BOOK 248.4.C76H c. 1 CONGREGATIONALIST AND HERALD OF GOSPEL LIBERTY ft HOUSEHOLD READIN 3 T1S3 000t,bfl73 3 HOUSEHOLD READING: p^ Selectio7ts from \ THE C0NGREGATI0NALIST.3.^i 1849-1867. BOSTON: W. L. GREENE & CO., 15 CORNHILL. 1868. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by GALEN JAMES & CO., Sa the Clerk's OfBce of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. /^. University Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Co., Cambridge. PREFACE. A N attempt has been made, in this volume, to compile ■^-^ from the columns of the " Congregationalist " a book which, as its title indicates, shall be adapted to household reading ; and it is believed that its contents will prove at- tractive and useful to all classes, young and old, and equally acceptable in all evangelical denominations. The aim has been to include as large a number of writers as consistent with the plan of the work ; and the principal difficulty has been to select from the great amount of mate- rial fui-nished by the files of the paper. In some instances only a part of the original article has been used ; and, with very few exceptions, it has been impossible for the authors to read their proof. Therefore they should not be held accountable for any errors m newspaper printing which may have been copied into this volume. It has been necessary to omit many articles of great merit, by other writers, simply from the fact that the time or circumstances in which they were written, or the topics treated, rendered them inappro- priate in a work of this character, it being necessary to regard the tastes and preferences of those for whom it is prepared. This explanation, it is hoped, will be satisfactory to those who might otherwise justly expect to find themselves repre- sented. IV PREFACE. A greater number of volumes and tracts have probably- been compiled from the columns of the " Congregationalist " than from any other religious paper of its age, which dates back to 1849. The first work of the kind was Professor Thomas C. Upham's " Letters ^Esthetic, Social, and Moral," a volume of 586 pages, which was published at Brunswick, Maine, in 1855. It was not stereotyped, and the edition was quickly exhausted. Rev. Dr. Joseph S. Clark's " Congrega- tional Churches in Massachusetts " was issued in 1858. " Street Thoughts," by Rev. Henrj M. Dexter, D. D., soon followed, a single chapter of the book having appeared in the " Congregationalist " each week of the preceding year. " Helps over Hard Places," one volume for boys and one for girls, consisting of the inimitable stories furnished by Lynde Palmer, were republished by the American Tract Society in 1862, and have had a very extensive sale. Articles by Gail Hamilton, who first became known to the public through the columns of the " Congregationalist," and was for several years one of its most valued contributors, have been republished in " Country Living and Country Think- ing," and other volumes from her pen. Sophie May's " Little Prudy," an extremely popular book with children, was issued in 1864 ; and other articles from the " Congregationalist," by the same author, have been republished in the later volumes of the " Prudy Books." " The Potomac and the Rapidan," a volume of over four hundred pages, compiled from the popular army letters of Rev. A. H. Quint, D. D., was also issued in 1864. Numerous articles by Rev. John Todd, D. D., have been republished in a set of four books called " Mountain Gems," and in other PREFACE. V volumes from his able and ingenious pen. His Sermon on Future Punishment, published originally in the " Congrega- tionalist," was adopted and printed by the American Tract Society, both in Boston and New York, and was also trans- lated and circulated very extensively in Turkey. Several articles by Julia Gill, and her sister, Frances Lee, have been republished in books. Quite a number of productions from the pen of James William Kimball have found extensive cir- culation through the press of the American Tract Society ; and many other articles from the " Congregationalist " have also been republished as tracts. " Charity Chapters " is tho title of a little volume of stories for children, by Tracy Towne, republished by the Massachusetts Sabbath School. Society. The poem near the close of this volume, entitled "No Sects in Heaven," has been very widely printed. At last ac- counts the London reprint alone had reached two hundred and twelve thousand. A fair estimate of the character, scope, abiHty, and popu- larity of the " Congregationahst " may be formed from these pages and the names of contributors in the table of Con- tents ; and the aim of its conductors in the future will be not to fall below the standards of the past. C. A. R. Boston, December 1, 1866. A third edition of this work having been called for, the publishers have enlarged it to 514 pages, by the addition of two or three articles of special interest, and have appended a brief history of the consolidated journal now issued by them. CONTENTS. DATE. Fob. 23, 1866. Feb. 22, 1861. May 21, 1806. Dec. 18, 1857. April 4, 1862. Jan. 19, 1866. Sept. 28, 1860. March 11, 1864. Feb. 24, 1865. Feb. 9, 1866. Nov. 3, 1865. June 23, 1865. May- 18, 1866. Jan. 4, 1861. Feb. 24, 1865. Feb. 24, 1865. Nov. 17,1865. Feb. 16, 1866. Oct. 4,1861. Nov. 27, 1863. March 30, 1866. Feb. 7, 1865. June 26, 1861. Oct. 3, 1862. Nov. 30 and ; 7, 1849. S Dec. Jan. 13, 1865. Oct. 7, 1859. May 5, 1865. Feb. 14, 1864. Oct. 5, 1866. March 30, 1866. March 30, 1866. June 1, 1866. Oct. 12, 1849. March 6, 1863. PROSE. TITLE. Pastor Harms The Journey's End . . , Draw, not drive . . . The Crooked Disciple . Death by Edification . The Old Folks at Home . The One Thing Needful Dr. Emmons Geology and Genesis . . The Old Wagon-Wheels A Reminiscence of Dr. Wayland Preparation for Public Prayer Fear, the Basis of all Law . . Paper Flowers Something about Tunnelling Singing in Church Building around Home .... Shall I quit the Ministry ? . . A Soldier's Funeral Obtaining Help in the Country ZiONWARD The Pastor's Eeward .... Paying a Physician in Germany Virginia Dare AUTHOR. PAOB. Prof. E. A. Park . . 1 Rev. J. S. C. Abbott . . 21 Mrs. E. N. Horton . . 23 Mrs. J. D. Chaplin . . 27 Rev. Wooster Parher . 31 Rev. John Todd, D.D. . 42 Gail Hamilton .... 47 Rev. Alexis W. Ide . . 50 W. D. Gunning ... 51 Rev. George Trask . . 57 Rev. Elias Nason ... 66 Rev. Pliny U. White . Rev. I. P. Lanffhoorlhy . A. D. Richardson . . Rev. J. K. Nutting . . Rev. Lewis Sabin, D.D. Rev. A. B. Quint, D.D. Mrs. S. A. F. Herbert . Rev. Sam'l Wolcott, D.D. Rev. P. C. Headley . . Frances Lee .... 68 72 78 81 84 87 92 95 99 101 107 110 112 Servetus AND Calvin Rev. Joseph Haven, D.D. 117 The Bridle on the Wrong Horse Why I CANNOT be a Universalist REMIiaSCENCES OF COBDEN . . . Cards That Sum ln Addition .... Sojourner Truth Preventives of Intemperance . Willing Thomas Scott, the Commentator A Rational Conversion .... Rev. Abraham Burnham 128 Rev. Zachary Edihj, D.D. 132 Rev.J.P.Tk>mpson,D.D. 141 Mrs. P. H. Phelps . . 144 Rev. H. B. Booker, D.D. 147 Rev. B. L. Bammxmd . 149 Prof. J. M. Boppin . . 152 C. A. Richardson . . . 160 Rev. L N. Tarbox . . 167 Rev. W. B. Willcox . . 175 Till CONTENTS. Sept. 15 1865. Oct. 5 1866. May 17 1861. April 14, 1865. April 21 1865. April 21 1865. April 21 1865. April 28, 1865. ]\ray 11 1866. March 30 1866. Oct. 30, 1857. Dec. 10, 1858. Mav 22, 1857. April 27, 1866. April 26, 1850. Dec. 15, 1853. 1862. July 28, 1865. March 30, 1866. Feb. 20, 1857. Oct. 19, 1866. May 8, 1863. Sept. 21, 1860. Sept. 25, 1863. Dec. 11, 1863. May 10, 1861. April 2', 1860. April 29, 1857. Aug. 25, 1865. July 20, 1866. Jan. 8, 1864. Dec. 3, 1858. June 1, 1858. Jan. 5, 1866. April 11, 1862. Oct. 19, 1866. Marcl I 3, 1863. May 25, 1866. March 2, 1860. Dec. 17, 1858. Feb. 8, 1856. Jan. 12, 1866. April 20, 1866. Sept. 4, 1863. Oct. 19, 1866. Aug. 17, 1866. Oct. 23, 1863. June 26, 1863. Dec. 28 1855. The Name of God Rev. Selali Merrill . . 173 Stephen Arnold Douglas . . . Rev.LeonnrdBacon,D.D. 179 OuK National Flag Eev. H.M. Dexter, D.D. ISS General Lee's Surrender . . . Samuel Burnham . . . 190 Assassination of the President . Samuel Burnham . . . 193 Abraham Lincoln JRev. H. M. Dexter, D.D. 194 President Lincoln's Funeral . Samuel Burnham . . . 197 The Assassination Rev. E. N. Kirk, D.D. . 199 President Lincoln Prof. W. S. Tyler . . 202 A Talk with President Lincoln Rev.J.P.Thom2^son,D.D. 208 Vain Thoughts Rev. P. B. Day, D.D. . 216 Speak about Christ! Rev. J. A. Copp, D.D. . 218 Brother Croaker Rev. G. B. Willcox . . 227 No Fear FOR THE Christian . . Mrs. S.G. Ashion . . .230 Regeneration Rev.Edw.Beecher,D.D. 232 The Flower in the Desert . . Prof. Thomas C. Upham 233 A Virginia Schoolma'am . . . Rev. A. H. Quint, D.D. 234 Ministerial Irreverence . . . Rev. A. H. Plumb . . 237 An Antiquarian Dinner .... Rev. W. L. Gage . . . 240 How ARE You? Rev. H. D. Walker . .246 I can't love Him J. W. Kimball .... 248 The Power of Little Things . . Rev. William Warren . 254 How long shall I LIVE ? . . . . Rev. J. S. Sewall . . . 255 Advice to toung Preachers . . Rev. Enoch Pond, D.D. 259 Anecdotes of Clergymen . . . Mrs. F. D. Holmes . . 266 The jesting Deacon Rev. J. S. Clarh, D.D. . 267 I can't repent Rev. L. H. Cobb . . . 270 Thomas Guthrie Rev. J. 0. Means . . 271 Death in the Ball-Room . . . Rev. Leander Thompson 275 Preparation Necessary . . . Rev. A. W.Burnham,D.D. 277 Jesus WEEPING Rev. H.M. Dexter, D.D. 280 Giving as we spend Rev. W. M. Thayer . . 281 Theological Controversy . . . Rev. W. A. Stearns, D.D. 283 A Freedman's Wedding .... Rev. Horace James . . 285 Parental Influence Rev. M. S. Howard . . 287 The English Government . . . Rev. C. Gushing . . . 289 Usefulness of Faultfinders . . Rev. William Phijijjs . 294 Honor for Thieves Samuel Burnham . . . 295 " We esteemed Him not" . . . Rev. E. W. Gilman . . 298 Two Dying Boys Rev. George B. Jeweit . 299 Pendants and Pillars .... Rev. D. Butler . . . 3C3 Luke Short Rev. J. A. Vinton , . . 305 Andersonville Prison .... Rev. Hiram Eddy . . 307 Gone! — so suddenly Rev. Lyman Whiting . 310 God's Anger Rev. C. R. Bliss . . .312 The Pleasures OF Travel . . . Rev.J.C.HolbrooJc,D.D. 314 God is Love Rev. W. T. Briggs . . 315 Extemporaneous Preaching . . Worthingtonnooker,M.D.Sil Length of Life Rev. A. L. Stone, D. D. . 324 CONTENTS. IZ June 27, Jan. 30, Apri] 2, Jan. 6, March 2, May- 25, May 31, Feb. 17, March 2, Feb. 8, Oct. 12, Feb. 6, Dec. 25, July 27, Dec. 21, May 1, March 18, April 15, Dec. 19, Oct. 4, Oct. 8, Dec. 8, Aug. 5, Oct. 16, Nov. 1, Jan. 31, April 12, Sept. 14, April 25, Dec. 29, July 21, July 16, Nov. 20, March 17, May 8, April 24, Sept. 11, Sept. 5, June 1, Jan. 28, Marct 24, Aug. 24, July 2", April 13, Dec. 2 Dec. 16, July 24, Aug. 28, March 30, , 1862. N. H. Female Cent Institution • Eev. William Qark . . 327 ,1863. N. E. Homes IN KooRDiSTAN . . . Jiev. Justin Perkins, D.D. SSd , 1858. The First Death-Bed Rev. Mortimer Blake . 332 , 1860. Testimony of the Stars .... C. C. Coffin 334 , 1862. Grace abounding Rev. T. E. Bliss . . . 341 , 1866. The Bible in the Pulpit . . . Rev. James G. Vase . . 344 , 1861. Gone Gail Hamilton . . . .346 , 1865. Opinions of a Negro Rev. E. P. Smith . . .351 , 1860. System in Benevolence .... Rev. D. T. Fiske, D.D. . 355 , 1861. Monica and her Son Rev. J. Jay Dana . . . 356 , 1866. Forms and Ceremonies .... Rev. Jonas King, D.D. . 362 , 1857. Do YOUR Best Rev. A. C. Adams . . 364 ,1853. Not A New Idea IN IT Rev. H. M. Dexter, D.D. ZQ% , 1860. High Street, Edinburgh . . . Rev. W. L. Gage . . . 371 , 1860. A Laughing-Stock Rev. I. P. Langworthy . 375 , 1857. Fickle Piety Rev. J. W. Wellman . . 377 , 1864. The Prayer-Meeting Rev. J. E. B. Jeweit . . 386 , 1864. A Word in Season Mrs. C. L. Blake . . . 387 , 1862. Dead Mrs. J. N. Stevens . . 389 , 1861. Prayer in a Perilous Position . Rev. M. K. Cross . . . 393 , 1858. Iago Prof. J. M. Hoppin . . 394 , 1865. The First Glass Rev. George Trask . . 399 , 1864. Deacon Rising's Dancing-School Rev. John Todd, D.D. . 399 , 1863. Endless Roads Rev. J. S. Sewall . . , 409 , 1861. Brother Grimwood Lynde Palmer .... 410 , 1851. Hypocrisy Rev. R. S. Stoj-rs, D.D. . 414 , 1861. Eleonora, a Poor Sinner . . . Rev. J. S. C. Abbott . . 417 , 1866. Science and the Bible .... Rev. I. N. Tarbox . . 420 , 1862. The Night of Despair . . . Rev. P. C. Headley . . 422 , 1865. Professing Christ 3Irs. E. N. Horton . . 423 , 1864. Crazy Catherine Julia Gill 425 , 1858. Blackburn and the Lawyer . . Rev. J. T. Tucker . . 433 , 1857. Man not made for Perdition . . Rev. E. N. Kirk, D.D. . 435 , 1865. The Angky Inquirer Rev. Leander Thompson . 439 , 1857. Morning Musings Rev. D. P. Noyes . . . 441 , 1857. Heat vs^ithin aids Heat without Rev. E. W. Oilman . . 444 , 1857. Pay that thou owest .... C. A. Richardson . . . 446 , 1866. Scene on Mount Washington . . Rev. Jonathan Edwards . 448 , 1855. Peace in Trial Rev. W. C. Jackson . . 454 , 1859. The Minister's Monday .... Rev. George T. Dole . . 457 ,1861. Progress BY Convulsion . . . Rev. S. Mc Call . . .459 , 1866. Origin of Musical Syllables . Rev. J. A. Vinton . . . 461 ,1866. Eminent English Preachers . . Rev. J. P. Thompson, D.D. i6i , 1866. Soldiers' Monuments Eon. Amasa Walker . . 470 , 1859. Home Debts Rev. J. M. Chamberlain 474 , 1859. Laban Wheaton's Question . . Rev. George Allen . . 476 , 1863. The Darkened Cage Rev. P. C. Eeadley . . 479 , 1863. Christ as a Preacher .... Rev. C. W. Torrey . . 479 , 1S55. Maranatha Rev. Timothy A. Taylor 485 X CONTENTS. June 10, 1859. The Silence of Sckiptcek . . . Rev. Jonathan Brace . 488 May 18, 1866. Our Senior Deacon 491 Jan. 11, 1867. Gunga 3frs. Julia P. Ballard . 497 Sept. 5,1867. A Hidden Cross Prof. J. C. Bodioell, B.D. oOG Sept. 4, 1857. Christian Doctrines 509 The Congregationalist amd Boston Recorder .... 511 JUVENILE. Wings, some Day; N. L. E. 25 Kitty's Rebellion Jenny Bradford ... 37 The Young Conqueror .... Lynde Palmer .... 47 Take my Hand, Papa S. E. Biidgman ... 78 Reproved by a Child Mrs. J. N. Stevens . . 91 The Broken Wagon Jiirs. M. J. Richardson . 104 Fred's Goliath S. C Dunning .... 129 Dreamed IT Rev. A. 31. Richardson . 138 What are you thinking about ? . Lucy Larcom .... 161 The Bewitched Gun Frances Lee .... 163 Eleanor's Story Tracy Towne .... 213 Not lost, but gone before . . . Genesee 222 Prudy's Knitting- Work . . . . Sophie May 251 Miss Daffodil Miss E. Stuart Phelps . 317 A Reform-School Scene . . . Rev. T. D. P. Stone . . 328 Little Willie Ellen S. Eastman . . 338 The Little Teacher Sophie May 880 Coasting Mrs. M. J. Richardson . 405 Herbert's New Year Miss C. M. Packard . 428 Charley Grey's Dream .... Mrs. C. H. Haskell . . 450 Good at a Bargain Mrs. P. H. Phelps . . 482 POETEY. Let me go Rev. Ray Palmer, D.D. 20 Anglo-Saxon Whittling Song . Rev. 1. N. Tarbox . . 34 Waiting Julia Gill 46 A Child's Evening Hymn . . . Miss C. M. Packard . 59 The Village Clock 70 My Angel-Dress Lucy Larcom .... 86 Textual Song E. W. B. Canning . . 98 Up there, Mother 108 Six Little Feet on the Fender 127 The Sweetest Word Mrs. S. A. F. Herbert . 139 Ministry of the Departed . . . Mrs. S. J. H. Tenney . 158 Unfinished Life Mrs. M. S. Corning . .173 The Isle of the Long Ago . . . B. F. Taylor . . . .189 Hearken, Little One N. F. Carter . . . 212 Losing and Living Rev. H. W. Parker . , 220 Feb. 15, 1861. Oct. 28, 1864. April 13, 1860. Dec. 9, 1864. Jan. 18, 1858. Sept. 19, 1856. May 26, 1865. Feb. 15, 1861. Sept. 12, 1856. July 7, 1865. Aug. 19, 1864. July 13, 1866. Aug. 30, 1861. March 31, 1865. Dec. 21, 1860. Julv 11, 1862. Sept. 13, 1861. Jan. 16, 1857. Jan. 2 1863. Aug. 1, 1856. Nov. 20, 1863. Nov. 2, 1860. Feb. 5, 1864. May 4, 1866. Feb. 16, 1866. April 27, 1866. Feb. 5, 1858. Jan. 1, 1866. Oct. 5, 1866. Oct. 7, 1859. July 29, 1864. May 31, 1861. Oct. 5, 1866. May 18, 1866. Sept. 4, CONTENTS. XI Aug. 6,'1858 Feb. 7, 18C3. March 3, 1866. Jan. 26, 1863. Dec. 15, 1865. March 20, 1863. Oct. 26, 1860. Feb. 4, 1859. July 4, 1856. July 6, 1866. April 1, 1864. Jan. 29, 1864. Nov. 9, 1866. March 9, 1866. July 27, 1866. Sept. 23, 1859. Nov. 20, 1863. Sept. 7, 1860. Deeds of Kindness 245 Invitation to the Sabbath School Eev. Owen Street . . . 258 Cast down, but not destroyed Eev. Edwin Johnson . . 278 Fellowship Mane Mason .... 288 The Bitter Cup Rev. W. C Richards . 302 Our Baby L. A. H. B 313 A Winter Sunrise M. G. Benjamin . . . 329 The Mourner's Prayer . . . . 3Iiss S. P. Newman ."^ . SiS Monica and Augustine .... Lucy Larcom .... 359 In Affliction Rev. E. P. Dyer . . . 370 A little Child shall lead them Mrs. C. E. Reed . . . 392 Come up Hither Mrs. A. B. C. Keene . . 404 The Wee-Bit Bairn Rev. J. E. Rankin . . 419 Cradle Song Samuel Burnham . . . 434 To my Grandmother 453 When thou hast shut thy Door Mary E. Atkinson . . . 469 Departed Friends Joseph S. Ropes . . . 481 Lily Bell Miss L. T. Larkin . . 490 No Sect in Heaven Mrs. E. H. J. Cleaveland 493 HOUSEHOLD READING. PASTOR HARMS. HUNDREDS and thousands of Christians, in all parts of the world, will hear with peculiar grief that Louis Harms, the pastor of Herrmannsburg, in the kingdom of Han- over, is no longer among the living. He was about fifty-seven years of age at the time of his decease, but he seems to have performed* the work of a century. He was born in Herrmanns- burg about the year 1809, and he supposed himself to have been descended from the great Herrmann [Harms] who gave the name to the town. The influence of Pastor Harms over his parish is tiio more remarkable as he was a native of it, and had honor among those who knew him in his childhood. He was born in the parsonage itself. His father was the former pastor of the church, and was remarkable for his se- vere discipline of his children. They were trained to all the manly sports ; and Louis, when quite a boy, was noted as a wrestler and boxer, and as expert in all the athletic exercises. Many incidents are narrated of his early feats, his daring, his inflexible spirit. One of these incidents, illustrating the rigid discipline of the parsonage, is the following. When Louis and his brother were small boys, they agreed to leap down the long flight of stairs in their father's house. Louis performed his part of the agreement, but the feat was too perilous for the brother; he was seized with a sudden fear, and refused to keep his promise. Louis pushed him down the stairs, and the brother 1 2 HOUSEHOLD READING. made a loud outcry, his face being covered with blood, and his whole body bruised and pained. The father, with his wonted dignity, came from the study ; bade the wounded boy give Ms version of the quarrel ; then turned to Louis with the question, " What sayest thou ? " Louis answered, "My brother promised to jump down stairs, but he broke his promise, and I pushed him down." The father asked the bruised child, " Is this so ? " " Yes," was the reply, " Then," said the pastor, " Louis hath the right " ; and retired to his study. Throughout his subsequent life, Pastor Harms exhibited a firm, self-reliant, unyielding will, and an intense love of activity, all of which were foreshadowed in many an incident of his boyhood. He did not shrink from what he considered justice, and was willing to endure any amount of suffering in a good cause. The great Limeburger Heath, of which Herrmannsburg is one of the villages, contains about a hundred square miles, and is inhabited by a simple-hearted peasantry, who obtain their support by cultivating the soil, by keeping slieep, and especially by keeping bees. A great value is attached to the Liineburger honey. The inhabitants of this extensive Heath are ardently attached to it ; and they loved their pastor the more, as he cherished for it an affection so intense and pecu- liar. He had made extensive and learned researches into its early history ; he loved to point out the exact localities where the battles were fought, centuries ago, by the Pagan tribes ; where human victims, according to tradition, were immolated long before the Christian missionary came to the Heath ; where the first Christian sermon was preached ; where the first Pagan ruler of the Heath was baptized ; where Tilly breakfasted with his army as they marched through Herr- mannsburg ; where various thrilling scenes were enacted during and before the Thirty Years' War. Perhaps he was more learned than any other man in the history of this en- tire region. He was also a great student of Livy, Tacitus, and other ancient historians. PASTOR HARMS. 3 Before he came to the pastorate of Herrmannsburg there was not much religious activity in the church. Either ra- tionalism or a dead orthodoxy prevailed through the land. He had not labored long, however, before the whole com- munity caught the sympathy of his own spirit. The schools came under his influence, and he seemed to have as much control over them as an American pastor has over his Sun- day school. On two days in the week the scholars were called to give an account of his sermons. The people be- came regular attendants at church, devout observers of the Sabbath, and strict in maintaining family prayer. Notwith- standing all that is said about the Puritan usages of New England, there is not perhaps a single New England com- munity which exhibits so many external signs of religious zeal as are shown in this German parish. Many of the peasants have committed to memory a large part of the hymn-book, and large portions of the Bible ; some of them the entire Epistle to the Romans. On a Monday morning I met a carpenter going to his day-labor. " How do you do ? " I asked. " I cannot hut be well," he replied, " having so many religious privileges as I enjoy here. I removed to Herrmannsburg from a distant town, for the sake of hearing Pastor Harms, and I am rewarded every Sabbath for my removal." A stranger is apt to regard the villagers as living almost altogether for the church and for missions. "Are there not some unbelievers in the parish ? " I asked my land lord. " There is one, and only one," was the landlord's reply. The parish is about ten miles square, contains seven vil lages, and about forty-five hundred inhabitants. From these villages men, women, and children come flocking to their sanctuary, which is regarded by them with a reverence like that of the ancient Jews for their temple in Jerusalem. Pastor Harms will not allow this venerable edifice to be torn down or remodelled. He has spent money enough in repairing it to have erected a new edifice ; but as it was built in A. D. 975, and as his ancestors, and the ancestors of some of his 4 HOUSEHOLD READING. people, have worshipped in it for nearly nine hundred years, he regards the very structure as a means of grace. Into this church come about a thousand worshippers at each of the two exercises on the Sabbath ; and about four hundred every Wednesday ; for Wednesday is a lecture day, and nearly the whole of it consecrated to religioiis services. The people are comfortably clad ; none are allowed to suffer through indi- gence ; and no beggar is tolerated in the parish. Pastor Harms had a skigular enmity to beggars of every kind. He was also very severe upon all the fashionable pleasures of the world. " Alas ! " I heard him say in the pulpit, "how many in this kingdom act themselves into hell from the theatre ; sing themselves into hell from the opera ; drink themselves into hell from the tavern ; play themselves into hell from the card-table ; dance themselves into hell from the ball-room ; laugh themselves into hell from the evening ca- rousal." In the same sermon he said : "I love to dwell in the country, because it is comparatively so pure from vice. I am never at ease when I am in the city. My happiest mo- ment in the city is when I turn my back upon it, and start for my dear, still home. It was so with my Redeemer. When he must needs go to the city, he went, for thus it be- came him to fulfil all righteousness ; but he could not spend his evenings there ; he left it when the sun set, and went to the silent and sweet cottage of Bethany, which reminds me of my own Herrmannsburg," An oft-repeated saying of Harms is, " I am a Liineburger, body and soul ; and there is not a country in the world that I would put before the Liineburger Heath ; and next to being a Liineburger, I am a Herrmanns- burger, and I hold that Herrmannsburg is the best and pret- tiest village on the Heath." It is by such sayings, and by acts proving them to be sincere, that he bound his villagers to him in a degree seldom surpassed. He especially loved to perpetuate in his parish the old re- ligious customs. Over many a door of his village is printed some verse of the Bible, or some stanza of a hymn. The PASTOR HARMS. 5 front door of a house near the parsonage is surmounted with these words : " God ! bless our outgoing ; in like manner our incoming ; bless our daily bread, bless what we do, and our abstaining from what we do not ; bless us with a liappy death, and make us heirs of Heaven, Amen." At sunrise, sunset, and midday the cluirch-bell is tolled for two or three minutes, and at the first stroke of the bell men, wo- men, and children stop their work, wherever they are, — in the house or the field or the street, — and offer a silent prayer. Usually they repeat three times the words of thg Litany : " Lamb of God ! who takest away the sin of the world, have mercy upon us." Once I saw a company of seventeen men on their way to a wedding at the church, when suddenly they stopped, took off their hats, and seemed to be devout in prayer until the bell ceased tolling. Often during the evening, as men walked the streets, they sang the old church hymns. Nearly every villager could sing, and the religious tunes seemed to be the only favorites. There- fore, the singing of his congregation in the sanctuary was enthusiastic as well as general. Pastor Harms was a monarchist, yet often preached against the measures of the Hanoverian government, and more than once prepared his people to resist them. The King, however, revered him, and even sought his company. On one occasion when Harms was in the city of Hanover, liis Majesty despatched one of the high officers of the gov- ernment to the pastor, and requested him to accompany tlie officer in the state-carriage to the palace. " Give my regards to the King," said Harms, " and tell him that I would obey liis order if my duty allowed ; hut I must go home and attend to my parish."' The officer was astonished, and anticipated tlie indignation of his Majesty ; but the King, receiving the reply, remarked, " Pastor Harms is the man for me." It is natural, to suppose that parishioners so ardently be- loved, and so tenderly cared for, would cherish an unbounded confidence in their pastor. They looked up to him as their 6 ' HOUSEHOLD READING. father. In this respect, his parish was a fair representative of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in Germany and in Scotland. Almost every day from ten o'clock until twelve in the morning, and from four imtil six in the afternoon, he held a reception for his parishioners, and they would go, one by one, into his study, and unfold their troubles about the hir- ing or buying of a tract of land, or about the remedy for some disease, but more especially about their spiritual af- fairs, their sins and temptations. A stranger was sometimes obliged to wait several days, before he could gain admittance to this thronged study. The anteroom, at these reception hours, reminded me of the waiting-room of some eminent city physician at his set time of consultation with his invalid visitors. But the character of Pastor Harms as a philanthro- pist is best known to the churches by his missionary enter- prise. The peasants of Herrmannsburg knew little or nothing of Foreign Missions until he became their minister. About the year 1846 he began his pastoral life among them ; and as early as 1849 he formed the plan of establishing in his parish a seminary for the training of ministers for Pagan lands. He designed to educate young peasants who had already learned some trade, and who could therefore introduce the arts of Christian life, as well as the ordinances of the Chris- tian Church, into heathen countries. He desired to train pastors who had been farmers, shepherds, carpenters, tailors, blacksmiths, shoemakers, bakers ; and who would thus sus- tain themselves in some degree, while they instructed the heathen in things temporal and spiritual. But how could he found such a seminary ? He was the son of a poor country minister, and of course had no money. His parishioners were indigent and had no rich relatives. He despised beggars, and would not solicit funds from men. He wrote, with re- gard to one of his difficulties, and has often made a similar statement with regard to many other of his enterprises : " No PASTOR HARMS. V one encouraged me, but the reverse ; and even the truest friends and brethren hinted that I was not quite in my sen- ses. Wlien Duke George of Saxony lay on his death-bed, and was yet in doubt to whom he should flee with his soul, whether to the Lord Christ and his dear merits, or to the Pope and his good works, there spoke a trusty courtier to him, ' Your Grace, straight forward makes the best run- ner ! ' That word had lain fast in my soul. I had knocked at men's doors and found them shut ; and yet the plan was manifestly good and for the glory of God. What was to be done ? ' Straight forward makes the best runner ! ' I prayed fervently to the Lord, laid the matter in His hand, and, as I rose up at midnight from my knees, I said, with a voice that almost startled me in my quiet room, ' Forward now, IN God's name ! ' From that moment there never came a thought of doubt in my mind." * He prayed to God. Funds began to pour in upon him. He erected a large edifice. He had more applicants for admission to the semi nary than he could accommodate. He prayed again. He received funds from distant parts of Germany, from Rus- sia, from Great Britain, from America. He erected another edifice. There are now two large buildings, capable of ac- commodating forty-eight students and two teachers with their families. The rooms are now filled with pupils. A large farm is also given to the seminary, on which the stu- dents labor at stated times for the " common's table." One young man in the village gave his own house and lands, val- ued at about five thousand dollars, to the mission school, and also gave himself as a foreign missionary. He entered the seminary as a pupil, and became a faithful preacher. A third instructor or professor, a nobleman, removed his family to Herrmannsburg, and now gives his services to the school ; yet Pastor Harms has never solicited a farthing from men. He calls his mission school " swimyning iron " ; for he regards it as sustained by a constant supernatural care. * Praying and Working, p. 336. 8 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. He narrates hundreds of remarkable interpositions in his behalf. Once he prayed to God for a medicine-chest which his missionaries needed ; and he soon received a letter en- closing money for a medicine-chest. He writes : " A short time ago, I had to pay a merchant five, hundred and fifty crowns ; and, when the day of payment was near, I had only four hundred. Then I prayed to the Lord Jesus that he would provide me with the deficiency. On the day before the time of payment three letters were brought, one from Schwerm with twenty, one from Biicksburg with twenty-five, and one from Berlin with a hundred crowns. On the even- ing of the same day a laborer brought me ten crowns, so that I had not only enough, but five over." * In 1853 eight candidates had gone through their four years' course of study at the mission school. They were to be sent to the eastern coast of Africa. But how were they to be sent ? " We must build a ship," said Pastor Harms, " not only to take out this band, but also to take out succes- sive companies of Christian teachers and colonists, and to con- vey to them from time to time such provisions and mechani- cal tools as they may need for their health and for their handicrafts in Africa." Build a ship ? The Herrmanns- burgers had never seen the Atlantic Ocean ; they lived at a distance from any port of even the German Sea ; they had no money to build a ship ; the majority of them had never seen a ship. But " Straight forward is the best runner^ Pastor Harms prayed to God. From various directions funds came pouring in ; the ship was built ; it was stored with provisions by the farmers of Herrmannsburg ; and there has seldom been a more joyous gala-day than the 18th of October, 1853, when the Candace set sail from Hamburg. Fruits and flowers, grain and meats, hoes, ploughs, and harrows, the long brass trumpets and other instruments of music, were put on board ; a Christmas-tree also, as the missionaries were * Praying and "Working, p. 365. This volume, by the way, is not always accurate. PASTOR HARMS. 9 expecting to keep that festival on the ocean. Tlie report was spread at one time that the Candace was sunk and lost. " What shall we now do ? " was the question put to the pastor ; and his reply was, " Humble ourselves, confess our sins, pray for forgiveness, and huild a new s/wjo." But the report was not true. The ship made a good voyage, and is still on the ocean, is still beloved as if it were a living herald, having transported more than fifty missionaries and more than a hundred colonists. They have now eight or nine mission stations in Africa ; more than forty thousand acres of land appropriated to the missionary service ; more than a hundred baptized converts. Preachers have also gone from the school at Herrmannsburg to Australia, to the East Indies, and to the Western States of our own country. The journals of these missionaries are sometimes like a romance. In 1854 Pastor Harms felt the need of diffusing missionary intelligence more extensively among his countrymen. He therefore formed the plan of establishing a missionary journal. But how shall we publish one, so far from any large town ? " Let us have a printing-press on the Heath," was his reply. Accordingly a printing-office was opened at Herrmannsburg ; the Missionary Journal was commenced, and in less than eight years it attained a circulation of fourteen thousand, — a larger circulation than any periodical, except two, in all Ger- many. It is still continued, and abounds with spirit-stirring essays from Pastor Harms, and racy letters from his mission- aries. The children of many a Christian family in Prussia, in Wiirtemburg, in Hesse Cassel, welcome this monthly jour- nal as tlie most entertaining of their books for the Sabbath. It awakens a lively interest in behalf of the school at Herr- mannsburg. At the annual missionary festival in June, which continues two days in this quiet village, six thousand persons come together, some from the most distant parts of German}', and engage in religious festivities, charming and certain parts of them appearing almost romantic. Every missionary student becomes a musician, and learns to play 10 HOUSEHOLD READING. the long brass trumpet of Germany ; and as the procession of these students marches through the village, playing an old psalm-tune on these powerful instruments, the effect is thrill- ing upon the strangers who have come to the missionary festival. Besides editing his mission journal, and devoting so much care to the mission school. Pastor Harms has published sev- eral volumes of sermons, and a large number of miscellane- ous, and some political pamphlets. How, then, does he provide for his pulpit ? The most remarkable feature of his life is manifested on the Sabbath. I spent three Sabbaths with him in the autumn of 1863. I supposed, for a time, that his parish was then in a state of special religious excitement. I asked, " How long has this excitement continued?" "About seventeen years," was the reply ; " ever since Pastor Harms has been among us." I was assured that the exercises on these three Sabbaths were fair specimens of his ordinary ser- vices in the sanctuary, but that they were far less imposing til an his services at the great festivals of the Church, Good Friday, Easter, Christmas, and at the Missionary Jubilee in June. The cliaracter, then, of Pastor Harms may be best delineated by describing his usual method of conducting his Sabbath worship. A single day is a specimen of the year. I went into the old church at half after nine in the morn- ing. The service did not begin until half after ten ; but the throng of worshippers was so great that it was necessary for strangers to go an hour beforehand, in order to obtain an eligible seat. The house was filled long before the ringing of the church-bell. At the first stroke of the bell, the audi- ence rose and offered a silent prayer. When the pastor en- tered, the audience rose again, with as much apparent awe as if John the Baptist were risen from the dead, and had come into this church of the wilderness. His first appearance was that of a man worn down with care and thought. His chest was narrow, his form bent, his face pale, and an indescribable solemnity marked his countenance. He stood leaning against PASTOR HARMS. 11 the altar, for lie seemed too weak to keep himself erect with- out support. He commenced the service by chanting a prayer in a low, tremulous tone ; and yet the thousand wor- shippers who thronged the pews, galleries, aisles, and stairs preserved such a stillness that he could be heard in every nook and corner of the house. After the singing of a hymn by the congregation, he commenced the exposition of a Psalm. He recited every verse memoriter, and explained it with sin- gular felicity. Having spent a half-hour in his exposition, he took his Bible and read the entire Psalm with such em- phasis as to recall his previous comments. The ordinance of baptism was then administered to several infants, all born since the preceding Sabbath ; and the sponsors were ad- dressed with peculiar fervor. The congregation sang an- other hymn ; and then the pastor ascended the pulpit, and read his text, the audience rising as he read it ; after giving a rich exposition of the text, he announced the subject of his discourse ; then offered an earnest prayer ; stated the several divisions of his sermon ; illustrated and enforced each of these topics with singular clearness ; his voice often rising to the highest notes, even to a shriek, and sometimes breaking so as to become painful by its shrillness. In one of his discourses he said : " A few days ago, a man came to me, asking, ' What shall I do to be saved ? ' I told him, ' Believe.' He replied, ' What shall I believe ? ' 'Do you not know ? ' I answered. ' Is it enough for me,' he asked, ' to believe all that the Bible says ? ' ' No,' I answered. ' Is it enough that I believe all that the Bible a7id the cate- chism teach ? ' ' No,' I answered ; ' you must believe more.' ' What more ? ' he asked again. I told him, ' You must not only say, as the Bible and catechism tell you, I believe that an atonement has been made, but you must say, I be- lieve that the atonement has been made for me.' " As the Pastor added this last word, 7ne, his voice would have piercecl the ear of every hearer in the largest cathedral. His sharp emphasis and his penetrating tones kept his auditors awake. 12 HOUSEHOLD READING. in despite of the deadening atmosphere of his ill-ventilated church. He studied to use, and he did use, the language of the common people ; he quoted apt and racy proverbs, sometimes made a sarcastic remark, occasionally provoked a smile, was terrific in his denunciations of popular sins, and exhibited the tenderest concern for his people, and the general interests of truth. He preferred the concrete to the abstract, did not speak of holiness so often as of God, nor of sin so often as of the Devil. His main power lay in his lively style, the quick- ness of his transitions, the boldness of his personifications, his clearness of thought, his rich stores of Biblical knowl- edge, the constant variety of his ministrations, and his strik- ing exhibitions of faith in Divine Providence, and especially in the redemptive scheme. Whenever I heard him, he closed his discourse with an appeal solemn so as to be in a good sense awful. After his sermon he offered an extemporaneous prayer. Although he was eminently liturgical in his spirit, yet he seldom confined himself to the liturgy of his Church, — very often he made but very little use of it, — and his free utter- ances in supplication were remarkable sometimes for their terseness, and sometimes for their childlike simplicity. On one Sabbath he prayed, " Bless our dear seminary, all its teachers and pupils, and all the missionaries who have gone from it to the lands far away. Bless our missionary ship. Bless all the dear children who have been baptized to-day, and their parents. Bless the children in our schools, and their teachers. Bless all this people ; the young and the old. Bless the carpenter, the tradesman, the farmer. Bless the harvest. Bless the cattle. Bless the hees.^^ I asked a noble- man who had come to hear him from Wiirtemberg, " Is it common to pray for the bees of Liineberger Heath ? " His quick reply was, " What Pastor Harms does, that call not thou common." After the prayer came the administration of the Lord's PASTOR HARMS. 13 Supper. This ordinance is administered every Sabbath to about two hundred of the communicants. The church con- sists of about two thousand, each one of whom partakes of the supper four or five times in the year. On each of the three Sabbaths of my visit I saw about seventy-five males and about a hundred and twenty-five females unite in the celebration. The females were attired in a peculiar garb, appropriate to the ordinance. By far the larger part of the worshippers, perhaps nine tenths, who came into the church, remained to witness the sacramental feast. The galleries and the stairs remained crowded with spectators. The pastoi' chanted the words of the Institution, and although his voice was harsh, yet the effect of his tones was subduing. The entire audience seemed to be melted. The awe depicted on their countenances indicated that it was perhaps mingled with superstition. The people were dismissed at ten minutes after two, the whole service having continued three hours and forty minutes. At a quarter after three in the afternoon the old stone sanctuary was filled again, though with a somewhat different congregation. First came the congregational singing ; then the chanting of a prayer by the Pastor. He next spent about half an liour in expounding a chapter of the New Testament, first repeating the verses memoriter, and explaining each verse as he proceeded, and then reading the entire cliapter, giving to every word a rich suggestiveness. He had committed to memory large portions, — it was said that he had learned by heart the whole of the Bible, — but he was always particular to read what he had previously recited without the book. He judged that the occasional reading is rhetorically more im- pressive than the mere reciting of the sacred text, and that at certain times the ajjpearanee of reading is more oratorical than the appearance of speaking memoriter or extempore. Af- ter a second animated congregational song, he began to cate- chise the audience. He walked slowly from the altar to the porch, addressing questions, at the very top of his voice, to 14 HOUSEHOLD READING. the children and adults, at the right hand and the left of the broad aisle. The congregation was one immense Bible-class. One woman gave a wrong reply to his question ; the Pastor looked at her ; she began to weep. One boy made a sad blunder ; the Pastor looked at him, and made a long pause, and then boxed his ears. A theological student missed the answer ; there was a marked silence, — but no corporeal chas- tisement. Pastor Harms was often very affectionate in his manner of questioning the children, was patient under the slight mistakes of the men and women ; but whenever he discovered signs of signal remissness, he was as severe as John the Baptist. He closed the service with the responsive singing of the men, women, and children, and with one of his beautiful, extemporaneous prayers, and dismissed the large assembly at a quarter after six. The service continued three hours, beginning with the daylight of the afternoon, but continuing during the last hour with the light of lamps and candles which the worshippers brought with them. It was a scene for a painter. It was common for strangers to come from a distance, in order to attend divine service at Herrmannsburg ; counts and countesses were often seen among the peasants in the congregation. The strangers went from the church to the parsonage, and partook of a slight repast with Pastor Harms and his family. He was never married, but lived with his sister, a finely educated lady. We were engaged in busy conversation around the table, when suddenly the hum sub- sided, for the Pastor was entering the room. He came with his long pipe in his mouth, craved the blessing, sat down, drank two cups of coffee, ate not a morsel, but continued smoking his pipe, and saying not one word. After sitting twenty minutes at the table, his guests conversing with each other in low tones, if at all, he rose, returned thanks, and left the .room, all eyes being fixed on him as he walked out. At seven o'clock he went into the large hall of the parson- age, and delivered a practical sermon in the Low German PASTOR HARMS. 15 (the patois) dialect, to about two hundred of the villagers. He read his text from a folio Low German Bible, presented him by the King of Hanover. As soon as he had closed the sermon, he began his weekly concert, somewhat resembling our monthly concert of prayer for missions. He read letters from his missionaries in the East Indies, in Australia and in America, all addressing him as " Dear Father." The disclos- ures in these letters concerning the United States were quite similar to the disclosures concerning the Zulus. Some of the peasants cast side glances at me, as they had heard that I belonged to one of the tribes to which they were annually sending missionaries. While some of oiir divines seldom speak of Germany except in terms of disparagement, it was interesting to see that the peasants of Herrmannsburg were intent on evangelizing our divines as well as our lay breth- ren. It was indeed a sublime spectacle, these humble Chris- tians on a secluded heath, manifesting such a personal interest in the four quarters of the globe, and coming into intimate relations, through their pastor, with Egypt and Missouri, the black, the copper-colored, and the white races. It was obvi- ous that Pastor Harms had his hand upon all the continents of the earth. At the close of this delightful service, each member of the congregation went up to him, shook his hand, and bade him " good night." " May the Redeemer bless you," was his parting word to several who appeared to be in tears. At ten o'clock in the evening, about twenty of the neigh- bors and strangers went to the parsonage, in order to unite with the good man in his family devotions. This service con- tinued one hour. The assembly sung a hymn ; the Pastor read a chapter of the Bible, and expounded it without look- ing from the book. I supposed that he was reading from a printed commentary, so choice and exact was his language ; but I afterwards learned that it was an extemporaneous ex- position. He offered a lengthened but affecting prayer. His lungs wheezed, so that it was painful to hear him ; still we 16 HOUSEHOLD KEADING. forgot our pains while we were listening, his thoughts were so fresh and good. Two clergymen were present, one of them an eminent Lutheran divine ; hut he did not ask either of them to utter a word. Several countesses from different parts of Germany and Russia were wont to spend a large part of the year at Herr- mannsburg, partly for the purpose of attending the daily evening exercise of family prayer at the parsonage. It was, in fact, a dail^ prayer-meeting, and had been continued about seventeen years. The parsonage was considered as open every evening, from ten until eleven o'clock, for all the vil- lagers who might desire to spend that hour in a religious service. After having been engaged more than nine hours of the Sabbath in public or social worship. Pastor Harms repaired to his study. His custom was to spend twelve hours every day over his books or correspondence. In the course of the year he wrote about three thousand letters, — to his distant parishioners, to his fifty missionaries, and to the friends who sent their contributions to the mission cause. He seldom retired to rest before two or three o'clock at night. His printer and publisher told me : "I was printing a volume of his sermons, and I went to him on a Saturday evening, and stated that I must have ' more copy ' on Monday morning. He replied (for he never would make me a definite prom- ise'), 'I have no more; I do not know that I can send you any more so soon.' But, after the services on the Sabbath, he wrote an entire sermon, not on the subject of his discourses during the day, and not on any subject which he had ever preached upon, but an entirely new sermon ; and his manu script did not contain a single interlineation or erasure. His copy seldom contained one. He sent the sermon to me on Monday morning." Such statements may appear incredible ; but Pastor Harms was so afflicted with a painful disease that he was sometimes unable to sleep an hour during the whole night. He refused to take an opiate ; and intellectual labor PASTOR HARMS. 17 became Lis main relief. Perhaps this may be some ajtology for his imprudence in taxing his resources. Sometimes it appears unaccountable that he could live so long, and labor at all, with such an ill-advised physical regi- men ; but his faith in God, and especially his faith in prayer, sustained his body as well as his soul. His faith gave him power with men. His character was itself eloquence. If he was a monarch in his parish, it was the monarchy of princi- ple. He often made remarks which appear extravagant ; but he made them with such sincerity and fervor that the very boldness of them became itself a force. Three times I heard him say, from the altar of his church : " The parents who neglect to offer their children to God at the baptismal altar, within eight days after the children's birth, are worse than robbers and murderers ; for robbers take merely the material wealth, and murderers take merely the temporal life, of their victims ; but such parents, so far -as in them lies, deprive their children of spiritual wealth, and of eternal life ; for it is in baptism that the Holy Ghost is given to the children." In addressing the communicants at the Wednesday lecture, he said : " When I pronounce you forgiven, you are forgiven in heaven ; and when I refuse to declare your sins remitted, the remission of them is refused in heaven." Once I heard him say from the pulpit : " Our dear Lord suffered the real pains of hell ; and he would have been even now suffering the same, had he not prayed, ' Let this cup pass from me ! ' He begged ; and the Apostle says, ' He was heard, in that he feared.' In the fifth verse of Luther's translation of the Eighth Psalm it is said of our Redeemer, ' Thou hast caused him to be forsaken of God for a short time.' Now when God forsakes a man, the forsaken one is in hell. Yet was our Lord there but a short time. Still, for him to bear the pains of hell, even during one minute, was a greater suffering, yea, a thousand-fold greater, than for all other men to endure them during a whole eternity ; for this was the suffering of God himself. When the Jews slew him, they slew God." I 2 18 HOUSEHOLD BEADING. asked one of his more intelligent parishioners, " Do his hear- ers believe such statements ? " His answer was, " They be- lieve in the main what the Pastor teaches, but do not rise with him into all his inspirations.^^ He had some peculiar views on the subject of insurance companies. He said : "It is wrong for a farmer to insure liis crop against the hail-storm, or against any strictly Provi- dential evil ; although it is right for him to insure his barn or house against fire, for the fire may be the result of man's carelessness." Still he did not allow his Seminary buildings to be insured against fire ; he believed that God would pro- tect them, in answer to his children's entreaties. Several years ago, when the Queen of Hanover died, a form of prayer was prescribed by the ministry, and the pastors were ordered to offer it in their churches. The prayer alluded to the piety of the Queen, in terms which Pastor Harms did not approve. He refused to read it ; no influences from the crown could intimidate him. When he published the intentions of marriage between his parishioners he occasionally stated which of the betrothed parties had a good character, and which of them had 7iot. He was very strict in his Lu- theranism, and refused to admit the members of the Prussian Church to the Lord's Supper, as that church was formed by a union of the Lutheran and the Reformed. He abhorred compromises. He would thus exclude from the table of his church such men as Neander, and even Hengstenberg. He was terrific in his denunciations of Calvinism. I stood with- in five yards of him, and heard him in one sermon pour forth the most powerful invectives against the Calvinistic doctrines, the Congregational Church polity, the republican form of government in the state, with special allusion to America. It was a faithfid discourse. I admired his zeal and true- lieartedness. He expressed the same opinion about America which many of our divines express about Germany. But with all this fidelity in reproof, and with an imperturb- able reserve of manner toward men who interfered with his PASTOR HARMS. 19 Studies, lie combined a genuine kindliness of feeling. "When he thought it right for him to thaw out his icy manners, he was gentle and childlike, full of wit as well as intelligence. He was a great favorite at wedding festivals, and sometimes indulged in an inimitable humor with his guests. He in- spired a love as well as reverence for him. I can never for- get the affecting tones and the hearty words with which he bade me his last farewell : " I do not trouble myself about such matters as my health of body. It is true that I am suf- fering much every day, and more every night. I do not wish it to be otherwise. The Saviour is my physician ; I desire no other. I love to lie awake through the entire night, because I can then commune with Him. I should not be happy, if I thought that I was to be kept much longer in the world. 0, that would be a sad thought, — to be kept away from home so long ! I am glad to have heard so much about Andover and New England ; I had formed a different opinion of your country. I rejoice that you observe the Lord's Day so well in New England. Hold fast this good old usage. And now I shall never see you again. May the Lord be ever gracious to you ! Farewell, — farewell ! " Thus I took my leave of this plain-spoken, outspoken man, with the feeling that I had seen greater scholars than he, more genial and mellow Chris- tians than he ; but I never saw a man so wonderful, so much like a being of another world and a superior race. 20 HOUSEHOLD READING. LET ME GO. "I'm weary, I'm weary, let me go home! " Dying words of Neansbb. I'M weary, weary, let me go ! For now the pulse of life declineth ; My spirit chicles its lingering flow, For her immortal life she pineth. I feel the chill night-shadows fall, The sleep steals on that knows no waking; Yet well I hear blest voices call. And bright above the day is breaking. Not now the pui'ple and the gold Of trailing clouds at sunset glowing. These dim and fading eyes behold ; But splendors from the Godhead flowing. 'T is not the crimson orient beam, O'er mountain-tops in beauty glancing ; Light from the throne ! a flooding stream ! 'T is the Eternal Sun advancing ! As oft, when waked the summer morn, Sweet breath of flowers the breezes bore me, In this serener, fairer dawn, Perfumes from Paradise float o'er me. As when, by sultry heats oppressed, I 've sought still shades cool waters keeping. So long I for that holier rest, Where heaven's own living streams are sweeping. The joy of life hath been to stand With spirits noble, true, confiding ; O joy unthought, — to reach the band Of spotless souls with God abiding ! THE JOUKNEY'S END, 21 Ye loved of earth ! — this fond farewell, That now divides us, cannot sever ; Swift flying years their round shall tell, And our glad souls be one forever ! On the far-off celestial hills, I see the tranquil sunshine lying ; And God himself my spirit fills With perfect peace ; — and this is dying ! Methinks I hear the rustlino; wings Of unseen messengers descending. And notes from softly trembling strings, With myriad voices sweetly blending. O thou, my Lord adored ! this soul Oft, oft its warm desires hath told thee ; Now wearily the moments roll. Until these waiting eyes behold thee. Ah, stay my spirit here no more. That for her home so fondly yearneth ; There joy's bright cup is brimming o'er. There love's pure flame forever burneth ! THE JOURNEY'S END. WE have read of caravans of pilgrims, who, after months of weary travel, approach tlie Holy City. They have been drenched by storms, burned by blazing suns, pinched with hunger, and choked with the dust of the desert. Tlieir shoes are worn out, their garments soiled and tattered, their feet blistered ; and their tottering limbs can hardly sustain their steps. Through days of suffering, and nights of sleep- lessness, and constantly assailed by merciless foes, they have 22 HOUSEHOLD READING. toiled along, until now they approach the end of their pil- grimage. The sun, breaking through the clouds of a lurid day, is just sinking behind the hills of Lebanon. The pilgrims as- cend an eminence, and lo, Jerusalem is before them ! Its turrets, towers, pinnacles, and domes all ablaze in golden splendor, reflecting the rays of the setting sun. A scene of almost supernatural enthusiasm ensues. " Jerusalem, Jerusalem ! " is shouted from hot and blis- tered lips. " Jerusalem, Jerusalem ! " is re-echoed through the long lines of the rear. The lame, the fainting, the dying are animated with new life, as they rush forward, to catch a glimpse of that sacred city where their Saviour bled and died. Tears gush from all eyes. Some, overwhelmed with joy- ous emotion, prostrate themselves upon the ground, and breathe a silent prayer of gratitude and thanksgiving. Some throw their arms into the air and shout wildly, in the out- bursting of their rapture, " Hallelujah, Hallelujah." All past fatigues, perils, sufferings, are forgotten. Their pilgrim- age is ended, their goal is gained. But 0, when the pilgrim of earth, weary of the long, pain- ful, perilous journey, arrives within sight of the celestial city, — a sight so brilliant that no mortal eye, undazzled, can look upon it, — as he gazes upon the splendor of the metropolis of God's empire, and listens to the music of its choirs, and knows that, in that city, the Saviour has a mansion prepared for him, with robe, with harp, and crown, and that he there shall repose in peace forever, can language tell his joy ? The imagination sinks exhausted in the vain attempt to compass such blessedness. DRAW, NOT DRIVE. ' 23 DRAW, NOT DRIVE. SOMEWHAT more than thirty years ago a very special religious interest prevailed in nearly all the churches of our order in a sister State. Pastors, evangelists, and private Christians were generally busy in gathering the spiritual har- vest. One small village, however, snugly nestled between the hills, seemed an exception to this almost universal quick- ening, as no conversions were reported within its limits. Tarrytown seemed to be " left out in the cold." " What is the matter with your people ? " was asked of the pastor, Mr. G , as he met a brother minister one day. " They are all determined to go to perdition," was the sharp answer. " I 've hammered away at them all winter ; but they don't seem to heed it. The most terrible pictures which I can paint of the guilt and condemnation of the sin- ner do not drive a single soul to the refuge ; and I am well- nigh discouraged. I wish you would preach for me half a day to-morrow, Mr. N ." " I can help you in the afternoon, if that will suit you, Brother G , as my own pulpit will be supplied by an agent." " Come by all means," was the response. " What is your own theme to-morrow ? " inquired Mr. N as they parted. " One of the most solemn which I could find. Brother N : God a consuming fire to the ungodly." Mr. G 's clerical brother pondered deeply that evening upon the state of things at Tarrytown, and sought Divine aid in the selection of his message for the coming day. He suspected that Mr. G had dwelt too long and too con- stantly upon the severer themes of the Bible ; that he had exhibited its warnings arid threatenings almost to the exclu- sion of its invitations and promises ; and thus had made re- 24 HOUSEHOLD READING. ligion too much a thing of gloom and fear. So he resolved to try the power of the Gospel allurements, — to draw rather than drive. When he entered the Tarrytown pulpit, his suspicions were confirmed by the general aspect of the congregation. The people looked goaded and sullen. Mr. N announced his text, — 2 Cor. v. 11, — " Knowing therefore the terror of the Lord, we ijersuade men." He told his audience that he had not come to abate the force or to lessen the severity of the Bible denunciations against sin and impenitence ; but rather, under a full con- viction of their truth and justness, to show them the way of escape, and, if possible, persuade them to embrace it. So he held up before them three wondrous pictures of the grace and mercy of God. First, the counsels of the Godhead, in view of the foreseen guilt and ruin of men, planning the amazing scheme of their recovery and salvation, — the Father laying upon his only and well-beloved Son the burden of a world's redemption, — the '•'on, with tender compassion and eager love, saying cheerfully, " Lo, I come to do Thy will, God ! " — and the Holy Spirit pledged to his renewing and sanctifying work. Next, the entrance of the blessed Redeemer upon his life of self-sacrifice, his holy instructions, his tender invitations, his perfect example, his cheerful endurance of poverty, hu- miliation, and persecution, his death of agony, his glorious resurrection and return to his heavenly home. Last, the results of that wondrous plan of saving love, — the proffer of a Saviour so freely made to the guilty and the lost ; the promise of salvation to all who would seek it in the appointed way ; the offer of all needed help and grace ; and the Holy Spirit's blessed strivings with the heart and con- science of the sinner, by which those who heeded them were sweetly led to Christ. As these touching and beautiful pictures of Gospel grace were successively held up to the sight of his hearers, Mr. WINGS, SOME DAY, 25 N saw the careless aroused, the indifferent interested, and the sullen melted. And when he made a personal appli- cation of his subject, by entreating wandering Christians to return to their neglected duties and their forsaken God, and with tones of love and tears of pity pleaded with the impeni- tent to come to Jesus, the Holy Ghost went from heart to heart, making the word preached " a savor of life unto life." The pastor, Mr. G , listened to his brother's discourse with bowed head and folded hands ; and when the services were closed, and he saw his people, silent and tearful, going softly out, he grasped Mr. N 's hand warmly and thank- fully, with a hearty acknowledgment of his error. " I see my fault, now, dear brother," he said, — "I see what was the trouble. I was trying to drive my hearers to heaven, instead of seeking to draw them ' with cords of love, and with the bands of a man.' Henceforth, I will remember that it is sometimes better to draw than to drive. ''^ WINGS, SOME DAY. jASSENGERS on board of one of the many ferry-boats that are constantly plying between the opposite shores of the Mersey may occasionally see, on warm, bright days, a poor crippled boy, whose body has grown to almost man's size, but whose limbs, withered and helpless, are still those of a child. He wheels himself about on a small carriage, similar to that the boys use in play ; and while the little boat threads its way among the ships of all nations that are anchored in the river, he adds not a little to tlie pleasure of the sail by playing, on his concertina, airs that show no mean degree of musical skill. The few pennies that he always receives, but does not ask for, are never grudgingly bestowed, and are 26 HOUSEHOLD READING. given not more in pay for the music than for the simple hon- esty that shines in the boy's blue eyes. One so helpless, it would seem, could only be a burden to those who loved him, — could certainly do nothing towards fulfilling the command, " Bear ye one another's burdens." Was it so ? Was there no service of love for the lame boy, no work for him in the vineyard ? The question was an- swered one day. "Walter," said a gentleman who had often met him, "how is it, when you cannot walk, that your shoes get so worn out ? " A blush came over the boy's pale face ; but, after hesitat- ing a moment, he said, — " My mother has younger children, sir ; and while she is out washing, I amuse them by creeping about on the floor and playing with them." " Poor boy ! " said a lady standing near, not loud enough, as she thought, to be overheard, " what a life to lead ! what has he in all the future to look forward to ? " The tear that started in his eye, and the bright smile that chased it away, showed that he did hear her. As she passed by him to step on shore, he said in a low voice, but with a smile that went to her heart, — " I 'm looking forward to have wings some day, lady ! " Happy Walter ! Poor cripple, and dependent on charity, yet doing, in his measure, the Master's will, and patiently waiting for the future ! he shall by and by " mount up with wings as eagles, shall run and not be weary, shall walk and not faint." H THE CROOKED DISCIPLE. 