precious
gospel carried to those dark and distant shores, there were
pious men and women who said, "We will go-send us;"
and this was the beginning of the mission to the Sandwich
Islands. The undertaking looked difficult and discouraging:
the islands were a great way off; the people were savages,
and very cruel; they would be cut off by a great ocean
from all civilized and Christian nations; but the path of
duty looked plain, and in October, 1819, seven missionaries
with their wives, and two or three natives, sailed from Bos-
ton for the distant mission.
They did not then know how God was sending them a
great while beforehand to plant the Bible and the church and
the Sabbath and the school on that great highway of the
nations, in order to be ready for the great business move-
ments which are now calling people from every part of the
world to the shores of the North Pacific ocean.
While these missionaries were on their voyage, a very
strange thing took place at the islands. The old king, who
was a great bigot, died, and a new king ruled in his stead.
The religion of the islanders was very oppressive, as idola-
try is always apt to be, and it subjected the people to very
foolish and cruel restraints, one of which was the "tabu."

The tabu would not allow this, and it would not allow that ;
and when any thing was tabued, that is, made sacred by the
priests, nobody must touch it. The new king Rilho-Rliho
wanted to get rid of the tabu, for it would not allow him to
eat with his wives, and he determined to do so. So lie
made a great feast, and invited all the chiefs of the island;
and in the midst of it he arose up and went to the table
where the women were, and sat down and began to eat
with them. Such a thing was never seen before. The peo-
ple were in a great fright. They expected to see their
gods strike him dead. But when they saw no harm come
of it, they clapped their hands and cried, "Ai noa, ai noa !"
"The eating tabu is broken !" and a few days afterwards lie
issued orders to have the idols thrown down and their cruel
rites abolished. So the Lord prepared the way for the com-
ing of his servants, who, when they arrived, heard the won-
derful news that the tabuss were broken, the idols burnt."
Riho-Riho had heard of the God of the white man, and
spoken of him ;" and so that prophecy of the Bible was ful-
filled, "The isles shall wait for his law."
God had indeed signally prepared the way for the estab-
lishment of this mission. And the chief interest in the study
of history is to trace his "ruling hand," linking together
different and distant events, and exhibiting the great chain
of his providential care.
These islands, now so important, are about twelve in
number. The largest of them is Hawaii, 97 miles long and
18 broad; Honolulu, the greatest port of the Pacific islands,
is on a somewhat smaller island, called Oahu. They are
1,800 miles west of California, and once it was a five or six
months' voyage from New York to reach them: the mails
now come from them by steam in sixty days. By mission-
ary toil they have been redeemed from idolatry and made a
Protestant Christian nation; a beacon light in the midst of
the great western ocean.

Are my flowers awake,
That were sweetly sleeping ?
Yes, they lift their heads,
Dewy tear-drops weeping.

Have the bees come forth?
At their work they 're singing,
To the busy hive
Honeyed treasures bringing.
Is my birdling up ?
Hark I his song he raises;
Let me join him too,
With my morning praises.

L. H. S.

Mabel learned a verse from the Bible every morning
before breakfast, and repeated it to her mother; for as the
Bible is the word of God, we should early store up in our
memory its wholesome instructions. Mabel's verse one
morning was, Obey them that have the rule over you, and
submit yourselves." This means," said her mother, when
the little girl repeated her verse, "to obey your parents,