27 THE CROOKED DISCIPLE. B was born crooked, and there was no such thing as straightening him. "Well had it been for him had this deformity appertained only to the outer man ; but, alas ! the crook was within, twisting his spirit, cramping his mind, and also marking his manners. His poor mother could never fathom the mysteries of his odd nature, never decide upon just the right way to train him. Sometimes she fancied he required a more stringent hand than did his brothers, and again that " his was a temper that could not be driven.''^ So, between alternate strictness and indulgence, Qur hero's tem- per was doubly twisted and snarled. At school he stood aloof from all, and became, at play-time, almost as much a fixture in the yard as the old pump against which he leaned, looking suspiciously at his merry compan- ions. If any one asked, " Why don't you play ? " he replied, with a lugubrious face, and a mournful whine, " Nobody wants to play with me." Boys rarely have time to coax each other to be happy, — alas ! how few men ever turn out of their chosen way to ask the cause of another's dejection ! — so they hooted, shouted, and whistled ; flew their kites, bowled their balls, and sailed their tiny barks ; leaving him the privilege of growing fast to the pump, if he chose to do so. If there was but one unoccupied seat in the school-room, it was sure to be in the same form with his. He expected to be shunned ; the other boys to be repulsed ; and thus our crooked youth grew up to be a crooked man. He married, and then everybody who knew his wife thought he would be obliged to be happy, in spite of himself. Not he ; he had maintained his ground too long to give it up on so slight a cause ! When congratulated on being the choice of so worthy a maiden, he mournfully replied, " She did n't choose me ; she took me because she could n't get the 28 HOUSEHOLD READING. schoolmaster.''^ He was then told that she declined an offer from that dignitary, for his sake ; he said, " Well, then, I sup- pose she was afraid she would never have another ; and girls will marry anybody rather than be old maids." Her friends all felt that she was completely blindfolded by Cupid's bond- age, for no other reason could be given for a cheerful, noble- hearted woman's linking herself to one with his uncomfort- able peculiarities. At school she used to pity, while others ridiculed him ; that pity had ripened into love. When his first son was born he said very little. He did not accuse him of making his advent from some sinister motive ; for he, poor innocent, made no pretensions to disinterestedness. But when in little more than a year another boy followed, he really looked wounded as if the world could not hold babies, unless he were crowded out to make room for them. When asked to name the young intruder, he drew a deep sigh, and said, " I suppose we may as well call him Gad." The hopeful wife rejoiced in these dear gifts of God and said, " If they grow up to be good men they will be a bless- ing to us and to the world." " 0, but there 's the if in the way ! " croaked out the father ; and then in the spirit of prophecy he foretold the trouble and noise and expense they would bring before they grew up. We need not tell parents that these were fulfilled with a minuteness which amazed the seer himself. They were roguish, noisy, thoughtless, and boylike, bent on getting all the fun they could out of life. When he saw these propensities, he shook his head, say- ing, " These boys are very much like their mother ! " And so they were in their hopeful, cheerful, and generous spirits. She was one of those meek, enduring creatures with whom a merciful Heaven almost invariably links such men. Noth- ing could irritate, nothing discourage, and nothing, short of positive harshness, wound her. " Bearing all things," was a prominent article in her creed. She wept all her grief away in a secrecy as sacred as that in which she prayed. No neighbor, no, not her own mother, ever heard from her lips TH£ CROOKED DISCIPLE. 29 that her husband was not faultless. She did really win the love and respect of the crooked man, and after four or f ve years' companionship he was half tempted to tell her and the world so ; but he did n't want to be so much like his good neighbors. He had said he should never be happy, and did not want to contradict himself. Notwithstanding everything and everybody were against him, he succeeded before middle life in laying up a com- petency ; and, to make sure that fraud should not take what sagacity had earned, he resolved to retire from business, — a false step for a restless man. Now, as every one feared, mat- ters grew worse with him. Having more leisure than he knew what to do with, he began to meddle with things quite out of his sphere. Household affairs were all wrong. Break- fast came too late ; and when his patient wife ordered it early, then there was no reason in driving a man of leisure out of bed like a day-laborer ! The furnace made the house too hot, the grates kept it too cold. If friends came often, " com- pany was a bore " ; if seldom, " it was for ceremony, not for friendship." Under such circumstances, many a good woman would have felt bound to accuse her husband of unkindness ; but the sole rebul:e of this wife lay in the strong contrast be- tween her own life of thankfulness and peace, and his of ingratitude and discontent. But her time to speak came at length. Would that every Christian woman watched for the right time ; then would they oftener save their irreligious hus- bands. Tlie autumn of a bounteous year smiled upon them, but nothing was right with the crooked man. " The grass is n't near so heavy as it promised to be, and my man has found five diseased potatoes in the acre he has dug. It 's going to be a hard winter ; indeed, times are hard enough already ! I don't know, for my part, what the world is coming to ! Everything goes wrong," he said for the twentieth time. " My dear," asked his wife in a tone of gentleness, " did it 80 HOUSEHOLD READING. ever strike you that something might be wrong in you; that your own heart might be impure, and tinge with its dark hue all around you, and especially the good things which God and not you have showered upon us ? " The crooked man started. Could it be that the patient, affectionate woman, who for long years had gratified all his whims, had dared to rebuke him ? These few simple words were as nails in a sure place, and God suffered her, who had so long and so uncomplainingly carried the cross, to lay it down ; while with his own soft hand he wiped away those secret tears, and placed a crown of joy upon her brow. Her husband became a new man ; not free from all his natural oddities, but yet a " new man," in the sight of Him " who knoweth our frame, who remembereth that we are dust." Now, when it was noised abroad that the crooked man had become straight, the world expected too much. They looked to see him who from the cradle had been silent and morose become suddenly as tender and winning as John when on his Master's bosom ; to see the brow, lined with care and discontent, shine like that of the Redeemer on the Mount of Transfiguration. Even Christians, who knew the struggles through which he was passing, expected to see the new-born soul a full-grown man at once, the " saved-so-as-by-fire " an almost sanctified disciple. In this they were all disappointed ; he was yet " in the flesh," yet vexed by his besetting sins. This the world saw, and cried, " What do ye more than others ? " but they did not see the inward struggle, nor hear the secret groan, " wretched man that I am ! " Many fore- told his fall and watched for his halting, but after long months they were obliged to admit that, although still crooked, he was now a crooked disciple. They saw, and he felt, the change, — " the Spirit witnessing with his spirit that he was born of God." Through many doubts, and in much fear of self, our poor friend lived several years after this change. His efforts to live the life of a Christian were, as one has well expressed it, DEATH BY EDIFICATION. 31 " all rowing up stream, against both wind and tide " ; and yet he rowed on manfully to the end. His natural defects, nurtured by injudicious training, and habits which had be- come as second nature, were as so many quicksands, threat- ening his frail bark with destruction. True, his course was sometimes irregular and fitful, and he was censured by those who, standing on shore, knew neither the strength of the cur- rent nor the weakness of his arm. But there was One who, though himself holy and undefiled, bore with all his crooked ways, and guided his weary spirit into the desired haven. That Friend stood by him in his mortal hour, placing beneath him the everlasting arms ; and should toe come off conquer- ors, we may yet greet him in the land of love, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing. Why cannot fallen man bear with his erring brother as does He who knew no sin ? It is because self-righteousness blinds us. We see the mote against which, perhaps, he is praying and struggling, while the beam in our own eye may give us little trouble, — may be cherished as some precious thing, — a darling sin, with which we may fear to part. for that charity which cometh from above ! Let us fall into the hands of God rather than of man. DEATH BY EDIFICATION. ALMOST everything good is capable of being used in excess, perverted, misapplied, so as to be injurious rather than useful. Edification is not an exception. What is " good to the use of edifying " is not good for everything, and may not be what is at all times needed. In many of our churches there is great misapprehension as to the object of prayer-meetings, — social meetings as we call them. Manj Christians seem to think the object is to teach, to give in- 32 HOUSEHOLD READING. struction, to make and hear religious speeches, in connection with two or three prayers, and singing. And so most neither pray nor speak, for the reason, as they say, that others can do it better, more to edification. Now this is an entire misapprehension of the object ; and the tendency is iiyurious. We have a social nature, and our religion should l^c socially manifested and developed, for mutual encouragement, comfort, and strength. We want to hear our brethren pray, and speak of their views of practical Christian truths ; we want to know how their courage is kept up ; what it is that steadies their hope, and sustains their faith, — the working of Christian feeling and life in them. The object is not so much to get or give instruction as to stir the feelings and encourage each other by prayers and words which show the working of Christian pi:inciples and hopes. This is practically one of the most effectual ways of edifying. It greatly edifies a minister, it helps him to hear the brethren pray, and to notice by their remarks what inter- ests them and helps them on as Christians. And to him it is often a grief, a sad discouragement, that he hears so few of his brethren pray or speak in the prayer-meeting, where all meet on common ground and with a common interest. The special object here is not exposition, doctrine, instruc- tion. Our church-members would have become apostles, if these could have made them so. They are stuffed and stupe- fied with them, like a man eating three dinners a day. The prayer-meeting is designed mutually to encourage and aid each other in practical Christian life. And two or three facts are worthy of notice. One is this : Unconverted persons, young people, like to go to prayer-meetings when many take part in prayer and short remarks, rather than to those where the minister and two or three others do the whole. This is the fact. No matter how able the minister is, no matter how well he and one or two others speak, as to use of language and scope of thought. There is to them, and must be, a sameness, a stiffness, a kind DEATH BY EDIFICATION 33 of formality about it, which does not interest so much as when the meeting is freer, and spontaneous prayer, and a few words, are heard from several. No careful observer can fail to see and admit that this certainly is the general fact. And it is surprising that we do not profit more by the hint it gives us. If we would secure the attendance and interest of the young and unconverted, this shows how it is to be done. Another fact is : Christians in a quickened and revived state do not think so much of this edification. Now, when they go into the prayer-meeting, it is with no expectation of making some excellent remarks, nor to listen to those who can speak the best, — not at all ; but to pour out their warm hearts in prayer with and for their friends ; to speak a word for Christ, and stir the feelings and hearts of others if they may. It is a state of mind very different from this chronic habit, this morbid appetite for edification. And the effect both on themselves and others is very different. Another fact is: Prayer-meetings, sustained only by the minister and two or three others, are not best for the Church. The experiment has been tried long, and in a great many places, but results have shown that such churches are not practically the strong ones. Strong they may be in Avealth, in numbers, in intelligence ; but strong and vigorous as work- ing churches, as practical, aggressive Christian forces and influences, they are not. Many weaker and feebler ones are stronger. No minister whose eyes have been open, and who has had twenty years of experience and observation, can fail to see and admit the fact. And the reason is as obvious as the fact. A few have acted for the whole. Many have done nothing, tried to do nothing, but to sit still, and be instructed and edified. The life, the feeling, the faith and hope, the ex- perience cff the whole, have not been contributed for the bene- fit of each ; and in point of fact, it will be found that the ready working ones have really got most instruction and edi- fication, and by a certain law of growth. As a man may eat more than he can digest, and more than ministers to his 3 34 HOUSEHOLD READING. strength, so these silent, hearing disciples, who want nothing but instruction and edification, really do not get it so much as others. Many a poor and feeble church — with preaching only a part of the time, benefited it may be by poverty and weak- ness, compelled and determined to stand close to each other, each ready and resolved to do his part — can be pointed to to-day, whose members do vastly more for each other, and exert a far greater comparative Christian influence on the population, than is true of larger and stronger churches who are so content to be edified. It may well be doubted whether many silent disciples in our prayer-meetings would not really be benefited by being deprived of their privileges, provided they could be roused to the responsibility and ac- tivity of witnesses for Christ. Then they would do better for themselves and for others. Is it right, is it just to Christ and his Church, to withhold now ? Brother, this means you. Too many Christians and churches are now pining by being edified. And of too many, a true verdict and an honest epitaph would be, — Died of Edification. ANGLO-SAXON WHITTLING SONG. " Yotir Yankee is always to be found with a jackknife, and when he has nothiuo else to do, is eternally whittling." — Growling Old Traveller. IN the olden time of England, the days of Norman pride, The mail-clad chieftain buckled on his broadsword at his side, And, mounted on his trusty steed, from land to land he strayed, And ever as he wandered on, he whittled with his blade. O, those dreamy days of whittling. He was out in search of monsters, — of giants grim and tall ; He was hunting up the griffins, — the dragons great and small ; He broke in through the oak doors of many a castle gate, And what he whittled when within, 't is needless to relate. 0, those foolish days of whitthng. ANGLO-SAXON WHITTLING SONG. 35 But when the pomp of feudal pride like a dream had passed away, And everywhere the knightly steel was rusting to decay, The common people drew their blades in quite another cause, And in the place of giants grim, they whittled up the laws. O, those stern old days of whittling. They whittled down the royal throne, with all its ancient might. And many a tough old cavalier was whittled out of sight; They whittled off the king's head, and set it on the wall. They whittled out a Commonwealth, but it could not last at all. O, those fiery days of whittling. There came across the stormy deep a stern and iron band, A solemn look on every face, — their hatchets in their hand ; They whittled down the forest oak, the chestnut and the pine, And planted in the wilderness the rose-tree and the vine. O, those fearful days of whittling. They made themselves a clearing, and housed their little freight, Then put their Sunday coats on, and whittled out a state ; They cut it round so perfectly, they whittled it so " true," That it still stands in beauty for all the world to view. 0, those grand old days of whittling. When England sent her hirelings, with cannon, gun, and blade. To break and batter down the state which these good men had made, The people seized for weapons whatever came to hand. And whittled these intruders back, and drove them from the land. O, heroic days of whittling. In men of Saxon blood it stays — this love of whittling — still, And something must be whittled, to pacify the will ; When the old wars were over, and peace came back again. They took to whittling mountains, and filling vale and glen. O, those peaceful days of whittling. They whittled out the railroad path through hill and rock and sand. And sent their snorting engines to thunder through the land ; Sails whitened all the harbors, the mountain valleys stirred. And the hum and roar of labor through all the land was heard. 0, those busy days of whittling. 36 HOUSEHOLD READING. But there long had dwelt among us a gaunt and hideous "Wrong, Set round with ancient guaranties, with legal ramparts strong, With look and tone defiant, it feared not God or man. But snatched on every side for power to work its wicked plan. All ripe and dry for whittling. Of old this Wrong was humble, asking with pious cry, This only, to be left alone, in its own time to die ; But, fed by this first yielding, bolder and bolder grown, Shameless before the nations now, it reared its bloody throne. The time draws nigh for whittling. " Pride goes before destruction," the wise man said of old ; "Whom the gods seek to ruin they first make mad" and bold; In the frenzy of its madness, this Wrong forgot its place. Came out with noise of gongs to fright our Yankee whittling race. God gave this chance for whittling. And now, my trusty Saxons, who come from near and far, Remember who your fathers were, and set your teeth for war; " Sword of the Lord and Gideon," be still your battle-cry. And strike as Samson struck of old, smite Slavery hip and thigh. Now is your time for whittling. And when the land shall rest again from all this noise and strife, And Peace her oUve-branch shall wave o'er this broad realm of life. Fair as the sun our nation before the world shall stand. Freedom on all her banners, freedom throughout the land. 0, these grand rewards of- whittling. KITTY'S REBELLION. 37 KITTY'S REBELLION. A TEUE STORY. ONE sultry summer's afternoon, some seventeen years ago, little Kitty ran in from her play for a drink of the cool lemonade which stood on the table. ^''Please, mamma," said her mother, as she turned the glass. " Kitty tan'4 say pease," replied the little maid. Now Kitty had said " pease " a hundred times, and usually delighted in saying everything she was told. She quite rev- elled in conversational powers for a year-and-a-half-old. For the first time in her short life she had taken a notion that she would not do as she was bid. So her mother set the glass down again untasted, and the child ran back to her doorstep as thirsty as before. But it was very warm, and presently the little feet came pattering back, and the thirsty red lips were put up again for a drink. " Kitty say please." " Tan't say pease." So the baby went away thirsty again. This experiment was repeated perhaps a dozen times in the course of the afternoon, at first playfully as it seemed; but as the wee rebel began actually to suffer from heat and thirst rather than say " please," it became a rather serious question how long she would hold out. Supper-time came, and Pet ran to her high chair. " Mamma lift Kitty up ! " " Please, mamma, lift Kitty," said the mother, gently. Instantly the eager little face fell. Baby shook her head, muttered, " Tan't say pease," and turned away. Her father and mother and the rest of the children sat down to the table ; but who could eat supper while that poor little outlaw stood back by the wall moaning with hunger and thirst? The mother yearned to take her in her arms and give her food and drink ; but how could she ? The little one knew that 38 HOUSEHOLD READING. one dutiful word would bring her all she wanted, yet she re- fused to speak it. The question was fairly at issue, — should the child obey the parents, or the parents submit to the child ? It is an old and common dilemma, and in thousands of households the child carries the day ; but Mrs. Hart did not believe God meant that to be the order of the world. So she took her baby to her own room, and set before her very tenderly and seriously her naughty behavior. She knelt down and prayed the Saviour to make her good and obedient ; but after it all, Kitty did not " say pease " any better than before. At length, distressed and tired out and fairly alarmed about the little creature, who had not tasted drink since noon, she carried her to her father and begged him to take the case in hand. Mr. Hart began to talk with the young culprit, playfully, nothing doubting he should soon bring her round. He gave her a great many words to speak, which she did all very readily till the fatal please came along ; that she could n't do. Year-and-a-half understood very well that to say that was to submit. So he grew serious, and told her that he should have to whip her if she did not mind. Now Kitty and whipping were two things never thought of in the same breath before. She had always been an uncommonly sweet and gentle child, and nobody had ever guessed how much grit was latent in that soft little bosom. Nothing else would avail, however, and the whipping had to come. Still the baby remained stout-hearted, and far from righteousness. Feverish and exhausted, with parched lips crying for drink, yet inflexibly refusing to speak the little word which would bring it, she was put to bed in her crib. All through the warm night she tossed and moaned in her unquiet sleep, or woke crying from thirst ; but even then, sleepy and miserable as she was, she would only sob, " Tan't say pease," when the water came near. For the father and mother, that was a night of sleepless wretchedness, relieved only by prayer. They really began to fear that the child would sooner die than give up. KITTY'S REBELLION. 39 •■' psliaw ! never mind the please ; have her drmk," many a father would have said. " Poor little thing ! I must let the minding go till another time," most mothers would have thought ; but INIr. and Mrs. Hart did not see it so. If it was like death for a will to yield after eighteen months' growth, what would it be after months and years of indul- gence ? God had committed to them this soul of his creat- ing, to be trained for himself. If she could not be made to obey her father whom she had seen, how should she become obedient to her Father in heaven whom she had not seen ? The very fact that her will was so strong made it the more imperative to their minds that it should be brought under the control of her conscience ; they saw what a cruel tyrant it would prove if left to hold sway. The longer the struggle was protracted, the more likely it seemed that the result would be a final one, and the more important that it should be right. Then the other children who had been watching this new phase of family history with a kind of solemn dread, — should they learn that the authority they had been taught to revere could, after all, be trodden under the feet of a baby ? It would not do. It had been clearly explained to the little one that it was her Heavenly Father's command that she should obey her parents, and that she was resisting his will ; that father and mother felt that they had no right to annul his law. So the night wore away, and the morning broke ; but it brought no peace to the household, weighed down by the perverseness of its young rebel. She woke worn and almost sick, but stubborn as ever. Free will indeed ! "What a grand, awful mystery it is ! How, shrined in a dainty, delicate morsel of flesh, it can look out and defy the world ! Terrible agent of evil ! Glorious worker of good ! Kingliest power in creation ! — a sover- eign human will ! What wonder heaven and hell contended for little Kitty's will. So they do for every one. Happy the child whose parents steadfastly keep the right side in the conflict ! 40 HOUSEHOLD READING. Kitty found an ally in the morning. A woman who occii- pied the adjoining tenement, having learned the state of things from the children, came in to plead for her. She as- sured Mrs. Hart that she was killing the child; that it was downright cruelty to treat her so ; that if she had a little girl, she would never see her suffer when she could help it. All this fell on a sore and aching heart. The mother had already been tormented with fears that the heat and thirst and ex- citement would really be the death of her poor dear naughty little darling. She tried to think up some compromise by which Kitty could be relieved without a sacrifice of parental government. At last she quietly placed a mug of milk in a low chair, and left the little girl alone in the room, while her father and mother watched her unseen. They saw her come up to the mug and press her hot little bands against its cool sides and begin to raise it to her thirsty iips ; then suddenly she set it down with a piteous look, and went away moaning. It was a cruel battle between Desire and Honor, for such a little heart. Again and again the lit- tle creature would come up and look wistfully into the mug full of white milk, shake her head mournfully, and turn away. Kitty would not slink out of the difficulty, though her parents would let her ; she or they must openly surren- der. This little display of character made them clearer than ever that they should do the child a cruel wrong in helping her to break down the demands of her own conscience. In the course of the morning Mrs. Hart was relieved to see the family physician drive up to the door. She hastened to tell him the whole story, and ask whether she was risking too much. He advised her to " put it through ; the little thing could n't stand out much longer." Moreover, the good doctor straightway conceived a little stratagem for bringing her to terms. It was a great treat for any of the children to ride with him, and one to which Kitty had never yet arrived ; so that when he proposed to take her this morning, she flushed up with delight, and began to caper about the room in high glee. KITTY'S REBELLION. 41 " Run ask your mother to please put on your hat, then," said the Doctor. Instantly tlie bright little face faded ; she had lost all de- sire to go if there was a " please " to it. So that expedient failed. It was getting toward noon ; nearly twenty-four hours, during which Kitty had tasted neither food nor drink. Per- suasion and authority had been exhausted upon her, and still she wandered about the house, a wan, disconsolate little object, often crying, but obstinate as ever. Almost heart- broken to see her so, the mother took her in her arms once more and carried her to her chamber. Once again she showed the little girl how wretched her wilfulness was mak- ing herself and all the rest, and how it was grieving the dear Saviour. Then she knelt, and with strong crying and tears implored that blessed Spirit, who can melt every heart, to subdue the stubborn will. Suddenly baby threw her arms around her neck and burst out, — " Pease, jjease, pease, pease, jyease, pease ! " The grateful mother covered her with tears and kisses, and carried her down to the sitting-room, where she sprang into her father's arms crying, " Pease, pease, pease ! " as if she never would be done. Now she was all radiant with love and peace. The other children came running in to hear how Kit- ty could say " please." She was ready to hug and kiss every- body. The whole family stood around laughing and crying, to see her drink her cup of milk, and hardly able to let her alone long enough to do it. The house was full of joy. The battle was ended. Right had triumphed. It had been a ter- rible struggle, but it was once for all ; from that day to this, Kitty Hart has shown no disposition to resist rightful author- ity. Her will was not " 'broken^'' — that is an ugly phrase, — it is a good strong will yet ; but it was brought under her conscience. It was rescued from being mere wilfulness. These parents had tried all along to make their child un- derstand that to resist them was to disobcv her Father in 42 HOUSEHOLD READING. Leaven, and that tins was the head and front of her offend hig. As time went on, they found, to their thankful surprise, reason to believe that she had understood it so well that in yielding to them at last she had also submitted herself to Him. Maturer years and new experience deepened and de- veloped her Christian life, but it never seemed necessary for Kitty to be converted after she was a year and a half old. It appeared that the Redeemer had crot^ned their prayers and fidelity, and ended that long contest by changing the heart of stone to a heart of flesh, and sending his Spirit into it cry- nig, Abba, Father ! Ah, these crises in child-hearts mean more than we think I Eternal issues are pending when we little dream of it ! THE OLD FOLKS AT HOME. AN my reader, with his tenacious memory, tell me the first time he heard " the old folks " spoken of? I won- der what they did for " old folks " in the days before the flood, when a man at one hundred was a mere boy, — a ten- year-old boy ! When no young lady could get through her education, and be introduced into society, till she was one hundred and seventy-five, at least ! When no one could be numbered with " the old folks " under six hundred or six hundred and fifty years ! Did " the old folks " appear then as they now do ? Did they feel as they now do ? Most like- ly ; for accordhig to the tradition of the Jews, the Lord of- fered to let Methuselah live till he was fifteen hundred years old, if he would build himself a house ; but the old gentle- man at nine hundred and sixty respectfully declined, on the ground that it was hardly worth all that trouble for only about five hundred years ! So he probably lived in his cave, and felt that it was not best for old men to begin new proj- THE OLD FOLKS AT HOME. 43 ects. How did he and his wife feel and talk, as they sat down together and looked backward and forward ? Doubt- less very much as " the old folks " now feel and talk. One of the beautiful arrangements of our Heavenly Father is seen in the fact that every period — infancy, childhood, youth, manhood, and age — has a golden charm attached to each. Each phase is different from the rest, and it is hardly possible to say which is most beautiful. The beauty, the grace, the sunshine, the early morning chatter of young children always awakens the most delightful emotions. The mischievousness and the restlessness, the magnifying every- thing seen and heard, and the sweet credulity of childhood ! the opening new worlds of vision, the rising up from the ground of untold air-castles, the rainbow hopes leaping from the chambers of the imagination of youth ! the sight of the parents in the refined home, watching over and training up their large family of children, each one needing a distinct discipline and training, and then the silver, thoughtful, al- most silent and solitary days of the aged pair ! which is most beautiful ? I cannot decide. I am now thinking of an aged couple, who are called " the old folks," who have lived together, husband and wife, in the same house, over fifty years. They came there young, san- guine, and utterly unable to conceive what they would pass through in fifty years, or indeed that there could be an end to half a century. They have reared, carefully and properly educated, a large family of children. These have all gone from them now, have families of their own, and are filling, eacli, an important place in society, and some of them high posts of influence. They are all members of Christ's Church in the order of their parents. And so " the old folks " are left alone, — just as they started in life. They have long worn glasses ; but at the hour of family worship, they take each a Bible and read in course alternately, two verses, — just as they did when they read with their children. Then they sing the old hymns, though the voices are not so sweet, or 44 HOUSEHOLD KEADING. the pipes of the organ as perfect as formerly. They live, it is plain, from incidental remarks, in the past, the present, and the future. There are certain things that they seldom speak of even to one another. They keep all the playthings which their children once used, — ostensibly for their grandchildren when they come to visit them ; but the forms that they see playing with them are those of their own dear children, who have gone from them, but who left their image in their mem- ory. The little books, and even the little shoes, of their" bright and early dead, are carefully laid up ; and though they never speak of them, each knows that they are precious mementos of the past. But to see how careful they are of each other ! The fires of passion have all burned out, the beauty and freshness of life have all passed away, and the rich harvests of time have all been garnered. But no lovers could be more tender toward each other. If either is absent, the time is anxious- ly measured till the return, and the footstep on the threshold may not be elastic as it returns, yet the ear that hears it and the heart that hears it are awake. They seem to understand each other's thoughts without words, and each feels that life would not be life without the other. They think over the past much and often, and realize that they have together toiled, and together struggled, and shared all the burdens and sorrows of life. Every memory of the past is equally vivid to each. They don't say much about their separation — so certain — to leave one or the other so desolate, but it is plain they think much about it ; and from hints occasionally dropped, it is evident that each is contriving and planning how the other can be made comfortable when thus left alone, each expecting to be the first to die. And when they think of the future, -^ even carrying their thoughts into heaven, — they seem to have an unexpressed fear that heaven will not be all they desire, if they can there be to each other nothing more than old acquaintances ! It seems as if they must carry something of the tender feeling which the sorrows and the THE OLD FOLKS AT HOME, 45 experience of life have given them, into that world, and as if they must go hand in hand forever ! And the thought that they must soon separate, and the one must be left to walk alone in the rooms, sit alone at the old table, kneel alone at the altar of God, go alone to the house of the Lord, gives an inexpressible tenderness to their treatment of each other. They never, even in the days of youthful courtship, lived more in each other's thoughts than now. Time hath covered the rough places of life, over which they have walked ; and. years have healed the wounds they have suifered, leaving only scars ; but the rough winds of life have only bowed their heads, and you see not the sturdy oak, but the soft, weeping willow. Memory brings up pictures of the past, some of them recalling sorrows heavy as humanity can bear, but mellows them down in her own golden light ; and Hope comes still, not to sing of earth, as she once did, but of heaven, and the ever-opening future ; and Faith, showing nothing to the eye, contrives to exert his power over them, by mingling his voice in the songs of Hope ! They will not be with each other long ; but while they do live, no part of their life has been more full of tender regard, genuine respect, unaffected kindness, or deeper love. The young world can't understand " the old folks " ; but for my- self, I never go into their dwelling without seeing some of the most purified, refined, and exalted traits of human na- ture, which, to me, are inimitably beautiful. And if what I have said shall lead my reader to feel more kindly toward those who are all around us, known as " the old folks," I shall have gained my object in writing. Let me add, that few things are more repulsive to a refined heart than to have such a couple as I have described called " the old folks," by way of derision. 46 HOUSEHOLD BEADING. WAITING. AGED man beside the river, Waiting for the call to cross, Keeping still thy youth immortal, Through the outward change and loss ; - Well our hearts may envy thee, Waiting by the " narrow sea." Eyes, that scarce behold the faces Coming love-lit through the door, Eyes, that scarce can see the morning. Catch the heaven-light, more and more, Glancing from the wings of angels Walking on the other shore. And the friends, so long departed, Seem to cross the narrow tide. Lighting up thy room at midnight. Smiling on thee, loving-eyed ; And thou feelest on thy forehead Kisses of thine earlier bride. These are but the shining heralds, Wearing glory of the dawn, — Golden clouds along the orient Ushering in the perfect morn : Who can tell what waits thy vision, When the full day shall be born ! O the Christ who hath ascended. Now preparing thee a place ! They shall lead thee in before him, Thou shalt see him face to face ! Well our hearts may envy thee. Waiting by the "narrow sea." THE ONE THING NEEDFUL. 47 THE ONE THING NEEDFUL. THE religion that the world is dying for is not a treasure, valued and cherished, indeed, but cherished under a glass case, in the best room, carefully dusted, and visible only on days of high festival. We want a religion that is an atmosphere, wrapping us about, above, and below, going- down into the lungs in deep-drawn inspirations, to purify and energize, filtering into the blood to tint and quicken, spread- ing out in the skin to protect and adorn, piercing noisome cellars to dispel the noxious, death-dealing vapors, mounting into the parlors, and bedrooms, and kitchens, to keep them sweet and healthful, permeating and interpenetrating all things, — a savor of life unto life. "We want a religion that softens the step, and tones the voice to melody, and fills the eye with sunshine, and checks the impatient exclamation and the harsh rebuke, — a relig- ion that is polite, deferential to superiors, courteous to in- feriors, and considerate of friends, — a religion that goes into the family, and keeps the husband from being spiteful when the dinner is late, and keeps the dinner from being late ; keeps the wife from fretting when the husband tracks the newly washed floor with his muddy boots, and makes the husband mindful of the scraper and the door-mat; keeps the mother patient when the baby is cross, and keeps the baby pleasant ; amuses the children as well as instructs them ; wins as well as governs ; cares for the servants besides paying them promptly ; projects the honeymoon into the harvest- moon, and makes the happy hours like the Eastern fig-tree, bearing in its bosom at once the beauty of the tender blos- som and the glory of the ripened fruit ; — a religion that looks after the apprentice in the shop, and the clerk in the store, and the student in the office, with a fatherly care and a motherly love ; setting the solitary in families, introducing 48.. HOUSEHOLD READING. them to pleasant and wholesome society, that their lonely feet may not be led into temptation ; forgiving occasional lapses while striving to prevent them, and to supply, so far as may be, the place of the natural guardians, by a vigilance that at- tracts without annoying. We want a religion that shall interpose continually be- tween the ruts and gullies and rocks of the highway of life, and the sensitive souls that are travelling over them. We want a religion that bears heavily, not only on the " exceeding sinfulness of sin," but on the exceeding rascality of lying and stealing, — a religion that banishes short measures from the counters, small baskets from the stalls, pebbles from the cotton-bags, clay from paper, sand from sugar, chickory from coffee, otter from butter, beet-juice from vinegar, alum from bread, strychnine from wine, water from milk-cans, and buttons from the contribution-box. The religion that is to save the world will not put all the big strawberries at the top, and all the bad ones at the bottom. It will sell raisin? on stems, instead of stems without raisins. It will not offer more baskets of foreign wines than the vineyards ever pro duced bottles, and more barrels of Genesee flour than all the wheat-fields of New York grow and all her mills grind. It will not make one half of a pair of shoes of good leather, and the other of poor leather, so that the first shall redound to the maker's credit, and the second to his cash ; nor, if the shoes have been promised on Thursday morning, will it let Thursday morning spin out till Saturday night. It will not put Jouvin's stamp on Jenkins's kid gloves, nor make Paris bonnets in the back room of a Boston milliner's shop, nor let a piece of velvet that professes to measure twelve yards come to an untimely end in the tenth, or a spool of sewing- silk that vouches for twenty yards be nipped in the bud at fourteen and a half, nor the cotton-thread spool break, to the yardstick, fifty of the two hundred yards of promise that was given to the eye, nor yard-wide cloth measure less than thir ty-six inches from selvage to selvage, nor all-wool delaines THE ONE THING NEEDFUL. 49 and all-linen handkerchiefs be amalgamated with clandestine cotton, nor coats made of old woollen rags pressed together be sold to an unsuspecting public for legal broadcloth. It does not put bricks at five dollars per thousand into chim- neys which it contracted to build of seven-dollar materials, nor smuggle white pine into floors that have paid for hard pine, nor leave yawning cracks in closets where boards ought to join, nor daub ceilings that ought to be smoothly plastered, nor make window-blinds with slats that cannot stand the wind, and paint that cannot stand the sun, and fastenings that may be looked at, but are, on no account, to be touched. It does not send the little boy, who has come for the daily quart of milk, into the barnyard to see the calf, and seize the opportunity to skim off the cream, nor does it surround stale butter with fresh, and sell the whole for good, nor pass off the slack-baked bread upon the stable-boy, nor dust the pepper, nor " deacon " the apples. It does not put cotton gathering threads into the skirt, to succumb on the slightest provocation, nor content itself with fastening seams at the beginning and the end, trusting to Providence for the secur- ity of the intermediate stages. The religion that is to sanctify the world pays its debts. It does not borrow money, with little or no prospect. of repay- ment, but concealing or glossing over the fact. It does not consider that forty cents returned for one hundred cents given is according to Gospel, though it may be according to law. It looks upon a man who has failed in trade, and who continues to live in luxury, as a thief. It looks upon a man who promises to pay fifty dollars on demand, with interest, and who neglects to pay it on demand, with or without inter- est, as a liar. 50 HOUSEHOLD READING. DR. EMMONS. AS this divine is made a constant target for review, criti- cism, and ridicule (on tlie principle that any man is brave enough to stone a dead lion), justice demands that one peculiar trait of Dr. Emmons should be clearly understood. He used sometimes irony in his theological discussions with great effect ; and the irony, too, of ^vord, of silence, and that expression of countenance peculiar to himself. In his inter- view with Dr. Cox,* he soon became impatient with Dr. Cox's questions, and remarked, " 0, you are right, and I am wrong." But Dr. Cox went away claiming that Dr. Emmons had recanted the doctrines of his whole life's ministry ; while Dr. Emmons's friends, who knew him far better than it was possible for Dr. Cox to know, simply laughed at his infatua- tion. His most common mode of silencing an opponenf was in being silent himself ; and if his opponent did not know enough to feel the power of this, why he let him pass. No one ever heard of Dr. Emmons's recantation except Dr. Cox. Dr. Emmons acted upon the principle given in Prov. xiv. 7, in his theological discussions, when his opponents lost their proper standing in reason, propriety, and politeness, as many did. It will interest the friends of Dr. Emmons to know that the writer holds in his hands the post-ofRce address of a D. D. who has in a most humble manner confessed that he knowing- ly stated that which was utterly false concerning Dr. Em- mons. And the Doctor's friends would say, that very many stories reported of him have no truth in them whatever. Dr. Emmons's theology is as fairly open to discussion as any man's, and if his opponents can, as Carlyle says, " blast him into infinite space," why then infinite space is fairly open to such explosions ; but let them deal decently and fairly with * See his work, "Interviews Interesting and Memorable." GEOLOGY AND GENESIS. 51 the man, while (as they suppose) they mangle the matter. "Whatever is true, and whatever is according to sound doc- trine, may be hurled against Dr. Emmons's views rightfully, but let blunderers and falsifiers beware. GEOLOGY AND GENESIS. A CLERGYMAN who claims the strictest orthodoxy of Princeton has lately published, in one of our leading magazines, his unqualified assent to the teachings of Darwin and Huxley and Lyell. He believes that man has been on the earth for a great many thousand years. He believes that tlie first man was not created, but unfolded from a loathsome brute. And all this he makes haste to say he believes as a clergyman, accepting it as demonstrated by science. He can have no motive for parading his clerical office, unless to insin- uate that his faith in the new philosophy will square with his faith in the Book which he preaches. Is this the proper at- titude of a Christian tcaclier ? Is he to hold the truths of inspiration in abeyance to the crude speculations of science ? Let Science keep her hand on the facts, and we have no fears for the Bible. She is the handmaid of Religion. When she interprets nature aright, we shall see that God, who wrote his law on the " tables of stone," is the same living God who wrote on stone amid the thunders of Sinai. The geologist has not read all the chapters of the stone volume. He has read enough to determine the order of creation. Granite is the foundation rock of the earth. It is a mere cinder. Before granite was formed the earth was molten, a bright, burning star. Over granite, and rocks of the gran- ite family, are beds of stratified rock. These were formed on sea-bottoms and beaches. Animals were imbedded in them, and the hard parts petrified. By the coolmg and consequent 52 HOUSEHOLD READING. shrinking and wrinkling of the earth the strata were tilted up. The geologist can study them in their outcrops, and decipher from them the order in which living beings were in- troduced on the earth. Now what is the history lettered on the rocks ? The primitive granite tells us of heat and vapor and chaos. The oldest beds of sandstone and lime tell us of the first types of life. They were all marine. The primeval forests — trees built on the humble pattern of the reed and fern, and forming dense jungles over marshy plains — we dig up in the form of coal. In strata above the coal we find the ruins of great beasts of the sea and land. They were cold-blooded reptiles. In strata still newer we find the re- mains of mammals. Last of all, and last born of creation, man, his bones and rude implements fashioned by his hand, lie entombed in caves and bogs of Europe. The geologi- cal record may be stated thus : First, condition of the earth, molten, chaotic, — a globe witli no features, no distinction of parts. Second, the earth crusted over with granite ; metal- lic and watery vapors held in the air, condensed. Earth covered with water. Third, marshes clad in vegetation. Fourth, creation of great reptiles and birds. Fifth, crea- tion of mammals and serpents, — "creeping things"; and, finally, creation of man. Some geologists may state the his- tory in different periods, but all will agree that this expresses the order of events. The earth had a beginning. In the beginning was chaos. Life began in the ocean. The land brought forth plants before animals. Cold-blooded reptiles came before mammals. The lowei» mammals came before man. Now in the first chapter of Genesis we have another record of creation. For simplicity and sublimity it has challenged the admiration of those who deny its inspiration. It gives us this order : First, a chaos, — " the earth without form and void." Light, but no sun. Second, a firmament or heaven. Third, vegetation. Fourth, sun, moon, stars. Fifth, marine animals, — great sea beasts and birds. Sixth, mammals and GEOLOGY AND GENESIS. 53 serpents, " cattle and creeping things," and finally man. No one can fail to see the essential agreement between the two records. Contradictions are only seeming, not real. The sun, moon, and stars, we are told, were created on the fourth day after vegetation. Now science has shown the sun to be the source of all power throughout the worlds bathed in his light. His fleetness is in the deer, his strength in the lion, his life-giving beams are stored away in the tree and flower. No blade of grass could spring from the ground, without the sun ; but we are taught here that the earth was made to bring forth grass and herb before the sun was created. If this is the meaning, then also is it the meaning of the sixteenth verse, that the moon is greater than any star. Every one knows that the Bible here sets forth optical truth, not physical. Science assures us that light from the sun must have ap- peared on the earth before the sun himself was unveiled to it. Imagine all the carbon incorporated in living vegetation, and all that locked up under strata in the ruins of primeval vegetation to be suspended in the air, imagine the air to be loaded with vapor of all the more volatile elements, and you will picture in the mind an atmosphere which might shut out a view of the sun from the earth. Now such an atmosphere once enveloped our world. Light appeared before the sun. This is the teaching of science, and it is the teaching of Genesis. The Bible describes the history of creation as it would have appeared to the eye. Another difficulty in the minds of some who accept the geological record is, that the Bible seems to fix the age of the earth at about six thousand years. The geologist knows that the age of the earth is so great that numbers cannot express it. The simple-hearted Cliristian, wlio is not familiar with the language of science, may see no reason to change his faith in the old interpretation which assumes that the heaven and the earth were created in six days about six thousand years ago. I write for such, and-fnot for the professional geologist. Let me present, then, a brief argument simplified 54 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. to the comprehension of those who may not follow the more statelj demonstrations. In California, a species of woodpecker bores through the bark of trees and hides a winter supply of acorns in the pits, — one acorn in each pit. I have seen a section of one of the great trees with pits holding acorns near a foot from the bark. Between the pits and the bark were about five hundred rings of growth. These rings, as every one knows, are rings of annual growth. Here, then, is a beautiful illustration of how Nature may report herself. What a bird was doing five hun- dred years ago is more faithfully registered in the tree than the actions of men at the same time are registered in history. But these rings will take you back still further in the history of nature. They register the passing years, not what was done in them. Probably we should find these great trees of California to be many thousand years old. We know more about the age of the cedars of Lebanon. There we may see the same trees that Solomon saw. They are some four thou- sand years old. Look now at the soil from which they grow. They stand on a ridge of clay and gravel containing boulders. The gravel and clay are not stratified, not arranged in layers, but thrown down without order. How was this ridge put there ? Not by water, else it would be stratified. The greater part of Greenland is buried under a sheet of ice more than two thousand feet thick, called a glacier. This glacier moves slowly toward the south, freighted with boulders and gravel and clay. When the end of the glacier thaws, it throws down its freight, which forms a ridge called a glacial moraine. Now the cedars of Lebanon stand on a glacial mo- raine, — a ridge formed just as the moraines of Greenland and Switzerland. It is the monument of a vast mantle of ice which covered the plains and mountains of Palestine long be- fore the present race of cedars could have grown on Lebanon. Under this ridge of glacial drift lie the strata which form the body of the mountain. They are beds or layers of limestone. With a crowbar you may pry asunder the leaves of rock, and GEOLOGY AND GENESIS. 55 every leaf you will find, as thickly inlaid with the dead as the leaves in the herbal of a botanist. There are petrified fishes locked lip in their stony death since the mountain was on the bottom of a sea. And there are the ruins of a tribe of pearly chambered shells. They are pearl no more, but stoiie. These chambered ammonites sailed like bannered ships through the sea. The race has been stricken from the roll of life. Their shells sank to the sea bottom, and became imbedded in oozy mud. Now that mud is hard rock, and lifted up into a chain of mountains. As the annual rings of the cedar take you back some four thousand years, so the glacial moraine wider the cedar will take you far back in the ages to a time when Palestine was buried in ice, and these strata under the moraine will take you back still further to an epoch when Palestine and the greater part of Asia and Europe were buried beneath an ocean. And as the pits and acorns in the cedar report to you something of the life of California five hundred years ago, so the sliells and fishes petrified in the mountain report something of the life that sported in the oceans of that long- ago. Now these petrifactions in Mount Lebanon, old as they are, are but of yesterday, when compared with the age of the world. Imbedded in strata of the same age we find the ruins of great sea beasts. As we have sketched the history of creation, these sea beasts cnxne fourth in the order, preced- ing the warm-blooded quadrupeds and man. No one who has weighed the evidence can doubt the great antiquity of the earth. And no candid mind can fail to see that tlie order of the Mosaic history harmonizes essentially with that of the geological. But the days of Genesis were not our days. " A day with the Lord is as a thousand years." This sublime narrative is stripped of its dignity if we take the days for twenty-four hours, and limit the Deity to a week of time gauged for hu- man labor for the consummation of his vast schemes in the 56 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. physical universe. The astronomer has seen his glory in the heavens, worlds created by his hand spread through the im- mensities of space. The moralist has seen his purposes un folding through the ages of human history. The geologist has seen his far-reaching plans unfolding through the epochs of nature's history. The astronomer shows us the march of creation through space ; the geologist, its march through time ; and the mind can no more grasp the epochs of the one than tlie spaces of the other. Whence, then, came this sketch of the course of creation, so grand, so brief, so truthful, that in the focal blaze of modern science it stands in all its integrity ? In Hindoo cosmogony we are told that the earth was a chaos, and that the Creator, in the form of Brahma, moved on the waters, peopled them with life, and lifted the sea-bottom vip into dry land. We are told of periods of creation and periods of destruction ; of the sea ingulfing the land, and of the Deity descending to reclaim the land from the sea. These gleams of truth we find amid the grossest errors. The very form of the expression recalls the opening words of Genesis. Either the Hindoo borrowed from the Jew, or the Jew from the Hindoo. The freedom of the Jewish narrative from Hindoo superstition forbids us to suppose the latter. Now we find Sir Charles Lyell maintain- ing that the Hindoos learned so much of truth by observa- tion. They read it on the rocks. But Sir Charles forgets that neither Jew nor Hindoo knew how to observe. What- ever truth he finds in their cosmogonies came not by scientific induction, however else it came. We can easily see how the naturalist, looking only at matter and force, should come by constant habit of mind to ignore that higher realm of spirit. As a naturalist he is slow to admit the supernatural. But everywhere, in every blade of grass, in every living thing, he sees the manifestations of a power which came from God into nature. And will he believe that no illumination of the human soul has been vouclisafed from the same Father ? De Joinville was imprisoned in an Austrian dungeon, where for THE OLD WAGON-WHEELS. 67 many years be hardly saw a human face, but made compan- ionship with spiders and crickets. He became so skilled in their strange lore that he could foretell from their motions an approaching storm. These little creatures which cannot sin are so delicately tuned to the harmonies of nature, that the most subtile influences vibrate through their organism as a beam of light through a diamond. Man stands in relations with nature and with a sphere above nature, and if his spirit were not barred by sin from the Father of spirits, if all the powers of his being were in harmony with the Infinite Being as the life of the brute is in harmony with nature, inspirations from that upper sphere might be as natural to his soul as impressions from the sphere of nature to the organism of the brute. It is our firm conviction, matured and strengthened by our reading of the strata, that the Mosaic account of creation is inspired of God. And he who wrote the generation of one world saw in that high illumination the generation of all worlds. "These are the generations of the heavens and the earth," — the universe. God is one as well as infinite, and as his creative power was manifested on the earth, so in the same laws it was manifested on every sphere. THE OLD WAGON-WHEELS. HOW THEY PREACHED TExAIPERANCE. MANY reformers seem to be endowed with a capacity to make the wrath of their enemies to praise them, by turning their vile machinations to the furtherance of their cause. A few years ago there was an occurrence in Law- rence County, New York, which happily illustrates this state- ment. A pioneer reformer, " a terror to evil-doers," had rendered 58 HOUSEHOLD READING. himself obnoxious to half a dozen rumsellers and their al- lies in a little thickly settled village. These sons of Belial were at their wits' ends to know how to check his career and destroy his influence. At length when the good man had driven to the village, and in the shades of the evening had hitched his horse to an old oak, in his absence they hit upon the device of setting loose his horse and dismantling his wagon. The body they placed at the trunk of the tree, and the wheels they hung on the branches, as high as Haman's gallows, and retired exulting in their exploit. The owner soon returned, and seeing the venerable oak adorned with his old wheels, as a bride adorned with rings and ringlets, laughed heartily, and exclaimed, " There, there let them hang till they rot down ; they ivill preach temperance cheaper and better than I can do it.^^ The old tree was public property. No one seemed disposed to rob it of its meretricious charms ; the friends of temper- ance gazed and admired, whilst its enemies, who had pro- claimed their own shame, dared not (for fear of ridicule) touch the old wagon-gear with one of their fingers. Year after year the old wheels basked in the sun, and swung and creaked in the winds, and the old tree became an object of admiration, a sort of monumental pillar, publishing the mag- nanimous achievements of rumsellers and their parasites. Strangers, as they journeyed through the village, gazed and wondered, and troubled the villagers with many in- quiries. Customers, near and remote, some from curiosity and some from love of sport, teased the guilty storekeepers be- yond endurance as months and years rolled on. And our reformer (Heaven bless him, he can say, " I still live"), — our reformer had the pleasure of knowing that his old wheels preached temperance to multitudes which he could never reach, and the whole affair proved a capital temperance in- vestment. We have known rumsellers and their victims to resort to many expedients to intimidate reformers, — shear the manes A CHILD'S EVENING HYMN. 59 of horses, loosen linchpins, hurl putrid eggs, fire houses, withdraw patronage, and the like, — but we can hardly recol- lect a case where vengeance did not recoil upon their own pates ; the guns kicked and killed their cannoneers, the gal- lows they have erected have served for their own necks. Hence, in a day like this, when the rum party is rallying and renewing the battle, the friends of God and reform should unroll the scroll of the past, and gather fresh courage from an immense treasury of temperance facts, — all going to show that a kind Providence from the first has made most adverse circumstances subservient to this great and beneficent cause. A CHILD'S EVENING HYMN. LITTLE child, why wilt thou fear? Jesus, tender Shepherd 's, near ; He thy downy couch will keep, Tremble not to sleep ! Little cliild, wdiy wilt thou fear? Night is to His vision clear, And the darkness knows His tread ; He defends thy bed. Though thy voice were ne'er so low, It will reach His ear, I know, For His words thy plea shall be, " Children, come to me." Listening alway up above, Waiting, watching for thy love. Little child, 't is easy now To His will to bow ! Put thy trembling hand in His ; Strong and powerful it is ; It shall guide thee through the night Into perfect light. 60 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. THE YOUNG CONQUEROR. IT was a warm morning in the latter part of May, and Hal Grey, on his way to chapel, arm in arm with Lame Jemmy, met Bill Massey. " Good morning, Puritans," said he, with a kind of wicked smile; "you'll be apt to see some fun at prayers this morning." " What do you mean ? " asked both together. " 0, you two boys are always talking about being so good, and * overcoming,' and all that ; perhaps you '11 see old Prex overcome this morning, or come over, just as you please to take it." Harry immediately suspected some trick, and begged Bill not to do anything to hurt the feelings of kind Mr. Avery. But he could draw nothing further from his mischievous schoolmate, and so went reluctantly on. As he entered the chapel, he looked hurriedly around. Everything was in its place, and he felt somewhat reassured. Presently Mr. Avery appeared, and walked with dignified step to his chair. Hal watched him with painful interest, nor were his fears in vain, for as the worthy man seated him- self, the chair suddenly gave way, and he was prostrated on the floor. A few silly boys laughed, but the hot blood rushed to Hal's cheeks and brow, especially when he saw that Mr. Avery had so sprained his foot as to be unable to rise with- out the assistance of an under teacher. The chair was im- mediately examined, and it was discovered that one of the back legs had been sawed off. Mr. Avery turned very sternly to the assembled boys, and demanded who had dared perpetrate such a miserable practi- cal joke. The most profound silence followed the question ; but as Mr. Avery's keen eye swept round the room-, it rested on the embarrassed face of Hal Grey. THE YOUNG CONQUEROR. ^ 61 " What do you know about it, sir ? " he asked suddenly. The crimson grew deeper upon Hal's cheeks, but he drew himself up a little proudly, as he firmly replied, " I did not do it, sir." " Do you know who did ? " persisted Mr. Avery. Harry hesitated, and at last said faintly, " I would rather not answer, sir." " But I command you. Come, I am waiting for the name," said Mr. Avery, with growing impatience. "Please excuse me, sir," pleaded Hal, "I cannot tell that." " Cannot^ and why ? " cried Mr. Avery, a little angrily. But poor Hal could only repeat, " Please excuse me, sir." " Very well," said Mr. Avery, thoroughly vexed at what he called Harry's obstinacy, while the growing pain in his foot tended to increase an irritability in which he seldom in- dulged. " Very well, sir, if you have nothing further to say, we may reasonably conclude that you are the guilty one yourself, and will proceed to award your punishment." "I did not do it, Mr. Avery," interposed Harry; but that gentleman, with a hastiness he afterwards regretted, pro- ceeded to say, " Henry Grey is suspended from his classes for one week, and ordered to remain in his room during the hours of recreation for the same length of time." Lams Jemmy interposed tearfully, " Will this prevent him from taking the prize at the end of this term, sir ? " " Of course," said Mr. Avery, briefly, and proceeded with the morning exercises. This last was too great a blow for Hal. He had striven so hard for that prize, and meant so to delight his mother, and now to lose it all in a minute. It was too much, and, leaning back in the shadow of the chapel pillar, he with difficulty re- strained his tears. And then, too, how hard to have Mr. Avery think so ill of him. Surely Bill would not have the heart to leave him in such disgrace, — he would confess ; but no, not a word more was said upon tlie subject, and presently the boys dispersed to their different class-rooms, giving Hal b2 HOUSEHOLD READING. many a look and word of sympathy, as they passed, for he was a great favorite in the school. At the hour for morning exercise, Hal could not resist hurrying down for one minute's talk with Bill Massey. " Bill, Bill," he cried, as the boy tried to evade him. " Surely, you do not mean to make me lose the prize. You ivill tell Mr. Avery, won't you ? I know he won't scold very Iiard, now it 's all over, and you know you can't get the prize, any way. WonH you tell him, Bill? " " I don't think I shall do anything of the kind." " You won't tell him ? " cried Hal, with indignant surprise. " No," said Bill, doggedly. The bright color leaped into Hal's cheeks, and his eyes flashed with anger. " Well, then, you 're a mean-spirited fellow, and a cow- ard ! " cried Hal, his fiery temper entirely getting the mas- tery of him. " No boy shall call me that," said Bill, coolly rolling up his sleeves. " Come on," cried Harry, excitedly. " I 'm ready to fight, if that 's what you mean." " Hal, dear Hal," pleaded Lame Jemmy, and his clinging touch was upon the boy's arm. Hal's eyes softened a little, as he said, " Go away, please, Jem, I might hurt you." But Jemmy clung the tighter. " Dearest Hal, you are not the right kind of a conqueror now. think, Hal, ' to him that overcometh,' the tree of life, the morning star, the para- dise of God. Now is the time to fight hard ; ' doivn passion, down revenge.'' Be a conqueror, Hal, but be sure and strike in the right place." Hal's anger rapidly cooled as Jem spoke, and at last he threw his arms aroimd his little friend, exclaiming, " Jemmy, I believe you are my good angel." Then turning to Bill, he said with an eifort, " I am sorry I called you names, but I cannot fight with you." THE YOUNG CONQUEROR. 63 Bill broke into a loud, sneeriDg laugh. " That 's a good way to get out of it, you miserable sneak. Why don't you say you don't dare fight, instead of playing good, and trying to imagine you 're a martyr just ready to be taken out of a wicked world ? " Hal was about making an indignant reply, but checked himself just in time, and rushing to his room, threw himself upon his knees, repenting bitterly of this outburst of passion, and humbly asking help for the future. Harry bore the remainder of his week of disgrace with quiet gentleness and patience, and Mr. Avery more than once regretted the severity of his sentence. A few more weeks passed, and found Hal still fighting the good fight, with his proud, young spirit under firm control. In the long twilight of a lovely June evening, Hal was walking with Jemmy by the river, watching Bill Massey, as he taught a troop of young boys to swim. " There is one thing troubling me. Jemmy," said Hal, at length. " I do not think I feel quite right towards Bill Mas- sey yet, I don't like to have him near me, and I would rather oblige any boy in school than him." " Well, it is hard, but I suppose it is another feeling to be overcome. We must pray for strength to figlit it down." " I ^(9,* J,em," said Hal, with sweet seriousness, "and I wish you \l pray /or me." " You 're not such a bad boy, after all," cried Jem, lov- ingly, looking into Hal's clear, honest eyes. " I believe if there were some great service to be done for Bill this minute, you 'd be the first to offer." " I 'm not so sure of that," returned Hal, laughing. Just then there was a great commotion among the swim- mers, and some little boys on shore cried out, " Bill Massey is going down, he has the cramp, he will drown ! " " Ah ! that is true," cried Jem, " and those little fellows can only keep their own heads above water. 0, why did he li'o out so far ? " 64 HOUSEHOLD READING. Hal did not stop to think twice, but pulling off coat and boots, plunged into the water, and with swift strokes ap- proached the drowning boy. Bill was a long distance from shore, and it was almost by superhuman efforts that Hal managed to reach him, as he was sinking for the last time. " There, he has him ! " shouted the little boys. " Hurrah ! " But Jem's anxieties were not over. " Poor Hal is so tired," he thought, " how will he tow in that heavy Bill Massey ? " Slowly, and with painful effort, carefully keeping the head of his companion above water, the brave swimmer struck out for the shore. At first he came on gallantly, then his strength seemed to flag, and once or twice both disappeared from sight. " 0, if I were only not quite so helpless," groaned Jemmy ; " run call some of the big boys quick, or they both will drown ! " What an endless time it seemed before help came. Ah ! there was Hal's curly head again, nearer, nearer. " A few more strokes, dear Hal," cried Jem. " You are almost in." Here the little boys set up a wild shout, as two or three of the older students arrived just in time to draw the exhausted pair from the water. Part of them then applied themselves to the task of reviving Bill Massey, while the rest crowded around Hal, congratulating him, and warmly shaking his hand. Hal smiled faintly, and tried to thank them, but sud- denly he turned deathly pale, a stream of blood gushed from his mouth, and he fell fainting in Bob Wilson's arms. "What is it?" cried Jemmy, in terror, as they laid him upon tlie grass. " Call Mr. Avery, and run for a physician," cried Bob, giv- ing quick orders to the little boys. Jem in the mean while knelt down, and drew the dear head upon his breast. Smooth- ing back the wet curls, he whispered anxiously, " How do you feel, darling? " Hal opened his eyes, and with his own bright smile, ever mindful of the feelings of others, replied, " It is nothing, I do not suffer any." THE YOUNG CONQUEROR. 65 But with the exertion of these few words, the life-stream gushed forth so violently, that the boys turned pale, and looked at each other with a terrible fear. Presently good Mr. Avery came hurrying down. " What is this, my dear, dear boy? " he cried, as he saw his favorite pupil extended apparently lifeless before him. A few hurried words explained the matter. " What can be done for him ? " he cried, as the physician made his appearance. " Dr. Brown, you must save this noble boy." The Doctor knelt beside him a moment with a very grave face. " He has broken a bloodvessel," he whispered to Mr. Avery. " I 'm afraid he will live but a few minutes." " do not say that," groaned Mr. Avery ; " make every exertion for his life, leave no remedy untried." Just then Hal opened his eyes dreamily, and seeing the pale, grave face of his teacher bending over him, he said, anx- iously, " Do you still think I did it, sir ? " Bill Massey broke through the crowd, and in a tone full of anguish and remorse cried out, " Mr. Avery, if he means the chair, I did it, I did it. Hal, you must, you must for- give me." A look of satisfaction passed over Hal's pale face, and he turned smilingly to Mr. Avery. " Is it all right now, sir ? " " my darling child ! " sobbed Mr. Avery, and could say no more. All remedies were in vain, and the young life ebbed fast. " What is it, dear Hal ? " wept Jemmy, putting his ear close to those loved lips, to catch an almost inarticulate murmur. " The Morning Star," whispered Hal, faintly, " the tree of Life in the midst of the paradise of God ! " " ' To him that overcometh,' to you, dear Hal, but ah ! " cried Lame Jemmy, with a sudden burst of anguish, " will you leave me behind, Hal ? " 5 6Q HOUSEHOLD READING. Harry Grey did not seem to heed those once familiar tones, but opening his clear eyes once more, he gazed lovingly around the weeping circle, gave one last, bright smile, and the last enemy was destroyed, even Death. That night as Bob and Jemmy watched in the room where the young conqueror slept peacefully after the battle of life, the door softly opened, and Bill Massey stole in. Jemmy half shuddered when he saw him ; but the boy was so changed, so pale and broken-hearted, Jemmy could not say a word to reproach him. For a while he moaned and wept bitterly, then drawing forth a wreath of laurel, he laid it reverently upon Hal's soft, bright curls. " He is a greater conqueror than ever I shall be," he sobbed, as he rushed from the room. " Yes," added Bob, " and he has won a greater prize than I have ever striven for." " And I believe," cried Jemmy, almost with exultation, as he kissed the fair brow, — "I believe God has made him an angel excelling in strength." A REMINISCENCE OF DR. WAYLAND. WAS a free-thinker. I read Rousseau and Lord Byron and believed in them. Religion I judged of by the long stereotyped prayers and ascetic looks of some ill-bred Chris- tians. I hated orthodoxy as I saw and heard it from the stand-point I had, in my proud imagination, taken ; and I came to consider every one professing it sold under the hard bondage of fanaticism. In this mental status I took my seat in the lecture-room of Dr. Wayland. He was then discussing the powers and func- tions of the "moral sense." His course of argumentation was so keen and clear that I soon began to listen ; I began A EEMINISCENCE OF DR. WAYLAND. 67 to question, to argue, to present objections in order to drive him from his positions. It was like damming up the waters of the Nile with bulrushes. His logic, unfolded in his per- spicuous yet laconic style, quite overwhelmed, confounded me. I saw that I was standing on a foundation made of shift- ing sand. I saw that I was a miserable sinner, and nothing but a miserable sinner, in the sight of an offended God. I went to my room to pray : my knees were stubborn : the load upon my heart was crushing me ; what must I do to escape the wrath of the Almighty ? Hope seemed to have taken its everlasting flight. I arose and ventured into the presence of Dr. Wayland. He was in his study, reading his old well-worn copy of the sacred Word. He received me kindly, and I at once made known to him the anguish of my soul. I felt and said, " My sins are so many and so great that God cannot pardon me." Fixing his keen black eyes, beaming with heavenly tender- ness, full upon me, this good man said, and never till my dying day can I forget the earnest solemnity, the eloquence of the tone, " When he tvas yet a great way off his father saw him, and had compassion on him, and ran and fell on his nech and kissed him." I felt that the case was mine ; and Hope, reviving Hope, came winging then her joyous flight to me to gild my path- way through this checkered, transitory state. Dr. Wayland then knelt down and prayed with me and for me, and on leaving him he lent me his well-thumbed copy of Bishop Wilson's Sacra Privata, advising me to read that and Edwards's " Life of Brainerd," instead of Byron, and " If I met with trials and troubles on the way, To cast myself on Jesus, — and not forget to pray." I never knew till that never-to-be-forgotten night the full meaning of that great English word, — Friendliness. I never knew Jesus Christ till then ! HOUSEHOLD EEADING. PREPARATION FOR PUBLIC PRAYER. A GOOD gift of preparation is one of the best blessings that God bestows upon any man, is especially valuable to the public speaker, and most of all to the minister of the Gospel. Tliis gift, well exercised, will in no small degree compensate for the deficiency of many others, if it does not altogether supply their lack of service. Without it the most brilliant gifts are liable to fail their possessor just when he needs them most. Is it not possible that this gift may be used in public prayer much more frequently than it is, and to the great edification of all who unite in the prayer ? In our recoil from the written and stereotyped forms of prayer in which some Christians prefer to worship God, there is some danger that we go to the opposite extreme, and of- fend both God and man by irregular, disorderly, and ill-con- sidered addresses to the Throne of Grace. There is equal danger that we fall insensibly into the constant use of the same expressions and the same routine of expression, to such an extent that our prayers differ from those that are written, only in being recited, instead of being read from books. " Has father most done praying ? " whispered an urchin to whom the length of the family devotions was somewhat irk- some. " no," responded his more observing brother, " he has n't got to the Jews yet ! " Any prayer in which the hearer can accurately deter- mine just how far it is to the Jews, and how far from the Jews to the end, may be a very good prayer as between him who offers it and Him who hears and answers prayer, but as respects those who listen and who ought to unite, it is little better than no prayer. Not much more edifying are those prayers which are like " the shadow of death without any order " ; in which praise, petition, confession, thanksgiving, intercession, and whatever else, are poured out in such con- PREPARATION FOR PUBLIC PRAYER. 69 fusion that no hearer can follow the prayer, much less retain it in the memory and heart. The only remedy for these things is to exercise the gift of preparation. No minister, worthy to be called a minister, ventures, except in the extremest emergency, to commence his sermon without knowing what he will say, and in what order he will say it. If he will not be the mouthpiece of God to the people without preparation, how can he dare to be the mouthpiece of the congregation to God, with no fore- thought how or what he shall speak ? In what manner, and to what extent, preparation should be made, must vary, of course, according to the mental peculiarities and the habits of study of each individual. A minister of my acquaintance sometimes writes his prayers at full length, and commits them to memory so thoroughly that he need give himself no concern about the language, but only about the spirit in which it is uttered. That is rather too much of a good thing. Another prepares a written brief, as for a sermon, arranging the parts in proper order, and specifying the particulars un- der each topic. TTith this impressed upon his mind to guide him, he uses such language as he may find available at the time of prayer. Another premeditates his prayer for a half- hour or an hour, as one would premeditate an unwritten dis- course. And many others, it is to be feared, neither write nor premeditate, but offer purely extempore prayers, which, even more than»extempore sermons, are apt to be " extrump- ery." Some preparation for public prayer is almost indispensable to its efficiency as a means of grace. There must be a weigh- ing, more or less careful, of the thoughts and words with which man addresses his Maker. Otherwise a congregation may realize that their minister is leading them in prayer, but they will not be likely to realize it to such an extent as to follow him. His prayer may be a very good prayer in itself, but it will have little or no effect on the minds and hearts of liearers. "Whereas, a thorough preparation for prayer is not 70 HOUSEHOLD READING. only more rev^erential toward God, but is almost sure to ren- der the prayer more useful to those who unite in it. An in- cident which occurred some years ago will show how useful prayers so prepared may be. A minister, examining a candi- date for admission to the Church, inquired the origin of her religious impressions. She answered that she owed them, under God, to his sermons and prayers, especially to the prayers. He was surprised. He expected good results from his sermons, for he had preached the truth with simplicity and godly sincerity. But he had anticipated no such thing from his prayers. He was conscious, however, that he had taken special pains to prepare that part of public worship, by storing his mind with the good words of the Scriptures, by studying freshness, variety, and especially adaptation, and by devoting the hour preceding public worship entirely to the cultivation of a devotional spirit. Preparation for public prayer may not always secure such valuable results as that, but it will never fail of greatly benefiting both the minister and the people. THE TILLAGE CLOCK. Suggested by Longfellow's Poem, " The Old Clock on the Stair." • ON the gentle lawn, from the village street, Stands the old church, where the villagers meet ; Up through its aisles young men have passed, Young men grown gray for the grave at last ; While the Bride's sweet call from the pulpit exprest, Has been echoed far up on its spiry crest, — Repent — believe ! Believe — repent ! From the preacher, discharging his solemn trust, From the saddening service, returning to dust THE VILLAGE CLOCK. 71 The village honor, the village pride ; From the modest choir, from blushing bride, From worshipping people with humble heart, Has come that call from its every part, Repent — believe ! Believe — repent ! In joy its voice is low and light, In turbulent trials and sorrow's night. The " still, small voice " continues its call, — Along the aisles, along the hall, Till the clock far up in the tower above, Gives back the words and call of love. Repent — believe! Believe — repent ! Like urging spirits, the voiceless hands — By marking the hours — life's passing sands — Above the villager's trouble and toil, Above his trials and life's turmoil. Send forth, as far as their rays can reach. The same kind call, and seem to teach Repent — believe ! Believe — repent ! Firmly its hands are pointing on, And soon they '11 mark the last sand gone. The church will crumble ; its tower fall ; The preacher and clock will cease their call ; Yet e'en where wreck and ruin lie They still shall call, as the years go by, — Repent — believe ! Believe — repent ! Into the spirit-world shall go The voice of the village clock below, The voice of the preacher, the voice of the tower, The voice which bore the spirit's power ; 72 HOUSEHOLD READING. And there before the "great white throne " Shall meet each soul with God alone. Repent — believe! Believe — repent ! Not as to village it uttered its call, It now pronounces sentence on all : To the sinner who turned from the Bride away It denies a single forgiving ray ; But leads him apart to eternal death, Of Hope and Heart and Heaven bereft. Condemned — lost ! Lost — condemned ! Not as to village it uttered its call. It now pronounces sentence on all ; To the Christian clothed in the Bride's array It gives the joys of eternal day, And, leading along the " golden streets," Guides him onward to blissful seats, — Redeemed — saved ! Saved — redeemed ! FEAR, THE BASIS OF ALL LAW. A GENTLEMAN who belongs to the class of people that call themselves Liberal Christians lately expressed to me his horror of orthodoxy, because it teaches the doctrine of future punishment, thus appealing to the fears of men ; and he denounced fear in round, set terms as a degrading motive of action. I have reason to believe that his senti- ments are entertained quite extensively by the class who hold his general opinions, — I need not say how extensively. I expressed to him some views that were novel to him ; per- haps it may not be entirely useless to state them in your col FEAR, THE BASIS OF ALL LAW. ' 73 umns. At all events, if any of them are erroneous, nobody but an anonymous correspondent is responsible for them, and they may lead to useful reflections on an important topic. Fear is the great conservative element in all human society. The object of human laws is to restrain men from doing wrong to each other, and the principal basis of law is fear. If we look into the statutes against crimes and offences, we find that they consist of a description of those crimes and of- fences, and penalties prescribed for the commission of them. Punishment by death deprives the criminal of further power to commit offences ; punishment by imprisonment deprives him of that power temporarily. With these exceptions, the force of criminal law lies in its power to excite the fear of punishment. Where it punishes one person, it restrains mul- titudes by means of this fear. Very few, people ?cem to have reflected upon the incalculable value of this influence of fear in protecting society from crime and wrong. If it could be extinguished for a single week, the community would, at the end of the week, present a frightful spectacle of desolation. In respect to matters not criminal, the law protects us all by the same influence of fear. Multitudes are constrained to pay their honest debts and to abstain from trespasses and frauds by the fear of legal retribution ; and if all remedies by civil actions were abolished, no man would feel safe any- where, nor could the business of society be carried on. The effect of a single lawsuit is to make ten thousand men do justice to their neighbors, when they would otherwise have withheld it. Indeed, all human government is based on fear, and without this element it would cease to be government. In proportion as a man can have confidence in himself, that he will not be tempted to violate a particular law, or that the temptation will not overcome him, he may live in freedom from the fear of that law. If no one were in danger of vio- lating a particular law, no one would need to fear that law. Indeed, there is no need of prescribing a penalty for an of- 74 ' HOUSEHOLD READING. fence that no one is disposed to commit, and legislators never make lawij against such imaginary offences. But there is such a vast variety of vrrougs that men are inclined to do to each other, that every reflecting man will be more deeply impressed, the more he thinks of the matter, with the incal- culable value of the conservative influence of the fear created by human laws. This leads us to inquire into the nature of the moral feel- ing which lies at the foundation of these laws. There is a sect of philosophers who call it vengeance, and some of them call it revenge ; but, in fact, it is love. Love seeks the highest good of its object. This is its nature ; and the legislator or magistrate who has genuine love for the people will seek to promote and secure their highest good. In proportion as anything thwarts or destroys that good, love opposes and abhors it. I need not prove that crime and wrong of every description is hostile to the good of the people, for every one admits it. It is hostile to every impulse of love for the people, and there is a neces- sary enmity and warfare between the two. It must be so perpetually. If love can connect itself with power, it will use that power to keep out crime and wrong, and will aim at their extirpation. Its most efficient instrument, so far as we know, is law with penalties and retributive justice ; and we have seen that law is chiefly efficient through the influ- ence of fear. Thus it is manifest that fear is the auxiliary of love, and of course its office is purifying and elevating, and not degrading. It is to deter men from doing wrong ; and every man who is tempted to do wrong stands in need of its salutary influence. He acts wisely when he consults fear, and is afraid to do wrong ; and it is degrading to any citizen to cast off the fear of doing wrong. In the science of human government, the last generaliza- tion to which induction would lead us is love. This compre- hends the whole idea of government. By the opposite process, we deduce from it abhorreiice of crime and wrong, and the FEAE, THE BASIS OF ALL LAW. 75 use of power and wisdom and justice and fear in the enact- ment and administration of law, in hostility to crime and wrong, and in protecting the people against it. But there is a large department of life that human laws cannot reach, and in which the influence of fear is necessary. This leads us to inquire whether there is any source that sup- plies this influence. Orthodox people believe it is found in the Divine law as revealed in the Bible. Their scientific idea of religion is, that its ultimate general principle to which in- duction would lead is infinite love, and that the whole of the Divine government is to be deduced, and is deduced in the Bible, from that principle, though the deduction is not for- mally stated. It is of the nature of infinite love to seek the highest good, the blessedness, of its objects. Of necessity, it cannot look upon good and evil, righteousness and wicked- ness, with anything approaching to indifference, but seeks good with infinite intensity. Therefore, there is a necessary hostility and warfare between it and everything that would thwart or destroy that good. From what we know of the evil effect of sin in the world, how can we doubt that a God of infinite love must entertain infinite abhorrence of the sin that he sees in the world ? Take, for example, enormous crimes like the cruelties that were practised on our prisoners at Andersonville and Libby Prison and Belle Isle, and who can doubt that Infinite Love abhors them infinitely. Apply the same course of thought to each of the numberless of- fences of which the world is so full, and we are forced to the same result as to them. Each one of us is compelled to ask, in view of the evil ho has done, how ho shall stand before his final Judge, if there be a Divine law. Well, if infinite love has the aid of infinite power, we can- not doubt that its natural impulse will be to restrain these wrongs and sins by laws with penalties, and thus appeal to the fears of men to restrain them from doing evil. If infinite wisdom constructs these laws, it will make the penalties ade- quate to all the exigences of Divine government. But we 76 HOUSEHOLD READING. know very well that no such penalties are executed in this life. Many a criminal goes " unwhipt of justice " here. It Is true that natural laws tend to promote Divine justice to some extent, but it would be folly to pretend that chey execute it perfectly. They were evidently not designed to do so. Orthodox people accept the Bible as a Divine revelation, and think they find in it a statement that the penalties of Di- vine law are to be inflicted in the future life. They accept this statement as true, simply because they find it there. They did not make the doctrine of future punishment, but believe that God has revealed it. This doctrine is met by a great amount of ridicule ; but if the Bible asserts it, and it is a Divine revelation, it is a poor business to ridicule it or scoff at it. The thing must be met as a reality that we did not place there, and could not get rid of if we would. Those who ridicule it must meet it as a fact in God's government, if it be a fact. Many others contend that it is an unreasonable doctrine. Now, if they and we know what are the exigences of God's government in the future life, and how it is to operate there, we might reason about this matter ; but we know noth- ing about it except what is revealed, and therefore all our reasonings about it are futile. Beyond what is revealed, our ideas of what infinite love will induce God to do there in respect to those who have been the opponents of his love and violators of his laws here are wild, groundless conjecture. But the idea which my friend started with, is that the fear which this doctrine creates is degrading as a motive of action. The idea is in direct opposition to the assertion of the Bible, that " the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom," and that it is folly to "cast off fear." It disregards the warning of Christ, so emphatically given, " Fear him who, after he hath killed the body, is able to cast both soul and body into hell ; yea, I say unto you, fear him." This authority ought to be sufficient : but if we look at the influence of this fear as FEAR, THE BASIS OF ALL LAW. 77 mere practical business men, we cannot fail to see that, as a conservative power to keep men from doing wrong, notliing else can be compared to it, or can supply its place. Its pow- er extends over that department of life tliat human laws can- not reach. It enforces duties which they cannot meddle witli. It restrains men from doing wrong when they are alone, and i]i their secret thoughts. It keeps the inmost heart of man from offending ; and the more earnest is one's fear of hell, the more earnestly will he restrain himself from all that is wrong. Every man needs the influence of this fear, when- ever he is in danger of yielding to temptation ; and who of us is not included in this class ? If we can get beyond the pow- er of temptation, and are influenced by perfect love, then in- deed we shall find that " perfect love casteth out fear." We shall no longer need its influence. But till then it is wise to cherish this fear ; and to cast it off, is to cast off our most efficient aid in resisting temptation. But the denial of the doctrine of future punishment in- volves the denial of the fact that God has, in any just sense of the term, any law against wickedness or crime. For since he does not execute penalties in this life, but allows the wrongdoer so often to die in the midst of prosperity and the wronged so often to live in misery and die with his wrongs unredressed, he must inflict his penalties in the fu- ture life if anywhere, and if not executed there, they have no actual existence. It involves the further idea that he is indifferent in respect to the existence of all this wickedness and crime, and therefore there is no such thing as divine love in respect to men in this life. In this doctrine, then, we find degrading ideas of God. These ideas also tend to de- grade man ; for they take away the most powerful restraints against wickedness that can exist, and give to undetected and secret crime a perfect impunity. Indeed, they give impunity to every crime and wrong that can escape punishment in this life. In this doctrine, therefore, wickedness of every species finds one of its strongest auxiliaries, and one of its most clier ished consolations. 78 HOUSEHOLD READING. TAKE MY HAND, PAPA. N the dead of night, I am frequently wakened by a little hand stealing out from the crib by my side, with the pleading cry, " Please take my hand, papa ! " Instantly the little boy's hand is grasped, his fears vanish, and soothed by the consciousness of his father's presence he falls into sweet sleep again. We commend this lesson of simple, filial faith and trust to the anxious, sorrowing ones that are found in almost every household. Stretch forth your hand, stricken mourner, al- though you may be in the deepest darkness and gloom, and fear and anxious suspense may cloud your weary pathway, and that very act will reveal the presence of a loving, com- passionate Father, and give you the peace that passeth all understanding. The darkness may not pass away at once, night may still enfold you in its embrace, but its terrors will be dissipated, its gloom and sadness flee away, and in the simple grasp of the Father's hand, sweet peace will be given, and you will rest securely, knowing that the " morning cometh.^' "PAPER FLOWERS." FEW years since, an excellent bass singer was intro- duced into the choir of my church. I knew him as a moral and honest citizen, as a good blacksmith, but in relig- ious matters professedly a Unitarian. He listened attentive- ly to preaching, and was under a good Christian influence in the orchestra and at the rehearsals, — our chorister being a Christian man, as every chorister ought to be. He at length "PAPER FLOWERS." 79 began to meet us in our social circle, and became quite approachable on the subject of personal religion. I never argued with him on a single point that theologically sepa- rated us, but urged personal duties to meet personal wants. He admitted he was not happy nor satisfied entirely with his own condition. One evening, after a long talk upon Chris- tian experience and hope, during which I noticed occasion- ally the moistened eye and evident interest, I urged him to give himself to God at once, and to begin a life of prayer. To the latter he assented, and we parted. The second or tliird morning afterwards, he sent for me. I found him in great distress of mind ; so much so that he could neither sleep, eat, nor work ; but his ignorance of the way of salva- tion by Christ was pitiable. He said : " I never have heard or read any of these things with the slightest interest ; and the little I thought I knew about them seems now to be all gone. It is dark, terribly dark, — all this matter. Can you lead me through ? " For some days he groped his way along, step by step, until light began to beam upon his soul, and finally the Sun of Righteousness arose upon his view, and he was completely happy in his new views of new life. He was converted to orthodoxy at the same time he was converted to Christ, so far as he could determine. He was encouraged to tell "what the Lord had done for his soul," in the conference meeting. He was quite ready to do it, as he was anything else that it was thought he ought to do. He came to speak often, and always with interest, and sometimes with decided effect. I shall never forget one of his many original and striking illus- trations. He was addressing moralists, of whom it had been his boast that he was among the first, and was contented to be there. But now he saw the emptiness, if not the selfish- ness, of all such pretensions. " My friends," said he, " I know how you feel, what you think, and where you are. I have been long there, and know all about it. Now I look at these things through different eyes, and from another stand-' 80 HOUSEHOLD READING. point. Christ is my righteousness and my all, now. Your good deeds, your correct morals, they are only paper flow- ers, which will exhale no fragrance acceptable unto God." His eyes were turned upward, glistening with the starting tears, as he paused an instant, and then repeated, " only pa- per flowers, at the best. You must bring something better, or you never will be accepted." The eflfect was thrilling. He was a growing, because he was a witnessing and a faith- ful Christian ; and so long as he was able to be present, he was a light and a life in the prayer-meeting. It was delightful to see what the grace of God could do, and did do, for that trusting man, both in the few years of his life, and on his sick and dying bed. In that dread hour, when he was going into the presence of his Judge, he had something better than " paper flowers " to take with him. The rose of Sharon and the lily of the valley, and all the " flowers of Paradise " were his. Whence this so great change ? That man first felt the influence of a Christian choir. He had come to sing sacred music with different feelings, when he found that those who led and joined him in that service sung " with the spirit and with the understanding also." That man felt the influence of Christian society. He had never before associated with the " stiff and unapproachable orthodox." He soon found them good company, and he met them with frank cordiality. The church " sociables " were so conducted as to be a means of grace to him. That man felt that his pastor cared more for his soul's sal- vation than for useless argument with his prejudices. I did not allude to any of his objections' to our doctrines, and avoided everything that would excite ill feeling, but sought simply to convince him of his unfitness for heaven, and his great need of something he had not got. I assured him there was great comfort in trusting all to the Christ of history, who was also the Christ of the Bible. There are thousands SOMETHING ABOUT TUNNELLING. 81 Tiow who have no better reliance than their " paper flow- ers." Let them be invited to Christian choirs, if they can sing. Let them be brought to the church or family soci- ables, where religion shall distil its hallowed influence with- out being offensively prominent. let such be brought to Christ first and at once, — to technical orthodoxy afterwards ! Here is an open and an inviting field for every Christian. SOMETHING ABOUT TUNNELLING. THE process of tunnelling which the war has brought so much in vogue is, I presume, unfamiliar to most of my readers. The modus operandi is this : the workman having sunk a hole in the ground, three, six, or eight feet, as the case may require, strikes off horizontally, lying flat on his face, and digging with whatever tool he can find, — usually a case-knife. The excavation is made just large enough for one man to creep through it. The great difficulty is to know where to conceal the dirt. In Salisbury, however, this ob- stacle did not exist, for many of the prisoners lived in holes in the ground, which they were constantly changing or en- larging. Hence the yard abounded in hillocks of fresh dirt, upon which • that taken from the tunnels could be spread nightly without exciting notice. After the great influx of prisoners of war in October, a large business in the way of tunnelling was done in the Sal- isbury garrison. I knew of fifteeen " in course of construc- tion " at one time, and presume there were many more. The commandant of the prison learned the fact, though he could not learn their location ; and he adopted a very ingenious and effectual method of rendering them abortive. In digging laterally in the ground, at the distance of thirty or forty feet, the air becomes so foul that lights will not 6 82 HOUSEHOLD BEADING. burn, and men breathe with difficulty. In the great tunnel from Libby Prison sixty-five feet long, by which one hundred and fourteen of our officers escaped, this embarrassment was obviated by a bit of Yankee ingenuity. The officers, with tacks, blankets, and boards, constructed a pair of huge bel- lows, like those used by blacksmiths. Then, while one of them worked away with his case-knife, progressing four or five feet in twelve hours, and a second filled his haversack with dirt and removed it (of course backing out, and crawl- ing on his return, as the tunnel was a " single track," and had no "turn-table"), the third sat at the mouth pumping vigorously, and thus supplied the workers with fresh air. At Salisbury this was impracticable. I suppose a paper of tacks could not have been purchased there for a thousand dollars. Confederate money, or for any other sum. There were none to be had. Of course we could not pierce holes up to the surface of the ground for ventilation, as that would expose everything. Originally there was but one line of guards, — posted some twenty-five feet apart, upon the fence which surrounded the garrison, and constantly walking to and fro, meeting each other and turning back at the limits of each post. Under this arrangement it was necessary to tunnel, about forty feet, to go under the fence and come up far enough beyond it to emerge from the earth on a dark night without attracting the sight or hearing of the sentinels. But when the commandant learned (through prisoners who were actually suffering for food, and would do almost any- thing for bread) that tunnelling was going on, he tried to ascertain where the excavations were located, but in vain, be- cause none of the shaky prisoners had been informed. There- fore he established a second line of guards, one hundred feet outside of those on the fence, who also paced back and forth in the same manner until they met, forming an outer line im- pervious to Yankees. This necessitated tunnelling at least one hundred and forty feet, which, without ventilation, was SOMETHING ABOUT TUNNELLING. 83 just as much out of the question as to tunnel a hundred and forty miles. The great Libby tunnel in Richmond, which was so perfect a success, was of the smallest dimensions. Colonel Streight of Indiana, who tended toward the Falstaffian in his propor- tions, was very apprehensive that he could not possibly work his way through it. He found it extremely difficult, and narrowly escaped the fate of the greedy fox in the fable, who " stuck in the hole." But he finally squeezed through. Colonel Streight was personally unpopular with some of his brother officers ; but the Rebels hated him so ardently, and he always talked to them with such perfect frankness and bold- ness, that when the tunnel was completed, his fellow-prisoners declared with one voice that he should be the first man to go out. He was the first man ; and the Rebels were more annoyed and angry at losing him than the escape of any dozen of his comrades would have made them. He remained hidden in Richmond, among faithful Union people, for nearly two weeks. The first officers who reached our lines caused the announcement to be published in all the papers, that Streight had arrived at Fortress Monroe. This threw the Richmond authorities off their guard ; the search for him was discontinued ; and finally, under a skilful and practised pilot, having travelled slowly and with caution for ten or eleven nights (to accomplish less than a hundred miles), he reached the protection of the stars and stripes, under which he is still doing gtllant service in that gallant army which is commanded by one of our greatest and best captains, — Major-General George H. Thomas. 84 HOUSEHOLD READING. SINGING IN CHURCH. WE shall vibrate between the choir and the congregation until we understand the subject better. Our minis- ters are not yet in the secret for the most part ; and both Smith, who leads the choir, and Brown who snarls at it, are equally in the fog. There will be a revolution by and by, and this thing will be set right ; but it cannot come till our whole people are pervaded with intelligent thought on the subject, and have come to a definite and just conclusion. And yet that revolution will be only half a revolution at last ; for the problem is not to be solved except by a retention of both the common modes of Christian song now in use. Smith despises the unwieldy blundering of the congrega- tion and stands up for his choir, which happens to be a good specimen of that system. Alice Larke, who leads the so- prano, is a jewel of a girl, to be sure, and sings like a Chris- tian at heaven's gate. Exquisite art has become mere nature to her, and not only Smith, but a goodly number of the con- gregation, are carried up to sky regions with her when she sings. But Brown has lungs ; he has a voice, too ; he wants to sing ; he knows how to sing ; and, what is more, he looks round him and sees dozens and scores in the congregation in the same condition. But the'honest man is virtually muzzled, and so are the rest, because there are from eight to twenty who are in better training than it is possible for him to at- tain to. It is but natural that he should sometimes almost show his teeth when that charming Alice is trying to lead him with the chain of melody. He is not in a state to be led. We must find a place for both ; and we can do it as easy as not, I know, for I have tried it. My dear chorister, do pray let me say a word to you. You can do a good thing as a leader : your choir shows that. I SINGING IN CHURCH. 85 admire its perfect training, and yet more its reverent serious- ness. If you will only oblige me now by doing a little work for us below stairs, I will see that you 're paid for it out of my salary (now $ 300 per annum). Brown wants to sing ; so do I ; so does my wife ; so do my children (Jemima has a sweet voice — witJi cultivation) ; so does Deacon Goodman ; so do all the children ; so do a great many of the old folks. Now we want you to come and teach us times hj rote, just as you do the children in the Sunday school. I could use notes ; so could Brown and others, but not all who can sing. The old tunes — the grand- fathers of those in your choir-book — we already know so ■poorly that you had better lay them aside for tlie present. Old dogs and new tricks, you know. Take new tunes, sim- ple, but with something in them. Take, from the " Sabbath Series " all the most dangerous, — those which Dr. Mason tried in vain to reduce to the common monotony that makes his book like sixty meals of " hash without variation " ; take the least dangerous from the "Plymouth," — better still if we can some time have a book for this very purpose, — and, after twenty minutes' practice, we shall know by rote any tune you give us, if you know how to do it. A few evenings will give us a variety that will surprise you. Insist upon our sing- ing with spirit and tolerable time. There now ! Listen ! Brown fairly roars that bass. Our Jemima — look at her ! how her eyes shine ! And see what delight is everywhere visible ! I tell you. Smith, it 's human. We all love to sing ; and I do believe God loves to hear us. " mother dear, Jerusalem ! "When shall I come to thee ! " — Rhine. Now I tell you what. When we come to meeting, do you have your choir all ready with an introit or anthem, as diffi- cult as you please, provided you can still sing it with the spirit. Tell Alice we can all listen to her, and go with her now, — there is nothing to irritate or disappoint us. Then let us have the first hymn. Of course your choir all know 86 HOUSEHOLD READING. our tunes, and we should delight to have you sing with us. I don't think you would spoil anything. And your exquisite art, in those hymns which you sing by yourselves, will be all the more delightful from comparison with the mighty chorus (remember Browyi) which comes up, other whiles, from all the people. I don't care whether we sing the first hymn or the last, but let us at least have one of the three. Do you agree ? MY ANGEL-DRESS "T counsel thee to buy of me white raiment." — Revelation lit. 18. H EAVENLY Father, I would wear Angel-garments, white and fair, Angel-vesture, undefiled ; Wilt thou give unto thy child ? Not a robe of many hues, Such as earthly fathers choose. Discord weaves the gaudy vest, Not in such let me be dressed. Take the raiment soiled away, That I wear with shame to-day. Give ray angel-robes to me, White with heaven's own purity ! Take away my cloak of pride ; And the worthless rags 't would hide, Clothe me in my angel-dress. Beautiful with holiness ! Let me wear the vihite robes here. Even on earth, my Father dear ; Holding fast thy hand, and so Through the world unspotted go. BUILDING AROUND HOME. 87 Perfume every fold with love, Hinting heaven where'er I rove, As an Indian vessel's sails Whisper of her costly bales. Let me now the white robes wear, Then I need no more prepare ; All apparelled for my home Whensoe'er thou callest " Come ! " Thus apparelled I shall be As a signal set for Thee, That the wretched, poor, and weak May the same fair garments seek. « Buy of Me," I hear Thee say ; I have naught wherewith to pay. But I give myself to Thee, Clothed, adopted I shall be. BUILDING AROUND HOME. IT was wisely ordered, in repairing the walls of Jerusalem under Neliemiah, that the people, as far as practicable, should each " build over against his own house." His loca- tion should determine his work. He was not to select for himself some distant section of the wall, where the work of building was easier, or where the company of laborers was more inviting. The proximity of the work to his own house decided his service for the sacred cause, and would enable him to be more expeditions and more efficient in its ac- complishment. This method of distributing Christian work is demanded iu the prosecution of our great work of home evangelization. as HOUSEHOLD READING. The location of a man's home is an important circumstance to be considered by him in judging what is the sphere in which his influence should be most strenuously exerted for the kingdom of Christ. Twenty years ago the experiment was commenced of es- tablishing a church in a village where religious error had long flourished, and borne its bad fruit. The members gath- ered into the church from the village and its vicinity were few and feeble, and the prospect of building up the church appeared not very encouraging. A Christian man with his young wife moved into the village, in order to be near his business. He possessed education, wealth, character. "Would he unite with that little church, and give his influence for its prosperity ? Much in the future of that church and commu- nity depended on the answer to this question. Five miles distant was a strong church, where was the early home of his wife, where he would be greeted by many friends, and where be would meet cultivated society. But he decided at once to cast his lot with the infant church, where he had gone to re- side, and to identify himself with its interests. He was a regular attendant upon its meetings. Sabbath and week-days, and took part in them. A young minister was settled ; and he stood by him with a constant co-operation and sympathy. Under the faithful preaching of the Gospel, and other means of grace, conversions began to take place, and erelong they became frequent, and numbers were added to the church. He was active, meanwhile, but never assumed pre-eminence among the brethren. The hired hall was inconvenient for their congregation. When it was felt that a house of wor- ship ought to be built, he was ready to bear a liberal propor- tion of the expense. That house was the scene of the Holy Spirit's works. From time to time converts were multiplied. And in ten years that little flock became a strong and flour- ishing church. It will not be supposed that the spiritual in- terests of that good man, or his family, suffered by his sacri- fices of ease and money in aid of that Christian enterprise. BUILDING AROUND HOME. 89 And it may well be doubted wlietber his usefulness or his happiness in his church relations was increased when he re- moved to one of our larger towns. It might seem censorious to describe one of those cases which stand in striking contrast with the example just sketched, and to attempt to assign the motives which lead some good men to pass the doors of a feeble church of their own denomination, or to travel a much greater distance to a large and strong church, while the little band in their own neighborhood is left to struggle, and, perhaps, to perish. They may have strong reasons for their course ; but are their reasons sufficient to justify them in going abroad to give to the rich, while they hide their eyes from the poor at home ? Are they doing the greatest amount of good in their power ? There are many weak churches in the oldest sections of our country, which need, as helpers, all the good people within their limits. They have their fields to cultivate for Christ, and their success depends on the unity and co-operation of all the individuals and fiimilies of like Christian faith. Ten years ago a missionary field in the heart of this Com- monwealth was a desolation over which the few Christians in it sighed and prayed, and the surrounding churches surveyed it with concern. It embraced a territory of about four miles square, with a scattered population of about three hundred and fifty. Very few of the people attended public worship anywhere, and the churches around them sent but little in- fluence into those limits. The neighboring churches were^ at length, called to consult and advise about organizing a little company of fourteen persons into a Congregational church, and they agreed in the judgment that a church ought to be formed there. A plain but comfortable house of worship was in readiness to receive the congregation. At length a pastor, with qualifications and devotion to his work worthy of universal respect, was settled, for whose support the Homo IMissionary Society appropriated a liberal sum in aid of the people. The call of duty was urgent for the union 90 HOUSEHOLD READING. of Chiistians and for co-operation. Yet, of the twenty-nine Congregational professors in that territory, only fourteen are connected with that little church. A few others, among whom are the ten Methodist and Baptist professors, attend with them a part of the time. Some excellent families go several miles to other towns, where the congregations are large and strong. About one half of the persons in that ter- ritory wholly neglect public worship. Only about one fifth on the- average, by actual count, were, the last year, in the sanctuary. Of the one hundred and nine children between five and twenty years of age, seventy-three were in no Sab- bath school, yet the population is nearly all American and Protestant. Surely that is a field for self-denying Christian effort. It ought not to be passed by and neglected, for error and irreligion to occupy with their noxious growth. Other places not a few are, as to the main facts, similarly situated ; a little church stands in suffering need of the lielp of all the good men and women within its proper territorial limits, and may fail in its undertaking, if they stand aloof, looking on to see it struggle and die. It is clear that vast interests depend on securing this unity. The union of Christians in such localities greatly strengthens the hands and hearts of the minister. A prudent man may discover economical reasons for help- ing to sustain the institutions of the Gospel in the vicinity of his home and property. But the consideration which should have immeasurably more weight with a Christian man is, that, by identifying himself with the feeble band in his neigh- borhood, he is likely to increase greatly his usefulness and to be the means of winning souls, and of building up the king- dom of Christ. We can have no hesitation in judging what Harlan Page or Felix Nefif would do in such a case. One of the questions which every Christian should often be propos- ing to himself is, " What opportunities have I to do good ? '' And the opportunities which are offered, whether in connec- tion with feeble home-missionary churches or in irreligious REPKOVED BY A CHILD. 91 neighborhoods, and neglected comers, should be earnestly used. It is wrong and unsafe to slight them. The good man who enlists heartily in this Christian work, helping, to the extent of his ability, tlie little praying and struggling band to build up the kingdom of Christ in his neighborhood, may confidently expect the blessing of God on himself and his family. This course may cost him sacrifice and self-denial ; it may seem like depriving his children of greater privileges of society and advancement which they might enjoy elsewhere ; but, if they have the blessing of the Lord, they attain the best privilege and riches. " He that hath a bountiful eye shall be blessed." " Whosoever will save his life, shall lose it ; and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it." REPROVED BY A CHILD. IT was Saturday night, and I sat with baby on my bosom, and a book in my hand, so absorbed in its interesting pages that the numerous cares which had just been circling around me were forgotten. My little son of four years came from the bathing-room, and, dropping upon his knees before me, commenced his evening prayer. I knew that he had entered my chamber, and was half conscious of the object of his kneeling position, and yet, so absorbed was my mind in the book that it was not diverted therefrom, until the little brown head was raised, and two large blue eyes looked sol- emnly up, while in a slow tone, all weighty with reproof, he said, '•'•Do you hioiu that I am praying to Grod, mother? " I dropped the boolc, laid my hand upon the bowed head, and, holding the little clasped hands as usual, listened with an humbled spirit, while my little son lisped forth, " Our Father." When he had kissed " good night," and gone to 9^ HOUSEHOLD READING. his pillow, there was a shade of sadness on my heart, and it had no relish for the Tolume before me ; for my thoughts dwelt upon the inattention of myself and others when prayer is offered to Heaven. How often at the family altar, at the prayer-meeting, and the Sabbath worship, while one is voice for many, does the mind wander, and few, very few heart- desires rise up with the offered petition. '■'•Bo you know that I am praying to GodV Reader, may not those reproving words of a little child sometimes strike with force across your heart ? Sometimes be a " flaming sword" to turn back your wandering thoughts and direct them to Him who requireth heart worship ? Hap- py for us if we so " apply our hearts " as not to deserve the reproof which fell ffom sacred lips, " This people honoreth me with their lips, but their heart is far from me." SHALL I QUIT THE MINISTEY? [Extract, in substance, from a pastor's private journal.] SHALL I quit the ministry ? A question which I have often pondered. This year I deem the crucial year with me. God, let its issues be right ! I have been years in the ministry. They have been comparatively barren years. Why ? I will ponder that question solemnly and prayerful- ly. Two persons, at least, I think God has made me the agent, or one agent, in bringing into his kingdom. They at- tribute their conversion to my sermons and personal conver- sation. A few who " have a hope," both young converts and some of several years' standing outside the church, I have induced to confess Christ publicly in the way which he has appointed. Many Christians, and quite often, have expressed interest in my sermons and gratitude for them. This is about all. Yet Brother , who has been longer in the SHALL I QUIT THE MNISTRY ? 