and mind what they say." "Yes," said Mabel, "I must
mind father and mother, and aunt Jane when I am left in
her care, and grandmamma when I go and visit her."
It means more than that," said her mother ; "it extends
to teachers." "It does ?" cried Mabel; "I did not think
the Bible told us to mind our teachers. I wonder if Miss
Pillow knows that the Bible told us to mind her."
Mabel thought a great deal about her verse till school-
time, and she thought she should try more than ever to
mind Miss Pillow. But it was so hard to keep from whis-
pering. She said she never could, and there was no use in
trying; and Miss Pillow was often much grieved by Mabel's
disobedience. When Mabel reached the school, she tried to
think of every thing she should want to say, before it
began. So she asked Clara if she had brought the seeds
she promised her, to plant in her little garden; and asked
Bell if she did not think the spelling-lesson long; and told
Mary of four little kittens that she found when she went
home yesterday; and then said to Helen, who sat next to
her, "Now, Helen, if you have any thing to ask me, you
must ask before school begins, because I am not going to
whisper in school-time; it is against the rules: I mean to
mind Miss Pillow." Helen then said she wanted to borrow
one of her slate-pencils, and so the borrowing and lending
all took place out of school-hours, just as it ought to have
As soon as school began, Mabel took her books and
slate and began to study very diligently; for with a heart
and purpose to obey, she had contrived to dispose of every
thing which would hinder her; and so Mabel did all day.
At recess, and before and after school, there was time
enough to talk and play.
After school in the afternoon the teacher called Mabel
to her, and said how pleased she had been with her behav-
ior, she had been so studious and obedient, and she kissed
her and called her a good little girl. Was not Mabel
happy? Yes, she felt very happy; and she saw that the
rules of the school are made for the scholars' good.
"Obey them that have the rule over you, and submit
yourselves," repeated Mabel again on going to bed; and
then she added what follows: "for they watch for your
souls, as they that must give account, that they may do it
with joy and not with grief." And the little girl lay awake
thinking how good Miss Pillow was, and how happy she
had been made by trying to mind her Bible verse.


Did you ever think what care somebody takes of the
seeds ? Some, as in the pea tribe, are put into pods, which
keep out the wet of the heaviest rains ; and the pods are
sometimes lined with a fine down, as in the bean. Some-
times they are enveloped in wool, as in the cotton plant;
or lodged in the scales of a cone, as in the pine; or barri-
caded with prickles, as in the thistle ; or placed under a
roof, as in mushrooms ; or plunged overhead in a syrup, as
in grapes and oranges; or imbedded in a fleshy substance,
as in pears or apples; or pricked into the surface of a soft
pulp, as in strawberries ; or encased in a hard shell, as in
nuts. Nothing can be more single than the design, more

diversified than the means. Shells, skins, scales, pulps,
pods, husks, are all employed for the same purpose.
And did you ever think what there is wrapped up and
to be taken care of in every little seed ? In its body there
is a provision made for two purposes : one for the safety of
the sprout, which is the future plant folded up within it. It
is very delicate and brittle, and cannot be touched without
being broken: yet in peas and beans and grains and fruit
it is so secured on all sides, so shut up and protected, that
while the seed itself is tossed into sacks, or shovelled into
heaps, the tender sprout within remains unhurt.
The second provision is the support of the sprout. In
grains and kernels and pippins the germ or sprout com-
poses a very small part of the seed. The rest is a sub-
stance from which the sprout draws nourishment for some
time after it is put into the ground, until the fibres shoot
out, and suck the juices from the earth in a sufficient quan-
tity to feed it.
Who has bestowed such contrivance and care on the
little seed? Was it the farmer? Was it done by the skill
and study of the gardener? No. It was One greater than
they. It was God, who in his care for men and women and
children, and all this great world, does not forget or over-
look the smallest seed.

It was the beginning of vacation when Mr. Davis, a
friend of my father, came to see us, and asked to let me go
home with him. I was much pleased with the thought of
going out of town. The journey was delightful, and when
we reached Mr. Davis' house every thing looked as if I were
going to have a fine time. Fred Davis, a boy about my
own age, took me cordially by the hand, and all the family
soon seemed like old friends. "This is going to be a vaca-
tion worth having," I said to myself several times during
the evening, as we all played games, told riddles, and
laughed and chatted as merrily as could be.
At last Mrs. Davis said it was almost bedtime. Then I
expected family prayers, but we were soon directed to our
chambers. How strange it seemed to me, for I had never
before been in a household without the family altar. "Come,"
said Fred, "mother says you and I are going to be bed-fel-
lows," and I followed him up two pairs of stairs to a nice
little chamber which he called his room; and he opened a
drawer and showed me a box and boat and knives and
powder-horn, and all his treasures, and told me a world of
new things about what the boys did there. He undressed
first and jumped into bed. I was much longer about it, for
a new set of thoughts began to rise in my mind.
When my mother put my portmanteau into my hand,
just before the coach started, she said tenderly, in a low
tone, Remember, Robert, that you are a Christian boy." I
knew very well what that meant, and I had now just come
to a point of time when her words were to be minded. At
home I was taught the duties of a Christian child; abroad I
must not neglect them, and one of these was evening prayer.
From a very little boy I had been in the habit of kneeling
and asking the forgiveness of God, for Jesus' sake, acknow-
ledging his mercies, and seeking his protection and bless-