93 ministry than I have, in a larger church, with a larger salary, and more popular, says that he does not know that he was ever the means of the conversion of more than one soul, if of that one. Ought he to quit, too ? And all ministers who cannot show a brighter record ? There is a great demand for ministers. It is said that they are scarce. Then is it better for me to preacli, if only to keep a church and congregation together ? Not all have the same work to do. Not all have the same talent. I would like to be a " revival preacher," and see sinners flocking to Christ under my ministrations. Is it pride ? An unholy ambition ? How of Payson and others who have cried, " Give me souls, or I die " ? Thus I have been persuading myself for these years. Some must keep the camp, while the army is in hot battle. Some must guard the treasure al- ready collected. Some must tend the flock already gathered for them. Wliich is the more important work ? Which the more rewardful ? The promise is to those who convert sin- ners. James v. 19, 20 ; Dan. xii. 3. I have done some good in awakening an interest in the Sabbath school. The children are my friends. The hearts of the young people, especially at , have been with me quite as generally as I could expect ; more so than with many ministers. In repairs of the church edifice and mak- ing the prayer-room pleasant and attractive, I am not with- out honor. But is this of much value as part of a minister's work ? Is there a surplus, or a deficit, of ministers ? It is certain that a large number of capable and worthy brethren are out of a place. Professors B and F allege that there is a scarcity. They plead earnestly, like those who know and feel what they say, for men. Secretary Thurston of Maine, ditto. But they all want men of the right stamp, men who will " take " with the people. Am I such a one ? Plainly not. Phrenologist F said of me, when a lad, that I would make an orator. That only jsroves that his " science " is " falsely so 94 HOUSEHOLD READING. called." I am not an orator. I am conscious of that. 1 have no element of graceful oratory and persuasive elo- quence. But says that my sermons are good, and my manner better than that of half the ministers. (So much the worse for them.) But she is partial. Rev. , spending his vacation with us and sitting in my audience for several Sabbaths, said to his relatives that my sermons were full of thought. But probably he wished to compliment or encour- age his friends, who are also good friends to me. But the doubt continually recurs. Sinners are not con- verted. I have, then, evidently little power over men. I have not facility and power in private appeal. I have little influence in community. My presence and my word do not carry weight to the judgment, the conscience, the heart, and the will of men, so as to influence their conduct. I am not a leader, certainly ; I am not sure that I count much more in community than any other individual. " Well, then, if reasoning fail, follow the indications of Providence." That has been my rule, but I begin to ques- tion its safety. The inner spirit (the Holy Spirit ?) some- times says that we ought to go across Providence, for God sometimes purposely obstructs our way in the right direction, or tries us by an open door which we should not enter. W says, " You have always had a place to preach (with some exception), though not always an agreeable place. You have always made friends. It was certainly a kind Providence who opened the door just in that way and at that time at , and ." But was it not equally Providence who sent me away, or allowed me to be sent away, from and so unpleasantly ? I have doubts. There are two sides to that question. If God had indeed put me into the ministry, would he allow the bulls of Bashan to toss me about on their horns apparently for mere sport, or at least with indif- ference to my feelings, my purse, and the comfort of my fam- ily ? And every removal brings me a feeling of desolation and an ever-deeper consciousness of the loss of reputation and influence. A SOLDIER'S FUNERAL. 95 My most troublesome argument, that wliicli hitherto has restrained me from abandoning my profession, is the remem- brance of what I always believed and do believe to be God's especial providences in bringing me through poverty and hin- drances, through college and seminary and into the ministry. 1 dare not deny that I proceeded from step to step almost in the darkness and in opposition to flattering inducements from other quarters, putting my trust in God to help me, and that he always delivered me from my straits. Was all that self- deception or self-will ? And now my family. How are those little ones to be edu- cated for usefulness in the Master's vineyard ? My salary this year is less than my necessary expenses. Were I to die to-day, my family would be left nearly penniless. I was of- fered a fine salary in another business. I could certainly gain a better support now by change of employment. But, God, my Heavenly Father, thou art my owner and righteous Sovereign. Use me for thine own glory. Teach me thy holy will. I have been negligent, unfaithful, unde- vout. By thy grace leading me, I would love thee perfectly and follow thee fully. A SOLDIER'S FUNERAL. THE ordinary routine of campaigning of course goes on. We have few hardships ; the food is good and abundant now ; the climate is delightful ; there is little sickness. But this routine is sometimes changed. It was to-day. In the midst of active drill, the step ceased, the bugles were si- lent, the ranks took their iron position. It was when the band of another regiment passed by, ^pouring out their melancholy wailing for the dead. It was a soldier's funeral, and among the thousands in our camps, there was a reverent silence. 96 HOUSEHOLD READING. My thoughts went back to the first funeral at which I had officiated. It was at Harper's Ferry, while our regi- ment occupied that post. There had been brought into our hospital a soldier of the Fifteenth Pennsylvania, then on its way home at the expiration of its three months' service, whom that regiment left with us one afternoon as they passed through the place. That evening, as I passed at a late hour through the hospital, I noticed this new face, and on inquiry found the facts. He was sick with typhoid fever, very sick, — little more than a boy in years. He was to me, then, nameless, not one of ours, but he was a suffering soldier ; — God bless every one of such ! I did not press him to speak, but he recognized the name of our Saviour, and looked up as if waiting to hear! It was too late to reason, too late for hu- man comfort. I dared say little, but I could not but think that some friends, father, mother, perhaps a yet closer one, whom I never saw and doubtless never shall see, whose very residence I know nothing of, might be glad to know that some of the blessed promises of our Lord were whispered in his ear, and that a few words of prayer asked, for the soul of this dying man, whose hand I held, the favor of our Father and our Saviour. That night he died. He was buried the next evening, in the way of soldiers, which, to one unaccustomed to the sight, is deeply interest- ing. A suitable escort (for a private, eight rank and file, properly commanded) is formed in two ranks opposite to- the tent of the deceased, with shouldered arms and bayonets un- fixed ; on the appearance of the coffin, the soldiers present arms ; the procession then forms, on each side of the coffin being three bearers, without arms ; immediately preceding are tlie eight soldiers with arms reversed (the musket under the left arm, barrel downward, and steadied by the right hand behind the back) ; in front is the music, than whose dirge no sadder sounds ever fell upon my ear, as they pro- ceed to the place of burial. With slow and measured step, and muffled drum, they move. At the grave, the coffin is A SOLDIER'S FUNERAL. 97 placed upon one side, the soldiers resting upon their arms, the muzzle upon the foot, the hands clasped upon the butt, and the head bowed upon the hands. The chaplain, who has walked in the rear of the coffin, conducts the burial service ; " earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust." Three vol- leys are fired over the grave, and the last kindness to the comrade is over. The graveyard left, immediately the band strikes up a cheerful air, and take their way back to camp and to living duties. It was thus we buried the stranger soldier. He had no friend who knew him, there. No kindred wept by the side of the grave. His bed was made alone, in a deserted grave- yard, on the bold cliff that overlooks the two rivers united in the mighty stream which pours its affluence into the Atlan- tic. But the soldiers subdued their roughness, and tenderly laid him down. The frequent oath was unheard. The sol- emn silence was scarcely broken by the low words of com- mand.. When the sharp volleys echoed up and down the valleys, the shadows were already fallen on the lordly rivers, the Potomac and Shenandoah, rolling by, far below us ; but the gorgeous evening sunlight was richly clothing the dark green forests of both Maryland and Virginia heights, towering over us. His grave was cut in a hard and rocky soil ; but out of that soil the evergreen was thriving and the wild-flow- ers perfumed the air. It was on the very day his regiment was mustered out of service that we buried him, and, turn- ing backward to our fragile homes, found the order already given, "Ready to march," and soon we struck our tents and forded the dark and foaming river which separated the Rebel from the loyal State. He had forded a darker and rouglier river, which, we hoped as we left him, no longer kept him in a world of sin, and out of the land of perfect glory. And so will throngs be buried, in this sad and mournful war. But out of the great clouds of private sorrow will rise the triumph of our country's glory. 98 HOUSEHOLD READING. TEXTUAL SONG. " Thine eyes shall see the king in his beauty ; they shall behold the Ifmd that is very far off." — Isaiah xxxiii. 17. CHRISTIAN traveller ! findest thou thy way By trouble's thorns beset, that tear and sting ? Walk'st thou in darkness, longing for the day ? And hath complaining quenched thy power to sing ? Ever on human hearts unwelcome falls The rod ; nor willing are we taught to weep : Yet cheer thee ! mourning oft to gladness calls ; For " so He giveth his beloved sleep." Think, when thou grievest 'neath a clouded sky, Behind that pall still shines the blessed sun ; "With Faith's strong staff ascend the mountain high. The storm 's beneath thee when the summit 's won. Lest, haply, whilst thou lingerest in the vale, And mourn'st the darkness that thou canst not bide, A voice of warning should thine ear assail, — "What dost thou here, O Christian? here 's thy guide! " Hope ! for thy tearful eye shall yet behold The glorious King in all his beauty dressed ; And the bright land with garniture of gold Awaits at last to give thy spirit rest. OBTAINING HELP IN THE COUNTRY. 99 OBTAINING HELP IN THE COUNTRY. Scene. — A Parlor, five miles from Newburyport. Bridget seated in the easy-chair. Enter the Lady of the House. BRIDGET. (^Briskly, ivitJiout rising.') Good morning, ma'am. Lady. (^Standing.) Good morning. Will you tell me your name and errand ? B. Sure, Bridget O'Calligan 's my name, ma'am ; the same that 's walked all the way from the city to see ye. L. QKhidhj.') Tell me how I can serve you, Bridget. B. Indade, ma'am, if you plase, and it 's me that 's come to say I 'm willing to sarve yoursilf. L. yes, I understand ; my husband was inquiring in the city for a servant ; and you would like the place. B. I 'm not so sure but I might, if ye 'd make it for me interest to go so far out. It 's Margaret Degnan (she that lives with his riverence. Doctor Burleigh) told me you 's dis- trist for help ; so I called to see his lady about ye, and she gave ye such a good character, and ricommended ye so high, that I thought ye 'd jist suit me ; so I 've brought me things (^slioiving a bundle from under her cloak), and if ye can ac- commodate me in rispect to the work and the wages, I '11 be after stopping with ye. L. (^Smiling.) How could I accommodate you as to the work ? B. Well, it is n't Bridget O'Calligan would be hard upon so winsome a lady, — ye looks youngish, too, and delekit- like ; but I suppose ye 'd be after wanting to do the nicest of yer own cooking. L. I have done so for the last four years. B. ^Brightening np.) Sure, and I was right. Yer house (^glancing around the parlors) looks nice. I suppose ye 'd be after taking charge to kape it clain and in order, yersilf, — except the kitchen. 100 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. L. I have been accustomed to do so. B. Yer husband 's the minister, they said ; I suppose it 's '■ only yersilf, ma'am, would be able to suit him to his linen. L. You are right again, Bridget ; my husband's linen I i never trust to any hands but my own. B. (Belighted?) Sure, ma'am, I 'm thinking Mrs. Dr. Burleigh did n't ricommend ye without rason. Have ye any childer ? i. Yes, two boys, six and eight years old. B. And ye would n't be after axin me to mind them ? (^Ye'd be expectin' to mind yer own boys, of course? L. Certainly, that is altogether customary. B. Faith, ma'am, I 'd like to be living with so kind and hilpful a lady. What 's been yer wages, ma'am ? L. Nothing. I have been accustomed to work without wages. B. (^Bewildered.') Ma'am ? L. I have done the work of my family unaided for the *• ^last four years, and have therefore neither paid nor received wages. B. (^Astonished.) Sure, ma'am, are ye after bein' one of that sort ? Ye don't look like it ; I'd niver a thought it. ; L. I am precisely that sort, I assure you, Bridget. I - "■ choose to have either the comfort of doing my work myself, or the comfort of having it done for me. You see I should have neither if I employed you. Good morning. JB. Faith, it 's the truth ye spake, ma'am. Good day to ^ye. B. (Soliloquizing as she goes.) Sure, and what should a dacent girl be after leavin' the world to live in the country for, if not for large wages and small work. The saints sind her help ; but it 's not for the like o' sich the O'Calligans -works. ZIONWAED. 101 ZIONWARD. WHAT is it to be a Christian? To be a Christian is to do tlie will of God, it is to honor and serve and please him. A man whose governing purpose is to do what God commands because he has commanded it, whose leading desire is to do what is right in his sight, and be approved by him, is a true Christian. The soul can be under the power of but one governing purpose. This law of our moral being the Saviour affirmed when he said, " No man can serve two masters." The affec- tions cannot be placed supremely upon two objects at the same time ; and it is the controlling choice, or purpose, which decides the moral character. In the moral world there are two ends, incompatible with each other, between which every man must choose. These two ends, irreconcilable as objects of supreme pursuit, are self and Cfod, and the first is the centre of affection and aim until it' is displaced by the last. The forms of self-gratification are various, but in some form every man lives for himself until he begins to live for God. He consults his natural inclina- tions, and follows his personal preferences in disregard of the pleasure of his Maker. He seeks his own pleasure, and this is his governing principle. When he becomes a Christian, he seeks as constantly to please the Lord, subjecting his own wishes to the Divine law. This is now his rule of obedience, this is his new governing principle. He passes out from the dominion of the other, and comes under the dominion of this. In place of a para- mount desire to have his personal wishes gratified, it is his ruling purpose to do what the Lord requires, whether natu- rally agreeable or not. He accepts a new master, and con- forms his life to this new basis. This habitual conformity, though attended with occasional 102 HOUSEHOLD • READING. defection, is decisive of his real character, — a point on wliich human judgment is often uncharitable and unjust. Let the same offence be committed by two persons, the one a believer and the other impenitent, and there are observers who are ready to say, " There is no difference between these persons ; their characters are alike ; they differ only in their profes- sions.''^ There is this vast difference between them, that the sin of the one is inconsistent with the general purpose and tenor of his life, an exception to the known law of his conduct, a deviation from his principles and practices, felt to be such by those who know him, and as such lamented 'by himself in the hour of reflection with pain and penitence ; and the sin of the other is in keeping with his life, is not re- garded by himself or others as an inconsistency, and is not remembered and confessed by him with grief as a sin against God. The sin of the believer, though the same outwardly, is greater than that of the other, for he sins against greater light and obligation ; but he is not a worse man than the other, for m judging fairly of the man, we take into our esti- mate the general drift and current of his life, his prevailing aim and habit, — we do not judge him by his failings alone. There is no fouler double crime recorded in the Old Tes- tament than that which was perpetrated by King David ; but he was a good man, notwithstanding, and the Fifty-first Psalm is a record of the feelings of a good man when he has been betrayed into heinous sin ; and God, who chastised and cor- rected his servant, did not withdraw his confidence and favor. The denial of Christ by the Apostle Peter stands in the front rank of offences recorded in the New Testament ; but. the disciple who wept bitterly over his fall was a true believer and loved his Lord ; he did not lose his place as the leader of the faithful band, and his memory is enshrined in the con- fidence of the Christian world. Saul, the king of Israel, and Judas the traitor apostle, though their bosoms were lacerated by dreadful remorse, felt no penitential relentings and griev- ings for sin, for their souls had never been pervaded by the ZIONWARD. 103 same principle, nor their lives consecrated to the same end, as those of the other king and the other apostle. This is the heaven-wide difference between these characters and the classes represented by them. It defines the Christian believ- er, in distinction from the impenitent sinner, as one whose governing purpose is to do what is right in the sight of God, to please God rather than himself, or, better, to find his own pleasure in pleasing God. JVliat hinders the sinner's conversion? If conversion to Christ consists in a change of the governing purpose, what prevents the sinner from forsaking his present course and entering upon the new life, to which, through Christ he is invited ? There is no obstacle out of his own heart, noth- ing which could prove a hindrance without the consent of his will. Estranged from heaven and wedded to earth, he shrinks from tlie step demanded of him, and lacks the moral resolution to change his course. This is his sole difficulty, and the more unable he has become, the more guilty he is. It is this which renders Divine interposition necessary, and makes his case practically hopeless without. The Holy Spirit is given to banish his insensibility, to convince him of his guilt, to conquer his reluctance and repugnance, to awaken him to penitence and faith ; and the greater the necessity of the Spirit, the more stubborn the depravity of the sinner. This explains the distress which sometimes precedes con- version, — a very different feeling from the tenderness which follows it. It is the fruit of conviction, but it is a struggle against conviction. It is an unrelenting conflict between conviction and passion. The Holy Spirit is striving, and is resisted and grieved. The sinner refuses compliance with his plain obligations, and is unhappy because he is unsubmis- sive. The radical mistake of the awakened sinner, before submis- sion, is, tliat he attempts to be saved in a self-righteous way. It is the dictate of the natural heart to proceed in the work just as if no Saviour had been provided or were needed. 104 HOUSEHOLD READING. Man was created the subject of law, and was designed to be saved through obedience to law. Heaven was the promised reward of obedience, and would have been his inheritance had he retained his innocence. By his fall he has forfeited his title to it, but in his perverseness and pride he will persist in an attempted legal justification, not seeing that he has ruined himself and blighted his immortal prospects and hopes. This recovery can now be affected by grace alone, but he is filled with the purpose to become his own saviour. Were it not for this, his conversion would instantly follow his convic- tion. But a Saviour who shall take him without preparation or qualification, and confer a salvation which is wholly of grace, does not accord with his legal notions, his self-right- eous preferences. And so he enters upon the impracticable work of self-qualification, ignorant that Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to every one that believeth. THE BROKEN WAGON. A COOL breeze was blowing from the west, and it was such a fine day, that I thought I would give my little Jeanie a nice ride in her willow wagon. She enjoys riding exceedingly, and laughs and chatters all the while, after her baby fashion. I had been drawing her about some time, when suddenly one of the little irons broke, which fasten the wheels to the axle- tree. The wheel came off, and down went the wagon upon one side. I caught baby, however, just in time to save her iDeing thrown into a dirty mud-puddle. She was somewhat frightened, but did not mind it enough to cry. I was quite a distance from home, and hardly knew what to do. Finally I stepped into a shop close by, where I found a man at work, who kindly offered to assist me. He labored a long time, and at last succeeded in tying on the wheel in THE BROKEN WAGON. 105 sucli a manner that, with a little care, he thought I should be able to drag Jeanie safely home. I had walked but a few steps, however, when off again came the wheel. I then took Jeanie in my arms, thinking I must carry her home, and leave the wagon, though I had some fears that it might get injured more, standing by the roadside. We had reached tlie railroad bridge, when I met three little boys. " Ah, my little lads," said I, " where are you going ? " One of them, a bright-faced, noble-looking little fellow, im- mediately replied, " We came to see the cars go under the bridge." " Why, the cars have just gone," said I, " and you are too late ; that is too bad, is n't it ? " " no ! " said the same boy, " there is another train com- ing soon, and we can wait for that." I then turned around, so as to be able to see them all, and told them that I had been giving baby a ride, and had broken her wagon, and now must carry her in my arms, and leave the wagon, unless they would get it home for me. Two of them hung their heads, as if they did n't care about going ; but the little bright-eyed Freddy (he said that was his name) replied, " I will go, if you will tell me where it is." So I turned back, Freddy following me, and the other two boys following behind him. Pretty soon I heard one of them say, in a hushed voice, " Freddy, I sha'n't go to help her carry it, for she won't give me anything if I do," and away he started. " I don't care if she don't," said Freddy ; " I '11 go and help her if I can, won't you, Sammy ? " "I don't know, — yes," murmured Sammy. By this time we had reached the wagon, and I asked them again, " Had you just as lief go as not, my little boys ? " " yes, ma'am, /had," replied Freddy, quickly ; but Sam- my hardly knew whether he had or not, though he finally an- swered, " Yes, ma'am." They worked pretty hard, but we got home at last, and 106 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. tliey carried the wagon into the house, and were going away. I asked them to wait a minute, until I could go up stairs. I went up, intending to get a piece of silver for each of them, but found I had no small change ; so, instead, I carried down two books. Now one of these books happened to be larger than the other, and I thought I would give it to the oldest boy. To my disappointment, however, they were of an age. So I turned to Freddy, and asked him which one he should like most. He was pointing toward the larger one, when Sammy spoke quickly, pointing to the same one, saying, '■'-Iioant that one'.'''' Here I was in a dilemma again ; but I was soon re- lieved, for Freddy, with the noble, generous spirit which ho had exhibited from the first, tiu'ned to me, and said, " Sam- my prefers that one ; he may have it, and I will take the other." I was astonished to see such a spirit of unselfishness in a little boy eight years old. I was delighted, for I saw that he really wanted the book, but for Sammy's sake would give it up. I hesitated, and then said to Sammy, at the same time opening the other book, and showing its pictures, " Would you not rather have this, and let Freddy have the other ? " " No," he replied, " I want that." I hesitated no longer, but gave Freddy the largest book. I gave Sammy, however, a pretty paper covered with woodcuts and stories, in addition to the other book. Now which of these boys, my little readers, should you like best for a playmate and a friend ? The one who would n't do a kindness for a person in trouble, without being paid for it ; or the one that was urged to do it, and then wanted the best book ; or the noble boy that was willing and glad to do it without pay, and then, at last, was willing to give up the book which he preferred to his selfish playmate ? THE PASTOR'S REWARD. 107 THE PASTOR'S REWARD. SOMEWHERE we have read a story, which may be famil- iar to many readers, of a French pastor, who when asked how he could devote his talents and culture to his flock scat- tered among the mountains, replied by narrating this incident in his experience. He was sent for by a dying parishioner living at a distance. With difficulty he reached the Immble home of one he had led into " the green pastures and by the still waters " of Di- vine love. The happy saint was too weak to speak, but beck- oned the pastor to his side. He took his seat by the bed of death. This was not enough ; the departing disciple of Jesus was anxious to get nearer his earthly shepherd. His motions were soon understood, and his head laid upon the faithful minister's breast. Then with a smile " he fell asleep.'"' The pastor said this was a sufficient reason, a rich reward, for his self-denying work. We think there is nothing, excepting a young convert's re- joicing, that is so satisfying to the often-desponding heart of the pastor, as the loving, grateful recognition of the dying Christian. The emphatic command of Jehovah is followed with a most precious benediction : " Comfort ye, my people, comfort ye, my people, saith the Lord of hosts." Whatever may turn an ambassador of Christ from his work for a time, if he has been permitted either to see the children of God ho7m into the kingdom here, or enter its glory with a farewell smile of affection and hope, through the " valley of the shadow of death," will never cease to thank his King for the honor and privileges, nor to long for them again. 108 HOUSEHOLD READING. UP THERE, MOTHER! U^ 'P there, mother! I am coming ! Fleet of foot as Time doth make, While the virgins' lamps are burning, Lighting loved ones to the sky, Up to where you are I 'm coming. Up there, mother ! I am coming ! Swift as ages flying past, While light from heaven to earth is flashing: Through clouds of gold with silver lining, Just as the northern lights cease burning ; I am coming. Up there, mother ! I am coming ! Through the shadow of the valley. Leaning on His sacred promise. Bearing on myself His cross. Up to where you are I 'm coming. For, O mother ! I am coming ! Having faith in our Redeemer, Even now " I know he liveth." Through his grace we '11 be permitted Evermore to see each other. I am coming. Up there, mother ! I am coming ! Earth has naught but pain and sorrow. UP THERE, MOTHER ! 109 Naught but anguish for the morrow, Burning, blistering in its tenure, Rise, my soul, and go up higher ! I am going ! Up there, mother ! I am coming ! Throughout space in heaven of heavens We will worship with the angels, In the azure blue eternal, Singing hallelujahs ever. I am coming. Up there, mother ! I am coming ! In the band of golden harpists, In the choir of cherub songsters, Whose sweet strains forever linger. We will praise our God forever. I am coming. Up there, mother ! I am coming ! I have seen the star of Bethlehem Shining o'er the plains of Judaea, Saw its glory in the manger, Wise men saw it and they worshipped. I am coming. Up there, mother ! I am coming ! Where the gates on golden hinges In celestial glory swinging, Ope to us God's heavenly welcome, Joy and peace ! to thee I 'm cominsr ! 110 HOUSEHOLD READING. PAYING A PHYSICIAN IN GERMANY. T is a reasonable thing, when one is ill, to have a physician ; and particularly in a foreign country, it seems only wise to have the best, even where all are men of learning, as they undoubtedly are here. The most famous physician of Stutt- gart is, of course, the Court physician, and we asked our first German visitor for information in regard to him. " The Court Doctor, Dr. Yon Ludwig, why, he is very rich ! " ".Is that all ? " " no, very skilful and scientific, and very eccentric. He dines at the Marquerdt, the first hotel in the place ; has a table to himself, of course ; and when he is done eating, he puts in his pocket whatever he has left that his dog would like, — beef, veal, or anything of the kind." " The dirty man ! " " Yes, he is very dirty. He looks quite greasy, and some- times even ragged. He is entirely without ceremony. One day, not long ago, he met one of his patients, a lady, in the street, and she stopped him to tell him about an annoying toothache, which she thought proceeded from the generally disordered state of her health. ' Let me see your tooth,' said the doctor. The lady opened her mouth. ' Now shut your eyes ! ' The lady shut her eyes, and the doctor decamped. It is not to be presumed that a court lady, or any lady, would stand long in the street, with her mouth open, and her eyes shut, and the lady soon discovered her ridiculous position, but she is said to have been considerably discomposed. An- other lady, having sent for him to her room, put her hand on her side, and said, ' Doctor, I have such a pain, whenever I put my hand here.' 'Then,' said the Doctor, shortly, 'don't put your hand there any more. Adieu ! ' And while the sur- prised lady sat with her hand on her side, probably unconscious PAYING A PHYSICIAN IN GERMANY. Ill of whatever pain there might be at the moment under her fingers, the laconic physician departed." " We don't want Dr. Ludwig, with his greasy pockets and eccentric ways. Wlio else is there ? " At last we fix upon a Dr. Reis, for two reasons : he is quick, and he gives little medicine. Dr. Reis forthwith makes his appearance. He has flaxen hair, and black eyes, a heavy form, and a lively countenance, — a mixture, he seemed to be, of the slow Swabian and the sprightly Frank. He is a good-natured, talkative man, and we are sorry when his visits are at an end. Now hear our closing conversation. " Doctor, will you please tell me what I owe you ? " " Owe me ! you don't owe me anything." " For your visits, I mean, and prescriptions ? " " 0, let that alone until next year." " Then you will be obliged to send your bill to America." " I make no bills. Physicians never keep accounts." We remember now that the distinguished oculist in Berlin, Von Graefe, never makes any charge, his services to the poor being gratis, and compensated by the free gifts of the rich. We remember, too, that Yon Graefe is said to complain of the stinginess of Americans. But we make no allusion to Yon Graefe. We simply ask, " Is it not the custom in Ger- many to pay physicians ? " " It is not the custom to ask them for their bill, as if they were shoemakers. The physician's services are those of a friend, and he is treated accordingly." Somewhat abashed, we lay down our purse ; but, unwilling to give up the matter, we remark, " We pay doctors in our country. We don't ask them as soon as we recover for their bills, it is true ; but when they want money, or at regular periods, they send their bills to us." " I assure you, German physicians keep no accounts. They receive an acknowledgment of their services if it is sent them, but if it is not sent, they say nothing." The doctor departs, and we ponder on the question, How 112 ' HOUSEHOLD EEADING. mucli do "we owe liim ? "We ask a young German gentleman who calls. " 0, give him just what you choose ! " We ask our landlady. " Act exactly according to your own pleasure ; rather too much, however, than too little." Don't we feel informed ? " Pray tell us what is too much, and what too little." " The law requires that for every visit of a physician he shall receive not less than seventeen cents. This is the lowest amount that is ever paid, and this is very seldom enforced. I know families in comfortable circumstances, who never pay anything for medical services, which they frequently receive. The physician prefers being defrauded of his dues to the ob- loquy a law process brings upon him. It is an inconvenient custom, both for patient and doctor. The patient, no matter how ill, must keep an account of the number of visits, yet, with the utmost desire to be just, feels embarrassed when the acknowledgment is made. Now," continued our landlady, " I have been ill, as you know, eight months, confined to my bed six months of the time, and my physician has shown every possible kindness and attention. I certainly am greatly indebted to him, but I do not know what to pay him." We made no remark, but we could not avoid thinking, il you, German people, could just get the word comfort into your language, and the idea into your heads, you would know what to pay your doctors, and would rid yourselves of a thousand disagreeable things. VIRGINIA DARE. ON the island of Roanoke, where our soldiers fought a great battle and won a great victory a few months ago, the first American child of English parents was born, almost three hundred years since. Her birth-month was August, when the days were long and VIRGINIA DAEE. 113 sunny, when wild berries and fruits were ripening, and the forest was bright witli singing-birds of strange, gay plumage. The air was heavy with the fragrance of odorous wood ; and beautiful flowers which were rare in England, and carefully cultivated in gardens there, grew wild in plentiful luxuriance here. It was a goodly land, fertile and delightful ; rich, beside, so the story went, in rivers which ran over sands of gold far toward the sunset. But lovely and promising as the heritage seemed to which the English baby was born, yet there must have been a look of sadness in the fond and hopeful eyes of her mother, and an anxious shadow on her fatlier's face, thinking of the dangers lurking about the cradle of the child. Eighty-nine men, seventeen women, and two children, now the little one had come, made up the number of the Colony in the New World ; and at this time, when we go to England and back in a month, and hear from there almost every day, we can hardly imagine how far away and desolate this hand- ful in the wilderness must have felt as they saw the ship that brought them prepare to return. There were trees enough for building houses ; there were fish in the rivers, game in the forest, fruit and seeds abun- dant, and sufficient each in their season for those who knew where to look and how to use them ; but everything was new and strange to the English people ; they missed their accustomed kinds of food, and tools for working, and thev must wait for these until the sliip should go to England and come back again. The territory which is now North Carolina was called Virginia tlien ; so the first baby born there was also named Virgiiiia. She was the child of Mrs. Eleanor Dare, the daughter of the Governor of the Colony, John White, and her father was one of nine men who had come to assist the Governor in surveying the land of the New World, and make discoveries here. I can fancy how the baby, with its helplessness and win- 114 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. some ways, — old as the time of Cain, yet new as the latest born, — must have brightened and beautified the lonely settlement, though her life was overshadowed in its begin- ning by parting and desertion. Not desertion though, the people hoped, and the sailors said. They positively promised to return within the year, bringing supplies of food, clothing, seeds, and tools, with per- haps other emigrants, and certainly with tidings from home ; and that they might be sure to come, the Colony prevailed on Governor White to go with them. He at first refused to leave the people of his care alone to their untried perils and sufferings ; but they insisted, thinking that with his daughter and granddaughter left behind as hostages, he surely would return speedily to their relief, if motives of common humanity and interest in the New World should not be sufficient to keep them in remembrance at England. So, before little Yirginia Dare was old enough to do more than cry when she was uncomfortable and laugh when she was pleased, her grandfather sailed with the ship to England, leaving behind on the shore the hundred and eight souls that hoped they were the germ of a great nation, but that were not so to be. How they watched the receding sail growing less and less, seeming to vanish, and then showing again and again in the sunlight, till it finally disappeared forever ; how some were hopeful and courageous, and others timid and desponding ; how want, with disease and death in its train, came to them ; how one by one English graves were made on American soil ; how the lessening number strained their eyes, watching for the ship that did not come, thinking they saw it far out at sea, only to feel the heart-sickness of disappointed hope ; how at last the bravest and most hopeful believed they were for- gotten in England, or that the ocean had added to her sunken treasures the ship and the friends that were their only earthly hope : how, through all, the little Virginia, unconscious of her sore peril, grew more winning and lovely as the months VIEaiNIA DARE. 115 went on, drawing all hearts to her, and making a gleam of sunshine in the- deserted colony ; all this we may imagine, for it surely came to pass ; but more than this, what was the end of tlieir looking and waiting we may never know ; that is one of the dread secrets which the relentless past holds in its keeping. Meanwhile the sea had not swallowed up the English ship, neither were the English friends so false and forgetful as they seemed. When Governor Wliite arrived in England, he found the country, which was then at war with Spain, in such excite- ment about a threatened invasion by the Spaniards that they could not think or talk much of the hundred and eiglit people on the island of Roanoke. When they were in danger of losing their existence as a nation, they were in no mood for speculations in colonizing a new continent. There was but one man in the kingdom who effectually re- membered the poor exiles. Sir Walter Raleigh, -who had done more than anyl)ody else in fitting out the expedition, and for whom the little settlement was named, which they hoped would be some time, but which never was, the city of Raleigh. From his own money Sir Walter fitted and sent out two ves- sels of supplies to return to Roanoke with Governor White. But alas for the colonists ! When the ships had not been long at sea, the love of money, which as they might have known before, is the root of all evil, led them to run in chase of Spanish prizes on the way. Thoy gained nothing, and one vessel lost all her cargo, so both returned to England. Then troublous months came when self-preservation and protection were all the nation was sufficient for, and so the time went on until after the winds of heaven had scattered and destroyed the great fleet of ships — the Invincible Ar- mada — that sailed to invade England. After that, three years after Governor Wliite had left Roanoke, in the year 1590, a company was sent to look after the forsaken ones. 116 HOUSEHOLD READING. They came too late. There was no trace of English town or Englishmen, excepting an inscription on a tree pointing off into the forest, but telling nothing of the fate of the in- habitants of the city of Raleigh. It was late in the year, there were many chances against their finding the colony ; the winds were getting adverse, the perils of braving a winter on that desolate coast could not be thought of, so the men timidly turned back to England. But in the prosperous years of peace that followed, the lost colony was remembered and sought after again and again, as in our own day Sir John Franklin and his hapless crew have been sought for, but with less success. Sir Walter 'Raleigh sent himself several expeditions, — all fruitless. So many years afterward that if Virginia Dare had lived to become a very old woman, she had then long been dead, after America became settled again with people who hoped to be and who were the germ of a great nation, there was a faint traditionary rumor of a company of English, who, wandering off in destitution and helplessness, took refuge among the In- dians, and, after a time, mixing with them, lost their own dis- tinct existence, and became part of them. It was only an uncertain rumor, but many believed that there were traits among the Hatteras Indians which showed a mixture of English blood, and that among them the lost colony found a home. In the changing years the Hatteras Indians have all passed away like the flower of the field. They have no longer a name on the face of the earth, and with them has vanished the last trace of Virginia Dare, the first English- American. SERVETUS AND CALVIN. 117 SERYETUS AND CALVIN. NOTHING can be more unjust than to charge the faults and errors of an entire age upon any one individual of that age ; nothing more unfair than to judge either the age or the individual according to the principles and standard of a long-subsequent and more-enlightened period. Yet both these wrongs are frequently committed by those who assume the appellation of Liberal Christians. It has become a settled habit with them to reproach John Calvin with the death of Servetus, as if that were one of the greatest atrocities on record, an event almost without a parallel in history, and as if he were sole or chief actor in the tragedy, and solely re- sponsible for its performance. No small part, moreover, of the odium attaching to this transaction is carefully brought down and transferred to the entire body of Christians who at this day pass under the general name of Calvinists. His sin is literally and in the most orthodox manner imjjuted to them ; and much as our Unitarian neighbors profess to abhor such a dogma, in other connections they hesitate not to constitute in their own way John Calvin a sort of federal head of the whole race of orthodox Christians to the latest time, and roundly charge the guilt of his sin upon them in a body. Now the injustice of all this is too manifest and glaring to demand comment. It is not true that the death of Servetus, liowcvcr sad in itself, and to be condemned according to all those more just and enlightened views of religious toleration which now prevail, is an event of marked and peculiar atroci- ty ; on the contrary, it is only one of a series of events which characterize the history of that age all the world over, not peculiar to one country or one sect, the result of principles then everywhere firmly held and conscientiously carried out ; and it must be judged accordingly. It is not true that the principal blame of this transaction rests upon John Calvin, 118 HOUSEHOLD READING. as is generally affirmed and pertinaciously insisted upon by those who bear no good will to the memory of the great Genevan reformer ; nor can it be shown that the odium of this transaction falls in any manner whatever upon those who at the present time profess, in its essential features, the faith and religious system of that eminent man. So common is it even now to represent Servetus as a holy martyr, and his death as a monstrous atrocity, planned, devised, and executed by John Calvin, to the everlasting disgrace of orthodoxy in general, while the world shall stand, that we doubt not these representations are by multitudes really believed, while others who do not fully accredit them are perhaps unable to satisfy themselves of their essential falsity. We propose briefly to lay before our readers the simple facts in the case, as derived from the most authentic and accredited sources of history, in order that they may judge for themselves whether these oft-repeated charges be true or false ? ^Vho and ivliat tvas Servetus ? For ivliat ivas he con- demned? What agency had John Calvin in his death ? These are the questions which demand our attention, and which we propose to answer. Who and what tvas Servetus ? By birth a Spaniard, a native of Yilleneuva in Aragon, his earliest years seem to have been spent in a cloister. At fourteen he was taken into the service of confessor to Charles V., in which situation he saw much of the Pope and of Popery, and soon became disgusted with the pageantry and pomp of that hollow and heartless system. Afterwards he studied law at the University of Tou- louse in France, and in connection with law paid attention also to astrology. He had at this time, after a diligent study of the early Fathers, and of the Catholic writers of the Mid- dle Ages, deliberately renounced Popery, and, as it seems, had gone over to the opposite extreme of a bold and dangerous scepticism. He professes himself neither a Catholic nor a Protestant, but seems to have regarded himself as a j)rophet raised up to reform the world. SERVETUS AND CALVIN. 119 Toulouse becoming unsafe for him on account of his free- dom of thought and expression, he resorts to Basil, and sub- mits his views to the Swiss divines and reformers, who regard him, however, with entire distrust. Soon after this he pub- lishes his first work upon the Trinity, — a worlv so repugnant to the views then everywhere entertained in Christendom, so full of dangerous error, and more than all so arrogaiit and bitter in its tone, that it raised a general storm of indignation both among Catholics and Protestants. He was not allowed to leave Basil until he had in a manner retracted his errors. Abandoning for the time his attempts to renovate the world, he leaves Germany and retires to France, where under a changed name he studies mathematics and medicine at Paris. Here he subsequently takes the degree of doctor of medicine, and lectures upon mathematics and astronomy. His arro- gance, however, soon involves him in trouble with the univer- sity and faculty of Paris, and he is prohibited from lecturing. We find him next at Cliarlieu, near Lyons, establishing him- self as a physician, but his intolerant spirit and fanatical tendencies soon drive him again from his moorings. He next appears at Vienne in Dauphiny, where for some years he finds an asylum under the protection of the Arch- bishop of Yienne, a distinguished patron of learning. Here he publishes several works, amongst others " The Restitution of Christianity," a work of so heretical a character that it was with considerable difficulty he could obtain its publica- tion, and which finally appeared without the name of author or publisher or place, the whole affair being conducted with the utmost secrecy. Copies of the work having been circu- lated in several of the principal cities of France and Ger- many, its authorship soon became known abroad ; this led to the arrest and trial of Servetus in Yienne. Finding it likely to go hard with him, he makes his escape from prison, while the trial is yet pending, and after wandering about awhile in France, makes his way to Switzerland. The trial proceeds at Yienne, however, after his departure; and being condemned 120 HOUSEHOLD READING. to death, he is burnt in effigy together with his books, Ser- vetus, after this narrow escape, imprudently enters Geneva, on his way to Naples, and tarries there a month ; when just as he is about to depart, he is arrested in the name of the council, and after a thorough and prot^'acted trial is found guilty according to the laws of the land, and condemned to death, — a sentence wliich was executed on the 27th of October, 1553. It remains to inquire for what he was condemned, and what agency Calvin had in procuring his death. For ivhat, then, ivas Servetus coiidemned ? What were his offences ? What charges, true or false, were brought out against him ? A very able writer, in the last number of the Christian Ex- aminer, represents the death of Servetus as closely connected with and brought about by his having published an edition of the Bible containing notes and otlier matter of a heretical character. Mr. Livermore has fallen into a mistake in supposing that this publication was. one of the principal causes of the con- demnation of Servetus, or had anything in particular to do with it. Such was not the fact. The Bible in question was published some ten years before the trial and death of Ser- vetus, and though not approved by the Catholics, and at Lyons placed on the catalogue of prohibited books, yet it does not appear ever to have occasioned him any special trouble. ICs heresy, if there was any, consisted principally in the interpretation which it gave of the Messianic prophe- cies, which Servetus regarded as having had tlieir complete fulfilment before the time of Christ, and as referring to him only as David and Solomon and so forth were types of him ; a doctrine not indeed current at the time, but by no means likely in any age of the world to bring a virtuous and upright and peaceable man to the stake. The error, if such it be, *was certainly of a very mild character. It came up indeed among other opinions and doctrines of Servetus, on his trial before the Council of the Two Hundred at Geneva, but it does not appear that any special importance was attached to SERVETUS AND CALVIN. 121 it. The errors for which he was condemned, were of a far more serious nature. This matter of the Bible did not come up at all on his final trial, nor is there any evidence that it had anything whatever to do with his death. For what, then, was he condemned ? Not for heretical opinions of any sort, merely or chiefly, we reply. His opin- ions and doctrines were doubtless heretical enough, according to the standards of judgment at the time ; heretical they would in any age be pronounced by the great body of the Christian .Church. But it was not so much his opinions in themselves, as the manner in which he stated and defended them which gave offence. The elder Socinus was teaching substantially the same doctrines at Zurich without molesta- tion. Not content with simply maintaining and defending calmly but earnestly what he thought to be truth, Servetus it seems had from the first set himself to assail with terms of bitterest obloquy and reproach, nay, with ribaldry, and un- measured abuse, the opinions of those who differed from him. He made use of language which could not fail to shock the minds of all sober and pious men who held the doctrines of either the Catholic or the Protestant Church. He calls the persons of the Godhead delusions of the Devil, and the triune God a monster, a three-headed Cerberus. It was this bitterness and intolerance of spirit, this entire want of reverence for the most sacred things, this deliberate insult and outrage of the religious feelings of the entire Christian world, that armed the entire Christian world against him, and made him a marked and outlawed man long before he ever saw Calvin or Geneva. Some thirteen years before his trial, he sent back to Calvin, with whom he was then cor- responding, a copy of his Institutes, with the most severe and bitter reflections and taunts upon the margin, and sent him several letters of a. most abusive and insulting character. The same spirit seems to have been manifested on his trial. He manifested neither respect for his judges, nor a decent regard for the religious sentiments of the age. In the most 122 HOUSEHOLD READING. insulting manner he heaped upon Calvin the most undeserved reproaches and the most abusive epithets, dealing so much in personalities and invectives as to shame even his judges, and wear out the patience of men, many of whom were inclined to look favorably upon his cause. So far was this abuse car- ried, that, unable to bear it longer, the entire body of the cler- gy, with Calvin at their head, arose on one occasion and left the tribunal, thus closing the examination. On his final trial, thirty-eight propositions, taken from his last work, were handed him. His answer, says a dispassion- ate historian, was more like the ravings of a maniac than the words of reason and truth. He exhibited a surprising indif- ference in regard to the erroneous doctrines which were im- puted to him, and sought mainly for hard eiiithets to apply to Calvin. He accused him .... of being a murderer and a disciple of Simon Magus. The margin of the paper con- taining the propositions was covered with such expressions as the foUowhig: "Thou dreamest," "Thou liest," "Thou canst not deny that tliou art Simon the sorcerer," &c. Another historian says of this reply of Servetus : " It is no presumption to say, that, in point of abuse and scurrility, this defence stands unrivalled by any one that was ever made by any defendant, however infatuated, in the most desperate cause."* It was not, then, so much his opinions and dogmas, as the manner in which he maintained them, that occasioned the final decision of the judges, and the almost unanimous verdict of the Christian world against Servetus. " If Servetus had only attacked the doctrine of the Trinity by arguments," says an able writer, " he would have been answered by arguments ; and withoiit danger of persecution by the Protestants, he might have gone on defending it, until called to answer for his ' belief by him whose character lie had impugned. Argument was not that which Calvin and his contemporaries opposed by the civil tribunal. It was insult and ribaldry, and that too * Waterman's Life of Calvin, p. 118. SEEVETUS AND CALVDT. 123 against tlie Most High, wliose character they would defend in the midst of a perverse and rebellious generation." * " If ever a poor fanatic thrust himself into the fire," says J. T. Coleridge, " it was Michael Servetus." "We come now to the final question, What agency had Cal- vin in procuring the death of this man? The facts are few and simply told, and our reply may therefore be brief. Servetus, it will be recollected, ran away, while his trial was pending at Vienne, and imprudently came to Geneva. How came he to go thither ? At the secret instigation of Calvin, say some ; this, however, is altogether false. So far from encouraging him to come thither, Calvin had years before positively refused to grant him his protection in case he did come ; and Servetus knew perfectly well, from the manner in which he had treated Calvin, that he could not rely upon any friendship or protec- tion in that quarter. It was his own voluntary movement. He went by way of Switzerland because it was, as matters then were, — Europe being everywhere too hot for him, — his safest route to Naples. With characteristic recklessness he enters Geneva, the very citadel of the faith he had so deliber- ately and bitterly reviled. He lingers there an entire mouth, as if to leave his enemies no excuse for permitting iiim to es- cape. At length, at the instigation of Calvin, he is arrested. The laws of the state made it the imperative duty of tlio magistrates to proceed against those who were guilty of her- esy, and tlie duty of every good citizen to aid them in so doing. This law had been in operation at Geneva from the time of Frederic II. It was the spirit and sentiment of the age, that those who obstinately persisted in heresy and blas- phemy were worthy of death. Even Servetus himself main- tained this principle in his "Restitution of Christianity," — the very work which led to his trial and condemnation. Acting in accordance with this generally received opinion, and with tlie laws of his country, as a good citizen bound to maintain the civil institutions under which he lived, Calvin lodged an accu- * Bibliothcca Sacra, February, 1S4G. 124 • HOUSEHOLD READING. sation against Servetus, whose heretical opinions and whose bitter and blasphemous assaults, as they were universally regarded, upon the true faith, were widely known long before he came to Geneva. The position of Calvin was such that, under the circum- stances, he could hardly do otherwise. He stood at the head of the Protestant clergy, not of Geneva alone, but of Europe and of the age. The reproach of heresy was resting, in the estimation of the Catholic world, upon the entire Protestant body, and especially upon Calvin and the clergy of Geneva. They were regarded as anti-Trinitarians, and Geneva as a receptacle of heretics. Servetus was known and acknowl- edged to be a teacher of the most dangerous errors, and in the common estimate of both Catholic and Protestant was a man worthy of death. If the clergy of Geneva, the leaders of the Reformation, failed to proceed according to the laws against such a man, thus throwing himself into their midst, what could they expect but that the opprobrium of heresy would justly fasten itself upon them in the general opinion of men ? It was, in fact, a matter of self-defence with them to show the world, both Catholic and Protestant, that they had no sympathy with men who undertook the work of reform in the spirit and with the principles of Servetus. It was due to themselves, due to the cause of Protestantism, due to the state under whose laws they dwelt. By the laws of the state, it was required that the person who lodged an accusation against any one should sustain it and make it good, or, failing to do this, should suffer the punishment which would have been due to the accused. It devolved on Calvin, therefore, to sustain the charges of heresy brought by him against Servetus. This he did with such clearness and force that the Council of the Two Hundred, in which the influence, not of Calvin, but of his opponents and determined enemies, the Libertines, predominated, declared the accusation substantiated, and the prisoner was remanded for further trial, according to law, before the Council of Sixty. SEBVETUS AND CALVIN. 125 Throughout these trials, Calvin took no further part than his position as accuser demanded, nor was he present except when required by the judges. He calmly stated the errors of the accused, showed by his own writings that he maintained such errors, and the pernicious tendency of them. His whole demeanor and spirit were in marked contrast with the violence and bitterness of Serve tus. ... There was no haste in these proceedings. The first trial commenced on the 14th of August, and continued four days ; the second began on the 21st of the same month ; and after a protracted and patient hearing, the council came to this determination, that, after full time had been given to the accused to retract or correct whatever he might wish, the whole case should be laid before the Swiss churches for their decision. It was not until the 21st of September that this was done, and the documents of the trial were laid before the churches in Zurich, Berne, Basil, and Schaffliausen. Mean- while Servetus had ample time to collect himself, and even complained of the delay as unnecessary. The answers of the several churches were substantially the same, — that it was necessary that so dangerous a man should be in some way prevented from doing further mischief. After this, the two councils assemble in joint session, and continue in deliberation three days. They decide at last upon the infliction of capital punishment. At these delibera- tions, of course, neither Calvin nor the clergy were present ; it was a civil tribunal ; but, so soon as its decision was known, Calvin at once assembled the clergy of the city, and they unanimously petitioned the council for a milder form of punishment. The petition was altogether refused. On the 20th of October the sentence was to be executed. The council were in session all the morning, waiting for the prisoner's retraction ; but no retraction came, and the law had its course. No one was more disappointed at the issue of this trial, as appears from his letters, than John Calvin. He had confidently hoped that Servetus would be made to see his errors and to retract them. 126 HOUSEHOLD EE.^DING. As to the justice of this punishment, whatever we may think of it, judging by the principles and tlie liglit of the pres- ent age, there seems to have been but one opinion among the most eminent of that age for learning, wisdom, and piety. Such men as Bullinger, Farel, Yiret, and Beza heartily ap- proved the proceeding. Even the gentle Melancthon affirms, in a letter to Calvin, that the magistrates " acted rightly in putting this blasphemer to death " ; and in a letter to Bullin- ger the same mild and cautious and truly Christian man de- clares, " Ihave been surprised that there are men who blame this severity." What, then, on the whole, was Calvin's agency in this affair ? Simply this. He brought an accusation against Servetus, when to have done otherwise would have been a virtual betrayal of the cause of Protestant reformation, as well as a disregard of the laws of his country. As by law required, he substantiated the charge he had made. This he did ; this, and nothing more. With the condemnation and sentence of Servetus he had nothing whatever to do. The trial was before a civil tribunal, the highest and most august in the state. Every opportunity of defence was afforded the ac- cused. Calvin himself furnished him the books he needed from his own library. The trial was conducted with extreme pa- tience and deliberation. The case was finally submitted to the churches of Switzerland for their decision. With one voice they declare the accused guilty. His punisl ment is decided by the united councils after a deliberation of *;hree days ; and so far from triumphing in its severity, * J. n, at the head of the clergy, petitions, but in vain, for its mitigation. Let the reader judge now, with the facts of the case fairly before him, with what justice it is that Calvin is so frequently and bitterly reproached with the burning of Servetus, as if he were its sole author and procurer, as if he were at once ac- cuser, judge, and executioner in the sad affair, and as if he had acted in the whole proceeding against, rather than in ac- cordance with, the universal sentiment of the age and the opinions of all good men. SIX LITTLE FEET ON THE FENDER. 127 We do not defend, in all this, the condemnation of Ser- vetus. It was a great mistake ; call it, if you will, a crime. But let the blame rest ivhere it belongs ; not on John Calvin, V)ut on the men who decreed that death, and on the age which sanctioned and demanded it. SIX LITTLE FEET ON THE FENDER. IN my heart there liveth a picture Of a kitchen rude and old, Where the firelight tripped o'er the rafters, And reddened the roof's brown mould, Gilding the steam from the kettle, That hummed on the foot-worn hearth, Throughout the livelong evening Its measures of drowsy mirth. Because of the three light shadows That frescoed that rude old room, Because of the voices echoed Up 'mid the rafters' gloom ; Because of the feet on the fender, — Si?" restless, white little feet, — he t loughts of that dear old kit Ar "^"^ me so fresh and sweet. 0, where are the fair young faces That crowded against the pane When the first drops dashed on the window Told of the coming rain ? What bits of firelight steaUng Their dimpled clieeks between, Went struggling out in the darkness In shreds of silver sheen ! 128 HOUSEHOLD READING. Two of the feet grew weary- One dreary, dismal day, And Ave tied them with snow-white ribbons, Leaving him there by the way. There was fresh clay on the fender That weary, wintry night, For the four little feet had tracked it From his grave on the bright hill's height. O why, on this darksome evening. This evening of rain and sleet. Rest my feet all alone on the hearthstone ? 0, where are those other feet? Are they treading the pathway of virtue That will bring us together above ? Or have they made steps that will dampen A sister's tireless love ? THE BRIDLE ON THE WRONG HORSE. REV. Dr. B was remarkable for bis skill in managing difficult cases. Any adversary wbo tbougbt to gain an advantage over bim was very likely to find bis weapons turned against bimself in a most unexpected manner. The quickness of perception and promptness of action Avbicli enabled bim to secure sucb advantages may be seen from tbe following anecdote. At a time when certain difficulties existed in tbe church of which he was pastor, one of tbe deacons, feeling aggrieved, thought be would seek redress by subjecting bis pastor to a course of discipline. With this purpose in view, be called one day at tbe study. As soon as tbe pastor recognized tbe visitor, be anticipated tbe object of the visit, and determined to forestall him. "Deacon H ," said be, " I have been FEED'S GOLIATH. 129 wanting to see you for some time." Then, referring to their difficulties, said to him, " I wish you to regard this as the first step." The deacon, not a little astonished, replied, " I came to see you for this very purpose, and to take the same step with yoM." Soon after he made another call, taking two or three breth- ren with him, to see if he could mend the matter. But again his pastor was too prompt for him. As soon as the visitors arrived, the pastor referred to the difficulties which existed, said what he chose, and then added, " Deacon H , I make these statements in the presence of these brethren, and I wish you to regard this as the second step." Being thus baffled again, the deacon wisely concluded to retreat, and as he left the house he said to the brethren who accompanied him, " I went there to put the bridle on the old priest, and he got the bits into my mouth." FEED'S GOLIATH. T WAS David aimed de blow That laid de Hittite low," sang flax-headed, chubby Fred Eaton, in the front yard. With fresh apron and fresher face, just from the v/ash-basin and towel, he had been turned out to play, and found his way through the front gate to the Wheaton gravel-walk. There he was, down on his knees, sorting the pebbles, and poking deep in the sand to find larger ones. His hymn, heard at the infant-class in Sunday school, had fixed itself in his mind, and he was singing in a good voice, not unmusical, with all its want of tune. The words seemed to suit the state of his mind, for he sang them over and over again. Just having 9 130 HOUSEHOLD READING. stopped long enough to disinter a larger stone than common, he was breaking out again Avith triumphant energy, " 'T was Da^^d aimed de blow — " when May peeped round the corner and laughed. " What are you doing, Fred ? " " Oh! somefin' great," he answered, too busy to look up, digging away with serious energy. " But you 're spoiling the walk, Fred. Why, we sha'n't have any to walk to church on, Sunday." This idea seemed to touch Fred's principles. Not to go to church would be a hard thing for him, and he straightened himself up, casting doubtful glances at the torn walk, and his sand-soiled fingers. " Are you making a house ? " asked Marian, to divert him from feeling bad. " No," he said, looking up gravely, " I'm getting stones to kill Goliar with." " Why," said May, laughing as quietly as possible, " don't you know David killed Goliath long ago ? He 's dead now." " Not my Goliar," said Fred, sober as ever, and he broke out irrepressibly in the last line of his song, which had been waiting to come forth the last two minutes. " Where is your Goliath ? " asked May, amused with the child's odd idea. " Oh ! " with a long sigh, to gather his thoughts before him, " everybody has a Goliar ; muver say, I 've got one, and muver say kill it " ; and he threw down a pebble that would have demolished ten giants if his strength and will had been equal. " What is your Croliar? " was the next question. The little full mouth curved down, and the honest little face took on such a look of positive shame, that Mary waa sorry she had asked him. " Don't like to be washed," came out sorrowfully, with such a look of unsubdued repugnance as told the whole stojy of mutinies against cold water and towels. FEED'S GOLIATH. 131 " Oh, there you are," said young Mrs. Eaton from the other side of the fence between the two places. Fred looked startled and defiant at first, but it was funny to see these ex- pressions die into a very humble and resigned appearance. I honor Fred's mother, because, instead of shaking him up or slapping him, she saw at a glance the wox'kings of his small spirit, and wisely left him to come to peace. She wanted Mrs. Wheaton's cake-pan, and walked round to get it. May was left by the gate thinking. In how many ways was the conflict of sin and goodness continually coming before her. " Lord Jesus, give us the victory over flesh and sin," prayed Mr. Yerner in the pulpit on the Sabbath, — prayed as if he meant it, too, as if there was a sore conflict going on, and his strength was failing him. " Help me to watch and pray, The conflict ne'er give o'er," she herself sang after service, feeling very resolute to over come something evil, though what she meant to figlit waL: rather indefmite, even to her enthusiasm. Now, in the pleasant losing peace of the worldly week-day, a heavenly warning was sent in the words of a little child. Marian listened to what Mrs. Eaton was saying as she went back to the kitchen door. " I thought the neighbors would think I was misusing Fred this morning. He was determined not to have his face washed after breakfast, and he was so obstinate about it, that I had to show him kindness with a currant-stalk. After he cooled down a little, I talked to him, and I was surprised at the good it did him. He was tiken with the story of David and Goliath last Sunday, and I made an application to his case. He was perfectly ashamed to think he had let his fault get the better, or the worse, rather, of him, when he might have overcome it. He seemed very penitent, and submitted to the comb and brush like a little ChrisJ;ian. I don't think my words did the work though," and the smile and deep look strove together in her face, hinting of daily prayers es 132 HOUSEHOLD READING. pended on erring little Fred. " Bnt I want to make some gooseberry nothings for his dinner, he likes 'em so, and I 'd like to try your receipt." Blessed are the children of good mothers, who know when to whip, and when to lecture, and when to give them goose- berry puffs ! Mrs. Eaton called Fred, and they went home lovingly together. Marian shelled peas, and thought. Her resolutions Sunday evening aimed against neglect of school duty and home work, as her besetting enemy to clearness of conscience and religious comfort. But Sunday resolutions and Monday's, but especially Tuesday's inclinations, had, as usual, held severe conflict, and, like the armies of Saul, the resolutions just now were inactive, and kept their camp. What was Marian's Goliath ? She hated to look it in the face. The unused back chamber was to be swept, and put in thoroiigh order that vacation week. Then a composition was to be written for the next Wednesday, and Marian had been shirking these duties till Friday forenoon. " Help me to overcome my laziness," she sighed inwardly, to One who was listening ; and, seizing the broom and dust- pan, she ran swiftly up the back stairway. WHY I CANNOT BE A UNIVERSALIST. I AM naturally humane and tender-hearted. I shrink from the sight of suffering. I could never witness the decapi- tation of a chicken without a shudder. Years ago I saw a fair infant die in convulsions ; and the pale, distorted face still haunts me in my dreams. The little one sleeps now, thank God, on a green, wooded slope that overlooks the sweet vale of the Housatonic. Mequiescat in pace ! WHY I CANNOT BE A UNIVERSALIST. 133 Such beiiig my nature, I would gladly believe in the final salvation of all men. Think you the belief in endless punish- ment is of my seeking ? Must I assure my reader that I have struggled against it ? Alas ! it gives me no pleasure to believe that a considerable portion of my fellow-men are ex- posed to a doom so fearful. Some men seem to have the faculty of believing what they wish. Dr. Johnson steadily refused to believe in the Lisbon earthquake. I knew a man when I was a boy, who professed to believe — and his neighbors never doubted his sincerity — that he would never die. He died, however, many years ago ; and his grave may still be seen on the beautiful shore of Chautauque Lake. The Lisbon earthquake is an historical fact, though Dr. Johnson so often demonstrated its impos- sibility. This faculty of believing what one wishes doubt- less contributes to the gay and cheerful mood in which so many pass their lives. Such persons, however, are hardly to be envied. For my part, I would rather believe the true than the agreeable ; for, in the long run, it is not good for a man to believe a lie, how- ever pleasant. This is the reason why I have never been able to believe in universal salvation. I have candidly weighed the arguments commonly adduced to prove that doctrine ; but, though predisposed by a kindly and cheerful nature to give them more than their due force, they have failed to convince me. I cannot deny that, during a certain period of my life, — the first few years of manhood, — when, without knowing it, I was a Rationalist, one or two metaphysical arguments urged by the more thoughtful Universalists seemed to me wellnigh conclusive. There is one argument which even noiv has the pleasant look of a demonstration. As my readers may also have encountered it, I will here state it in the clearest lan- guage I can command. God is infinite in benevolence, wisdom, and power. A God infinitely benevolent must will the final holiness and 134 HOUSEHOLD READING. happiness of all men ; a God infinitely wise must know how to accomplish what he wills ; a God infinitely powerful can accomplish what he wills : therefore, all men will be finally holy and happy. There ! is not that a neat demonstration ? So, I confess, it seemed to me, in the days when Coleridge, Schelling, and Cousin were my teachers in philosophy. That day is gone by. I have come to distrust all arguments which assume that the human mind has immediate and adequate knowledge of the infinite. This mode of reasoning is, of all, the most misleading and delusive, and grave questions of fact cannot be determined in this easy way. When we assume that we know what an Infinite Person, a free agent, will or will not do, in given circumstances, we are on the high road to all manner of extravagance and absurdity. There is not a truth of natural religion which can stand before this sort of demonstration. For example : God is infinite ; an infinite God must include all being ; for if there be any being not included in him, he is limited by that being, i. e. he is not infinite. Therefore, God is the only being ; he is the world. Thus is Pantheism demonstrated by the same kind of reasoning which has convinced so many of the impossibil- ity of endless punishment. In the same way we may prove the impossibility of crea- tion ; God is absolutely unchangeable. Creation is the put- ting forth of an efficient energy which had previously been merely potential. To assert that God, after an eternity of in- action, suddenly roused himself to the work of creation, is to deny his unchangeableness. The conclusion is inevitable ; God did not create the world ; the world, therefore, existed from eternity. Here, again, the Pantheist finds his horrible creed demonstrated by a kind of reasoning which a Univer- saKst ought to feel irresistible. The very argument under consideration proves much more than the Universalist wishes to prove. Thus, God is infinitely benevolent, and must therefore will the j^'^esent holiness and WHY I CANNOT BE A UNIVERSALIST. 135 happiness of all men. He is also all-wise and omnipotent ; and is consequently able to accomplish what he wills : there- fore all men are holy and happy. Is not this good reasoning ? Is not Divine benevolence as much opposed to evil now as it will be millions of years hence ? And is that benevolence impotent to prevent or annihilate what it abhors ? What, then ? Shall we shut our eyes to facts when tbey are contradicted by a syllogism ? Rather let us conclude that there is some secret vice in the syllogism. That God is benevolent is an essential article of our relig- ious creed. To deny it is blasphemy. But what do we mean when we say that God is benevolent ? Our notion of Divine benevolence is derived from the human feeling which we call by that name ; for we have no immediate knowledge of the Divine nature. Assuming that man is made in the image of his Creator, we feel ourselves justified in ascribing to God the purer affections of which we are conscious in our- selves. We can in no other way frame a conception of God. We miist incarnate the Deity in the very act of thinking of him. We cannot, if we would, rise above the conditions of human thought. Our notions of moral attributes and moral actions, our notion of personality itself, can only come from consciousness. Hence, when we say that God is be- nevolent, we do not speak from an intuition of his essential nature ; but we mean, or ought to mean, that human benev- olence is truly representative of the moral character of God. I say truli/ representative ; but it is highly important to ob- serve that the representation is not adequate, because the benevolence of man is finite, whereas Divine benevolence is infinite. When, however, we say that God is infinitely be- nevolent, we express not any positive knowledge, but our con- scious ignorance. We frame a notion of benevolence as large as our finite faculties can entertain, and then say to ourselves, the benevolence of God is immensely greater. We confess our inability to think how benevolent he is. For if any 136 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. philosophical truth has been demonstrated, it is the doctrine of Sir William Hamilton, that the human mind can form no positive conception of the infinite. It follows that an argument based on the infinity of Divine benevolence is pure nonsense. And an argument from the nature of Divine benevolence is extremely perilous ; for it invariably assumes, either cov- ertly or formally, that a benevolent God will do what a be- nevolent man would do in the same circumstances. Such a principle would make sad work in Natural Theology. For example : a perfectly benevolent man would exempt the brute creation from suffering. For myself, I frankly confess that many things in the world are not at all in harmony with my feelings and wishes. I would have all the tribes of animals as happy as they can be. There should be no pain, no fear, no want, no slaughter, no death ; but one infinite joy palpitating through air, earth, and ocean. But what do I see ? " We know that the whole creation groaneth and trav- aileth in pain together until now." I learn from the " stone book " that the world began to throb with its age-long travail long before man was created, or sin had broken forth to deso- late the works of God. Reader, you would not have made such a world ; are you, then, more benevolent than God ? You are a man ; your benevolence is human, not Divine. God's thoughts are not your thoughts ; neither are his ways your ways. Granting, what some ignorantly assert, that the sufferings of brutes are the consequences of human depravity, the prob- lem, so far from being solved, becomes more perplexing and mysterious. For it would seem to us that a God of infinite benevolence would not have permitted our human world to be cursed with sin. Those who say he could not have pre- vented sin, do not even understand the problem which they dispose of so flippantly. We must take the facts as they are ; and they are sufficiently appalling without adding to them a ■»'ash denial of God's omnipotence. Here is a world which, WHY I CANNOT BE A UNIVERSALIST. 137 during six thousand years, lias been the sad theatre of crime and suffering. The millions of the human family have, for the most part, lived and died in ignorance, vice, and misery. Every country has been deluged with blood. Survey the great battle-fields of the world, — its Leipsics, Wagrams, Waterloos, Solferinos, — its prisons and penitentiaries, its armies of thieves, burglars, incendiaries, robbers, murderers, pirates ; imagine the abominations of slavery and the slave- trade ; gather into one dread group the crimes of all ages, and then say whether you ivould have made such a world! Are you, then, more benevolent than Giod? Or will you not rather conclude that benevolence in God is something very different from that " rose-water philanthropy " which some in our day would fain elevate to the rank of a Divine attri- bute? It would seem, from all this, that the benevolence of God is rather a practical than a speculative truth. It is a truth to soften our hearts, to awaken our gratitude, to allay our griefs, to lead us to repentance, to incite us to obedience ; but it is not a key to unlock the mysteries of the world. We cannot deduce from it a scheme of Providence. It will not enable us to predict what God will or will not do in given circum- stances. Clearly, benevolence in God is not a simple feeling of good nature, but an infinite perfection ; that is to say, it is an at- tribute whose nature and workings we cannot comprehend. Those who speak of it and reason from it, as a single, pre- dominant disposition to make men happy, are shallow and over-bold. Perhaps it is an infinite and complex impulse of the Divine nature to what is best. Thus it appears that the argument against future punish- ment, based on Divine benevolence, is inconclusive and absurd. The question, being one of fact, cannot be determined by a priori reasoning. For the same reason, the argument from the justice of God falls to the ground. It is of the same vicious kind. 188 HOUSEHOLD READING. There is another kind of reasoning, based on experience, — commonly called the argument from the analogy of the course of nature, — which is applicable to this great question, and •which, though not absolutely decisive, is perfectly legitimate. DREAMED IT. THE other morning, a little boy about five years old, who is attending one of our public schools, went to his mother, and told her, with the greatest apparent frankness and sincerity, that his teacher had punished him the day pre- vious. He also showed her on his hand what he said were the marks of the ferule. Now, John was usually a very good boy, and his mother was greatly surprised and grieved when she heard this. " Why did the teacher punish you ? " she inquired, anx- iously. " Because I disobeyed her," was the prompt reply. " What did you do, my son ? " " When she told me not to do a thing, I did n't mind her," said Johnny. Then his mother talked to him very seriously, and told him how naughty it was to disobey his kind teacher, and how sorry she felt, and asked him if he was not sorry too, and if he would not ask his teacher to forgive him. He seemed to feel quite badly, and said he woiild. So when he entered school, he went directly to his teacher, and told her he was very sorry he had disobeyed her, and com- pelled her to punish him, and asked her forgiveness. His teacher did n't seem to understand him, and looked very much astonished. After a moment's thought, she said, " Why, Johnny, I think you must be mistaken. I have no recollection of punishing you yesterday." But, to make sure THE SWEETEST WORD. 139 of the mattei, she turned to the school and said, " Cliildren, did I punish little Johnny yesterday ? " '■'' No,maam! no, ma'am ! " shouted a score of voices. Tlie teacher smiled, and, turning to Johnny, she said, " What made you think so ? I guess you dreamed it.'''' Tlie little fellow's face brightened up at the suggestion, and he exclaimed, " yes ! I remem- ber now ; I dreamed it last night, and thought it was true!'''' A good laugli followed this explanation, in which little Johnny joined heartily. Johnny's parents were very happy to learn that what had seemed to be a serious fault in their dear boy was " onhj a dreamt They were also glad to witness his apparent readi- ness to make amends for his supposed disobedience. I hope all the children who read this will imitate Johnny's frank- ness, in confessing their real faults to their parents and teach- ers, and also to God, their Heavenly Father, seeking his for- giveness and blessing. THE SWEETEST WORD ONE sweet word of holy meaning Cometh to me o'er and o'er, And the echoes of its music Linger ever, evermore ; Trust, — no other Avord we uttet Can so sweet and precious be, Tuning all life's jarring discords Into heavenly harmony. Clouds of thickest blackness gathered O'er my soul's dark sea of sin. And the port of heaven was guarded From mj' gi^uhy entering in ; 140 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. Then came Jesus, walking to me, O'er the sui'ging waves of sin, Calling, clear above the tempest, " He that trusteth heaven shall win ! " Now, through all the sacred pages. Where my woe and doom had been, Gleam those golden words of promise, " He that trusteth heaven shall win." Blessed, sure, and blood-bought promise, Let me drink its sweetness in, — He that trusts his soul to Jesus, " He that trusteth heaven shall win." Trust, — Saviour, give its fulness To me at thy feet in prayer. Grant my dying lips to breathe it, Leave its lingering sweetness there ; Sweetness there, to stay the breaking Of the hearts which love me so. Whispering from my silent coffin, " Trust the hand which lays me low.* Loved ones, as ye rear the marble, Pure above my waiting dust, Grave no other word upon it But the holiest, sweetest, — Tkust ; For this password know the angels, Guarding o'er the pearly door, Password to His blessed presence, Whom I trust foreverraore. REMINISCENCES OF COBDEN. 141 REMINISCENCES OF COBDEN. MR. COBDEN'S death was precipitated by his interest in American affairs. Throughout the war he had been our stanch friend, and the judicious advocate of our cause ; and liis anxiety to prevent a new cause of irritation between England and the United States hurried him to London, from his sick-chamber, to oppose the foolish scheme of Canadian fortification. In their early history, in their personal traits, and in their public services, there was much in common between Richard Cobden and Abraham Lincoln. Mr. Cobden sprang from " the plain people," being the son of a small farmer at Dun- ford, near Midhurst. With little preliminary education, he was early sent to London to acquire a knowledge of trade in a warehouse. Afterward he became a commercial traveller, and then a partner in a manufacturing house at Manchester. Thus a life of toil and industry, and of wide intercourse with men of business, prepared him to lead the policy of his country upon questions of political economy. Like Mr, Lin- coln, he snatched from manual labor hours for the improve- ment of his mind by study, and disciplined himself for a part in public life. Few men have gained so complete a mastery of the English language (and he spoke French also with an almost native fluency and accent) ; and few statesmen have attained to such comprehensive views of national policy. Mr. Cobden's mind was clear, sagacious, honest, and thor- oughly practical. He always mastered his subject so fully in his closet meditations, that he could speak upon it in Parlia- ment or before a popular assembly with the ease? and readi- ness of a private conversation. His memory was so trust- worthy, his knowledge so ample, his self-possession so assured, that he could talk for hours without notes, and without verbal 142 HOUSEHOLD READING. preparation. His public speaking was animated talking, with none of the arts of oratory, but with strong good sense, and a downright honesty of purpose that commanded attention, in- spired confidence, and often wrought conviction against prej- udice and interest. I heard him, in 1852, at Manchester, review Lord Derby's ministry in a plain, clear, matter-of-fact way, thai held the audience as closely as did Mr, Bright's impassioned address. It was a good illustration of Daniel Webster's ideal of convincing eloquence, — " clearness, force, earnestness." Every word was in its place and for its pur- pose. He was the great master of economical science. Mr. Cobden's public career was marked by an unselfish devotion to principle and to the welfare of humanity. No temptations of office could swerve him from his duty. If the world were ripe for his policy of peace and free-trade, its political millennium would have come. " He gave bread to the hungry, he sought to stay the devastations of war, and to unite together in the bonds of brotherhood all the nations of the earth." A beautiful example of his devotion to human- ity, as well as of the tenderness of his heart, is mentioned by Mr. Bright in his personal reminiscences of his illustri- ous colleague. Mr. Cobden had sought to enlist Mr. Bright in the service of the Anti-Corn Law League, but with only partial success. In 1839, Mr. Bright was thrown into a state of mental despondency, in consequence of the death of his wife. Mr. Cobden went to visit him, and aficr condoling with him in his personal grief, reminded him that there we're at that moment thousands of widows and children starvhig for bread, which was kept from them by the tax upon food. " Come with me," said Cobden, " and we wall never rest until we abolish the Corn Laws." In private life, Mr. Cobden was modest, simple, and genial in his manners, and his conversation was full of vivacity and wisdom. I spent an evening at his house in company -with Professor Upham, in a familiar talk upon educational mat- ters, in which he was then specially interested. I shall never EEMINISCENCES OF COBDEN. 143 forget the frankness of his welcome, the ease of his manners, the quickness of his perception, the heartiness of his interest in American affairs, the tliorouglmess of liis information upon the topic in hand. He gave us amusing instances of the ignorance of the common people of England, — ; especially of the difficulty he had found in trying to make a country audi- ence understand who Kossuth was, and where Hungary lay. He begged us, laughingly, not to use the American privilege of reporting his free conversation in the newspapers ! Ho lamented the blindness of the religious people of England in maintaining sectarian schools to the exclusion of a national system of popular education. At his instance, I prepared an account of our common-school system, which was given in evidence before the Educational Commission of the House of Commons. This casual association with educational affairs gave mo an opportunity of observing Mr. Cobden still more closely during his last visit to New York, in 1859. I accompanied him to several of our public schools. He manifested the deepest interest in the method of instruction, and especially in the quiet way in which religious exercises were intro- duced. He could not repress his astonishment at finding in a free school a class of misses pursuing the higher mathe- matics with a thoroughness and a zest worthy of Cambridge itself. On leaving a boys' school, where he had been received with cheers, he said to me, somewhat abruptly, " Do not take me to any more boys' schools; I cannot bear it." The tremor of his lips, and the tear in his eye, reminded me that just be- fore leaving England he had laid in the grave his only son, a boy of some fourteen years, the hope of his life. In that in- stant I looked down into the depths of a loving soul, and from that instant I have loved the man whom I had before admired and honored. Coming to the study where now I write, and taking the church edifice for a text, he talked for an hour, witli much enthusiasm, of the marvellous results of the voluntary prin- 144 HOUSEHOLD READING. ciple in religion, aud of the many great things that lay within the reach of the people of the United States. Mr. Cobden was accustomed to say, " You have no hold of any one who has no religious faith." What he made a ground of confi- dence in others, he made also the strength of his own soul. In him England has lost a leader, America a helper, human- ity a friend. |, ^ ^__ '--^1 CARDS. THEY were seated at their card-table, four fine stalwart soldiers. The play was dull. " Put up a stake ! " some of them said. " No," said Wilson, " I never play for money." '• Why not ? " " I never do." " Try it once, and see how much more of a game it makes. You 'd be surprised." " What difference can it make ? " " Try it once, and you '11 see." A dime was the stake, and for the first time Wilson played for money. The game had a new interest. He played on, — losing, winning. He " never knew before how much could be got from cards," he said, as he left the table. He played for money again and still again. At last he had lost all. He had received his pay, had staked and lost it. Nothing left to send to his family. He was desperate. " I cannot give up now," he said. " I must have some- thing back " ; and as he thought of his poor wife and chil- dren he grew more desperate. " Lend me ! " he insisted. They lent him ; and he played on, wildly, madly. He loses again, loses constantly. What luck ! But he will not stop. He plays on till no one will lend him more. He CAEDS. 145 leaves his cards a wretched man. To-morrow he would have written home ; sent money, needed there. He cannot write now, for the money has been lost, and lost so foolishly, so wickedly. " Wretch, to have lost it ! " he exclaims. " Wretch, to have risked it ! " What now can he do ? Suffer. Naught else ? Repent. In the thoughtful twilight, Wilson sat alone, or seemed to sit alone, but his wife and children were with him, — his pret- ty girls and sturdy boys, all there ; but they rejoiced him not. They crowded round him ; he shrank from them. Their fond greetings gave him pain. Each word of his gentle wife smote him ; the prattle of his babes tortured him, for he had wronged them ; he had played away their living. The gam- ing-table was before him, and every stake upon it took shape, and he saw plainer than ever what he had done. That first stake, that first dime, was little Nanny's writing- book. The child wanted to learn to write, — all the more that she might write letters to " father " ; now she cannot learn ; she will fall behind her class. Ho saw her first grief and tears at her deprivation ; he saw her daily regrets and efforts at pa- tience. Ah, Nanny, whose kisses used to be so sweet ! They should be sweeter since her spirit has grown lovelier in its trial, but they sting the father, they fill him with self-reproach. Played away her writing-book ! No letters from her now ! And that second dime, — it was Hugh's slate. It is gone ; and gone with it a winter's ciphering. Staked so lightly, — but what a loss to Hugh ! He saw his wife's little comforts swept off the board, even her cup of tea. When weary she must sink, when sick she must faint for want of it. He had played it away to add zest to a half-hour's amusement. " Wretch ! " he called himself again. In the first dollar staked and lost, he saw a pair of chil- dren's shoes ; they were his own boy's ; Johnny's feet would be pinched and frost-bitten by the sharp cold, and bruised and torn by the frozen ground. Wilson saw his stout-heai'ted 10 146 HOUSEHOLD BEADING. boy trying to bear the pain of cold and frost without com- plaint or flinching, saw his bleeding feet, his shivering frame, and was ashamed of his own selfish folly ; would have hid himself, would have shrunk to nothing if he could. What was he ? What must he have been to play away the shoes of his child ? Did none other man do it ? Never one. He played away all the wood, too, and the embers barely lived upon the hearth, and the younger children crowded round them almost in vain, while the brave barefoot boy hunted every stray stick to keep the fire alive. Worse and worse ! he played away the bread, the bag of meal. The baby's milk, — he put that up too. He was a monster to do it ; no more the man he had been. He saw his children, pale and sick with hunger, heard the piteous wail of the little ones as they pleaded for food, saw the older ones go away and weep in silence, while the mother could only pray to Him who feedeth the young ravens when they cry. Could the gambler see all this and still play on ? Wilson had played his last game. " Play, Wilson," they said the next day. " I 've lost all," he answered. " We 're not playing for money. Take a hand." " No." " Why not ? " " I 've done with cards." " Never going to play any more ? " " Never." " Why not ? " " Have n't they robbed me ? " he exclaimed in bitterness ; " robbed me of everything ? and, what 's worse, robbed my family, my poor wife, my young children ; robbed them of food and clothes and fire, and left them hungry and bare to the cold ? God pity them ! for I forgot them. I 've played enough, — too much." And he turned away from the cards. Day after day he turned away while his comrades played, " Never again, Wilson ? " they said, as he left them. THAT SUM IN ADDITION. 147 " Never,'" was still his answer. The soldiers had been paid, and Wilson had returned the money loaned to him. The cards were out ; the men at play. " Play with us, Wilson. You 've money now ; and you 're yourself again." " I hope I am ; and I hope never to lose myself in the gambler again. Now, comrades, I 've a word to say, and so have you. I cannot trust myself to play with cards again, and I cannot trust myself to see them played. I am weak, but not so weak that I don't know my weakness. Shall I leave this tent ? or shall the cards go ? " " Leave this tent ! Why, we can't spare you." " Can you spare the cards ? " " No." " Then I must go." " Sooner the cards than you. We can't spare our best man, Wilson." Wilson remained ; never quite the same man again, but a better one, more thoughtful, less selfish. In his anguish and penitence, in his weakness and temptation, he had sought the God of mercy and of strength. " In the day of trouble, he had called upon the Lord," and the Lord had heard him. THAT SUM IN ADDITION. ONE of the eminent among the ancients proposed a problem in mathematics to a circle of his friends. He was him- self very skilful and successful in working out such problems, took the greatest pleasure in such work, and very much desired all his friends to engage in the same sort of employ- ment, that they might share his pleasure. The problem above referred to is on i^ecord, and many, since the old mathemati- cian's days, have undertaken to work it out. More have failed than have succeeded, and those who have had some success, 148 HOUSEHOLD READING. have never been satisfied with tlieir work ; and the more earnest of them kept to work on the problem till the very end of life. Now it is a very simple problem, in the very simplest rule in arithmetic, which creates the more surprise at so many failures. As some of our readers might like to know what the problem is, that they may try their skill upon it, we transcribe from the ancient record : " Add to your faith vir- tue ; and to virtue, knowledge ; and to knowledge, temperance ; and to temperance, patience ; and to patience, godliness ; to godliness, brotherly kindness ; and to brotherly kindness, charity." Now there are but eight figures in the column, — eight Christian virtues to be added together, and all the more sad, therefore, that so many have attempted to put these virtues together, and have failed. Some have failed one way, and some another. Some have left out one of the items, and some another. One drops out patience, and so fails. An- other cannot seem to get temperance in so as to reach the right result. Some think the result will come right if they do happen to miss a figure and drop a virtue ; but it won't, and they must do it all over again. It would suit some admirably if, while they keep the whole number of figures, they might make an exchange, — drop temperance, for example, and put in industry ; or drop godli- ness, and put in honesty ; but the problem is not solved by any such change. We are to take the items to be added just as they stand. Two things more. 1. Let no one be discouraged because he cannot do this sum on the first trial. Every serious and earnest attempt to add one of these virtues to another has been partially success- ful, has increased the skill in this kind of mathematics, and made final success more hopeful. 2. A very great reward is offered to every one that suc- ceeds. No potentate of this world ever has or ever could make such an offer. The reward follows the problem in the SOJOURNER TRUTH. 149 old book referred to, and runs thus : " For if these things be in you and abound, they make you that ye shall be neither barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ." And that knowledge secures everlasting life. Can any human being do better than to become as skilful as pos- sible in this kind of arithmetic ? SOJOURNER TRUTH. SEEING some account of this remarkable colored woman in a contemporary paper lately, has reminded me of a purpose to contribute my mite toward perpetuating her just fame. Her early history is given at length in a Iwographical sketch written by some friend, and which she has sometimes sold as a means of livelihood. She was born a slave in Ulster County, New York, and manumitted by law, I think, in 1824. I do not propose to repeat the facts of that book, but sim- ply to give a few characteristic anecdotes learned in a visit a few months ago to Battle Creek, Michigan, which had been her home for some years previous to the war. She owns, near that village, a little house and lot, but has ordinarily sup- ported herself by lecturing, and by the sale of her book and photograph. Two or three years ago she was quite sick, — had a bad cough, and was thought to be in a decline, and near death. The neighbors supplied her wants till she grew better and wanted to go about again. But she was very destitute, and in her simple way she said, she " went and talked to the Lord about it," and after a while it seemed to her, she said, tliat the Lord would really help her. Then she turned over in her" mind how he would help her, and whether she could do anything to forward the matter. (She believes in works as w^ell as faith !) She remembered that there was a Mr. D , who used to hear her lecture in Pennsylvania, and who, she 150 HOUSEHOLD READING. thought, if he kuew her circumstances, would interest his neighbors for her. So she got a friend to write a letter for her to him (she cannot read or write). After the letter was written she learned that INIr. D had moved to Iowa. That, she thought, spoiled her plan. " I 've never bin to Iowa. Nobody there knows me. It 's no use to send the letter." However, she was persuaded to mail it. In due time an answer came. Mr. D had made a contribution. His new neighbors had been interested, and made a contribution. He also sent the letter to his old neighbors in Pennsylvania, and they sent contributions. They forwarded the letter to the " Anti-Slavery Standard " in New York. It was published and scattered all over the North, and then the donations came in from all quarters, " from folks," she said, " that she never hearn on," remit- tances of ten dollars and five dollars, direct donations, and to purchase her photograph, till Sojourner Truth had more letters than any business firm in Battle Creek. She said, " So much come in I did n't know what to do with it, an' all from that little talk I had with the Lord. An' I had at last to tell the Lord he might as well stop that are," She is quick at a repartee, and no person attacks her with- out coming off second best. She went to the market one day, and a Copperhead there took occasion to speak to the butcher of the colored race ; that they were just fit for slaves, that God Almighty made them for slaves, and intended they should be slaves. Sojourner, knowing that the talk was meant for her, looked him in the face and said, " Sir, you ain't ac- quainted with God Almighty ! That 's what 's the matter with you." She was in the store of another Copperhead, whom she did not personally know, soliciting funds to take her to Detroit to carry sanitary supplies to colored soldiers there, and having asked others present, at length applied to him. " No, I won't give you a cent." She straightened up her tall form and asked, " Who be you ? " " The only son of my mother." SOJOrRNER TRUTH. 151 She threw up her hands and exclaimed, " Bless the Lord there wan't no more on 'em." Formerly she used to travel around on her lecturing tours on foot, but latterly has taken the cars. Going to Kalamazoo to lecture, she was about to take the omnibus at the depot for Professor Stone's, where she had arranged to stay, when the driver stopped her. " Don't you carry passengers ? " " Not such as you." " Why not ? I '11 pay you as well as any- body." " Can't carry niggers." Some of the people knew her, and said, " What a shame to treat Sojourner Truth in that way ! " "I don't want to ride," said she, " because I 'm Sojourner Truth, but because I 'm a decent woman, an' am willing to pay my fare. I 'm clean and neat. Ef I was white, an' ever so dirty an' greasy, you 'd let me ride." A crowd collected as she talked, and were held there by her pithy remarks. Some of the negro-haters told her to go away, for she was obstructing the sidewalk. " I don't take up much room. It 's the people that take up the sidewalk. Make them go away." But the people were so eager to hear her they would not go. " We '11 make you go," said the aforementioned worthies. " I should like to know how ? I sha'n't walk. You won't one on ye touch me mor' 'n ef I was a toad, an' there ain't a carriage in town that '11 let me ride." They were vanquished. Tlie affair at the depot advertised her and her lecture, to which she had a large attendance. A similar scene occurred at the depot at Cold Water. •' What 's the name of this town ? " she asked. " Cold Water," was the reply. "I'll make it 7io^ water for you 'fore I leave." She finally asked if there was any team that would carry her up to the town, and succeeded in chartering a dray. She took her seat on her trunk, and began singing with her powerful voice the John Brown song, interspersing her singing with addresses to the crowd that followed the dray. " I ride into your town as John Brown went to the gallows, — backwards on a dray." She had a large audience at her lecture there also. 152 HOUSEHOLD READING. When she was about starting for Washington, where she has for a year or more been laboring among the colored peo- ple, she was advised to call on President Lincoln and Secre- tary Chase, and that perhaps they would aid her. " yes, I 've thought of that." " Well, Sojourner, what are you going to say to President Lincoln ? Just tell us." She straightened herself up, made a genteel courtesy, and said : " Mr. Lincoln, I 'm happy to see you, and give you my photograph. It 's black, but it 's got a white back to it. I shall be glad to get yours with a greenback to it." She was once prosecuted under the " black laws " of Lidi- ana, but managed her own case so adroitly that the prosecu- tion entirely failed. She is, undoubtedly, one of the great women of this generation, of whom the next generation will be eager to hear, and will be thankful for the preservation of these fragments. PREVENTIVES OF INTEMPERANCE. E would endeavor to point out what and where are some of the chief supplies of intemperance, and how they can be cut off. Showing men the effects of intemperance will not make them temperate, but we must go to the soui'ces of the evil and shut off the supplies. 1. The enmity and disobedience of the heart to God. This is sin itself. The heart of all immorality is the want of the love and obedience of God. He who is not the servant of God is the servant of his own lusts. Where a man or a community is without the living presence of Christ, there the great inspiring life-power of morality does not exist. " Thou bleeding Lamb ! the true morality is love of thee." Where morality is not rooted in the love of God, it has no real life. A true Christian can no more be an intemperate PREVENTIVES OF INTEMPERANCE. 153 man than he can be a profane man, or an impure man. The meaning of the word " temperance " in the New Testament is " self-control," or the bringing of the whole sinful self into the moderation of Christian obedience and the righteous bounds of God. The spiritual strength to do this comes from Christ. This is the victory that overcometh the world and all its lusts, — even our faith. The only way, therefore, of effectually meeting and cutting off the deepest source of sup- ply of all immorality, intemperance included, is by bringing the love of God into the heart of a man or a community, — it is by the advancement of pure religion, leading to a higher life, and shutting up by an invisible hand the sources which supply immorality and intemperance with their means of existence. 2. A culpable and vicious poverty. I use these strong terms to distinguish the kind of poverty that I mean from q, virtuous and innocent poverty, one brought on through calamity, and in spite of an honest effort against it. Such a poverty no one respects more than myself; it is often the proof of a man's honesty and nobleness of character in these days when there is such haste to get rich. There is also much poverty that arises from mixed and hidden causes, from constitutional want of energy, from a mingling of misfortune and human infirmity, that is not to be judged too harshly, but is rather to be commiserated and helped. But there is a poverty which is the result of sheer vice, and chiefly the vice of idleness ; and this is an exhaustless sovirce of intemper- ance. Ask the city missionary where the most obstinate, deep-rooted, and habitual intemperance will be found, — will he not tell you that it is in the crowded dwellings, not of the virtuous, but of the vicious and idle poor, of those who will not work to provide for themselves an honest subsistence, but only enough perhaps to supply the means of gratifying their appetite for intoxicating drink. This is the intemperate stra- tum in the community ; not but that it frequently crops out higher up into the circle of the rich, but here, all will allow. 154 HOUSEHOLD READING. is the home, the central and perpetual stronghold, of this vice. This is the great " dismal swamp " in whose tangled, inacces- sible, and loathsome recesses this slimy monster of intemper- ance makes his safe retreat. Whatever, therefore, serves to clear up this gloomy and barren swamp of vicious poverty, whatever lets the sunlight and activities of the blessed Gospel into it, and whatever plants it with the seeds of virtue and education, reduces the domain of intemperance. Efforts to evangelize neglected communities, and to reclaim the children of the vicious and degraded class among the poor, serve to dry up the sources of this pestilence that walk- eth in darkness. Street boys and girls who seem to have no settled home, the number of whom is increasing in all our large cities, who are without one good influence over them, whose evil passions are early developed, and who are already themselves adepts in intemperance and every vice, these should be looked after, brought into clean and comfortable homes, and, above all, provided with honest employment. Give the poor work to do, build up in them a sense of manli- ness and moral dignity, instruct their children, and awaken in them the hope of social progress and advancement, and you head off intemperance more effectually than in any other way. In this connection I would quote the sensible words of a Catholic archbishop recently deceased : — " The idleness of boys when they leave school, — an idle- ness which is often not wilful, but compulsory, — idle because unable to find anything to do, — we regard as one of the most fruitful sources of vice, and one of the greatest evils of soci- ety. It is such an evil that we look on the military despot- isms of Europe, which take young men from their families or the streets for a term of years, and compel them to serve in the army, as a comparative blessing. In the service, they acquire habits of obedience to superiors, cleanliness, regu- larity, and order. In our large cities hundreds of boys and young men are wasting energies which they are anxious to devote to the conquest of a respectable position in society, PREVENTIVES OF INTEMPERANCE. 155 and therefore to the public good ; but they know not what to do, — they are idle ' because no man hath hired them.' " 3. The want of a proper system of physical training for the young. From the ranks of the young the strength of in- temperance is being continually augmented ; and it is gener- ally from those who are physically predisposed to this vice. It is tlie morbid and torpid body in which the currents of life run slow, in which the exhausted nerves crave excitement, that naturally seeks the stimulus of intoxicating drink. The healthful body, with its own exhilarating springs of life and happiness, does not require the stimulus of liquor, nor crave it. An in-door and unmanly life among the young predis- poses to the unhealthy enticements of the drinking-saloon. Our very schools may smooth the way for future intemper- ance, in their undue development of the intellect to the total neglect of physical culture. Restless minds in weak bodies are just the victims of artificial excitement. When drains begin to be made upon the strength in professional labor, and in the cares of business life, then these weakened, yet intel- lectual and ambitious graduates of our high schools and col- leges, turn to the false strength of inspiring drink. Our children and youth do not take exercise enough in the open air. They do not train the muscle by hard work or athletic games, although there is an improvement in this respect. The youth prefers to crouch over some trashy, heated story in the comfortable room at home. Growing up with un- necessary wants, artificial appetites, weakened digestion, and inflamed desires, when brought in contact with actual temp- tation, he readily falls into it. A good gymnasium attached to every school-house is of more importance than an im- proved grammar or the hundredth new arithmetic. 4. The want of intellectual and social amusements among the young, of an innocent, healthy, and ennobling character. When we attempt, even in reform, to run in advance of the laws of the mind, we leave enemies behind us that will start up and defeat our best-laid plans. Temperance is a severe 156 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. virtue, aiid we must take care not to make it a false virtue, crushing out and trampling upon the very laws and instincts of our nature. If you take away the supply of a constitu- tional want, and do not substitute nourishment for it of another kind, you fail in your reform, and the starving nature returns with tenfold energy to its former indulgence. There is a strong desire in youthful human nature for some kind of pleasurable excitement, for amusement, for play, for enjoyment. If this desire be not met and satisfied in ways that God designed it should be, it will satisfy itself in lower and depraved methods. You cannot tell young men to sit still and never commit the sin of enjoying themselves. They w^ill seek enjoyment in the society of others. We have social instincts, longings, and sympathies which must be regarded. If young men have nowhere else to go for social pleasure, they are often drawn to 'resort to the billiard-room and the drinking-saloon. If they do not have a virtuous and refined society, they are too apt to seek degrading associations, — they meet the deep want of their nature by soul-depraving friendships. It is for those who would guard youth from vicious associations and intemperance to see that they have opportunities afforded them of reasonable and innocent en- joyment, of virtuous and pleasant social relations. Parents should make their homes pleasant and cheerful. There should be an abundance of interesting books in the house. Such attractive works of art as can be afforded should orna- ment the walls and tables. A piano is often a less extrava- gant and unjustifiable piece of luxury than the gaudy carpet or expensive upholstery. There is something wrong in not providing the young mind with sufficient intellectual nutri- ment, and that of an enjoyable kind. Parents who wish their sons, employers who wish their clerks, not to stand about at the corners of the streets, not to be seen at the theatre, the ball, or the drinking club-room, must provide for them happy homes, where, with the manly history, the fascinating book of travels, the stimulating biography to prew:ntives of intemperance. 157 read, the pleasant faces of the young of both sexes to brighten the circle, and music to harmonize and raise the spirits, no want is felt, no yearning for artificial and cor- rupting pleasures. I am not for making a Sahara of young souls, for drying up all the springs of rational enjoyment witliin them. 5. Living such intense lives. This is the American way. There is too little of repose and of calm and steady strength in our life. We go on at top speed in everything. In busi- ness we wear ourselves out before we reach middle life. If we try even to be happy, it is in a kind of wild, extravagant, and soul-wasting way, fi.nding poor pleasure in the most highly wrought pursuits and excitements. The nervous system is unstrung, the craving for excitement grows by what it feeds upon, the degree of excitement is becoming more and more intense, simple and innocent things satisfy less and less, and here is the field where intemperance finds its hosts of ready victims from all walks and stations of life. Now, after the truly high and glorious excitement of the war has subsided, let there come a peaceful repose over our rest- less American nature. Let there be no less noble activity, but less intense and wearing excitement. A deeper confi- dence in God should be cultivated. We should strive to lead a simpler life. We have everything to make us good, great, and happy, if we will but see it and enjoy it with an humble mind, and a true, loving, unselfish heart. 158 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. THE MINISTRY OF THE DEPARTED. " Are they not all ministering spirits ? " — Heb. i. 14. w HO shall say how close the mortal Borders on the vast unseen ? "Who shall say it is but seeming, But a vain and idle dreaming, That we catch, sometimes, a gleaming, From beyond the mystic portal, — From behind Death's shadowy screen ? Dwellers in that land of beauty. Once they trod the shores of Time ; Wept they then in tribulation, "Wrestled they with strong temptation, Patient, through their brief probation, "Wrought the high commands of duty, Earned their destiny sublime. Passed with them a cheering lustre From our daily paths away ; Yet unto our spirit vision Come they on a holy mission. Come they from the fields Elysian, "Where the flowers unfading cluster, "Where the living waters play. O'er the hills of life returning, Messages of love they bear ; On their light wings downward bringing Echoes of the angels' singing. While our spirits, glad upspringing. Hush their wild and wayward yearning, Still their vague and voiceless prayer. THE MINISTRY OF THE DEPARTED. 169 Fiercely break the clouds of sorrow, Life, upon thy midnight sea ! Lo ! the beacon hope is paling, And our feeble faith is failing. And our souls in fear are quaih'ng From the dread uncertain morrow, — • Morrow we may never see- Unseen ones, in whispers cheering, Bid us struggle on and wait ; Still to them our spirits turning, With a deep, unuttered yeai-ning. Seeking much and naught discerning, Dimly tlirough the future peering,— Open they the mystic gate ! Here, say they, we rest from labor, Toil and conflict, all are past : Here no darkness cometh ever. For the Lamb is light forever ; Faint not in the strife, nor waver; Spirit, thou shalt rest at last ! Land of glory ! land of wonder ! Shining in immortal bloom ! Press we on with firm endeavor, Hoping always, doubting never. Naught from us that vision sever, Till we, joyful, journey yonder. Through the portals of the tomb ! 160 HOUSEHOLD READING. WILLING. YOU believe that you can be saved only through Christ. You wish to become a Christian ; but could not Jesus say of you, " Yc ivill not come unto me that ye miglit have life " ? Are you sure that you are willing to take him for your Mas- ter? Have you any doubt what he means when he says, " Whosoever ivill, let him take the water of life freely " ? A little child refuses to pronounce a given word in a lesson, declaring that he cannot. The father knows that he can. He has overheard him read it correctly again and again, and ho insists that it mast be pronounced without assistance. The child is obstinate and will not. Then comes a prolonged struggle and repeated and severe punishment. The child simply wants his own way. If the father yields, parental au- thority is destroyed. The battle goes on far beyond its imag- ined possibilities, and the deepest fountains of the father's soul are stirred. To yield is fatal. What can he do ? Fi- nally, the child breaks down and is willing to pronounce the word ; is willing to do anything. The father's heart had yearned over him, and the instant he said, "Yes, I can ; I will do it," there was reconciliation, though the child m.ust actu- ally pronounce the word as a voucher for his sincerity. He is not forgiven, however, because he does this, but because ^le is willing to do it ; because his attitude toward his father is entirely changed from resistance to submission. Until he took this position, and was heartily willing humbly to ac- knowledge the authority of his father and obey him in the one thins: then at issue, no other act of obedience or kindness could restore him to his former place in the father's heart. Thus comes reconciliation with God. It comes the moment you are willing, — willing to say, " Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son ; make me as one of thy hired servants." God WHAT ARE YOU THINKIXG ABOUT? 161 knows the whole heart, and just when it takes that attitude and disposition toward him, tlien shall you be forgiven and justified. Not that you become just, for God himself cannot make the wrong of your past life right, though he can and does consent to treat you in the great day of accounts as if you were just and your soul had never been tainted witli sin. Are you, then, ivilling to be saved ? WHAT ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT? WHAT are you thinking about, little girl, as you walk along to school so slowly under the shade of the apple- trees ? The shadows move on the ground as if they were alive ; and the robins hop about over them singing as they go, as lively and happy as they can be. Are you thinking about the sunshine, the shadows, and the birds ? Well, they are pleasant things to think of ; but it can- not be that they make you frown so, for in these bright June mornings everything out of doors is cheerful. No, something else is in your mind now. Some of your playmates have vexed you, or your mother would not let you have your own way, or your lesson is not learned, and you are blaming the teacher, perhaps, because it is so hard. Take care, little girl, take care what you think about ! " Why ? " you ask ; " does it make any difference what my thoughts are ? If I do not speak them, they will not hurt anybody." Yes, it makes a great difference ; because your thoughts are part of yourself, and if they are unkind or cruel, or wicked in any way, you will be hurt, if no one else should be. Perhaps you have not found out yet that a thought which 11 162 HOUSEHOLD READING. is allowed to grow always gets said in some vray, either by words or action. You know the proverb, " Actions speak louder than words." Why, I could tell, as I walked behind you, bj the way your shoulders moved and your feet came down upon the ground, tliat you were not thinking of anything pleasant. Your tongue was still, but you were talking all over. What are you thinking about ? Do you ever ask yourself the question ? That person, "yourself," your most intimate companion, whose society you can never get rid of, is thinking all the time about something that concerns you. If you are not careful, you will grow up a stranger to yourself. Many people, for want of asking themselves this question frequently, have lived with a thief, a deceiver, or a liar in their bosom for years, and have not known anything about it. Be sure to become well acquainted with yourself, and tiiat you may do so, often ask yourself what you are thinking about, — what you love to think about. And do not allow yourself to think about any but pure and good and right things. Eemember that these thoughts which seem so small now are the drops that will form the rivers of your words and ac- tions. If you let muddy water into your heart, they will flow out through your lips, soiling everything they touch, and all pure people will keep away from the polluting stream. But if you cherish loving and holy thoughts, your life will be like a crystal stream, which the good will love to look at, and to which they will come with love to drink and be re- freshed. See to it, little girl, that you know what you are thinking about, and say often to yourself, " Keep thy heart with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life." TEE BEWITCHED GUN. 163 THE BEWITCHED GUN. THE man's name was Tucker. And he was a miserable sort of a fellow, who cared for nothing but hunting bees and woodchucks. He could not have been really lazy, for one need ask no harder work than tramping all day through swamps and thickets, up hill and down, across brooks and ditches, in all kinds of weather. However, he was certainly idle. And he had holes in his elbows, and a cap which looked like a mouse's nest. His wife was much the same way, so you may guess how the house looked ; not much of a house either, only one room and a loft, which you climbed up to by a ladder. And of course the children had mud and molasses on their faces, snarls of hair over their eyes, and looked, each one, as their father did, like a walking rag-bag. They had something which they called a garden, but there were more weeds than potatoes in it ; and in fact there was not much of anything hut weeds and onions there. They had a pig, which used to run in the woods and eat acorns. And of course they kept a dog ; indeed, they kept tivo. You know some such shiftless man, I dare say ; but perhaps he is not, as Mr. Tucker was, a believer in magic and the black art ; because the Tucker family lived away back in the times when people used to put a leaf of a Bible in the churn, and nail a horseshoe over the door, to frighten off witches and break their power ; and when they used to think old women who owned black cats sometimes rode out of a night upon a broomstick instead of ,a horse. Nevertheless, I should not wonder, although your loafer does live in more sensible days, if he turned to be a believer in witchcraft if his gun should behave as Mr. Tucker's did once on a time. Indocd, I suspect you and I would ourselves 164 HOUSEHOLD READING. have been at least a little startled. Listen, and I will tell you how it was. One day, in the very height of the woodchuck season, Mr. Tucker was coming home an hour or so before sunset by way of a tavern, which was a mile through the woods from his cabin. This tavern, being upon the high-road to Boston, and not more than a hundred miles out, was a place of rest and refreshment for farmers from farther inland going to the city with pigs, and poultry, and grain, and returning home with their yearly supply of sugar, and tea, and salted fish. A long ways to go marketing, one would say ; but that is just as people are accustomed, and quite likely those who have the shortest distance to go make the most fuss about it. At this early hour, the teamsters, naturally wishing to make as long a day as possible, had not begun to come in for the night ; so there were about the tavern only a few worth- less lazy-bones lounging upon the stoop with their pipes and mugs of cider, and several idle boys who were in waiting for the the mischief Satan finds for idle hands to do. Tucker was in cheerful spirits, for he had had a good day. That is, he had got three fair shots at a woodchuck before the poor, frightened creature could escape unto its hole ; he had killed a golden robin on the wing, and very nearly spotted a bee-tree with nobody knew how much honey in it. A pretty chase the bees had given him, too. Therefore he had reason to be, as he said he was, tired as a man mowing, and entirely ready to take a pipe and a mug of cider with the rest. And being once seated upon the wooden steps, he was in no hurry to go again. Poor man ! He knew nothing about that saying of Emer- son, which has started me up and oflF so many times, " Never lose an opportunity for action for the sake of your nerves or your nap." No, indeed. His motto ran right the other way. Never lose an opportunity for idleness upon any account whatsoever. So he sat puffing and sipping until the sun had gone quite THE BEWITCHED GUN. 165 down ; then taking his gun from its leaning-place against the house, he sauntered away. As he arose to go, there was a stifled snickering and skurrying of bare feet pattering around the corner, sounding like the rustling of a whirlwind among a heap of withered leaves. But that was nothing to notice, for hoys are always skurrying and pattering and snickering. However, before Tucker was well across the patch of corn- land, whicli crept in between the tavern and woods, some- thing startled him which was worth noticing. His gun flashed off" unexpectedly. " Sho ! I had no idee she was loaded. Well, it is grand good luck she wa'n't aimed toivard nobody," quoth he aloud. There was a giggle behind him, — or else the wind rustling among the corn-leaves. Either, be it which it might, Tucker did not heed, — only shifted his gun on to the other shoulder, and shuffled on into the twilight of the forest beyond. He had not gone many paces when there was another dis- charge of his gun, and this time he was more than startled ; he was fairly astonished. However, he went on ; but only to hear another and another discharge, coming after a pause of only a few minutes. Bewildered and frightened, but still hold- ing on to his gun, the poor fellow reached his cabin at last. " Crmh! " went the gun as he came to the door. Slinging it into a corner, he flung himself on a bench. " I would n't touch that gun again for no money you might offer me. Patience." (A safe enough promise, by the way.) " It has been popping off" and popping off", once in half a dozen rods, all the way from Meigs's, and it 's my opinion the ma^ chine is bewitched," he said, solemnly. Patience was stirring up a hoe-cake for supper, and came forward, a slatternly figure of a woman, with a wooden bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other, saying, " Why, man alive, how you do talk ! You don't say ! " Nevertheless, he not only did say, but the gun said also, speaking for itself just then with an instant flash and bang and puff of smoke. 