"Why don't you come to bed, Robert?" cried Fred.
"What are you sitting there for? Can't you unbutton?"
Yes, yes, I could unbutton; but ah, boys, I was afraid to
pray, and afraid not to pray. It seemed to me that I could
not kneel down and pray before Fred. What would lie
say? Would he not laugh? The fear of Fred made me a
coward. Yet I could not lie down on a prayerless bed. If
I needed the protection of my heavenly Father at home,
how much more abroad. I wished a thousand wishes; that
I had slept alone, that Fred would go to sleep, or something
else, I hardly knew what. But Fred would not go to sleep.
Perhaps struggles like these take place in the bosom of
every one when he leaves home and begins to act for him-
self, and on his decision may depend his character for time
and for eternity. With me the struggle was severe. At
last, to Fred's cry, "Come, boy, come to bed," I mustered
courage to say, "I will kneel down and pray first; that is
always my habit." "Pray?" said Fred, turning himself

* ~ 14

'- ii*,~

over on his pillow and saying no more. His propriety of
conduct made me ashamed. Here had I so long been afraid
of him, and yet when lie knew my wishes, he was quiet
and left me to ii, i1i How thankful I was that duty and
conscience triumphed.
That settled my future course. It gave me strength for
time to come. I believe that the decision of the Christian
boy," by God's blessing, made the Christian man ; for in
after-years I was thrown amid trials and temptations, which
must have drawn me away from God and from virtue, had
it not been for my settled habit of secret prayer.
Let every boy who has pious parents, read and think
about this. Take a manly stand on the side of your God
and Saviour, of your mother's God and Saviour, of your
father's God. It is by abandoning his ('1i, li, birthright
that so many boys go astray, and grow up to be young
men dishonoring their parents, without hope and without
God in the world.

- .. t .

.. -
N 1j.- ~~

A new danger to the brood. Carlo is bounding on their
track. See the mischievous fire in his eye, and the snarling
curl of his jaws. And see how the mother hen fronts him.
She afraid not she. She knows no fear when her chicks
are to be defended. How bravely she bristles up to him.
How she fires her angry cackle in his face. Carlo has made
a stand, but it is doubtful, with all his courage, whether he
can maintain it. And see all the while how trusting the
little chicks are. Under their mother's wing, they fear no

evil not a feather is ruffled; not a
"- peep" of distress is heard: chicken-
hearted as they are, they neither fly
.. nor run away, but confide in the pro-
-* tector which God has given them.
~ And have you never observed how
weakness and strength are placed side
by side in this world ? Wherever there
is a feeble vine or a delicate tendril,
there is a firm support for it to lean on. Wherever there is
helpless infancy, there is protecting strength to defend it.
Wherever there are fainting hearts, there are immortal
hopes to cling to; and so, if you will mind it, this ten-
der care for the humblest things which He has made, runs
through all God's universe-in the forests, in brute hearts,
and among the children of men, the defenceless find their
Do you remember that sweet story of old, of the mother
who was likely to be robbed of her darling boy ? A cruel
tyrant had decreed its death. She could not save it. A



-r I-..-


helpless mother, what could she do ? She felt weak, then
was she strong ; and she made a little water-proof basket
and laid her baby in, and put it among the reeds in the
river Nile. Was she afraid? O no ; because she commit-
ted it to the protection of God; and he looked down from
heaven and saw it, and saved it.
"And thus, when fears and dangers rise,
Upward we lift our streaming eyes
To our protector God,
Whose meanest creatures have a share,
In his all-wise paternal care,
And in his heart of love."