166 HOUSEHOLD READING. Then such a terror and a screaming from mother and chil- dren. The gun couhl not have looked more frightful if it had suddenly taken on hoofs and put forth horns, for all it stood there apparently as innocent and quiet as any piece of old iron. " Mercy on us ! It is bewitched as true as preaching ! Mercy! Mercy ! You don't' go for to leave the thing there killing us all, I hope to goodness, Dan ? " exclaimed Mrs. Tucker, dropping her bowl and spilling the batter on the head of her youngest. " Oil ! oh ! it is bewitched ! it is bewitched ! It is killing us all," chimed in the young Tuckers in ready chorus. ^^ Crash! " assented the gun from its co-rner. Then Mr. Tucker, with the air and feeling of one handling a rattlesnake, or a mad dog, took up the gun, and rushing out of doors, dashed it into the well. ^^Bang!^' called back the gun in farewell. Again there was a skurrying of bare feet ; and out in the woods, beyond hear- ing of the cabin, there was directly an answering scream of laughing on the part of the owners of the bare feet. For, what do you think ? The graceless wretches had filled Tuck- er's gun with first a charge of powder, then a bit of dry rot- ten wood, and so on to the very muzzle. Then they managed to light the outer bit of wood as Tucker was preparing to start for home ; and burning on slowly, the fire came soon to the first charge of powder, which, in exploding, lighted the next bit of wood. Thus the gun had gone on, firing itself off at intervals, until the fire was quenched in the water of the well. This was the explanation, simple enough you see, of the bewitchment of Tucker's gun ; and, be assured, all stories of mystery and magic might be as easily accounted for, if we only knew the whole as well. Ugh ! But I am thankful we do not live in those uncanny days of belief in witchcraft ; when one must be always look- ing out for the wiles of a secret enemy, if one so much as THOMAS SCOTT, THE COMMENTATOR. 167 scratched a finger. We have evil influences enough in our time in all reason, without having to consider whenever any- thing goes wrong, that there is some spell about it which cannot be broken by good common sense and a good strong will. THOMAS SCOTT, THE COMMENTATOR. THERE are few men whose names are more familiar to the Christian households of this country and of Eng- land than the name of Scott. In both countries, his Com- mentary on the Bible has obtained a wide circulation, and has contributed to the religious instruction and education of multitudes of families. This Commentary, though not dis- tinguished for critical learning, is remarkable for its plain, practical sense, its eminently evangelical tone, and its fitness to meet the spiritual wants of common Christians. Like many others, who have filled very important places in the Church of Christ, Scott, in his early life, gave little promise of being what he afterwards became. He was born in Braytoft, in Lincolnshire, in the year 1747. His father was a small farmer, whose principal business consisted in the raising of cattle and sheep. After obtaining the simple rudi- ments of an education at home, under the tuition of his mother, he was, from the age of seven to fifteen, kept away, a considerable portion of the time, at school. Here, though he did not especially distinguish himself as a scholar, he made very respectable attainments. But from the record which he afterward made of his life, it would appear that these years were filled with much folly and mischief, not to say wickedness. At the close of this period, it was seriously debated in his father's family whether he should still go on with his studies, and receive a liberal education, or wliether he should serve an apprenticeship with an apothecary. The 168 HOUSEHOLD READING. latter course was at length decided upon, contrary to his own wishes, and he was entered as an apprentice at an establish- ment in a neighboring village. During this period of his life, he was not without serious thoughts upon the subject of his soul's salvation, but his course was, on the whole, decid- edly irreligious. He had served in his apprenticeship only two months, when some conduct of his gave great offence to his master, and he was sent home in disgrace. His father, a man of integrity, but of high spirit, and naturally inclined to be severe, having been thus balked in his plans respecting his son, resolved to keep him at home, and to employ him in the most menial services connected with his business as a grazier. Here Scott continued for nine years, regarded and treated less as a son than a servant. There was something alto- gether harsh and unnatural in the course which his father now pursued toward him. He refused him that confidence which fathers usually delight to repose in their children. He discouraged all his attempts to improve himself by read- ing during the long winter evenings. " He considered," says Scott, " my attachment to books, even when shown only in my leisure hours, as wholly inconsistent with diligence in my business For above nine years I was nearly as entire a drudge as any servant or laborer in his employ, and almost as little known beyond the circle of immediate neigh- bors My situation led me to associate with persons in the lowest station in life, and wholly destitute of religious principle The discontent which corroded my mind during several of these years surpasses description ; and it soured my temper beyond its natural harshness, thus render ing me a great temptation as well as trial to my father and those around me, to whom I generally behaved very disre- spectfully, not to say insolently." The strangest circumstance connected with his history is, that in the very midst of such a life as this, already oon- tinued for more than nine years, he should come to the settled resolution to take orders and enter the Church ; and THOMAS SCOTT, THE COMMENTATOR. 169 this, too, without any new religious experience, or aught whicli indicated any particular change in his character. Nor does it abate our wonder, when we consider the motive which prompted him to take this step. He had accidentally made the discovery, that his father intended to cut him off from almost all interest in his estate, in favor of a brother who was living away from home. He resolved that he would drudge about the homestead no longer. Accordingly, he brushed up his Greek and Latin, made application to a neighboring clergyman for advice and assistance in his pro- posed plan, and, at Icngtli, not without considerable trouble and delay, entered the church. He was soon accommodated with a place in which to labor, and he set to work with great diligence. Later in life, when he possessed that true religious experi- ence, to which he was now an utter stranger, he was accus- tomed to ^ook back upon these events with great self- reproach and bitter repentings. But it seems hardly to have occurred to those who were concerned in introducing him to this sacred office that his want of practical piety was an objection. Nay, such was the state of things then in the Church of England, that a minister was deemed singular, and was pointed at and reproached as a " Methodist," if he became truly evangelical, and endeavored to preach the Gospel in its plainness and simplicity. And recent events show that the state of things is but little better now. The ruling spirit of this church is the spirit of formalism. And when one of its ministers is found doing the work of a Christian minister, he has to bear a reputation for preciseness and singularity. Scott found in his own experience, that the church was far more willing to bear with his want of piety than with its presence. During the early years of his ministry, he entertained only the lowest Socinian views ; and though, during these years, he set an exam})le of industry and assiduity worthy of imitation, he had no true conception of the end and aim of the Gospel. Such were his own feel- 170 HOUSEHOLD READING. ings upon this subject, at a later period of life, that he ex- claims : " Forever blessed be the God of all long-suffering and mercy, who had patience with such a rebel and blas- phemer, such an irreverent trifler with his majesty, and such a presumptuous intruder into his sacred ministry ! I never think of this daring wickedness, without adoring that gracious God who permitted such an atrocious sin- ner to live, yea, to serve him, and with acceptance, I trust, to call him Father, and, as a minister, to speak in his name." About two years after his entrance upon the ministry, he married ; and an incident which he relates in connection with this event reveals the state of things in the religious commu- nity around him. Speaking of himself and wife, he says : " Even before we were fixed in a settled habitation, the thought seemed to occur to us both, almost at the same time, that we ought to pray together, and accordingly I read some prayers from a book ; and when, with a female servant, we entered upon a temporary dwelling of our own, I immediately began family worsliip, though I had never lived in a family where it was practised, nor ever been present at such a ser- vice except once, which was in the house of a dissenting min- ister." With our notions of wliat constitute the proprieties of religion, it seems almost incredible that one could have lived twenty-seven years in the midst of a professedly Chris tian community, and during a part of this time have filled the office of a Christian minister, and never have been present but once at family worship, and that, too, in the house of a schismatic. The great change which soon after took place in his relig ious views he ascribes in good part to his acquaintance and correspondence with Rev. John Newton, who was at that time settled near him at Olney, the residence of Cowper. On one occasion, a little time before, he had heard Mr. Newton preach ; but he regarded him then only as a very singular and enthusiastic person, holding strange views of the Gos- THOMAS SCOTT, THE COMMENTATOR. 171 pel, and justly subject to the opprobrious name of " Metho- dist." Indeed, in the commencement of their correspond- ence, Scott seems to have been principally concerned to dis- abuse- Newton of his strange views and impressions, and bring him down to a more sober and unimpassioned view of the Gospel. But God ordered it otherwise. Scott himself was In'ought to a new and spiritual acquaintance with the " truth as it is in Jesus " ; and ever after he labored with another spirit and with other aims. Scott's ministry was from the first a laborious ministry, and especially, after this change in his views, he gave himself most assiduously to the business of his profession. In the midst of great bodily infirmities, which he carried with him tlirough life, he shrunk from no duty, but was ever earnestly engaged to " make full proof of his ministry," After pursuing his labors for sixteen years in different places, in the year 1788 he entered into an arrangement with some book publishers to write a Commentary on the Bible. The work was to be published in numbers, which were to ap- pear weekly, and the whole was to be comprised in one hun- dred numbers. The work was, however, extended to one hundred and seventy-four numbers. He was to receive one guinea for each week's labor, or, what is the same thing, for each number. When fifteen numbers were printed, the discovery was made that he had involved himself with a fall- ing house. His publishers failed, and the whole plan was in- terrupted. Unwilling, however, to abandon an undertaking in which he had himself become deeply interested, and which received more favor than was anticipated from the public, he set to work to contrive means for carrying forward to the completion. This brought him into great embarrass- ments ; but he still labored on and finished this immense work in the short space of four years. Few men probably ever turned off such an amount of writing in an equal space of time. It cannot, however, be regarded with commenda- tion that a work of this kind should be prepared so hastily. 172 HOUSEHOLD READING. The wonder only is, that, under the circumstances, it should not be far more imperfect than it is. In reference to the re- sult he says : " At the close I calculated in the most favorable manner my own pecuniary concern in the work, and the re- sult was, that, as nearly as I could ascertain, I had neither gained nor lost, but had performed the whole for nothing. As far as I had hoped for some addition to my income I was completely disappointed ; but as Providence otherwise sup- ported my family and upheld my credit, I felt well satisfied, and even rejoiced in having labored, often beyond what my health and spirits could well endure, in a work which had been pleasant and profitable to me, and which I hoped would prove useful to others." This, however, was but the beginning of trouble. The whole matter had become so in- volved by the failure of his publishers, that it was many years before he could fully extricate himself from the consequent embarrassments. He had, however, the gratification of see- ing his work most widely circulated in England and in this country. Before his death, which occurred in the year 1821, eight American editions had been published, besides those which had been issued in his own country. There are few men who die with a stronger ground for hope that their in- fluence will live after them for good. In reading an account of the ministry of such men as Scott and Newton in the English Church, one cannot but notice the great impediments which they had to contend against, from the very fact that they were regarded by their own church as singular and hot-headed men. The people to whom they ministered were armed against the simple Gospel truth which they preached, because the great body of their ministerial brethren, and especially because men high in office in the Church, were known not to regard their course with favor. Wherever they went, they met with a kind of sneering reception on the part of many who were regularly connected with the Church. And yet it is the presence of a few men like these, scattered here and there, and pursuing their labors UNFINISHED LIFE. 173 with Christian earnestness, simplicity, and meekness, that saves the Church of England from that utter formalism and irreligion to which she so strongly inclines. The men now in her communion, upon whom the doctrine of baptismal regen- eration cannot be forced, constitute her real strength ; but whether it is wise or right for these men to try to sustain such a tottering fabric is very questionable. UNFINISHED LIFE. OH, dost Thou call for me ! Master, it is the middle of the day ; I hoped to spend the latest twilight ray In haj^py toil for thee. I long to labor on, — Patient to bear the burden and the heat, And find the evening shadows cool and sweet When all my work is done. Then, hear Thy welcome word, " Come, faithful servant, to thy promised rest ! " My work " well^ done," tlie harvest richly blest. How perfect the reward. This for the tried and true ; But Master, how am I for glory meet ? The work is yet unfinished at my feet Thou gavest me to do. How little fruit appears ! Yet I have ever loved to do Thy will, The precious seed to sow, the soil to till, And moisten with my tears. 174 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. Weary am I so soon ? O no, my spirit still is brave and fresh ; Dear Lord, it is the weakness of the flesh That fainteth in the noon. My harvest who shall reap ? "Peace, doubting soul, and cast on me thy care, Trusting the hand that placed the vineyard there, That vineyard still to keep. " I know thy tireless zeal. How thou hast wrought in sunshine and in rain, And heeded not the weariness and pain For love that thou didst feel. " And thy reward is sure ; In heaven's own light the seed in weakness sown, Thine eyes shall see to plenteous harvests grown, And canst thou ask for more ? " "What mortal's work is done ? What servant shall be even as his Lord ? ' 'T is finished,' — was a dying cry once heard, It rose to heaven — alone ! " faithful unto death ! A crown of life is ready for the brow. And joys thou hast no power to picture now Await thy passing breath.'* My Saviour ! break the chain ! Amazing love, that sets my spirit free, And makes my broken life complete in thee. Come quickly. Lord ! Amen. A RATIONAL CONVERSION. 17F> A RATIONAL CONYEESION. PASTOR. Good morning, Mr. A. I have called this morning to have a kind and frank conversation with you, if you are willing, on the subject of religion. Will you tell me, if you please, what your feelings are in regard to it ? 3I)\ A. Well, sir, I hardly know what to say. I am fully convinced of the truth of the Bible, and of the importance of a personal interest in the salvation of Christ ; but I cannot say that I have any special feeling on the subject. I know that I am a sinner, and that I must become a Christian in order to be saved. But this intellectual conviction awakens no such emotion as it ought. I hope that some day I shall have more feeling upon the subject. jPastor. As you look bqjsk over your past life, can you not clearly see that,, so far as your treatment of God is concerned, you have been entirely and most wickedly wrong ? You have paid no heed to his commands, never obeying them for the sake of pleasing him, but have practically spurned his au- thority. You have never earnestly tried to love him, con- sulting his will in preference to your own, but have slighted his grace and resisted his Spirit. All his manifestations of love toward you, you have thanklessly appropriated, and then acted as if you tnew there was no God in existence. You have been honest toward your fellow-men, but most shamefully dishonest toward God. You have been kind and affectionate toward your family, but toward God you have been an unloving, ungrateful, and rebellious child. Does not your own conscience assent to these charges ? Mr. A. Yes, sir ; I see I am constrained to acknowledge that it has been so. I have indeed lived for myself and my family, without any regard to God. Pastor. And for such treatment of the Most High you arc justly under the condemnation of his righteous law. If its 176 HOUSEHOLD READING. merited penalty falls upon you, you are crushed into remedi- less woe. But Christ has died to remove the governmental obstacles to the forgiveness of sin. And on the ground of his atonement, God sends you an earnest entreaty, as well as an authoritative command, to come back to him with penitence for the past and promised obedience for the future, and re- ceive the pardon he is so ready and desirous to bestow. BIr. A. Yes, sir ; I understand and believe this ; but I am in no proper mood to go to him on such an errand. I have no such pungent sorrow for my past .treatment of him as I ought to have, and could not go to him in my present state with any hope of acceptance. Pastor. You wholly mistake the ground, my dear sir, on which acceptance is to be hoped for. Christ will never accept any man because he feels his guilt so deeply. Nor, on the other hand, will he ever reject any man because he feels his guilt so slightly. It is not a torturing sorrow for the past that he specially requires, but a sincere and unre- served consecration to him for the future. You see how you have treated God hitherto. You see something of the wrong- fulness and guilt of such treatment. Now what God asks of you is, that you come to him honestly confessing your past guilt, and deliberately and intelligently accept the offered mercy on the Gospel terms. Mr. A. What are these terms ? Pastor. A simple, helpless trust in Christ for the forgive- ness of the past, and an unconditional submission to him for the future. And by an unconditional submission I mean, making his will the ruling principle of your life, aiming to do in all things what will please him, and for the sake of pleasing him. You can comply with these terms, can you not ? 3Ir. A. Yes, sir ; but I have not faith enough in myself to believe that, if I should make such a consecration of myself to him, I should keep my vow. Pastor. I hope you have n't. I should be very sorry if you had. You do not need more faith in yourself, but more A RATIONAL CONVERSION. 177 faith in Cflirist. He has promised that if you will thus cast yourself on his mercy, and dedicate yourself to his service, he will adopt you into his family, and will watch over you with such efficiency as to secure your obedience here and your salvation hereafter. And now, my dear friend, the great question which God is asking you to answer is, whether you will thus cast yourself on his offered mercy, and take it henceforth as the supreme law of your life TO please and obey god. Mr. A. I see that I ought to do it. But such an act of consecration is a most solemn thing. If kept, it must change the whole course of my life. Pastor. It is indeed a most solemn thing, and I would have you act calmly and intelligently, in full view of the solemnity of the act, with a just appreciation of its signifi- cance. You are to cast yourself upon Christ's mercy for the forgiveness of your past sins, and solemnly vow that, God helping you, you will henceforth live, day by day, aiming to do in all things as you believe Christ would wish you to do. Now, if, as you say, you see that you ought to do it, the momentous question is waiting for your decision, — Will you do it? Mr. A. (After a few moments' silent thought.) Yes, sir, I will. I will do what I see to be right. God helping me, I will henceforth live for him. The above conversation is no fancy sketch. It is substan- tially a true report of a conversation which occurred some time since between a pastor and one of his parishioners. Af- ter the decision had been given with a solemn and deliberate earnestness,, the two knelt together, and the pastor led in a prayer suitable to the occasion. Since then, that man has been living, not only a most manifest, but a most manifestly growing Christian life. 12 178 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. I THE NAME OF GOD. HAD in my regiment several men who were called " preachers " by the colored people, because they always took charge of their meetings, and exhorted a great deal. One of these was about fifty-five years old, with gray hair and wrinkled face and somewhat enfeebled constitution, for he had been a hard-working, much-abused slave. He was very anxious to learn to read, and with great effort he made con- siderable progress in a short time. He had learned the alphabet, and was reading words of two and three letters ; and one day as I sat by his side going over the words with him, and pointing out to him the objects which they stood for, we came to the word, written in large letters, " GOD." " That is the name of the Being you preach about some- times," said I. He dropped his book, and held up his hands in surprise, and exclaimed, with deep emotion, " Is that the name of God ! and that the way it looks when printed ? " " Yes," said I, " that is the name of your Heavenly Fa- ther" ; and I picked up the book and found the place for him, but his eyes were full of tears of joy, which he had to brush away before he could see the blessed name again. " That is the Being," he continued, " about whom I have preached for many years, and whom I 've tried to serve all my life ; and now, blessed day ! God has permitted these old eyes to see to read his name ! " Somehow this incident affected me deeply, aad for some minutes we were both in silence and both in tears. We do not realize how full and rich our mercies are. What would our homes be without the Bible ? What should we do without the power to read its precious truths ? Our minds and hearts should be in a state of constant gratitude to God for the gift of his Word, and for the power and priv- ilege to read and understand its teachings. STEPHEN ARNOLD DOUGLAS. 179 STEPHEN ARNOLD DOUGLAS. A GREAT demonstration was made at Chicago, in con- nection with a proposed monument over the grave of Stephen A. Douglas. The President of the United States travelled, circuitously, all the way from the Potomac to the head of Lake Michigan, ostensibly for the sake of taking a part in the pomp of that occasion, but really, as the facts show, for the sake of making objurgatory harangues against Congress wherever he could find a sufficiently patient audi- ence, and in some places where he could not. I have read not only Mr. Johnson's speeches, but also what is much more to the purpose, General Dix's well-prepared oration in commem- oration of the services which Stephen A, Douglas rendered to his country, or is supposed to have rendered ; but after all, though not unwilling to receive information and to reconsider the man's character and history, I have not been able to see any sufficient reason for reversing or materially modifying the judgment which I formed long- ago, when the " little giant " was at the height of his celebrity. It may serve a purpose just now to speak of Douglas as an " illustrious statesman " ; but history will award no such honor to his memory. He was only what, in our dialect of the English language, is called a politician. As I have been accustomed to estimate his character and his career, he had very little of that knowledge which distinguishes the states- man from the politician ; and he was exceedingly defective in the humanity, the generosity, the love of justice, the patriotic self-forgetfulness, without which there can be no statesman- ship worthy of the name. Regard him only as a politician, a manager of parties and factions, an office-seeking demagogue, a partisan debater, and his ability was wonderful. He seems to have been the ablest man of tliat class that we have ever 180 HOUSEHOLD READING. had in this country ; but it takes more than all this to make a statesman, still more to make an illustrious statesman. The history of Douglas, from his first appearance in public life, is the history of a " smart man," coarse and selfish, crowding himself forward, and struggling to rise. In those days (say in 1843) the Democratic party, with which he had connected himself, was understood to be the party of pro- gress ; and from friends and foes of that party we heard much about the " progressive Democracy." Douglas, therefore, as belonging to that party, and still more as aspiring to be a leader of it, so that the party should belong to him, was bound to be " progressive," and he was progressive in one sense, but not in any honorable sense of the word " progress." Democracy was in those days defined to be the doctrine of " the superiority of man over his accidents," — the doctrhie, in other words, that simple manhood, what belongs to human nature, is higher and more important than all the accidental differences of wealth, or culture, or class, or race, by which one man is distinguished from another. Had Stephen A. Douglas honestly, and with the enthusiasm of an earnest be- lief, accepted that doctrine, he might have been a statesman ; for he would have had something to aim at in political life aside from his own advancement. Had he been a democrat in that legitimate and higher sense of the word, believing that justice — " equal and exact justice for all men," — justice incorporated into the laws and dominating over all institutions and policies — is essential to the true welfare of states and nations, he might have been a great man, instead of being only a " smart man." But he had no such faith. His aim was to make himself serviceable to his party, that his party might become serviceable to him, — to humor and please the ruling majority of the people, that the majority might give him their votes. Like many other politicians, he cared little for men simply as endowed by their Creator with inalienable rights ; but he thought much of men invested with the right of suffrage, especially if ignorant enough to serve his pur- STEPHEN ARNOLD DOUGLAS. 181 pose. In his view a negro had no riglits, because a negro had no vote. It is easy to see whether his career in Congress shows him to have been a statesman, or only a politician. There was a question between the United States and Great Britain about our northwestern boundary. Douglas, then in the House of Representatives, was " prominent " among those whose cry was " Fifty-four forty, or fight ! " and he " advocated with great fervor " an immediate preparation for war, that we might " drive Great Britain and the last vestige of royal authority from the continent of North America, and make the United States an ocean-bound republic." When John Tyler's treaty for the annexation of Texas had failed of being ratified by the Senate, Douglas was one of those who introduced a plan to override the treaty-making power, and to make Texas, though at war with Mexico, one of the United States. Of course, he was among the foremost in declaring that the war which we had assumed, in assuming the relations and responsibilities of a revolted Mexican state, was an unprovoked invasion of our territory on the part of Mexico. He opposed the treaty of peace by which that war was ended. He opposed the Clayton-Bulwer treaty, for the reason that, " as certainly as the Republic exists, we shall be compelled to colonize and annex Mexico and Central Amer- ica." He declared himself in favor of the acquisition of Cuba, when that was the favorite scheme for stimulating the growth and increasing the profits of the Southern trade in slaves. When there arose an excitement because British cruisers in the Gulf of Mexico had assumed, with superser- viceable zeal, to search vessels on the coast of Cuba suspected of covering the African slave-trade with the American flao;, he was for sending a ship of war to capture any of those British cruisers, and for postponing all negotiation till after the commencement of hostilities ; and ho introduced a bill to authorize such a procedure. When that bill had been set aside, he introduced another, virtually authorizing President 182 HOUSEHOLD READING. Buchanan to make war upon Great Britain at discretion, and placing at his disposal, for that purpose, the navy, the army, the militia, fifty thousand volunteers, and ten millions of dol- lars. Fortunately for the country, that bill was not passed ; and it may be presumed that he had good sense enough to rely upon its not passhig when he introduced it. All these things seem like the action of a reckless demagogue, rather than of a calm and sagacious statesman, — more like Mr. Jefferson Brick than like any name which history will delight to honor. The one idea in the statesmanship of Douglas seems to have been, to keep himself on the top of the top most wave in the ever-advancing tide of the Democratic party. But the great measure with which his name is inseparabl}^ connected is that which first lighted, in our country, the fire of civil war. I mean the Nebraska Bill, or Kansas-Nebraska Bill, of 1853 - 54, by which the prohibition of slavery in the vast regions west and north of Missouri, after having been in force through the third part of a century, was repealed. Questions relating to slavery have always been, in this coun- try, a perilous ordeal for public men, and a detective test of false pretensions to statesmanship. The course which a man like Douglas, with his aspirations, would take, was naturally determined by two considerations : first, the necessity of pro- pitiating the immense political power concentrated in and for the institution of slavery ; and, secondly, the necessity of not seeming to sacrifice the rights and interests of the people in- habiting the Free States. How to evade the responsibility which rested upon the national government in regard to the establishment of justice and liberty in the national Territories, was the great problem with scheming politicians. Douglas, early in his career, committed himself for the " popular- sovereignty " dodge, as the most convenient way of evading responsibility and of excluding disputes about slavery from Congress and from Democratic party conventions. His scheme was, that the inhabitants of any Territory at its or- OUR NATIONAL FLAG. 183 gaiiization, or at any time afterwards, should establish negro slavery if they pleased, and so determine the character of the Territory and of the State which should grow up there. The underlying theory of his scheme was, that negroes were not people nor inhabitants, but only a certain kind of prop- erty, the utility of which in the Commonwealth was matter of dispute. His statesmanship could rise no higher than that level. How his dodge of popular sovereignty failed him in that greatest and most memorable measure of his public life, I need not now undertake to show. How utterly he, with all his audacity, failed to conciliate the slavery interest ; how the border ruffians, with the connivance of President Buchanan, made his popular-sovereignty scheme responsible for the ineffable villany of the Lecompton Constitution ; how he, to secure his re-election to the Senate from the Free State of Illinois, was compelled to oppose that Lecompton villany and the Democratic administration that sustained it ; how he lost, in that way, the confidence and the votes of the South, — all this, if I should repeat the details, would be the story, not of a statesman, but of a demagogue, — bold, cun- ning, unprincipled, and at last unsuccessful. The attempt to canonize Stephen A. Douglas among the illustrious statesmen in our history must fail. OUR NATIONAL FLAG. FEW know its exact history. Few, even, seem to know accurately its theory of construction. It is vaguely held to be the " stars and stripes," as if stars and stripes put to- gether almost anyhow in red, white, and blue, would create it. Of the more than five thousand which may now be found waving in the spring breeze within three miles of the desk whereon we write, we have seen only two or three wliich 184 HOUSEHOLD READING ■would be acknowledged by the government as legal national flags. From the union of Scotland and England, in 1707, until the union of Great Britain with Ireland in 1801, the national flag of Great Britain was a red flag, bearing in its upper and left- hand corner the red cross of St. George, united witli the white cross of St. Andrew. As being emblematical of the union of the two kingdoms, it was commonly called the " Union flag " ; and, as being the flag of British sovereignty abroad as well as at home, it was the flag of the Colonies here. It was, beyond question, the flag to which Frothing- ham refers in his "Siege of Boston," where he says, "In 1774 there are frequent notices of Union flags in the news- papers, but I have not met with any description of the devices on them." The " Literary World " of October 2, 1852, con- tained the following paragraph, which indicates that the Colony of New York used the same flag, " In March, 1775, a Union flag with a red field was hoisted at New York upon the Liberty Pole, bearing the inscription ' George Rex, and the Liberties of America,' and on the reverse, ' No Popery.' " This flag was of about the same shape and proportions with our present American flag, only that portion which displays the stripes in our flag in that was red ; while that portion which in ours is blue and bears the stars, in that was a blue ground with a St. George's (or upright) cross of red, resting upon a St. Andrew's (or inclined at an angle of forty-five degrees) cross of white. When the Revolution broke out, this became, of course, the enemy's flag, and it was at once a question what should be the banner of the Revolutionists. The Connecticut troops bore flags emblazoned with their State arms, with the State motto, and colored by the color of tlie regiment bearing them. General Putnam, July 18, 1775, bore a red flag with " Qui transtulit sustinet,'" on one side, and '-'■An Appeal to Heaven^^^ on the other. Colonel Moultrie displayed in South Carolina, at the taking of Fort Johnston, a blue flag with a crescent in OUR NATIONAL FLAG. 185 one corner. The floating batteries carried a white flag with a green pine-tree in the middle, and the legend " Appeal to Heaven.^'' The cruisers of JNIassachusetts carried the same flag. The flag presented by Colonel Gadsden to the Provin- cial Congress of South Carolina, February 9, 1776, as the standard for the Commander-in-Chief of the Navy, was a yel- low flag " with a lively representation of a rattlesnake in the middle, in the attitude of going to strike ; and the words underneath, — ^JDonH tread on me! ' " The first use of a new Union flag, as the common banner of the thirteen Confederate Colonies, seems to have taken place at Cambridge. General Washington says, writing to Colonel Joseph Reed, under date of Cambridge, January 4, 1776, " On the day which gave being to the new army, we hoisted the Union flag, in compliment to the United Colo- nies." This Union flag thus hoisted on Prospect Hill, over the new Colonial army, is referred to by other witnesses. The captain of an English transport, writing to his owners in London, under date of Boston, January 17, 1776, says : " I can see the rebels' camp very plain, whose colors a little while ago were entirely red ; but on the receipt of the king's speech (which they burnt) they have hoisted the Union flag, which is here supposed to intimate the union of the Prov- inces." What this Union flag was will be explained by an- other witness from over the sea. The British "Annual Register " for 1776 says : " The arrival of a copy of the king's speech, with an account of the fate of the petitoin from the Continental Congress, is said to have excited the greatest degree of rage and indignation among them ; as a proof of which, the former was publicly burned in the camp ; and they are said, on this occasion, to have changed their colors from a plam red ground, tvhich they had hitherto used, to a flag with thirteen stripes, as a symbol of the number and union of the Colonies^ This Union flag — which, on the evacuation of Boston by the British, was carried into the town by Ensign Richards — 186 HOUSEHOLD READING. we may then concludG was the old English Union flag, with the crosses of St. George and St. Andrew in the upper left- hand corner, but with the red field exchanged for a field of thirteen stripes of alternate red and white, to stand for the thirteen Colonies, and the whole so symbolizing the u7iion between them. Some mode of distinction by the colo?- of their bunting was natural, inasmuch as it was the common practice of nations, and one that would be grateful to their old associations. Such a distinction could not well be gained by changing the wJiole field of the flag from British red, be- cause the simpler and more striking colors were already ap- propriated. Driven thus to devise some combination of colors which should be at once simple, tasteful, and unique, they natarally hit upon stripes of the old colors, — under which they had fought the Indians and the French, and which they loved, — of a number to indicate the number of associated Colonies. Under this flag the early battles of the Revolution were fought. When, however, the Declaration of Independence cut the Colonies forever adrift from the mother country, it became natural for the Colonial Congress to consider the question of some authorized flag to be representative of the new nation which was struggling into birth. This consideration resulted in the passage, June 14, 1777, of the following Resolution, which, however, was not made public until the 3d of Sep- tember following, viz. : — '■'•Resolved, That the flag of the thirteen United States be thirteen stripes, alternate red and white ; that the Union [that is, the device in the upper left-hand corner, to take the place of the now incongru- ous crosses of St. George and St. Andrew] be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new constellation." Colonel Trumbull represents this new national flag as used at the surrender of Burgoyne, 17th October, 1777. Here, by this natural growth of ideas, we trace the genesis of the flag which for more than eighty years has waved over the territory and commerce of this great people. OUR NATIONAL FLAG. 187 A few words will now be in place — before passing to fur- ther enactments upon the subject — iu reference to the last phrase of the above Resolution, viz., " representing a new constellation.''^ Was the term used loosely, as covering merely the vague idea of a new cluster of stars in the political heavens, or was it used more precisely, as having reference to some particular and well-known constellation in the natural heavens, and to some idea with which that con- stellation was associated in the mind of the world ? With- out taking space to go into all the particulars out of which a satisfactory answer must be framed, it will be sufficient to say here that Captain Hamilton, in his little " History of the National Flag,-' has made it appear, to say the least, emi- nently probable that the constellation Lyra, — the symbol of unity among men* — was in mind, and that the Original in- tention was to have placed the thirteen stars in the form of that constellation. But this — (may it have been because one of the stars in Lyra is of much superior magnitude to the others, while the States were equal sovereigns, and jeal- ous of that equality?) — was not done. The thirteen stars were arrayed on the blue field, in a circle, and for seventeen years this remained the flag of the nation. The journals of Congress for January 7, 1794, show that a resolution was then introduced to add two stripes and two stars, because Vermont and Kentucky had come into the Union. Mr. Goodhue (of Massachusetts) thought it a " trifling business, which ought not to engross the attention of the House, when it was their duty to discuss matters of infinitely graver consequence. If we go on tlius, we may have twenty stars and stripes, but the flag ought to be per- manent." Mr. Lyman (of Massachusetts) thought it " of the greatest consequence not to offend the new States." Mr. Thatcher (of Massachusetts) ridiculed the idea " as a con- summate specimen of frivolity. At this rate, every State should alter its public seal when an additional county or See Anthon. 188 HOUSEHOLD READING. township was formed." Mr. Greenup (of Kentucky) " con- sidered it of very great consequence to inform the rest of the world that we had now two additional States." Mr. Boudi- not (of New Jersey) thought Vermont and Kentucky ought " to be kept in good humor." The bill was finally passed, to save time in debating, and as the easiest way of getting rid of the subject, though Mr. Goodhue begged the favor that it might not go upon the journals, and Mr. Niles was " very sorry that such a matter should even for a moment have hindered the House from more important affairs."* So, January 13, 1794, it was ordered that from and after May 1, 1795, the flag should have ffteen stripes and fifteen stars. It so continued during twenty-three years, and under it, in that form, were fought the battles, on land and sea, of the " last war " with the mother country. In December, 1817, Mr. Wcndover (of New York) sub- mitted a resolution proposing a new alteration. He said if the flag never had been altered, he should be opposed to any change in it. But now he thought one was required. He said those in use were incongruous, "and unlike each other ; that flying on the Capitol bearing nine stripes, and that on the Navy Yard eighteen. After thorough and care- ful consideration, his action resulted 'in the passage of a law (approved April 4, 1818) restoring the number of stripes to the original number of one for each of the thirteen States first affiliated, and increasing the number of stars so that each existing State have one. The law was in these terms : — " Be it enacted, That from and after the 4th of July next, the flag of the United States shall be thirteen horizontal stripes, alternate red and white ; that the Union be twenty stars, white, in a blue field. " And that, on the admission of a new State into the Union, one star be added to the Union of the flag ; and that such addition shall take effect on the fourth day of July next succeeding such admission." This law makes no express provision for the form of ar- rangement of the stars in the blue field, but it is understood See Benton's " Abridgment," Vol. I. THE ISLE OF THE LONG AGO. 189 that Mr. Weiidover proposed, as the old form of the circle would require the stars — when so much augmented in number — to be too small for the best effect, that the stars be thenceforth arranged in the form of a large, six-pointed star, thus gaining room, and symbolizing — from the small stars making symmetrically the great star — the perfect combination of the State governments in the one great Union. And this has been the arrangement of the correct flag from that day to this. From all which it will be seen that the present legal flag of the United States is composed of thirteen stripes (seven red and six white, a red stripe forming the top and bottom) with a square blue field in the upper left-hand corner, of the depth of seven stripes (of course resting on white) bearing ifiirty-three stars of equal size, arranged so as to make, to- gether, one large, six-pointed star. THE ISLE OF THE LONG AGO. OH, a wonderful stream is the river Time, As it runs through the realm of tears, With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme, And a boundless sweep and a surge sublime, As it blends with the Ocean of Years. How the winters are drifting, like flakes of snow, And the summers like buds between ; And the year in the sheaf, — so they come and they go On the river's breast, with its ebb and flow, As it glides in the shadow and sheen. There is a magical isle up the river Time, Where the softest of airs are playing ; There 's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime, And a song as sweet as a vesper chime. And the June with the roses is staying. 190 HOUSEHOLD READING. And the name of that isle is the Long Ago, And we bury our treasures there : There are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow, There are heaps of dust, — but we loved them so, — There are trinkets and tresses of hair ; — There are fragments of song that nobody sing?, And a part of an infant's prayer ; There 's a lute unswept, and a harp without strings, There are broken vows and pieces of rings. And the garments that she used to wear. There are hands that are waved when the fairy shore By the mirage is lifted in air ; And we sometimes hear, through the turbulent roar, Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before. When the wind down the river is fair. 0, remembered for aye be the blessed isle, All the day of our life till night ; When the evening comes with its beautiful smile, And our eyes are closing to slumber awhile, May that " Greenwood " of soul be in sight. GENERAL LEE'S SURRENDER. THE country never witnessed such a day as Monday, the 10th of April, 1865. Enthusiastic rejoicing and excite- ment were universal, and every one yielded to the impulse of the hour to join in the grand jubilee. During Sabbath night the telegraph flashed through the land the news of Lee's sur- render, and words fail to express the mighty joy with which the glad tidings was received. In many of our cities and towns the tide of popular thanksgiving could not be restrained till daybreak, and at midnight and the small hours of the morning the bells were rung, guns fired, bonfires kindled, GENERAL LEE'S SUEEENDER. 191 and tlie whole community roused to a knowledge of the glori- ous news. When morning came, the feelings of the people could scarcely find ways of expression. Shouts of exultation were heard on every side, every face was beaming with joy, business was not thought of, and all gave way to the excite- ment of the occasion. It was a gala-day in Boston. Joy and thankfulness were everywhere manifest. At an early hour processions began to move through the streets, bands of music roused the enthusiasm with national airs, thousands of flags were displayed, impromptu meetings were held in various places, congratulatory speeches were made, hymns of thanks- giving were sung, bells pealed forth joyful tones, the earth trembled with the roar of artillery, military companies en- livened the dark moving mass of men with their gay uniforms, schools were closed, places of public business shut up, and " each one sang the song of peace to all his neighbors." The rejoicings over the fall of Richmond were great, but they were as nothing compared to the exultations over the surrender of Lee and his army. The Merchants' Exchange was filled with a jubilant crowd at an early hour, and seemed overflowing with delight and patriotic devotion. Prayer was offered, Old Hundred, Ameri- ca, John Brown, and other tunes were sung, speeches made, and rousing cheers given for Lincoln, Grant, and the noble ofiicers and soldiers who, under God, have gained us the vic- tory. The merchants and citizens collected in great numbers in Franklin and Pearl Streets and Winthrop Square, and enthusiastic meetings were held in the open air. The streets were elegantly decorated with flags, bands of music were in attendance, patriotic speeches were made, and the greatest good feeling prevailed. The Old South church was opened for public services, and the sacred edifice, rich in historic associations, was packed with an eager crowd. A cannon mounted in the belfry shook the building with a salute of thirty-four guns, and the organ pealed forth its loud tones of joy and praise. The national flag, surmounted with the motto, 192 HOUSEHOLD READING. " Union and the Constitution," was spread across tlie pulpit, beneath which was a platform erected for the speakers. Rev. Dr. Blagden opened the services with prayer. The Star Spangled Banner, with organ and choir accompaniment, was sung. Rev. Mr. Manning then read some peculiarly appro- priate selections from the Bible, commencing with the seventh, eighth, and ninth verses of the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah, " How beautiful upon the mountains," &c., and concluding with " Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good- will to men." Eloquent addresses were made by Rev. A. A. Miner, D. D., Rev. W. S. Studley, Rev. Dr. Kirk, Hon. Richard H. Dana, Jr., Edward S. Tobey, Esq., and Rev. Dr. Blagden. At the State-House the news was received with the greatest ecstasy. All business was suspended, and the time was given to heartfelt rejoicings. Hon. A. H. Bullock made a very powerful speech in the hall of the House of Representatives. Resolutions of thanks to General Grant and the armies un- der his command were passed, and the remainder of the day given to general rejoicing. In the evening, in spite of the rain, the enthusiasm of the people could not be restrained, and took the brilliant phase of illuminations and fireworks. The city was ablaze from one end to the other, and many buildings were lighted in the most beautiful manner. The great crowd which had filled the streets during the day had dispersed in a great measure, but many braved the pelting rain to witness the brilliant display. The country generally seems to have given up the day to celebrating the glorious news, and it was doubtless the greatest day of rejoicing ever known in the land. May peace soon come as a grand con- summation to this season of national thanksgiving ! ASSASSINATION OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN. 193 ASSASSINATION OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN. GOOD FRIDAY night, the 14th of April, 1865, will ever be memorable for the perpetration of the most diabolical crime since the crucifixion. President Lincoln, the great, the good, and the beloved, was shot through the head by a cowardly assassin. It had been announced that Mr. Lincoln and General Grant would attend Ford's Theatre in Washing- ton, and the public was delighted at the prospect of seeing them. As the time approached. General Grant found it im- possible to go, and Mr. Lincoln went with great reluctance, remarking that he did it that he might not disappoint the people. Surrounded by his family and a few friends, the President was enjoying the relaxation from his arduous duties, when a man, now known to be J. Wilkes Booth, an actor, suddenly entered the box in which the President was sitting, fired a pistol at his head, stabbed Major Rathbone who was in the box, and who had risen as Booth entered, to ascertain the cause of the interruption, jumped upon the stage, a distance of eleven feet, uttering the words. Sic semper tyrannis! ("Thus always to tyrants!"), and, brandishing a bowie-knife, rushed behind the scenes to the outer door, and, leaping upon a horse in waiting for him, made his escape. The whole affair did not occupy thirty seconds, and the audience did not know what was transpiring until the awful tragedy was completed. Mr. Lincoln was taken to a house immediately opposite the theatre, where, without once re- turning to consciousness, he lingered until twenty-two min- utes past seven o'clock of the morning of the 15th, when, as we devoutly believe, he passed into glory. 13 194 HOUSEHOLD READING. ABRAHAM LINCOLN. HOW can we write, with the dull ache of sorrow on our heart, and our dead waiting unburied in the White House ? What can we say, when words fail, and sighs and silence are the natural language of the soul ? Never was such grief before. Never before were so many mourners ismitten in one calamity ; when, from the Aroostook to the Golden Gate, five millions of families weep almost as they would have wept if God had visited them as he did the people of stubborn Pharaoh, and their first-born were every- where lying dead within. Never before was there a ruler who lived so near to the heart of the people. Dear Old Abe was of them and from them ; he remembered them, he knew them, he loved and trusted them, and worked for them : he has died for them. And they knew him, and trusted him ; they loved his plain way, his " little stories," his blunt, homely English, his unas- suming modesty, his artless simplicity, his wholesome love of exact justice, his transparent goodness. Even the one fault of his character — his too great tenderness of spirit, making it almost impossible for him to execute the sternest features of justice — was of a nature to endear him to the people, who felt that " Yet the light that led astray Was light from Heaven." Can it be that that great heart is still ? That that noble life-work is done ? That that clear head, and tender spirit, and strong hand are no longer to steer our ship of state ? God has so willed it ; and we must be still and know that he is God, and that he ruleth among the nations. It is our duty to say, and to say with our whole soul, — and would be, even if the thickest darkness veiled the future, — " Even so, Father, for so it hath seemed good in thy sight." ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 195 But WO will not doubt the love of God, because of this calamity. It may be because his great love saw no other way , of working out for us its great work, that He has thus put down one and set up another. It may be that this good man's special task was done, and that sterner qualities than his were essential to the finishing up of the work in righteous- ness ; and so that Pagan commentary on the observed Provi- dence which shapes the affairs of men, which has so strangely forced itself upon the mind again and again, as the true motto of the Rebellion, — Quos Dcus vult perdere prius de- mentat* — finds another illustration, and the Rebels were allowed, in their insanity, to murder their best friend, and at a time, too, when they needed him most. We do not intend, however, to seek to lift the curtain of Providence. It is enough that what God allows to be done here is always best. There we rest, and in that we are calm, and hope. Abraham Lincoln was born in what is now Larue County, Kentucky, 12th February, 1809, and was therefore fifty-six years, two months, and two days old, at the time of his death. His grandfather Abraham, for whom he was named, was shot by a red savage, in Kentucky in 1784. Thomas w^as his father and Nancy Hanks his mother ; who were married in 1808. In 1816, when the young Abraham was seven years old, the family removed to what is now Spencer County, In- diana, where the boy was early put to the hard work of clear- ing the forest, and where, until he was nearly nineteen, he toiled with his father, going to school a little as opportunity offered. At nineteen he made a trip as a flat-boat hand down the Mississippi. In 1830, when twenty-one, he accompanied his father to Macon County, Illinois, where he helped to build the family log-cabin, and to split rails enough to fence ten acres of land. The next year he hired out at twelve dollars a month, helping to build a flat-boat and then to navigate it to New Orleans. On his return, his employer put him in charge of a store and mill at New Salem, Illinois. In 1832 he volunteered in the " Black Hawk " War, and was chosen * Those whom God wishes to destroy he first inf;ituates. 196 HOUSEHOLD READING. captain of his company, — a promotion which he said pleased him more than any other success in life. He was next beaten as a candidate for the Legislature, though his own town gave him two hundred and seventy-seven votes to seven. Soon after, he was appointed Postmaster at New Salem, and began to study law by borrowing law-books at evening, which he returned next morning. He learned and practised surveying also. In 1834 he was elected to the Legislature, and re- elected in 1836, 1838, and 1840. In 1836 he was licensed to practise law, and in 1837, removed to Springfield, Illinois, where he opened an office and rose rapidly to distinction, being especially eminent for his success in jury trials. In 1844 he canvassed Illinois for Henry Clay. In 1846 he was sent to Congress as Representative, taking his seat in Decem- ber, 1847. In Congress he was an anti-slavery Whig, and voted forty-two times for the Wilmot Proviso. In 1849 he offered to the House a plan for compensated emancipation in the District of Columbia. He was a warm opponent of the annexation of Texas. He was a member of the Whig Na- tional Convention which nominated General Taylor. He was urged as a candidate for Vice-President unsuccessfully, in the convention which nominated Fremont in 1856. In 1858 he was the Republican candidate for United States Senator in opposition to Judge Douglas, and the two stumped the State, their speeches being subsequently published, and that volume bringing Mr. Lincoln first prominently before the na- tion. The result was a popular majority of more than four thousand, but a defeat by eight votes in joint ballot of the Legislature. He was put in nomination in 1860 as Republi- can candidate for President, and at the first ballot received 102 votes against 173| for Mr. Seward, 50|^ for Mr. Cameron, 48 for Mr. Bates, and scA^eral scattering, — 233 being neces- sary for a choice. On the second ballot he had 181 to Mr. Seward's 1841. On the third ballot he had 354, Mr. Seward 110|, Mr. Dayton 1, and Judge McLean i a vote. Mr. Lin- coln's nomination was then made unanimous, and his election ABRAHAxM LINCOLN. 197 followed, by a strictly Northern majority, wliicli was immedi- ately succeeded by secession and the Rebellion. Of his bearing as President, it is enough to say that he so held on his way with admirable practical wisdom, calm delib- eration, profoundest honesty of purpose, and most earnest de- sire to know and to do the right, that he had not only, under God, been permitted to see the Rebellion substantially crushed, but had conquered the prejudices of his enemies, and so absorbed the love of all hearts, that, with scarce a solitary exception, the lines of Halleck were true of him : — " None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise." He is gone, — gone by the hand of a Northern traitor, — a viper warmed into life by his own lenient policy of permitting even avowed secessionists still to have an asylum in the bosom of the nation, — which nurses the serpents but to be stung by them. The whole civilized world will mourn for him, not ex- cepting the people of the so-called Confederacy, if they have any common sense remaining. While all agree that his is " One of the few, the immortal names, That were not born to die." PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S FUNERAL. ^N Wednesday the 19th of April, 1865, the whole country was in mourning, and engaged in religious services in memory of him, the Martyr President, whose funeral ob- sequies were then taking place at the national Capital. The day was beautiful and had the air of Sabbath sacredness, and it will be remembered in all coming time as the day set apart for the burial of one who had the love of more hearts than any other man that ever lived. The funeral ceremonies at Washington were the most touching and impressive ever known on tliis continent, and through the whole solemn day 198 HOUSEHOLD READING. nothing occurred to mar the scene. The city was thronged with a tearful crowd, but such were the arrangements that there was no confusion. As early as eleven o'clock, all the streets within half a mile of the White House were densely packed with people, but a strong military guard kept about the Executive Mansion a large open space within which no one was admitted without a ticket. The exercises were held in the East Room, which was appropriately draped, and fitted with raised seats, so that all present could see the officiating clergymen and the coffin containing the noble dead. About six hundred persons were admitted to the East and Green Rooms, comprising delegations from States, cities, and organizations, the entire Diplomatic Corps, officers of the army and navy, the pall-bearers, twenty-two in number, led by Lieutenant-General Grant and Vice-Admiral Parragut arm in arm. Governors, members of Congress and of the Supreme Court, a few ladies and others. At precisely noon President Johnson and cabinet entered, also Mr. Lincoln's private Secretaries. The family was represented by Captain Robert Lincoln, the brother of Mrs. Lincoln, and little " Tad," the late President's favorite child. Mrs. Lincoln, not being sufficiently recovered from the shock to leave her bed, was not present. The services were conducted by Rev. P. D. Gurley (Presbyterian), Mr. Lincoln's pastor, assisted by Rev. Dr. Hall (Episcopal), Bishop Simpson (Methodist), and Rev. Dr. E. H, Gray (Baptist), chaplain of the Senate. Mr. Gurley's discourse was three quarters of an hour in length and was extremely appropriate. After the services, the procession moved down the Avenue to the Capitol, where the remains were deposited in the Rotunda, to allow the many thousands who could not obtain access to the White House an opportunity of taking a last look at the noble dead. The funeral car was built for the occasion, and was drawn by six iron-gray horses. The procession contained not less than thirty thousand persons, representing every department of state and people, and thirty bands played plaintive mu- THE ASSASSINATION. 199 sic tliroughout the entire route. It was a significant and impressive sight to see the colored race fully represented and honorably placed in the procession ; and indeed a regi- ment of negro soldiers headed the line. It was fitting that those who owed their freedom to the Great Departed should share in the public mourning ! The broad Avenue was filled almost to suffocation by spectators ; tearful and silent the vast crowd looked at the moving pageant, and felt how great and good a man had departed. Under the dome consecrated to Liberty the remains reposed until the following morning, when the sad procession started for the West. THE ASSASSINATION. WEEP, brothers, weep ! You have cause. It is right, it is manly. The murder was cruel. It searched for and found the spot where it might meet and wound a nation's heart. No common sacrifice would satisfy its morbid, fiend- ish appetite. It would not strike until it could bring to its foul divinity the libation of a nation's tears. Weep, brothers ; confess to the success of the enterprise. The shot was well aimed. It brought us all down, down into the dust. Our hearts had all met in one man ; and there they all received the fatal blow. It was cruel to hurt us so. We bow before the monster and confess his power. We acknowledge his skill. He understood his mission. He could not have hurt us so much if he had hit a hundred other targets, but not struck there. It surely was not necessary to remove Mr. Lincoln as Com- mander-in-Chief of the army, for he had then finished the work he had to perform in that capacity. The military power of the Rebellion, if ever it was, is not worth defending now, at the price of damning one's own soul, and of making this earth itself a hell for the murderer. It surely was not the President tha,t was so hated, so dreaded, whose paternal heart 200 HOUSEHOLD READING. was outrunning a nation's will, to welcome back the Prodigal It was not the man, — the gentle, generous, woman-hearted Lincoln, they sought to slay. If it was an act of personal hatred, it was as utterly void of reason, and incapable of even palliation, as it was eminently wicked. If it was an act of policy, it was as blind a blunder as the several enactments w hich organized rebellion. We cannot yet adapt ourselves to the new condition of things. For four years we have been studying history, poli- tics, military science, naval affairs ; but Abraham Lincoln has been the central figure in every scene our imagination has sketched. If a military commander was not competent to do his work, Mr. Lincoln would see to supplying his place with one that was. If any new step was to be taken to bring the oppressed toward the enjoyment of their rights, we waited for a new proclamation from him. If States were struggling back to their place in the homestead, our eyes turned to him. We waited for him to show them the way. We somehow felt the beating of a heart at the centre, always inspiring cheerfulness, hope, kindness, patriotism. But that has passed, — forever passed. And we must now take up each riven chord of the heart to attach it to a stranger. Yes, we mourn ; we are a stricken people. Tell our brethren who believe no Republican chief can be loved as they love their king, they are not just to us. Abraham Lin- coln, without ancestral honors, without the polish of cultivat- ed circles, without a single artificial attraction, or any con- ventional charm connected with his name or his person, has this day a love second only to filial affection, — a love founded on intelligent appreciation of his character and life, — a love as tender as even such a woman, such a sovereign, as Victoria in- spires, — the love of four millions of God's poor children, who sometimes approach the borders of what in the more enlight- ened would be idolatry, — the love of more than twenty mil- lions as intelligent, as high in the moral scale as any other twenty millions living together in any part of tliis world. TelJ THE ASSASSINATION. iiOl them we loved him. We did not crouch at his feet ; we did not believe his blood any better than our own ; we did not feel ourselves honored by his attentions ; we had no favors to ask of him ; we had no factitious glory of titles and vestments to deceive the simple in regard to the venerableness of his per- son or the majesty of his high position. We exacted of him no artificial dignity, no constraint upon his accustomed meth- ods of sitting, standing, dressing, talking, or writing. We loved him for his own sake ; and we revered him as the sym- bol of the authority with which God had invested the nation for its own defence and control. The blow was struck on Friday night. We heard its rever- beration on Saturday morning. Six days have passed as we are now writing. Six such days as we never saw, and expect not ever to see again. Yesterday was a wonderful day. Gov- ernors' fasts. Presidents' fasts are powerless for the major por- tion of our people. But yesterday God proclaimed a fast. The trumpet was sounded in our Zion. This was the procla- mation : " Blow ye the trumpet in Zion, and sound an alarm in my holy mountain ; let all the inhabitants of the land tremble, for the day of the Lord is come ; a day of darkness and of gloominess, a day of clouds and of thick darkness, as the morning spread upon the mountains. Blow the trumpet, call a solemn assembly ; gather the people, assemble the elders, gather the children. Let the ministers of the Lord weep be- tween the porch and the altar ; and let them say, ' Spare thy people, Lord, and give not thy heritage to reproach.' " Yes- terday was a day of humiliation, mourning, and prayer. The period of weeping, however, is passing ; next comes that of reflection ; then the season of action. A nation is thinking to-day. Its thouglit is fixed on one event, that, for tlie time, fills the horizon with its lurid light. If the murder- ers designed to afflict the nation, they were successful. But perhaps they never followed in imagination this bloody deed to its second, nor to its final stage. They have sot a nation on a new course of thought ; and that thought is looking 202 HOUSEHOLD READING. backward and lorward. Who did this ? What was his mo- tive ? Was it in the programme of treason ? If not, was it an excrescene, an unnatural outgrowth ? Who is morally re- sponsible for this enormity ? Whom shall the nation charge with it ? If some men should be too magnanimous and chiv- alric to give assent to the deed accomplished, have they dis- played such magnanimity and high-toned honor and truth and humanity as to make it improbable that they were " ac- cessory before the fact " ? The nation is an impanelled jury making up its verdict ; and when they shall have brought their common sense, their practical sense, their moral sense, to act on it, then comes the period of action. They are now de- termining, from what has been done, what is to be done ; and when they have decided, then they will act. Traitors, assas- sins, oppressors, they will act ! Not by mobs, not by tram- pling constitutions and laws under foot, but in accordance with God's great laws, — that crimes must be punished according to their magnitude, — that individual life and national life must oe defended by all the forces God has put into the hands of man. PRESIDENT LINCOLN. THE MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ELEJIENT IN HIS LIFE AND CHARACTER. THE scandalous scenes which have been so often repeated of late in Washington conspire, with the return of the anniversary of his assassination, to recall, with great fresh- ness and tenderness, the memory of President Lincoln. There was one expression in the first veto of the acting President, which met the hearty approbation, and called forth the deep sympathy, of the loyal and Christian people. It was that in which he spoke of Mr. Lincoln as his " la- mented predecessor." Perhaps the contrast between the two PEESIDENT LINCOLN. 203 characters and tlic two administrations was necessary to make the people fully sensible how much they had lost. Certainly, nothing could have added so much to the poignancy of their regrets. The want of temperance, pa- tience, self-control, and high moral and Christian principle in the present Chief Magistrate, have given us a new ap- preciation of the unspeakable value of those qualities in his " lamented predecessor." Dr. Holland's "Life of Abraham Lincoln " is dedicated to Andrew Johnson, in these beautiful and significant words : — " To Andrew Johnson, to whom Providence has assigned the com- pletion of Abraham Lincoln's labors, I dedicate this record of Abra- ham Lincoln's life ; with the prayer that History, which will as- sociate their names forever, may be able to find no seam where their administrations were joined, and mark no change of texture by which they may be contrasted." I know not with what feelings the author has recalled these words during the successive weeks and months which have elapsed since they were written. .But I am sure I can- not read them without the deepest sadness. What opportuni- ties has Andrew Johnson lost, — lost for himself, lost for his country, lost, never to be recovered, — all for want of tem- perance, patience, self-control, and high moral and Christian principle ! Perhaps some of my readers would add, for want of good advisers, and under the influence of bad ones ; but he would never have cast off those who were the chosen counsellors of Mr. Lincoln, and taken up advisers who are controlled by no higher principle than a short-sighted regard to supposed present political expediency, if he had himself been governed by Mr. Lincoln's paramount regard for right and controlling faith in a righteous overruling Providence. But I did not take up my pen to write a paragraph on the state of the country, or the policy of the administration ; and I have made these allusions only to give point to the high moral lessons which every day's experience teaches us to as- sociate more and more with the life and character of Abra- 204 HOUSEHOLD BEADING. ham Lincoln. I confess that I have been surprised, in read- ing the above-mentioned Life of Mr. Lincohi, to find so much evidence that deep moral and religious convictions, a firm and controlling persuasion that " Eight is right, since God is God, And right the day must win," — SO much evidence that such convictions and such a persua- sion were the characteristics by which, from early childhood, he was pre-eminently distinguished, and that it was his un swerving obedience to these principles which, in the end, gave him the victory over all his time-serving competitors, as well as over tlie wickedness and malice of the Rebellion. We suspect Dr. Holland himself was surprised at the rich vein which he struck when he visited the section where Mr. Lin- coln spent his early life, and gathered up, from his friends and acquaintance, the facts of his early history ; and this deservedly popular author has encircled his brow with no other such unfading laurel, has rendered no other such priceless service, especially to the young men of the country, as by setting before them, in so attractive a form, this bright example. Mr. Raymond has written the history of President Lincoln's administration, and preserved his speeches, letters, and state papers ; but Dr. Holland has given us the man^ and dwelt with especial interest and sympathy on his moral and religious character. It should be added, that Mr. Car- penter has recorded numerous anecdotes which have an im- portant bearing on the same point. There is scarcely room in what remains of this article, to hint at the briefest outline of some of the principal facts. Mr. Lincoln was indebted for his talents and his early re- ligious convictions, as most other great and good men have been, to a thoughtful, sensitive, pious mother, whose death, when he was ten years old, burnt the impression of her teachings into his tender soul. Among the few books which, in the poverty of his family and the seclusion of the new settlements, he was able to read in his early cliildhood, the PRESIDENT LINCOLN. 205 Bible and Pilgrim's Progress left their indelible impression on his mind and heart and style ; and there is abundant evidence that a pocket New Testament, well worn, was the constant companion of his private and public life. A copy of Ramsay's Life of Washington, borrowed from his teacher, having been nearly ruined by a sudden shower while in his possession, the boy, not yet ten years of age, carried it back with a frank statement of the facts, and made the book his own by three days' labor at " pulling fodder," — an incident which will remind every one, as it does Mr. Raymond, of the familiar story of the boy George "Washington and his hatchet. He was scarcely a year older, when he showed his humanity and compassion for the lost, — the same in kind which he carried to excess, perhaps, in pardoning deserters and others condemned to death in the war, — by saving, at no small ex- pense of care and toil, the life of a wretched drunkard. He was not only temperate, but practised total abstinence from intoxicating drinks from his childhood and early youth. " No stimulant ever entered his lips, no profanity ever came from them which defiled the man." Among the earliest in- cidents in the life of the full-grown man, we find him whip- ing a bully for insulting ladies in the store, and see him, when out of the store, lying on a trundle-bed, reading and studying, and at the same time helping his landlady by rocking the cradle with his foot. " It was while he was per- forming the duties of the store that he acquired the sobri- quet of 'Honest Abe,' — a characterization that he never dishonored, and an abbreviation that he never outgrew." Loyal to his convictions ; ambitious, yet taking his position with the minority in a State overwhelmingly democratic ; honest, not because he thought honesty was " tlie best policy," but because honesty was " the natural way of liv- ing"; childlike, incapable of uttering a falsehood; "he loved all, was kind to all ; was without a vice, appetite or passion ; was truthful, was simple, was unselfish, was relig- ious, believed in the power and ultimate triumph of the 206 HOUSEHOLD READING. right, through his belief in God " ; such is the description, greatly abridged and condensed, which Dr. Holland gives of him, as he was about to enter upon public life. And lest it should be regarded as extravagant, he adds : " If this brief statement of his qualities and powers represents a wonder- fully perfect character, so strangely pure and noble that it seems like the sketch of an enthusiast, it is not the writer's fault. Its materials are drawn from the lips of old friends, who speak of him with tears, who loved him then as if he were a brother, and who worship his memory with fond idolatry." As a lawyer, his marked characteristic, more remarkable even than his homely illustrations and his irresistible argu- ments, was his unwillingness, his seeming incapacity, to ad- vocate what he deemed the wrong side, or a bad cause. He usually refused to undertake such cases, and if he ever found himself deceived or mistaken in regard to the justice of his client's cause, the moment he discovered the truth, all his interest in it ceased, and he was shorn of his power. On the other hand, he was the only distinguished lawyer in the State who would consent to be the advocate of the fugitive slave. Yet he had more business than any other lawyer in his sec- tion ; and his advocacy of a cause, of course, soon came to be the proof of its righteousness, and the pledge of its suc- cess. And he was just as incapable of seeing any creature suffer that he could relieve, as he was of being a party to any injustice, as is illustrated by the story of the pig that he and a party of other lawyers, in one of their circuits, left sinking in the mire ; but after riding on two or three miles, he went back and rescued the pig, though almost to the ruin of a new suit of clothes. In his first candidacy for the Legislature, he was unsuc- cessful. Elected by a large vote in his second, during his first session he said little and learned much. Re-elected to the next Legislature, he encounters Mr. Douglas for the first time, and, with one other member, enters his j irotest against PRESIDENT LINCOLN. 207 some extreme pro-slaverj resolutions, ■which were passed for the express purpose of fixing the stigma of xVbolitionism upon all who did not indorse them. His career as a member of the House of Representatives in Congress was marked by uncompromising, though wise and discriminating, hostility to the Mexican War. Nominated as the Republican candidate for the United States Senate in opposition to Judge Douglas, lie put, in the very foreground of his first speech in that famous political canvass (and insisted on keeping them there in spite of the politic remonstrances of his friends), those memorable words : " A house divided against itself cannot sl^nd. T believe this government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free. I do not expect the Union to be dis- solved, — I do not expect the house to fall ; but I do expect it will cease to be divided." He failed of the Senatorship, but his failure made him President of the United States. This is one of the great lessons of Mr. Lincoln's life. He failed at first in many, yes, in most, of his aspirations. At the close of the canvass for the Senatorship, his life seemed a failure, and tliat of Mr. Douglas a splendid success ; but he clung to the .right, he persevered, and triumphed in the end. The sequel is known to the country and the world ; but these earlier antecedents were not generally known at the East. If they had been, the friends of liberty and humanity would not have been so displeased at his nomination, nor so anxious in many a great crisis of the war. If they had known the man, when they were so impatient for the act of emancipa- tion, they would have understood that, so far from being re- luctant to issue it, he was waiting and longing for tlie time to come when he could issue it consistently with his oath of office and with the necessary unanimity on the part of the people, and so make it, as it was, the finishing stroke of the war, and the glory of his administration. I wish the conver- sation on religious topics between Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Batc- man, in the sixteenth chapter of Doctor Holland's Life (in the following pages), might be read along with President Lin- coln's last inaugural. It would thus be seen that that inau. 208 HOUSEHOLD READING. gural, prophetic and almost inspired as it seemed to be, was not a sudden inspiration, but was in a course of providential preparation even before Mr. Lincoln's election to the Presi- dency. It was my purpose to allude to those special seasons of deep and personal religious experience, as, for instance, in connec- tion with the death of his son "Willy and with the battle at Gettysburg ; also to the evidence of his habit of reading the Scriptures and prayer in the closet, all of which are brought out so unequivocally in Doctor Holland's Life and Mr. Car- penter' s# Reminiscences ; but I have already exceeded my limits. Yet I cannot refrain from copying that last sentence in a letter of Mr. Lincoln to General Wadsworth, which ex- presses so clearly the views of the late President on the great question of reconstruction, and shows how little reason the present incumbent has to claim that he is following in the footsteps of his lamented predecessor : " Since you know my private inclinations as to what terms should be granted to the South, in the contingency mentioned, I will here add, that, if our success should be thus realized (complete success) , fol- lowed by such desired results (loyal and cheerful submission), J cannot see, if U7iiversal amnesty is granted, Tiow, under the circumstances, I can avoid exacting, in return, universal suf- frage, or, at least, suffrage on the basis of intelligence and mili- tary service." A TALK WITH PRESIDENT LINCOLN. I HAVE been urged to write out in full — from memoranda made at the time — a conversation had with President Lincoln, in September, 1864, of which some fragmentary anec- dotes have already been made public. Now that the political issues that gave point to some of the President's remarks are all settled, there can be no objection to reporting them in de- tail, as illustrating the salient points of his character. A TALK WITH PRESIDENT LINCOLN. 209 On the 6th of September, 1864, Mr. Secretary Dana of the War Office did me the favor to accompany me to the White House, — where he had the entree of the President's private office, — and we were at once ushered into Mr. Lincohi's presence. He was alone, sitting at a table covered with doc- uments which he had been studying with care. At his side stood a basket of fine peaches to which he had evidently de- voted his leisure moments, but without any visible accessories of knife and plate. After the usual salutations, congratulat- ing him upon the capture of Atlanta, I spoke of the pleasure with which his proclamation for a Thanksgiving on the approaching Sabbath would be regarded. " I would be glad to give you such a proclamation every Sunday for a few weeks to come," was his quick reply. "The victory at Atlanta," it was remarked, "has wiped out one half of the Chicago platform, and if General Grant will give us Petersburg, that will wipe out the other, and we shall simply go through the form of re-electing you, Mr. President, by acclamation." Mr. Dana interposed that he thought the reviving of Union feeling was due quite as much to the platform itself as to the victory. " I guess," said the President, " it is more due to the vic- tory. At any rate that will better bear repetition.''^ General McClellan had not yet signified his acceptance of the Chicago nomination, and I observed that he seemed about as slow in getting upon the platform as he was in taking Richmond. " I think he must be intrenching,^^ said the President, with a marvellous brightening of his eye. " It was rumored in New York that the General would decline the nomination upon that platform." " Well," replied Mr. Lincoln, " he does n't know yet whether he will accept or decline. And he never will know. Somebody must do it for him. For of all the men I liave had to do with in my life, indecisioyi is most strongly marked in 14 210 . HOUSEHOLD READING. General McClellan ; — if that can he said to he strong which is the essence of weakness. ^^ This was said with his head leaning forward in his charac- teristic way, as if he would thrust his face into yours ; but trenchant as was the sarcasm, there was no maliciousness in his tone, no trace of personal rivalry or animosity. It was the iitterance of a deliberate judgment. Mr. Dana announced to him the news of John Morgan's death. " Is that so ? " he exclaimed ; then turning to me as if he would recognize my calling, he added, " I would n't crow over anybody's death, but I assure you that I take this as resignedly as I could take any dispensation of Providence. This Morgan was a nigger-driver. You Northern men don't know anything about such low, mean, cowardly creatures. Southern slaveholders despise them. But such a wretch has been used to carry on their rebellion." There was a startling earnestness in the emphasis with which he uttered these words. A-t this point the janitor entered and announced that a lady at the door wished to know his decision in a certain case. " Tell her," said Mr. Lincoln, slowly, " that I shall do nothing about it." The janitor hesitated, and asked, " Need I say just that to her ? She is terribly distressed. Can't I say, sir, that you are still considering it ? " " Well, if you choose ; but I shall not interfere." Then, turning to the pile of papers before him, lie remarked to us, " Here is the case of a man condemned by a court-martial for bounty-jumping, desertion, and inducing others to desert. It is a \QYY clear case ; and as the officers say that pardons relax all discipline, I suppose I must not interfere." He had been studying all the morning lo find some flaw in the evidence upon which he might annul the sentence, and at the last, in his conflict between justice and compassion, he v/as almost unmanned by the report of a woman weeping at the door. A TALK WITH PRESIDENT LINCOLN. 211 The conversation turned upon the pending election, and I told the story, already published in your columns, of the Irishman at Resaca, who gave me his philosophy of the Presi- dential contest, " It was n't myself that made Mr. Lincoln President ; but these rascals down here said he should n't be President, and I 'm bound to fight till he is ; and sure I think the jointilman that begun the job is the one to go through with it.''^ Mr. Lincoln laughed heartily, and said, " I am glad to know that any Irishman is going to vote for me, and es- pecially for such discriminating reasons." He spoke with unaffected simplicity of his desire to carry out his policy through a re-election ; and in the course of a conversation upon the prospects of the campaign, mention was made of the unanimity of the religious sentiment of the country for himself, when he remarked that he relied very much upon tho religious element for the support of his ad- ministration. I named several prominent ministers who were exerting their influence to secure his re-election ; among them. Dr. Bacon of New Haven. " Bacon," he repeated, as if trying to recall something, " let me see ; what do I know of him ? Did n't he once write a book on slavery, which some of the Abolitionists did not altogether agree with ? " I answered in the affirmative. " Well," he continued, " I read that book some years ago, and at first did not exactly know what to make of it ; but afterwards I read it over more carefully, and got hold of Dr. Bacon's distinctions, and it had much to do in shaping my own thinking on the subject of slavery. He is quite a man." In the course of some further talk on slavery, I drew the distinction between the " domiciliary imprisonment" or sub- jection of captives and paupers, allowed by the Mosaic law, and chattel slavery. Admitting tliat this would greatly re- lieve the question of Hebrew servitude, the Prct^idont ro- 212 . HOUSEHOLD READING. marked, " However, I have sometimes thought that Moses didnH quite understand the Lord along thereP The crhne of attempted revolution against a free govern- ment occupied tlie few remaining moments of this most re- freshing interview. It was pleasant to know that the Presi- dent was awake to the discussion of principles upon every subject evolved by the war. I can give no description of the brilliancy of his repartees, the readiness of his wit, the affability of his manners, the frankness of his soul. As I felt again the cordial grasp of his hand, I looked for the last time into those gentle, loving, and most magnetic eyes. HEARKEN, LITTLE ONE! HEARKEN, little one ! Lo ! a voice is calling thee From the blue of morning skies ! Hear it, and the glory see Beaming for thy lifted eyes ! Courage, little one ! Not a tear thine eye should dim, Not a fear give wild alarms ; Jesus bids you come to him. Now he waits with open arms ! Hasten, little one ! Run to him with nimble feet. Go, and feel his soft caress, Warm the welcome thou shalt meet ; See ! he lifts his hands to bless ! Trust him, little one ! He will never leave his own, Never let them suffer harm ; All the way to him is known, Strong is his encircling arm! ELEANOR'S STORY. 213 Love him, little one ! He will fold thee to his breast, Love thee with a tender love ! He will give thee blissful rest In his shininor home above ! ELEANOR'S STORY. PAPA says I am a strange girl, because I want to write a story ; but at the same time he patted me lovingly on my head, and said, " You may write a story if you can, Elea- nor," so I am going to try. I wonder why it is that people call me strange ! If I only had another name ! Eleanor sounds so old. Other little girls have pretty, childish names, such as Bessie, Luly, or Katie ; but I don't know any little girls by the name of Eleanor. However, papa says that he thinks Eleanor is the sweetest of all names (it was my dear mamma's name), so I try to be contented with it. I suppose too, that I am not like other little girls, for I am not able to go to school, or to run and play as they do. Mrs. Green says it is because I am delicate. So I stay at home with papa, — there are only papa and I and Mrs. Green, the housekeeper, and Rosy, the cook, — and papa teaches me les- sons, and lets me read his books, and takes me to make calls with him sometimes (he is a clergyman), and we have very nice times together, only I wish I had a little sister to play with ; but papa plays checkers, and give-away, and points with me, and Mrs. Green makes me gingerbread dogs, so I ought to be very happy. But I must tell my story. It is entitled : HOW I BECAME DELICATE. Before I was delicate, when I was about six years old, I went to school, just as other children did. 0, it was such a 214 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. pleasant place ! It was a private school. There were little girls and boys of all ages there. The older scholars had desks, but the younger scholars had little chairs to sit in They were low chairs with arms, and thoy had shelves under- neath to put our books on. They were our own, too. Papa bought mine for me. It was a most beautiful lilac color, and there were roses and lilies painted on it. I used to feel very proud and happy when I sat in my lilac-colored chair, or took my primer or slate from the shelf underneath. 0, I never shall forget it ! Meta Reed lived in the next house to ours then, — she has moved away now, — and I used to go and call for her every day, and we went to school together. But one day when I called for her, her mamma told me she was ill, so I had to go to school alone. I did not feel at all afraid, but walked quietly along, and had got almost to the school-house, when I met one of the scholars by the name of Charlie Vane. " Hold on, Eleanor," said he. " Hold on, Charlie," said I ; " are n't you going to school ? " " No," said he, " I am going to fire off some crackers ; don't vou want one ? " " 0, no indeed ! " said I. I was very much afraid of fire-crackers ; so I began to walk along toward the school-house, but Charlie ran after me. " Stop a minute, Eleanor," said he. So I stopped. " Now," said he, running in front of me, and holding out both arms, " you sha'n't go by till you have fired off a cracker." " yes, but I must," said I. " I shall be late to school." So I tried to get by one side, but he ran and stood in front of me ; then I went to the other side, but he ran the other side too, — Mrs. Green says he dodged, — so I couldn't get by, and I did n't know "\^hat to do. "You must fire a cracker," said Charlie. " I can't," said I. ELEANOR'S STORY. 215 " You must," said he ; " I will show you how." " But I s7ia'?z'^," said I, for I was very angry. " Then," said Charlie, " you are a cross girl, and I will firo off all the crackers right here at your feet, and I shall hold you so you can't get away." " dear ! " said I, beginning to cry ; but he held fast hold of me with one hand, and with the other he put the crackers on the ground. Then he took out a match and lighted it and set fire to the crackers. I cried as loud as 1 could, hoping some one would hear and come to me, but nobody did, and soon the crackers went off right at my feet. I was so very much frightened that I grew very strong, and so, making a great effort, I got away from Charlie and ran away very fast. He ran after me a little way, but I ran very fast, and he soon stopped. All at once I grew very hot, and looking down I saw that my dress was on fire. 0, how frightened I was ! I stood perfectly still and began to scream. I was only six years old, or I should have known better. Mrs. Green says, you should wrap yourself in something woollen, and I had on quite a large shawl that I might have wrapped around me, but I did n't know as much then as I do now ; so, as I said before, I stood still and screamed. Just then a great black man came along. Now I was very much afraid of black men ; so when he said, " Why, the poor little lamb ! " and came close up to me, I was so frightened that I began to run again ; but my clothes were burning so that I could n't run very well, and so this black man, who was a very, very kind man, soon caught up with me. He took me right in his arms, while I screamed with terror, and carried me to a pump near by and pumped water on me till the fire was all put out ; though I fainted, from, pain and fright, before he reached the pump. But the water revived me, so that when the man asked me where I lived, I could tell him. Then he carried me home, just as gently as papa could have carried me. I Aave always loved him ever since 216 HOUSEHOLD READING. His name is James Thomas, and he has a wife and two little children. Papa takes me to see them whenever he can. But when Mr. Thomas got to the house, I was senseless ; and I did not know papa, or Mrs. Green, or anybody, for two whole weeks ; and after I came to my senses, I was ill for a long time. And Mrs. Green says I have been delicate ever since. P. S. — Papa says it is not proper to add a postscript to a story ; but I just want to say that Charlie Vane was real sorry when he foimd out that I was burned so badly, and he has been very kind to me ever since. He gives me presents every Christmas and on my birthdays, and he comes to see me, too, though at first I would n't see him, and would n't forgive him. But now I have entirely forgiven him ; for papa says I have grieved Jesus Christ more than Charlie grieved me, and that Jesus died for me, and forgives me all my sins, too ; so I 'm sure I ought to forgive Charlie, for he only grieved me once, and I never died for him either. YAIN THOUGHTS. THOSE are vain thoughts that are indulged without aim or control. The minds of the best of men will some- times wander like the eyes of the fool. The thoughts of the giddy mass go like the wind, without order or design. They light upon a project here, and a phantom there, and thus shoot away as the dazzling sunbeam is reflected from the agitated water. Many entire lives are spent thus without oixler, plan, or aim. The vainness of such thoughts consist not in the positive evil so much as the want of good. They consume time, waste immortal energies, and keep lis busy for naught. Those are vain thoughts which are exercised in gratifving VAIN THOUGHTS. 21T: our vanity and pride. A large proportion of the mental energies of mankind is spent in burning incense to their \own self-esteem. Those are vain thoughts which meditate harm to others. )r vain, in the Scriptural sense, means wicked as well as foUish. It includes all those unlawful schemes which de- visV deceit, which would mislead by fair promises and vain shoVs. Tl^ose thoughts are vain which are hostile to religion. Wha\ an amount of such thinking there is in the world ! To saV nothing of blasphemous thoughts, nothing of the writings of infidels, nothing of sceptical objections, there is much Aain thinking by nominal Christians. How much effort toVipologize for neglect, to find some ease for a twing- ing cons(\ence ? How many think to old age, and grow no wiser on \iie subject of personal religion ? Their thoughts move in a Circle, and so result in nothing salutary to the soul. Wliat, n(W, is the remedy for such thoughts ? Thoughts, like everytling else in the universe, are subject to law. They come Mo being by law, and they are controlled by law. To discttver and obey that law is to cure the evil. So far as loose am trifling thoughts are concerned, an efficient remedy is to occupy the mind with something better. When the bushel is filled with wheat, the chaff cannot enter. The man who has \ pressure of important business on hand 5 thoughts. No general on the evening before a great bat\le was ever troubled with trifling thoughts. Girard or Astor nWer had wandering thoughts when a pro- ject involving milions was under consideration. Engage, then, in some interWing and profitable pursuit. Stir up a deep emotion in tha soul, and you swallow up in it every petty interest and sdicitude, on the same principle that a physician at times apUies a counter irritant on the surface of the body to draw thV humors away from the vitals. The remedy for wick\d thoughts may be sought in watch- fulness and prayer, andVhe active perform-mce of duty, and 218 HOUSEHOLD READING. reliance upon the indwelling Spirit, with the consideration that God will bring every thought into judgment. And though the seat of that tribunal be far down the future, it is certain to come, at last. Let it be remembered, that the iror pen records every desire of the heart ; and though the mini has no knowledge of it, God will one day declare it. Vain thoughts leave a sting behind. When God made -he inind, he made it for virtuous emotions, to be happy in the indulgence of right feelings, and to be miserable when it indulges any other. Hence every man, when he adaits a wrong desire into his bosom, admits a serpent to feed ->n his vitals. He brings a wolf into his peaceful fold to hariss and wound the flock. His own thoughts become his clastiser. They pierce him with barbed arrows. Every shaft h( lets fly comes back and lodges in his own heart. SPEAK ABOUT CHRIST: A YOUNG Christian writes us, begging iiat we say a few words to older Christians in refereice to the duty named above. He says that young converts jften hear their older brethren say to them, " Be more faithfiu ; take a higher stand on the Lord's side than we have CTcr done." And young Christians sometimes feel like saying something, in kind reply, like this : " When you meet those whom you know have recently become interested in t\e things of Christ, make it a point to say something to them about their religion and their Saviour, — for they are always glad to be addressed thus, and they need to be." There is much in the suggestion, and there is reason for it. Young converts need the experience of older Christians ; and if those who have that experience ire ready to impart it freely, an immense amount of valuaUe instruction may thus SPEAK ABOUT CHRIST. 219 be communicated, while this giving doth not impoverish. Those who have been long walking in the path toward heaven ; so long that they have forgotten the sensations of their first entrance upon it, are hardly aware how great, some- times, is the disappointment, when they meet with young converts, and do not seem to recognize the fact that they are young converts, or care anything about it ; and say nothing upon the subject of religion at all. Those whose hearts are saturated with the joy of their first love expect older Christians to speak to them of the things of the kingdom, and when they fail to do so, and seem them- selves to be so full of care and thought for other things, that they cannot say one word for Christ, the effect is most dis- heartening upon the young Christian. He begins to inquire whether he is not thinking too much about his Saviour, and making too much of the importance of salvation, and of the whole matter of religion. He remembers all that he has heard about " youthful impetuosity," and begins to inquire whether he may not be going altogether too fast and too far in his new experiences, and whether he would not be wiser to drop into the more quiet and apathetic posture of those whom he sees around him, " having a name to live." Nothing is more excruciating to the young heart that has ventured all upon Christ, and feels itself committed always to " stand up for Jesus," than the cold blast that sweeps in upon it whenever the door of the church is opened, — to let only the frosty and benumbing atmosphere of spiritual winter strike upon the warm buds and opening blossoms of its own new faith. He dare not decide that all these older Chris- tians — so strangely cold and silent and worldly — are not real disciples ; for then where are Christ's followers ? He dare not set up his feeble and faltering first consciousness of what is right and edifying and really Christian, against their deeper study of the Bible, and maturer knowledge of all Christian facts. He dare not give up his own convictions, that all that he is, and every possibility of all that he can be, 220 HOUSEHOLD BEADING. has been honestly made over unto Christ, so that he is bound to talk of him in the house, and by the way, and when he sits down, and when he rises up. But he cannot reconcile his own feelings of duty with his observations of the perform- ance of duty by others, who, if anybody, ought to know what duty is, and how it ought to be performed. So he is troubled, — sometimes so troubled that he cannot speak. Relieve him, Christian ! Speak to him about Christ ! Speak to everybody about Christ ! The world needs to be converted to him, and the Church needs to be confirmed in him. Take away this reproach. Let it be seen that you do love him bet- ter and think of him more, than of anything else. Speak about Christ! LOSING AND LIVING. FOREVER the sun is pouring his gold On a hundred worlds that beg and borrow ; His warmth he squanders on summits oold, His wealth on the homes of want and sorrow. To withhold his largess of precious light Is to bury himself in eternal night : To give Is to live. The flower shines not for itself at all, Its joy is the joy it freely diffuses ; Of beauty and balm it is prodigal, And it lives in the life it sweetly loses. No choice for the rose but glory or doom, — No exhale or smother, to wither or bloom : To deny Is to die. The sea lends silvery rain to the land, The land its sapphire streams to the ocean ; LOSING AND LIVING. 221 The heart sends blood to the brain of command, The brain to the heart its lightning motion : And ever and ever we yield our breath, — Till the mirror is dry, and images death : To live Is to give. He is dead whose hand is not opened wide To help the need of a human brother ; He doubles the life of his lifelong ride "Who gives his fortunate place to another ; And a thousand million lives are his. Who carries the world in his sympathies : To deny Is to die. Throw gold to the far-dispersing wave. And your ships sail home with tons of treasure; Care not for comfort, all hardship brave, And ev'ning and age shall sup with pleasure ; Fling health to the sunshine, wind, and rain. And roses shall come to the cheek again : To give Is to live. What is our life ? Is it wealth and strength ? If we for the Master's sake will lose it. We shall find it a hundred-fold, at length, While they shall forever lose who refuse it ; And nations that save their union and peace At the cost of right, their woe shall increase : They save A grave. 222 HOUSEHOLD READING. "NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE." A PARABLE FROM MRS. GATTY. THE sun shone softly down upon the Hillside Cemetery, where Mr. Bell and his children were standing amid the fresh clover, strewing a new-made grave with roses and vio- lets from their garden. It was only a little mound, and the weeping mother sat at its head mourning for her youngest born. " Papa," said Arthur, " where is heaven, that my little brother has gone to ? It is not up in the sky, for I can't see anything there." The little boy looked sorrowfully up into the far-off blue, and then turned to his father for a reply. " Heaven is not in sight, Arthur," answered his father. " We cannot tell where it is. It might be very near without our being able to see it with our eyes." " But, papa," said Helen, " if heaven is near, is n't it strange that Willie cannot just come back one minute to tell us he is happy ? " " Yes, dear," said Mr. Bell, " it is all strange to us. We can only trust our Father in heaven about it, and wait till we go to him. If we love him here, we shall be where he is hereafter, and with dear little Willie, too, I think." They lingered awhile beside the precious grave, and then turned homeward through the pleasant cemetery grounds. As they passed a little pond fringed with flowering shrubs, Mr. Bell said to his wife, " Anna, let us sit down beside this pond while I tell the children that parable of Mrs. Gatty's which sister Alice read to us, — ' Not lost, but gone before.' " " yes," said their mother, " I should like to have you." Mr. Bell placed his wife upon a rustic seat, and sat down b;y her side, with Arthur on his knee and Helen at his feet. " This parable," said he, " tries to teach us how near heaven may be to earth, and how the holy people may remember us "NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE." 223 and know where we are, aud yet not be able to return or speak to us. I will tell you all I can remember of it. " Once there was a beautiful pond in the centre of a wood. Trees and flowers were growing about it, birds sang and in- sects hummed above it. Under the water, too, there was a little world of beings. Fishes and little creatures that live in water filled it full of busy life. Among them was the grub of a dragon-fly, with a large family of brothers and sisters." " What is a dragon-fly ? " interrupted Arthur. " It 's just a darning-needle," said Helen. " Yes, you children call it a darning-needle," said their father ; " that beautiful swift creature, with a long glittering blue-and-green body and brilliant gauzy wings. Now, before he became a dragon-fly, darting through the air and flashing back the sunshine, he was a dark, scaly grub, and lived down in the forest pond. He and his family were born there and knew no other world. They spent their time in roving in and out among the plants at the bottom of the water in search of food. " But one day this grub began to talk among his mates about the frog. ' Every little while,' said he, ' the frog goes to the side of the water and disappears. What becomes of him when he leaves this world ? What can there be beyond ? ' " ' You idle fellow,' replied another grub, ' attend to the world you are in and leave the " beyond " to those that are there ! ' So said all his relations, and the curious grub tried to forget his questionings. But he could not do it ; so one day, when he heard a heavy splash in the water and saw a great yellow frog swim down to the bottom, he screwed up his courage to ask the frog himself. " ' Honored frog,' said he, approaching that dignified per- sonage as meekly as possible, ' permit me to inquire what there is beyond the world.' " ' What world do you mean ? ' said the frog, rolling his goggle eyes. " ' This world, of course ; our world,' answered the grub 224 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. " ' This pond, you mean,' remarked the frog, with a sneer. " ' I mean the place we live in ; I call it the world,' cried the grub, with spirit. " ' Do you, indeed | ' rejoined the frog. ' Then what is the place you don't live in ; the " beyond " the world, eh ? ' " ' That is just what I want you to tell me,' replied the grub, briskly. " ' Well, then,' said froggy, ' it is dry land.' " ' Can one swim about there ? ' asked the grub. " ' Dry land is not water, little fellow,' chuckled the frog ; * that is just what it is not.' " ' But tell me what it is,'' persisted the grub. " ' Well, then, you troublesome creature,' cried the frog, ' dry land is something like the bottom of this pond, only it is not wet, because there is no water.' " ' Really,' said the grub, ' what is there then ? ' " ' They call it air,' replied the frog. ' It is the nearest ap- proach to nothing.' " Finding that he could not make the grub understand, the good-natured frog offered to take him on his back up to the dry land, where the grub might see for himself. The grub was delighted. He dropped himself down upon the frog's back and clung closely to him while he swam up to the rushes at the water's edge. But the moment he emerged into the air the grub fell reeling back into the water, panting -and struggling for life. ' Horrible ! ' cried he, as soon as he had rallied a little ; ' there is notliing but death beyond this world. The frog deceived me. He cannot go there, at any rate ! ' " Then the grub told his story to his friends, and they talked a great deal about the mystery, but could arrive at no explanation. " That evening the yellow frog appeared again at the bot- tom of the pond. " ' You here ! ' cried the startled grub. ' You never left this world at all, I suppose.' " ' Clumsy creature,' replied the frog, ' why did not you W "NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE." 225 cling to my back ? When I landed on the grass you \rere gone.' " The grub related his deathlike struggle, and added, • Since there is nothing but death beyond this world, all your stories about going there must be false.' " ' I forgive your offensive remarks,' said the frog, gravely, ' because I have learned to-day the reason of your tiresome curiosity. As I was hopping about in the grass on the edge of the pond, I saw one of your race slowly climbing up the stalk of a reed. Suddenly there appeared a rent in his scaly coat, and after many struggles there came out of it one of those radiant dragon-flies that float in the air I told you of. He lifted his wings out of the carcass he was leaving, and when they had dried in the sunshine he flew glittering away. I conclude that you grubs will do the same thing by and by.' " The grub listened with astonishment and distrust, and swam off" to tell his friends. They decided that it was im- possible nonsense, and the grub said he would think no more about it. He hurried restlessly a])out in the water, hunting for pr( -, and trying to forget. But not long after he began to be .ck, and a feeling he could not resist impelled him to go up^ .d. He called to his relations and said, — " ' I must \ a,ve you, I know not why. If the frog's story of another w^a-ld is true, I solemnly promise to return and tell you.' " His friends accompanied him to the water's edge, where he vanished from their sight, for their eyes were fitted to see only in water. All day they watched and waited for his re- turn, but he came no more. " One of his brothers soon felt the same irresistible impulse upward, and he also promised the sorrowing family that, if he should indeed be changed into that glorious creature of which they had heard, he would return and tell them. ' But,' said one, ' perhaps you might not be able to come back.' ' A creature so exalted could certainly do anything,' replied the departing grub. But he also came not again 15 226 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. ^ ' He has forgotten us,' said one. ' He is dead,' said another; * there is no other world.' " And now a third brother felt the same inward necessity driving him upward. He bade his friends farewell, saying, * I dare not promise to return. If possible I will ; but do not fear in me an altered or a forgetful heart. If that world exists, we may not understand its nature.' " His companions lingered near the spot where he dis- appeared, but there was neither sign nor sound of his re- turn. Only the dreary sense of bereavement reminded them that he had once lived. Some feared the future ; some disbelieved, some hoped and looked forward still. Ah, if the poor things could only have seen into the pure air above their watery world, they would have beheld their departed friends often returning to its borders. But into the world of waters they could never more enter. The least touch upon its surface, as the dragon-fly skimmed over it with the purpose of descending to his friends, brought on a deadly shock, such as he had felt when as a water-grub he had tried to come upward into the air. His new wings instantly bore him back. " And thus, divided, yet near, parted, yet united by love, he often hovered about the barrier that separated him from his early companions, watching till they, too, should come forth into the better life. Sweet it was to each new-comer to find himself not alone in his joyous existence, but wel- comed into it by those who had gone before. Sweet also to know that even in their ignorant life below, gleams from the wings of the lost ones they had lamented were shining down into their dark abode. 0, if they had known, they would neither have feared nor sorrowed so much ! " Mr. Bell sat in silence a few moments after finishing this parable, and then said, — " Do you see, Helen, how the other world may be out of our sight and hearing, though very real and near ? " " Yes, father, I do," replied Helen. " It makes it seem as if Willie midit be close beside us." BROTHER CROAKER. 227 BROTHER CROAKER. BROTHER CROAKER is a brother whom, having once seen, you will be apt to remember. His bodily pres- ence affects your nerves like a raw, drizzly day in November. The forehead is low and aslant ; the eyes, closely fitted in near the narrow bridge of the nose, remind you of the ex- pression of a Jewish clothes-dealer's. The mouth is com- pressed into the firmness and rigidity of the lockjaw ; there is about its lines a downright, " no-use-to-talk " expression, which keeps you off at a respectful distance. The moment your eye falls on his face, the idea of looking to it for sym- pathy strikes you as having something fantastic in its ab- surdity ; you would as soon expect sympathy from the cold gravestone of a pawnbroker. Brother Croaker's spiritual part fully sustains the impres- sion made by his physiognomy. His " mission " in the world is evidently to keep his neighbors all right ; and for himself, — that is his own business. His evidences of per- sonal acceptance with God resolve themselves all into one brief sentence, — he is orthodox. It is true, you never meet him at evening prayer-meetings. He lives too far off, and his health is rather feeble (though on lyceum-lecture nights, he thanks the Lord, he is somewhat stronger), and, more- over, Mrs. Croaker dislikes to be left alone. He wishes the meetings were better attended, and wonders that brethren living near the church don't, more of them, " turn out." The whole matter of collections and contributions is an eyesore to him. He would about as willingly have a loaded revolver thrust at him as a contribution-box. Collections, he thinks, come too often. Once in six months is enough, in all reason. Charity begins at home. There are too many societies, doing nothing but paying fat salaries to treasurers and secretaries out of the hard work of God's people. It 's 228 HOUSEHOLD READING. all folly to be squandering precious money on so- many wild schemes to civilize Patagonians and Kamtchatkans. The missionary calling at Brother Croaker's door, has a task about as agreeable as wrenching a bone from a hungry mastiff. If the example of good Deacon A., who gives away half his income, is commended to him, he thinks it an imper- tinence. He always thought the Deacon had a soft spot in his head ; and he is growing sure of it now, for "a fool and his money are soon parted." As to family worship, he expects the minister, whenever he calls at the house, (and woe to him if that is not often !) to pray with them all ; but for himself, he feels inadequate, though he does muster courage to speak, when, in a town- meeting, Young America threatens to vote away money and raise his taxes. Pressing personal religion home on the souls of his chil- dren he finds embarrassing, and never attempts it. It is true, they are all growing up without God in the world, but he comforts himself by charging all that over to the account of Divine Sovereignty. Brother Croaker has one favorite hobby, namely, ecclesias- tical litigation. A council called by the church — especially in any embarrassing case — is a perfect godsend to him. It is really wonderful to see how readily he contrives to excuse himself from Mrs. Croaker, and how heroically his feeble health rallies for the great occasion. Let the council hold one session, or a dozen, in the morning, or till midnight, in fair weather or foul. Brother Croaker is sure to appear, lean- ing eagerly forward, with his elbows on the back of the seat before him, his projected chin on his open palms, and his [gray eyes, that so often are drowsy in churcli, as restless as ithose of grimalkin, with a mouse in full view. I We have already intimated that he atones for any harm- less little peculiarities by the rich savor of his orthodoxy. He knows the five points of Calvinism as he knows his five fingers, and keeps vigilant watch over the faith once de- BROTHER CROAKER. 229 livered to the saints. But especially he maintains a sharp lookout for the minister. If ever that hapless personage lets slip a word about the innocence of childhood, or the amiability of worldly men, Brother Croaker is after him at once with the hue and cry of heresy ; and the poor pastor begins to doubt his own identity, on waking up some morn- ing, to find himself a full-blooded Unitarian, if not a Park- erite, — a ravening wolf in sheep's clothing. If it should so happen that the pastor's orthodoxy is established and unas- sailable. Brother Croaker finds in the matter and manner of his sermons prolific themes for comment. His most com- prehensive remark — and most convenient, as saving the trouble of specification — is, that " There 's nothing in the sermons anyhow, — all froth." He groans with unction over the departure of good Mr. P., the last pastor, and would give the world if only he could return ; albeit a little inquiry of Mr. P. will reveal to you that he reckoned Brother Croaker the sorest affliction ever visited upon him. He begins shortly to intermingle forebodings with his criticisms, like the few low thunder-peals before a storm. Matters cannot go on long at this rate, that 's clear. Every- thing is going to ruin, and if nobody else but him has dis- covered it, nobody else looks far enough ahead. Our esti- mable brother has a memory wondrously retentive of all tart remarks on the minister, by whomsoever dropped. He does for the parish the same service which that pan which receives all drippings of sour, curdled milk, does for the dairy. He understood Squire A., who professes to be one of the pastor's best friends, to say that he did not think the last sermon he listened to was quite clear on election, and Dr. B. was lately heard complaining that homoeopathy was too much in favor at the parsonage ; and Mrs. C. says she loill keep her feathers if the minister does preach that the fashion of this world pass- eth away. With these and like weiglity evidences that a crisis is approaching, Brother Croaker proceeds to worry the 280 HOUSEHOLD READING. paste/ into asking a dismission, by which everybody else in the parish is surprised and grieved ; but nobody more so than Squire A., Dr. B., and Mrs. C. Brother Croaker is ready to acknowledge, in general, that he is a miserable sinner, — that he was shapen in iniquity and in sin did his mother conceive him ; but call his attention to any special and favorite infirmity of his — an inveterate at- tachment to dollars, for example — and you get a lesson for your impertinence that you won't forget for a lifetime. He knows what regeneration is, and he knows that he " experi- enced religion " twenty years ago and more; — he can give you the precise date, and all the circumstances. Moreover, he believes in the perseverance of the saints, and that 's enough for Am, and he don't want any of your questions about his present enjoyment of secret prayer, and all that. Brother Croaker is just as sure there is one of the " many mansions " fitted up in waiting for him as if he had already taken up his quarters in it, being confident that no questions will be asked of a church-member, like himself, " in good and regular standing," but expecting to take possession very much as the rightful owner of property long in the liands of an agent steps in at last, and claims his own. NO FEAR FOR THE CHRISTIAN. " Jesus, the name that calms our fears." FEAR causes great suffering in this world. To be " deliv- ered from our fears " is cause for devout gratitude ; and to find a sure relief, a permanent refuge from the distressing dominion of fear, would be an inestimable blessing. Such a refuge we have. The soul that is truly united by living faith and love to the Saviour of mankind need never be tormented by fear. NO FEAR FOR THE CHRISTIAN. 