When I was a little boy," said a gentleman one even-
ing, I paid a visit to my grandfather, a venerable old man,
whose black velvet cap and tassel, blue breeches, and huge
silver knee-buckles filled me with great awe. When I went
to bid him good-by, he drew me between his knees, and
placing his hand on my head, said, Grandchild, I have one
thing to say to you; will you remember it?' I stared into
his face, and nodded, for I was afraid to promise aloud.
'Well,' he continued, 'whatever you do, do the best you can.'
"This in fact was my -'Ii 'ii ..: ':, legacy to me, and it
has proved better than gold. I never forgot his words, and
I believe I have tried to act upon them. After reaching
home, my uncle gave Marcus and me some weeding to do
in the garden. It was Wednesday afternoon, and we had
laid our plans for something else. Marcus, fretted and ill-
humored at his disappointment, did not more than half do
his work; and I began pretty much like him, until grand-
father's advice came into my mind, and I determined to
follow it; in a word, I 'did my best, And when my uncle
came out, I shall never forget his look of approbation, as
his eyes glanced over my beds, or the fourpence he slipped
into my hands afterwards, because7 as he said, 'my work
was well done.' Ah, I was a glad and thankful boy; while
poor Marcus was left to drudge over his beds all the after-
"At fifteen, I was sent to the academy, where I had
partly to earn my own way through the course. The les-
sons came hard at first, for I was not fond of study; but
grandfather's advice was my motto, and I tried to do my
best. As a consequence of this, though I was small of my
age, and not very strong, my mother had three offers for
me before the year was out, and one was from the best mer-
chant in the village, 'a place' in whose store was consid-
ered very desirable. When I joined the church, I tried to
do the Lord's work as well as I did my own; and often
when I have been tempted to leave the Sunday-school, or
let a small hinderance keep me from the prayer-meeting, or
get discouraged in any good thing, my grandfather's last
words, 'Do the best you can,' have given me fresh courage,
and I would again try; for if we do what we can, we can
safely leave the rest with God."
Here then was the key to this man's character. He is
considered one of the best business men, one of the best
citizens, one of the best officers in the church, one of the
best friends of the poor, one of the best neighbors, fathers,
husbands, friends; in a word, lie is universally beloved and
respected. And what is the secret of it all? He always

tried to do the best he could. What a motto. Acted upon, it
will do wonders. It will bring out powers and capabilities
which will surprise and delight ourselves and our friends.
"Do your best," or as the Bible has it, "Whatsoever thy
hand findeth to do, do it with thy might ;" or again, "What-
soever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord."

Dr. Judson was one of the first missionaries from the
United States. He went to Burmah, a heathen country in
Asia. After learning the language, he built a zayat, where
he used to sit and teach the new religion of Jesus Christ;
and often he read aloud from the Bible or a tract, to gain
the attention of the passers by.
One day a Burman officer passed with his little son.
The child looked into the zayat, and cried, See ; there is
Jesus Christ's man. Amai; how white." And every time
they went that way, the child looked in and smiled, and
raised his nut-colored hand to the missionary, as much as
to say, Good-morning, Mr. Teacher; I am glad to see you."
The missionary's heart was drawn towards the child, and he
longed to tell him of that dear Saviour, who "took little
children in his arms, and blessed them."
At length the Burman and his son stopped at the zayat,
and the child brought a tray full of golden plantains, which
he placed at the missionary's feet, "My little son," said
the father, "has heard of you, sir, and he is very anxious to
learn something about Jesus Christ. It is a pretty story
you tell of that man, and it has quite delighted little Moung-
moung." The missionary and the Burman had a long talk
about the new religion, and all the while the child sat on
the mat, listening with all his might. At last he sprung
forward, and cried, "Hear, papa; let us both love the Lord
Jesus. My mother shilcoed to him, and in the golden coun-
try she waits for us."
His mother was dead; but before she died, and while
Moung-moung was a baby, he fell sick, and his mother went
to Dr. Judson to get medicine for him, which when the mis-
sionary gave her, he gave also the gospel of St. Matthew,
and said it was medicine for her. She read the book, and
found the Saviour; and when she died, she begged the
nurse who took charge of the little boy to teach him the
Jesus Christ religion; and as he grew up, the nurse took
every opportunity of telling him about the good missionary,
and the little she knew of the wonderful and blessed truths
which he taught. The little Moung-moung loved to listen,
and although his father hated the Christians, he tenderly
loved his son, and visited the zayat for his sake. But he
never came again; and not long after, the cholera broke
out, the zayat was closed, and death and wailing reigned
One night the teacher was suddenly called to Moung-
moung's house, from which issued a wild wailing sound, as
if death were there. No one seemed to mind the arrival of
the foreigner, and he followed the sound until he stood by
the corpse of a child. It was all that was left of bright
little Moung-moung. "He worshipped the true God, and
trusted in the Lord our Redeemer," said his old nurse, hold-
ing a palm-leaf before her mouth; "and the Lord who loved
him took him home to be a little golden lamb for ever."