231 As you look forth on the future, what do you dread ? Does the fear of sickness disturb you ? Speak the name of Jesus in your heart of hearts. He whom diseases obey will either avert the danger, or, permitting sickness to come upon you, will come himself also with it, and make it such a blessing that you would wish for it, instead of fear it, if it should threaten you again and he would come again with it. Do you fear poverty ? Compel your anxious thoughts to dwell for a while upon Him who said, " Take no thought for the morrow." Remember, that though he was rich, he became poor for your sake. Sincere love to him will make you blush to distrust him, and bring you shortly to sing, — "I know not what may yet betide, Nor how my wants shall be supplied, But Jesus knows, and will provide." Do you fear the frowns or the ridicule of your fellow-men ? You are not the first who has trembled under that burden. But consider Him who endured the contradiction of sinners against himself. Appeal to him. He can so strengthen your soul's vision, that you shall see only his approving smile, and that smile shall outweigh, in value, the favor of the world. Is death to you " the king of terrors " ? and does your cheek pale at the prospect of his near approach ? Death is indeed inexorable. Face to face we shall surely meet him each for ourselves. But you who shrink most at his very name, may, through the grace of our Lord, yet sing for joy at his coming. I have sat beside many death-beds. I have seen the aged saint, who for more than seventy years had walked in distressing bondage to the fear of death, watch his approaching footsteps with glad, triumphant eyes, so filled and crowned with the dying grace which Jesus can give, as wholly to have forgotten the terror of a lifetime. I have seen the young mother, to whom no friend dared whisper of the possible end when sickness first came, say farewell, with un- faltering tongue, to husband and children, and exult, amid 232 HOUSEHOLD READING. nature' 5 dissolving pains, that "Jesus knows what it is tc die," and giving her very last direction thus : — " And, fi-iends, dear friends, when it shall he That this low breath is gone from me, When round my bier ye come to weep, Let one most loving of you all Say, ' Not a tear must o'er her fall. He giveth his beloved sleep.' " Do you shrink appalled from the scenes of the Judgment Day, and tremble to appear before the bar of God ? In that great day, and in the midst of that august assembly, you may stand with a perfect peace in your soul, if so be you have loved with a sincere love, and trusted with sincere faith, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will sit himself as Judge, and who knoweth them that are his. In the universe of God, there can be found no cause for- suffering fear to those who are in his Son, nor through the unending ages of eternity shall any event occur that need disturb their serenity. There is a " peace of God " for them, which passes the understanding of those who dwell not in his " secret place." REGENERATION. SOME seem to conceive of a change in regeneration, in con sequence of which man receives such a principle of holi- ness in himself, that he continues holy by the power of this principle, and by the necessary tendencies of his being. But this is inconsistent with the very nature of a created and de- pendent mind. God is the only being who has in himself an original and self-sustaining power of holiness. The immuta- bility of all created beings in holiness can be secured only by such a union with God that he can exert in and through them his sustaining and perfecting power. This was tlie view which THE FLOWER IN THE DESERT. 233 Christ sought most earnestly to enforce on his disciples. Their life and strength were to be found solely in that union to him and communion with him, that enabled him constantly to ex- ert in them a vital and sustaining power, analogous to that exerted by the vine to sustain, invigorate, and render fruitful its branches. THE FLOWER IN THE DESERT. A MAN never knows the length and depth of his own na- ture who lives in one place and deals with one class of men alone ; but must expand and explore himself, — must both enlarge his capacity and must understand his capacity, — by exploring and exhausting many varieties of situation. And when he is wandering in places desolate and without an inhabitant, it will not be surprising if, in the yearnings of his heart to find some object that can meet its wants, he should learn to love the fountains and even tiie rocks. A tree or a flower, so frequent in his own distant land a.; to diminish in some degree the sense of their value, will wake up an enthu- siasm of thought and feeling which he had hardly known be- fore. Flowers have no tongues, and therefore have no out- ward speech; but I think they may be said to speak with the heart ; and sometimes they utter or suggest thoughts, and enter into little affectionate conversations which are quite in- teresting. Some of the weary hours which were occupied in traversing the peninsula of Sinai were relieved by these little soliloquies. Allow me to give an instance, which, for the sake of younger and less critical readers, I will put int*> verse : — One day in the desert With pleasure I spied A flower in its beauty- Looking up at my side. 234 HOUSEHOLD READING. And I said, sweet floweret, That bloomest alone, What 's the Avorth of thy beauty, Thus shining unknown 1 But the flower gave me answer, With a smile quite divine, * 'T is the nature, stranger, Of beauty to shine. Take all I can give thee, And when thou art gone, The light that is in me Will keep shining on. And, O gentle stranger. Permit me to say. To keep up thy spirits Along this lone way, While thy heart shall flow outward To gladden and bless. The fount at its centre Will never grow less. I was struck with its answer, And left it to glow To the clear sky above it And the pale sands below ; Above and around it Its light to impart. But never exhausting The fount at its heart. A yiRGINIA SGHOOLMA'AM. SHE was not of the kind they put in jail ; she taught only white children. She was sound, very sound, and a real hearty, solid Presbyterian, and of a " certain age." But I offended her terribly. She attacked me several times quite ferociously. It was a great comfort to her that I had voted against Father Abraham, but she concluded I had " fallen from grace." A VIRGINIA SCHOOLJIA'AM. 235 " N'^w," said she, one day, " you Abolitionists reject the Bible." " Not by any means ! " said I, with great horror. " What if the Bible authorized us to hold slaves ; would n't you reject the Bible ? " " No, ma'am ! God can authorize it if he chooses," said I. " Well, then," said she, exultingly, " I can convince you it is right for us to hold slaves." " Go on," I replied, " and I '11 give it up if you bring Scripture fairly to prove it." She got her Bible, and turned instantly, just as if she had read that place a good deal, to Leviticus xxv. 46, and, with forefinger extended, read triumphantly, " They shall be your bondmen forever." " They shall .be your bondmen foi'ever ! " " There," said she, " does not that settle the question ? " " What question ? " I asked, mnocently. " Why that we have a right to hold slaves." " Well, not quite," said I. " First of all, who are ' they ' ? " " The heathen," said she, after reading a little, say the 44th verse.* " Correct : but ' thy brother waxen poor,' it says, shall be ' as a hired servant,' and shall be free when the jubilee year comes. That 's Scripture, is n't it ? " " Ye-e-s," was the rather reluctant reply. " But you have been telling me that the slaves are better off because many of them are converted. You don't think it right, according to Scripture, to keep them as slaves ? " She was nonplussed. But still, — " Well, those not Christians we have a right to hold," said she. " Why so ? " " They shall be your bondmen forever." "You remind me," said I, " of the old school-boy way of proving the duty of hanging one's self, by quoting 'Judas went and hanged himself,' with ' Go thou and do likewise.' " Whereat the schoolma'am waxed wroth. 236 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. " This applies to the subject directly," said she. " What subject ? " " It proves that it is right to hold slaves." " Right for whom to hold slaves ? " " Why, for anybody." " Not at all, madam. If it proves anything, it proves it ■was the privilege of the Jews. Are you a Jew ? " She was vexed. " If it was right for the Jews, it is right for us," she said. " I don't see that," said I. " I admit that God could au- thorize certain parties to hold slaves ; but it does not follow that others not so authorized have a right to do it. The privilege is limited by the special permission, because contrary to natural right. Show me a provision anywhere from God authorizing the South to do it, and I will submit ; but I want the documents ! " She began to think I was an infidel. But I pacified her by insisting that I believed in the five points of Calvinism clear through. Then she laid down again the general principle that what was right for the Jews is right for us. "Very well," said I, "Abraham was ordered to sacrifice his only son. Do you believe it is everybody's duty or priv- ilege now ? " She did not ; but that was a peculiar and single case. " Yery well," said I, " take a general case. Jewish men had several wives apiece. Am I to understand that you ad- vocate that arrangement now ? Or, is it your idea that slavery is called a ' patriarchal system ' because it comes as near to this arrangement as possible ; if I may judge from the color of the slaves hereabouts ? " The indignant schoolma'am was filled with wrath, and I have not dared to argue with a woman since. MINISTERIAL lEEEVERENCE. 237 MINISTERIAL IRREYERENCE. HAVING been honored a few Sabbaths since, by an emi- nent and truly excellent clergyman, with a seat in his pulpit, and a share in the services of the occasion, the ques- tion arose in my mind, whether the desire of the distin- guished pastor to show courtesy to myself, as a ministerial brother, did not betray him in one particular into an irrever- ent demeanor, as foreign to his intention in that instance as to the general spirit of the man. The offence was no doubt as thoughtless on his part as the participation in it for a little time was on mine, and it is to promote though tfulness on the subject that I present the case to the clerical readers of the " Congregationalist." During the singing of each of the hymns, and also, so far as I observed, on a similar occasion, during the reading of the hymns and Scriptures, by an assisting minister, the pastor engaged freely in continuous miscellaneous conversa- tion with the brother at his side. The appearance of the audience, comparisons of different churches, certain pro- posed alterations in the interior of the church edifice in which we were assembled, the effect of the mourning weeds in which the church was draped, the best method of giving notices, and the providential uses of the ill health of minis- ters, were sorne of the topics discussed in the pulpit, during the reading and singing of a single Sabbath morning. All this conversation took place while the congregation were supposed to be worshipping God by the use of psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, making melody in the heart unto the Lord ; or, listening to the oracles of God, were supposed to be striving to obey the injunction, " Take heed how ye hear." The desire to occupy all the time possible in con- versation was so far indulged, that occasionally the congre- gation had quite concluded their exercise before the minister 238 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. had finished the subject in hand, and, apparently surprised, he would either break o£f hurriedly, or would complete his remark while rising to take some further part in the service which remained. In respect to such habits, and others akin to them, the question arises. Does a clergyman cease to be a worshipper because he leads a part of the worship ? If he may look around him and read and chat while the choir is leading in one part of the worship, may the choir look around and read and chat while he is leading in another part of the worship ? Choirs sometimes do this, but not with the approbation of their ministers. "Why should ministers condemn a neglect of divine worship in a choir which they allow in them- selves ? Is it better or worse to set an example of inatten- tion and irreverence before a congregation by a minister, than to set one behind a congregation by a choir ? Who is supposed to be best informed, most considerate, and most interested in respect to maintaining the proprieties . of Sabbath worship and the sanctities of God's house ? If the minister need give his attention only while he is conducting the worship, may not the congregation withhold their atten- tion save when they are conducting the worship ? If the minister's mind may rove on miscellaneous topics during the singing, may not the minds of the congregation do the same during the preaching and the praying ? If the preacher may be reading over his sermon during the singing, why cannot the chorister be humming over his tunes during the preaching ? It may sometimes be necessary for ministers who are to assist each other in a service, and who have had no opportunity for previous conference, to arrange the parts of the service after entering the pulpit, or to confer briefly in regard to some matters which cannot be deferred. In a strange pulpit, sometimes, hymns must be selected and notices spelled out. These items, however, can commonly receive all the necessary attention: before the service begins, or in the brief intervals between the separate acts of wor- MNISTEEIAL IRREVERENCE. 239 ship. Not that a minister has any right to make long inter- vals between different parts of the service, keeping several hundred people waiting while he arranges what should have been attended to before. Nor has he any right to select the time when the congregation are endeavoring to sing to the praise of God, to get up in the pulpit, in their sight, and divert their attention by a conspicuous and fussy turning over of the Scriptures, to make his selections, or by ostenta- tiously placing in readiness his sermon, or hymn-book, or spectacles, or glass of water, or handkerchief, or all of them. There may be different ways of avoiding all this, and it is doubtless done most easily in those churches which have a retiring-room near the pulpit, where outer clothing may be laid aside, and hymns and chapters selected before meeting the congregation or commencing the worship. But even where this advantage is not enjoyed, a thoughtful person will find little difficulty in avoiding everything offensive and im- proper. Assistance has sometimes been gained, — to speak of one small matter, which, in some ministers' hands, seeins a perpetual occasion of confusion and delay, — by providing the pulpit hymn-book with three different marks, as ribbons of different shades or widths, and numbered, or known as first, second, and third, to guide to the several hymns in the order in which they are to be sung. Means and methods, however, are, to a grea?t extent, matters of individual taste, and it was not my purpose to remark upon such matters, either small or great. Yet it is worthy of frequent remembrance, that to •divert the minds of men from the momentous realities of divine worship to the peculiarities of him who conducts it, is one of Satan's most common stratagems ; that a skilful- ness in avoiding this snare of the Devil was a special charac- teristic of some of the most useful preachers of the last gen- eration ; and that, among the most effective men in the pulpit of our own times, there are many who are eminent not less for purity of life and singleness of aim than for a fine sense of decorum, whose modesty and dignity of bearing give them 240 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. rank as models of ministerial deportment, who are never de- tected in any of the faults which have here been named, and who, in short, deem it a sin and a shame for any needless offence against propriety to be allowed in the solemn public services of an ambassador of Christ. AN ANTIQUARIAN DINNER. ONE of the most interesting occasions which I have en- joyed in Germany is a yearly antiquarian dinner at Bre- men, established about the year 1650 by the founders of an institution for the benefit of poor captains and sailors and their families, and given every year in the manner of our remote forefathers. We travel through Europe and see the shells of old castles, their mouldering and ivy-covered towers ; and as we wander through them, and creep through their low doors, and tread their stone pavements, and won- der at their huge fireplaces, we try to conjecture what kind of a people once lived in them, and to imagine to ourselves how they lived, what kind of food they ate, and how it was served ; but our imagination is not equal to the weighty task, and all the appliances of modern luxury come in to color the picture, till we give up the attempt to shape a true conception of the simple manners of " y^ olden times." But recently I have been enabled to see how our fathers lived and were served ; and I will write it down, if haply it may enter- tain my distant countrymen. At two o'clock, all of the Bremen ship-owners, and such strangers as enjoyed the privilege, met at the old house of this Navigators' Aid Company to partake of this memorial dinner. A fine company, of course ; mostly very substantial men, hardly to be called German in their appearance, — far more American than German. There were two hundred in AN ANTIQUARIAN DINNER. 241 all, and tlioy stood from two to three o'clock in friendly con- verse in one of the old halls of the building, with the names and coats-of-arms of past benefactors painted on the dark woodwork of the walls. At just three the doors of the din- ing-room were thrown open, and a loud voice called the com- pany to dinner in the same words with which German ship- captains call their hands to dinner. I did not catch every word, but, translated, it was something after this strain : " All hands ahoy ! above and below ahoy ! dinner ! dinner ! " So we pressed into the long dining-room, richly canopied with all the flags of leading commercial countries, the star-spangled banner being singularly conspicuous. Every side of the room was hidden with the multitude of flags, and interspersed among them were portraits of former benefactors of this excellent institution. Over the door hung the portrait of a signally liberal donor at the time of the founding of the Nav- igators' Aid Society. His name has been lost, but the record of what he did has survived. Originally his picture was painted in very small size, about a foot square ; but since then, as other b-^nefactors have been painted life-size, the di- rectors, fearing lest the credit of this old friend should be overshadowed liy more modern men, have enlarged this pic- ture, and after a most singular fashion ! The old bit of dark- brown canvas now stands pasted upon a large square field of common portrait size, tinged " deeply, darkly, beautifully blue " ; and to fill up this monstrously absurd vacuum an angel has been put in on each side of the head, and a quan- tity of shipping beneath. Glance a moment at the tables. The plates, you will see, are marked 1789, and during seventy-seven years they have been brought out year by year to grace the board. Notice the huge silver spoons, each one of which would make a dozen of the small efforts of our days. Along the tables you see great silver tankards, each of which will hold nearly a gallon, filled with a dark, sweet, thick beer, such as Luther used to drink, the first draught of which is pleasant, and the 16 242 HOUSEHOLD READING. second nauseating. Notice the knives and forks, — old steel ones, you see : our forefathers did not flourish silver forks. See the wooden fish-knives, — simple, practical, and not at all liable to rust. Notice the little paper of pepper on one side of the plate, and the little paper of salt on the other side : our ancestors did not know the use of castors. Notice the piece of brown paper which lies under each plate : our fa- thers did not have their knife and fork changed with every course, but wiped them themselves, on a bit of brown paper ; and so shall we. Well, we have looked at the tables, and rather impatiently await the first course. " But soft ! " our next neighbor, the American Vice-Consul, whispers ; " no impatience ! our an- cestors did not do their eating in haste ; no more shall we. We have got to sit here for five to six hours." So we patient- ly wait, and in due time soup appears, — real substantial soup, and most evidently distinguished from modern German soup, in that it has a palpable flavor of meat. This we eat, not alone, but with chicken, boiled till it is ready to fall apart, and a kind of black bread which has been cooked in the soup till it has acquired great richness, and has then been taken out, the soup expressed, and the dry bread then served to be immersed in the soup again. With this we eat the most deli- cious of bakers' rolls, — so delicious, in fact, that I am almost forced to think that the making of bread has become one of the " lost arts." With the exception of the chicken served with the soup, there appears no more poultry. I must not forget to state that before every plate stands a large bottle of wine, white alternating with red ; and though all drank, yet, owing to the natural temperateness of the German character, there was not a particle of intoxication. After an immoderate pause, filled up, of course, with abundance of talk, the second course appears, — plain boiled fish, served with potatoes and gravy, such as our Amer- ican people are very well accustomed to, and very good with al, as I trust some thousands of my readers will testify. AN ANTIQUARIAN DIKNEE. 243 While the fish was finding a quick disposal in a ready market, a little bell rang, and a gentleman, strikingly American in his air and in his look, rose at the end of one of the tables. At each side stood a weather-beaten man, both looking like ship- captains, and such they proved to be. The gentleman in the middle was a merchant, and his duty was to thank the com- pany for their presence, and to bid them do what we express in our excellent way, " make themselves at home." The Consul informed me that the dinner is given by three mer- chants and six captains of Bremen, the number elected as directors every year ; and being elected they give a dinner, which, however, occurs three years from the date of their election. The three merchants and six captains who are elected directors of the Navigators' Aid Company this year (1866) will give the dinner in 1869. They sit at the head of the three tables, and whenever one of the merchants rises to give a toast or make a speech, the two captains rise and stand dumb by his side. The time passes, and at length the third course comes, and to describe it surpasses my power ; and this for two reasons, of which one is that my memory cannot retain the number of dishes, and the other is that there were many things whose names and whose nature I did not know. I can report, how- ever, that huge, old-fashioned dishes were passed round, con- taining sausage, cutlets, sour-kraut, boiled beets, treated in some indescribable way, boiled beef, boiled veal (supposed), and boiled ham, all following each other in immediate succes- sion, and all of which I took upon my plate, not because I wanted it, but because it seemed the universal custom. One thing was wanting, however, — good mealy potatoes. These had been served with the fish, but afterwards they did not ap- pear. Still, these dishes were not very different from genuine German fare now-a-days. But now-a-days they are not forced upon you as they were in the old times. I had no less than five different kinds of meat upon my plate at once. While this great king of all the courses was being despatched, the 244 HOUSEHOLD READING. two ship-captains who sat at the end of each table rose, and each took one of the huge silver tankards of thick, strong beer of which I have spoken, and striking the tankards three times against each other, bowed and drank a draught. They handed it to the next two gentlemen, who took it and did the same, and thus it passed the entire length of the table. Dur- ing the third course toasts were given, mostly local, of course, Buch as to the Free City of Bremen and to the Navigators' Aid Company. But of these I will not at any length speak, merely remarking that they continued through the entire dinner. At length the fourth course appeared, — roast beef and roast veal, with delicious plums and stewed apple, and a salad at whose ingredients I dare not guess. To me, however, it was most distasteful. The fifth was bread, with butter and cheese, just as we have it now in all German dinners ; then coffee and cigars. The only difference which I noticed in this, as compared with ancient times, was that the cojffee had been sweetened with molasses before it was served. But though in all these later courses the viands were, in the main, not unlike what one meets now-a-days in Germany, yet the manner in which everything was served, the old plates, the unchanged knives and forks which we had to keep clean with our brown-paper napkins, the old-fashioned jollity, the speeches in Low German, the odd dialect unintelligible to for- eigners, the presence of ladies in a secret gallery, where they peeped from behind the banners, they known to be there yet themselves not visible, ladies having no part in the feast, — all this gave it a novelty and an ancient air which I could hardly believe possible. And then, too, the dinner was in one of the old Hanseatic cities, and these were all rich Bremen burghers, — judge whether this did not lend its aid. And when the book of old familiar songs was brought in, and all joined in singing the patriotic airs which men of former days composed and sang, and men owning half a score of ships DEEDS OF KINDNESS. 246 rose and gave their own song, while the whole company shouted " Bravo ! " and the fumes of two hundred cigan filled the room, and all was mirth and life, you may judge whether or not I could imagine how baronial halls used to appear when the same substantial viands graced the board, the same songs ran round, and the same Low German was spoken. It has taken a long journey to be present at this feast ; but it is a real satisfaction to have been there ; and I will close by saying, that if we could have something of the same sort with us on Forefathers' Day, kept in the primitive styles, it would be hardly less interesting in America. DEEDS OF KINDNESS. SUPPOSE the little cowslip Should hang its little cup, And say, " I 'm such a tiny flower I 'd better not grow up." How many a weary traveller Would miss its fragrant smell ; How many a little child would grieve To miss it from the dell. Suppose the glistening dew-drop Upon the grass should say, " What can a little dew-drop do ? I 'd better roll away " ; The blade on which it rested, Before the day was done, Without a drop to moisten it, Would wither in the sun. Suppose the little breezes, Upon a summer's day, Should think themselves too small to cool The traveller on his way j 246 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. Who would not miss the smallest And softest ones that blow, And think they made a great mistake If they were talking so ? How many deeds of kindness A little child may do, Although it has so little strength, And little wisdom too ! It wants a loving spirit, Much more than strength, to prove How many things a child may do For others by his love. HOW ARE YOU? WE are accustomed to meet each other always with this kindly question, " How are you ? " It is not the man's house, his workshop, or his farm. There is no difficulty in discerning between Mm and these accidents of his circumstances. He may have them or not ; they may be in one condition or another. They are not included in the question, How are " you ? " Nor do we in- quire what is the estimation or influence he has in commun- ity. The " you " is something else than these. It is some- thing else than the clothes he wears. They may be well or ill, and the " you " within them be the opposite. Is the hody that which is questioned, and answers ? By and by you and we may lay these side by side in the dust, and there will be as little consciousness in them of anything else, or of each other, as there is now in the clods they stand on. The " you " dwells in the body for the present, but that body is not the " you." It may be well, and you ill, — it may be dying, and you well. HOW ARE YOU ? 247 It is the soul that asks the question, the soul that must answer it. What a pity it should always be considered as having reference to this frail body. What a pity men do not have and manifest as much interest in each other's souls as in each other's bodies. How, then, are you^ — yourself, — your soul ? Whether it is in health, it would seem easy to ascertain. How is it with the appetite ? The soul must have food, God's truth, the bread from heaven, if it is to live. Does it crave and enjoy this food ? When a man's body is in health, he never goes to the table from a sense of duty. He does not swallow reluctantly and painfully, because he must, or die. He never thinks that he is eating to gain strength, and support life. He eats because he has an appetite for food, because he craves and loves it. One first symptom of bodily illness is loss of appetite. The poor invalid forces down some food, because, however indifferent to it, or however much he loathes it, tiie dread of still greater weakness or of death compels him. Let a man apply this test to his soul and its food. Can he say to God, " How sweet are thy words unto my taste ! yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth " ? Can he say, with Job, " I have esteemed the words of his mouth more than my necessary food " ? with David, " My soul longeth, yea, even fainteth, for the courts of the Lord " ? This test of the appetite, how easily it can be applied, — as a young convert lately applied it, — showing the wide difference be- tween those who outwardly regard, and those who really love God's truth. So, appropriate exercise is the very pleasure of a sound and vigorous body. Who ever saw a healthy child for many minutes still ? No more can the soul be still that is in health. It must be doing something, — something ap- propriate for the soul, — something for God. The Master expresses this when he says, " I must work the works of him that sent me while it is day." " My meat is to do the will of him that sent me, and to finish his work." Exertion for God, in his service, is it easy, pleasant to you ? Or is it as 248 HOUSEHOLD BEADING. when the body, weak, or racked with pain at every move- ment, drags itself reluctantly to its tasks? So, also, there is rest, another good test of health. How quietly and sweetly it comes to the hale and hearty body ! How perfect the slumber of the vigorous child, however the earth may quake, or the winds howl ! The restless starting, the inability to compose one's self to sleep, the tossing to and fro until the dawning of the day, what a sure indication that disease is at its work in these bodies ! So with the soul. If it finds sweet repose, if it can rest in God, if it can quietly commit itself and its all into the arms of its Heavenly Father, and love to lie there, what a sure symptom of spiritual health ! Perhaps we need look no further. Love of food, pleasure in exertion, quiet repose, — these are sufficient tests of the soul's health. Dear reader, Christian brother, sister. How are you ? I CAN'T LOYE HIM. YOU can't love God ! Why can't you love him ? " 0, there 's so much in the world that is n't right ; so much that / could n't do. Only yesterday I went to see a poor woman, with an infant ; she had no suitable clothing for herself or for the child, and no food. Things ought not to be so. God ought to have made them difierent. I couldn't love myself if I had done so, and I can't love God for letting them be so." Well, if you have taken upon you the regulation of God, and his world, I can hardly hope to influence you. You will find that a very large work ; beyond your strength, beyond your wisdom, I suspect. There 's one thing you surely ought to bring to such a work, and that is what men call logical consistency. I much fear you have n't it to bring. It is a I CAN'T LOVE HIM. 249 very simple thing ; merely this, that when you have once clearly seen and owned a truth, you shall follow it out to its inevitable conclusion. Let me give you an illustration, and an opportunity. There was a time — so we read in the Bible — when God said, " Let us make man." At that point of time God evidently considered how and what he would make man. And his conclusion is recorded : " So God cre- ated man in his own image." He might have decided to make man a machine. As I understand you, you are blaming God that he did not make man a machine. Was not that it ? " I think he might have made him different." That is, you think he might have made him so that he could n't sin. But we have read from the Bible that God decided to make man in his own image. One would think that should satisfy the most difficult. What, will you quarrel with the Creator for making you in his own image ? Can anything be more honorable ? Let us see what it is. God thinks, reasons, weighs evidence, compares motives, chooses and loves and hates. In doing these he commands the love and reverence of every thinking, reasoning, choosing, loving, and hating creature. So man, created in God's image, commands or inspires love and reverence. Does mere negative innocence inspire your love and reverence ? Can you love and reverence one who has never known, who is constitutionally incapable of knowing, temptation ? Does not your idea of virtue include, of necessity, a will to resist evil ? Could you love a ma- chine ? Of course you might admire machinery which was exquisitely adapted to the work for which it was made ; but could you love a machine ? Has it any attraction for your heart ? " No ; of course I could not love a machine." Then you would not consent to reduce the friends you love to the level of machines : are you any more willing to surrender their love, and be yourself reduced to a machine, that you might thus be rendered incapable of doinjr wrong ? 250 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. " No, I should not wish to be a machine." But I see not how God could make you in his own image, that is, free to choose, refuse, love, and hate, and yet render it impossible for you to use your freedom, excepting when your will is to do right. Disguise it how you will, this would be to reduce you to the level of a machine, which acts only as it is constrained by power. " Well, I can't deny all that ; and yet, I don't see, feeling as I do, how I can possibly love him." Nor I : and feeling as you do, you never will. But there is one thing you can do. You can say to him, much after the manner of Caroline Fry, " Lord, I don't love thee : I can't say that I ever wish to love thee. I find my heart is turne(^ away from thee. But thou hast said that we must be born again or perish. I cannot regenerate myself. I am unwilling to perish. I come to thee. ' Just as I am, without one plea, But that thy blood was shed for me. And that thou bidst me come to thee, Lamb of God, I come ' " Come thus and he may save you. " But that seems a mean way of coming ! Do you think it will do any good ? " It is a mean way, — a very mean way, — but it seems to be the only way for one who " can't love him." He saved Saul, the persecutor of Christians. Perhaps he may save you. At all events, you '11 perish if you don't come. PRUDY'S KNITTING-WOEK. 251 PRUDY'S KNITTING-WORK. « i^ DEAR ! " said Susy, the first day she took Priidy to V>^ school, " I wish Prudy had n't got to go to school ! She '11 talk out loud, I just about know she will, she 's such a chatter-box." " No, I sha'n't," said Prudy. " I ain't a checker-box, Susy Parlin, but you are ! I sha'n't talk in school, nor I sha'n't whisper, never in my world." "When they got home that night, Mrs. Parlin said, " Well, Prudy, did you whisper in school ? " " No, I never done such a thing, — I guess. Did I, Susy ? How much I did n't talk to you, don't you know ? " " She was pretty good, mother, but she cried once, so I had to go out with her," said Susy. " Now you told me to cry, Susy Parlin ! You said if I 'd cry you 'd give me a piece of your doughnut ! " Susy blushed, and her mother looked at her and said, " I want to see you alone a little while, Susy." Then Mrs. Parlin talked with Susy in the parlor, and told her how wrong it was to deceive, and how she must take the care of her little sister, and set her a good example. Susy said she would do as well as she could. " But, mother," said she, " if you are willing, I 'd rather not sit with Prudy, now certainly ! She says such queer things. Why, to-day she said she had got the rheumatism in her back, and wanted me to look at her tongue, and see if she had n't ! Why, mother, she shut up her eyes, and put out her tongue right there in school, and the girls could n't help laughing." " Well, perhaps she 'd better sit by herself," said Mrs. Parlin. " I guess I '11 let her take her knitting-work : that will keep her out of mischief." Now grandma had taken a great deal of pains to teach 252 HOUSEHOLD READING. Prudy to knit ; and such work as Prudy made of it ! She thought she was knitting a stocking, but I guess you would n't have thought so ! The first time Prudy carried her knitting-work, the ABC scholars opened their eyes very wide, for none of them knew how to knit. Prudy said, " Poh, I know how to do it just as easy ! " So she tried to show them how smart she could be, and she knit so fast that she dropped a stitch every other minute. " There, there now, you are dropping stitches," said Lottie Palmer, very much pleased. " I guess I know how to do that!'' " Poh, them 's only loops,'' said Prudy. But at last she broke the yarn short off, and got her work into such a fix that she had to take it home and ask grandma to "fix it out." " Why, child, where 's the ball ? " said grandma ; " and here 's two needles gone ! " "01 left 'em at school, I s'pose," said Prudy ; " I never noticed 'em." "I found the ball under the teacher's desk once," said Susy. " Well, it ain't there now," said Prudy ; " it 's all wounded, now, and I put it where it b'longs." " Where 's that ? " said grandma. " I don't know," said Prudy, " but I guess I can find it to-morrow." Mrs. Parlin began to think it was a foolish plan to let Prudy take her knitting-work. I will tell you what she did the last day she carried it. She got tired of knitting, and tired of twisting her hair round her finger, and tired of look- ing at pictures. " Let 's guess riddles," she whispered to Nancy Glover, who sat on the bench with her. " I can make up riddles just as easy. There 's something in this room, in Miss Par- ker's watch-pocket, goes tick, tick. Now guess that ; that 's a riddle." PRUDY'S KNITTING-WORK. 253 " I wish you 'd behave, Prudy Parlin," said Nancy. " I 'm trying to get my spelling lesson." Then Nancy turned her head a little to one side, and went to studying as hard as she could, for it was almost time for her class to be called. All at once Prudy happened to look at Nancy's ear, and thought, " "What funny little holes folks have in their ears ! I s'pose they go clear through ! I guess I '11 put my knitting- needle right through Nannie's ear when she 's a-studying. The needle will look so funny sticking out at the other end ! " So Prudy was very sly about it, and said not a word, but began to push in the needle with all her might. 0, how Nannie screamed ! The teacher was frightened, but when she found that Nannie was not so very badly hurt, she felt easier about her, and began to talk to Prudy, and asked her " why she did n't sit still like a lady, and mindf " Prudy began to cry. " I was a-minding," said she, " of course I was. I did n't think it was a-goin' to hurt her ! " Miss Parker smiled, and said, — " Well, you need n't bring that knitting-work here any more. The next thing, we should have somebody's eyes put out." Then Miss Parker called out the next class in spelling. But Nannie sat with her head down, and felt very cross. " I don't like you, Prudy," said she. " You 'most killed me ! I '11 pay you for this, now you see ! " Miss Parker had to call Nannie by name before she would go to her class. She was three or four years older than Prudy, and ought to have known better than to be angry with such a little child. 254 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. THE POWER OF LITTLE THINGS. WHEN Dr. Beecher was at Litchfield, Connecticut, he called on a family in the remote part of his parish, and found the wife and mother in tears. Suspecting the cause, he sat down by her side, and asked compassionately, " "Which is it ? " She answered in anguish, " Both." The husband had for some time been verging toward intemperance, and now the son had begun to follow his steps. Indeed, both had become drunkards. It was more than she could bear. It had broken her heart. The Doctor rose and returned home and went into his study, determined to open all his embrasures upon the sin of intemperance ! He planned and studied and wrote " the six sermons " on intemperance, which, like successive shocks of a mighty earthquake, made the nation to tremble. This may be regarded as the inauguration of the Temperance Reform ; second, perhaps, to no other moral reformation that has visited and blessed the civilized world. A tear moved the heart and tongue of the Doctor to ask the cause of that grief, which was too great to admit of more than a word in reply. That tear, how small ; that word, how brief, but how signifi- cant ! The good Doctor had seen many a husband and brother, father and son, fall into a drunkard's grave. That was no strange thing. He had preached many a funeral ser- mon over the drunkard's coffin. But these great facts had not moved him effectually. Christian philanthropists had long seen and trembled in view of the ruin of the nation by intemperance ; but this one simple, touching scene ; that tear and that word " both," were wanted to break the spell and move the heart and hgind and will of this great reformer. " In the morning sow thy seed, in the evening withhold not thy hand, for thou knowest not whether shall prosper either this or that." HOW LONG SHALL I LIVE ? 255 Deacon Scudder related to me the following anecdote of liimself : " When I was a boy I was apprenticed to a business house in Boston. As I was about to leave home for the great city, I went over to bid my aged grandmother good by. When I was about to leave her, full of joy and glee in antici- pation of what was before me, she called me to her bedside and said, with many other excellent things, ' Charles, if you should see a pin on the carpet of your mistress, to whom would that pin belong ? ' 'To her, I suppose, grandmother.' ' Then pick it up and give it to her and not keep it yourself ! Never, my child, take so much as a pin that does not belong to you,' This," said the Deacon, " I never forgot. When- ever I was tempted to take any little trifle that was not my own, I could hear my old grandmother saying, ' Charles, never take so much as a pin that does n't belong to you.' " The human character is created or lost by trifles. It is un- derji:)mned, or undermined, by very little things. In other matters the foundations are of great things, but in morals and imperishable character they are of little things. HOW LONG SHALL I LIVE? YOU will live forever. There are no dead. The blow which struck asunder body and spirit did not end the spirit's life. And so the countless myriads of the past, whose dust has long since mingled with the soil, " still live." The men, women, and children of Noah's day, and Abraham's, and David's, — the motley tribes that herded beneath the crescent of the Arabian prophet, — the swarms of Goth and Hun, Tartar and Vandal, that swept the plains of the Eastern world, — the red-men that roamed the forests of the Western world, and left in mounds and tree-grown ruins the dim history of their earthly exist- 256 HOUSEHOLD READING. ence^ — all these are yet alive. They cannot die. Immortality is their birthright and inheritance. With the first breath of life they inhaled immortality. You, too, are henceforth eternal. The life you have begun is an endless life. You have only crossed the threshold. The countless ages before you stretch out in immeasurable dis- tance. When you have trod the path of those years or mil- lions of years which you can reckon up, there will still be be- fore you as many more, fresh and new like the first, and so on for ever and ever. As a traveller can discern his pathway winding among the hills, till far off on the horizon it seems to end, but when he reaches the place there stretches the path again away to another hill-top, so will the ages of your endless life lie before you ever the same, age following age, cycle fol- lowing cycle, till all your powers of computation and measure- ment have been baffled and silenced ; and yet you have scarce begun ! The never-ending eternity stretches out just as far ahead as when you took the first step of the journey. How long will you live ? You never will cease to live. You cannot die. By the endowment of your Maker you bear a " charmed life " ; and whatever rounds and epochs of history the great universe shall yet pass through, your years shall run parallel with them all, — nay, with the eternal years of God. Ah me ! My birthright, immortality, weighs on my heart. I tremble. I shrink from the burden. Those myriad ages fill me with dread. From the bosom of those far-off distan- ces I know not what strange thing may befall me. Some ac- cident shall doubtless waylay me on the road. Some misstep to the right hand or the left shall bring my soul to some un- foreseen and fatal plunge. No. On the highway of heaven none fall. In the hollows of hell none rise. You have fixed your state forever when you leave this world. The case is closed. You have either married yourself to Christ with an eternal love which no pos- sibility can sunder, or have entombed your soul in sorrows HOW LONG SHALL I LIVE? 257 wliicli no possibility can lift off. All change must be made this side the grave ; there is no change beyond. The prepara- tion must be finished here, for there, there is no time. Time is ended, and you are in eternity. The decree is unalterable : " He who is filthy, let him be filthy still ; he who is holy, let him be holy still." Do you not see it, my friend ? Have not all the men, women, and children of the patriarchs' days, — the tribes that followed the false prophets, — the swarms of Goth, Hun, Vandal, Tartar, and red-men alike, — found that time was give them to prepare for eternity ? " Those eighteen, upon whom the tower in Siloam fell and slew them, think ye that they were sinners above all men that dwelt in Jerusalem ? I tell you nay ; but except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish." " Strange," cries Fenelon, " that the experience of so many ages did not make us judge more solidly of the present and of the future, so as to take proper measures in the one for the other. We dote upon this world as if it were never to have an end, and we neglect the next as if it were never to have a beginning." How long will you live ? You will live forever. And your life there will depend on your life here. Every day, as you complete it, will reappear in the years to come. Every hour, every moment, as it hurries on its way, leaves a page to be read before the throne. Every word, every act, every thought and feeling of your heart records itself imperishably in the memory of One who never forgets. You are writing your life for eternity. In a gallery in Paris hangs a famous picture of Murillo, of an old Spanish monk seated at his desk. He had begun the chronicle of his life. Death had summoned him before the work was done ; but he had sought and obtained leave to return to earth and finish it. You see in the monk's pale face a more than natural energy. Those sunken eyes had looked " beyond the veil," and gleam with the visions of eternity. The soul within has communc-d with the unseen 17 258 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. world, and beheld face to face " Him who is invisible." And the solitaiy task is plied with the earnestness of one who has already forgotten the fading scenes of time, and is absorbed in the realities beyond. So let the record of your life be written as in the light of eternity. Look beyond, and see the unutterable things which shall soon surround you, when you stand before your Judge. Behold your endless life, — your speedy departure. heed- less soul, I adjure you to prepare for that eternity, — and write now such a life-record of faith in Jesus Christ and obedient service toward him, as that you may read it in eternity with joy. INVITATION TO THE SABBATH SCHOOL. COME to the Sabbath school, Come one and all ; With hearts true and joyful, Echo the call. We '11 go with willing feet, Happy faces we shall meet, And faithful teachers greet, — Come, come to-day. Come, fathers, lead the way Come, mothers, too ; Come every Sabbath day. We '11 follow you. There will we join and sing, And the heart's best music bring, While all our voices ring. With hymns of praise. Come in the joys of youth, Come bright and gay. Come join the search for truth. Come while you may. ADVICE TO YOUNG PREACHERS. 25D Improve life's opening dawn, Seize upon its sunny morn, Nor wait till it be gone, Ne'er to return. Come, little ones and dear, Come, children all. Sweet is your welcome here, Gentle the call ; "Suffer to come to me, Such as these, and let them be," Heirs of salvation free, — Come, children, come. Come, let our school below, Point us above. Where glory wreathes the brow, And all is love, There, in a noble song. With the bright angelic throng, May we with joy prolong The Saviour's praise. ADVICE TO YOUNG PREACHERS. WHAT is good preaching ? Good preaching Tj Scrip- tural preaching, including, as to the matter of it, both the doctrinal and the practical ; and each in due method and proportion. A doctrinal sermon, with no practical ap- plication, is a skeleton without flesh, or rather a basis with- out a superstructure. A practical sermon without doctrine, is a superstructure without a base, — a soap-bubble, a will-of- the-wisp, beautiful it may be to the sight, but destined soon to disappear and leave not a trace behind. Every direction or exhortation of the Bible is based upon some doctrine, and 260 HOUSEHOLD KEADING. has no meaning or application without it. " Flee from the wrath to come." " Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." " Repent and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out." How much important doctrine is involved in exhortations such as these ! And how can the exhortations be applied and enforced, so as to leave an abid- ing impression, unless the implied doctrines are believed and inculcated ? More than thirty years ago, the late Dr. Beecher, on one of his fishing excursions, spent the Sabbath at . He was there incognito, in his rough fishing habit ; but this did not prevent him from going to church. He heard a dry skeleton of a sermon, with little or no application, from a young man who prided himself upon his orthodoxy. "When the service was through, and the people were about to retire, the Doctor arose in the back part of the house, and begged to be heard for a few moments. He had been interested in the discussion to which they had listened, but was unwilling that so much important Scriptural truth should be left without any practical application. And so he went on to apply the sermon, for some twenty minutes, in his earnest way, much to the gratification of a large audience, and much to the mortification of the young divine, who was still in the pulpit. I am aware that many stories are told, of Dr. Beecher which are apocryphal ; but as I was personally knowing to the one I have related, and knew the parties, this may be relied on as genuine. And I tell it here, because it goes to illustrate the point in hand, namely, the importance of unit- ing the doctrinal and practical in due method and proportion. Preach doctrinally, my brethren, that so you may be able to preach practically, and to do it with some show of sense, and with effect. For what is practical preaching but the earnest enforcement and application of some great Scriptural truth or fact ? Among the more important qualities of a sermon, as to style, I reckon plainness and directness. The first thing is ADVICE TO YOUNG PREACHERS. 261 to be understood. Paul had rather sj^eak " five words with tlie understanding," that is, so as to be understood, tlian "ten tliousand words in an unknown tongue." And on this point I fully agree with Paul. Very early in my ministry I came to the conclusion, that, whatever other good qualities as a preacher I might lack, I would speak plainly, I would en- deavor to be understood. And this point I flatter myself that I have in some good degree attained. At least, I have never heard much complaint on this score. Whether men have liked my preaching or not, they have generally been able to understand me. Want of plainness and directness in preaching is not an uncommon fault at this day, and it arises from several- causes. Some do not preach clearly, because they have nothing clear in their minds to be preached. They live in a fog ; their heads are muddy, and how should anything better than mud or fog proceed out of them ? Such men had bet- ter retire from the pulpit altogether. Some fail to speak plainly and effectively, from the desire to say something exquisite and beautiful. And so (to use the language of another), " they delight in rainbows, and meteors, and waterfalls, and blooming trellises, and showers of gems, and trooping seraphim, and the silver chiming of the spheres," and all such kind of stuff, — immensely pleas- ant to itching ears, but as foreign from the Gospel as are the pretty things of which they treat. Some preachers involve themselves in mystery, because they seem to think it vulgar to utter plain truth in a plain and natural way. You rarely see them without their stilts. They seek out uncommon words, — "great swelling words," and construct long, involved, and cumbrous sentences, and thus cover up what little of meaning they have under a lumber of style and verbiage, which no eyes but their own will be likely to penetrate. Such men may gain the admira- tion of those who are sure to admire what they cannot com- prehend ; but what good will they be likely to do ? Who will be instructed or profited ? 262 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. If I were to mention another cause of soaring mystery and obscurity in preaching, it would be the transcendental, Cole- ridgean philosophy. Persons enamored of this philosophy are never clear. They have a phraseology of their own, a region of their own, but it is high up, in nuhibus, where common people can never follow them. -I have known some young men, with minds naturally as clear as crystal, so be- fooled and befogged by this philosophy that it took years of practical, common-sense labor to work it out of them. I have heard preaching compared to lightning, of which it is said there are three kinds, — the flash, the zigzag, and the slant. The flash looks brilliantly, lights up the sky, and people gaze at it with wonder and delight. The zigzag is here, and there, and everywhere, darting from cloud to cloud, without, any apparent object or effect. But the slant sends its bolt right down to the earth, and rives the gnarled oak, and is mighty, through God, to the tearing down of strongholds. Be sure, my brethren, if you deal in any lightning, to prefer the slant. If I were to add a word further as to manner, I would say, let it be natural. Avoiding, correcting, all acquired bad habits, endeavor to write and speak in your own natural way. Be yourself, and not another. Better wear your own coat than a borrowed one, though it may not be quite as good. You will be more free and easy in it, and your efforts will be more successful. The famous Mr. Moody of York was an extemporaneous preacher, and somewhat rambling and eccentric in manner. It was natural to him, and he could not help it. He had a son-in-law, Mr. Emerson of Maiden, who preached for him frequently, wrote out his sermons very accurately, and preached from notes. Some of Mr. Moody's people were much pleased with this kind of preaching, and urged him to imitate it. .-^o Mr. Moody consented to try. He wrote out a sermon in full, took his notes with him into the pulpit, and commenced reading like Mr. Emerson. But he soon ADVICE TO YOUNG PREACHERS. 263 got hred of it, and threw away his notes, exclaiming, " Moody must be Moody, and Emerson, Emerson ! I feel as though my head was in a bag ! " Be careful, my young friends, when you undertake to change your own natural manner for that of another, lest you get into the same pre- dicament. But a more important quality of effective preaching is heart earnestness. No man ever accomplished anything in the pulpit who was not in earnest. Paul believed, and felt what he said, and hence his words were with power. It was this which made Felix tremble, and wrung from the reluctant lips of Agrippa, " Almost thou persuadest me to be a Chris- tian." Deep feeling is contagious. Words poured forth from burning hearts are sure to kindle the hearts of others. A tear-drop is a very little thing, and yet it is a thing of great power. Hearts that can withstand everything else are often melted by a tear. Of course, I would not have sermons mere ebullitions of feeling, and nothing else ; but I would have them pervaded and warmed with feeling. There must be thought to awaken feeling, and the Gospel is full of thought — I had almost said, all thought — adapted to this very purpose. Be sure that your altar candle, besides being straight and orthodox, is made to burn ; that your sermon has a soul as well as a body, and that in writing and delivering it your heart palpitates in every line. The good pastor will make himself acquainted with his flock, and with all of them. He will be able to adopt the language of his divine Master, though of course in a lower sense, " I know my sheep, and am known of mine." He will become acquainted with them, not only socially, but spiritually. So far as he may, he will know particularly their spiritual state ; what are their hopes, their fears, their trials, their difficulties, their temptations, and what their prospects for eternity. Without such knowledge, how can he intelligently preach to them, or watch over them, or bear them on his heart in prayer ? 264 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. The qualifications of a good pastor are many and various, the crowning one of wliicli, and that without which all others will be as nothing, is piety. The good pastor must be a pious man. He ought to be a very pious man. Piety is lovely and excellent in all its developments, not one of which should be wanting to the ambassador of Christ. And yet, if I were to name one which I deem of special im- portance to the pastor, it would be an ardent and quench- less love for souls. He should feel for souls, in his measure, as Christ did, who was willing to die for their salvation. He should feel as Brainerd did, who thus speaks of himself dur- ing his life among the Indians : "I cared not where or how I lived, or what hardships I endured, so that I could gain souls to Christ. When I was asleep I dreamed of them ; and when I awoke the first thing I thought of was their salvation." Under impressions such as these, the minister of Christ will not be much moved by personal sacrifices. He will be willing to waive often, not merely his private opinions and wishes, but his rights and interests, rather than incur the hazard of hindering the recovery of some whom he desires to save. Knowing that, in the various walks of life, he has to do with immortal beings, who are constantly watching him, and receiving impressions from his example, he will be exceedingly cautious as to the steps he takes. He will tread softly and circumspectly, as he mingles with un- dying souls, lest by some indiscretion he should fatally injure them Speculate as we may as to the desirableness of other methods of promoting the cause of Christ, it is still true that almost all the great movements in favor of religion, from the beginning to the present time, have been brought about in revivals, and by means of them. Thus it was in the great refreshing and church extension which immediately followed the day of Pentecost. Thus it was in the Reforma- tion of the sixteenth century, when, by a series of what would now be called revivals. Popish idolatry was subverted in more ADVICE TO YOUNG PREACHERS. 265 than half Europe. Thus it was in our own country during the great awakening of 1740. And ahiiost everything de- sirable in our present religious state and prospects, — our large and flourishing churches, our thousands of faithful ministers, our Sabbath schools,, our charitable institutions, our missions to the heathen, and to the destitute of our own country, — all are owing to that series of revivals which sprang up near the commencement of the present century, and which have continued, at intervals, ever since. The history of the Church has but one voice on this subject ; and our own experience and observation testify the same. When revivals cease, for a course of years, religion uniformly de- clines ; and unless its downward progress is arrested by the return of the reviving Spirit, it is sure to run down, and ere- long to run out. I repeat, then, my brethren, we wish and expect you all to be revival preachers, — the friends and earnest supporters of revivals of religion. Study them, pray and labor for them ; improve opportunities to labor in them ; keep the holy fire burning; in your own souls, and endeavor to diffuse it all around yn;i. And be ncn so particular as to the precise manner in which a revisal shall commence, if you can only be sure that it does commence, if you can see its holy fire kindling and burning around you. I oftice knew a venerable minister who used to pray that God would revive his work, and revive it in a regular way, as though he feared that the Divine Spirit might fall into some irregularities. I am not the advocate of irregularities, not by any means ; but better see the work of God revived, and souls converted, and the Church enlarged, though not in the methods most agree- able to ourselves, than to see dearth, and frost, and death spreading over the land, and cursing it forever. 2^6 HOUSEHOLD READING. ANECDOTES OF CLERGYMEN. WHEN Dr. (then Mr.) S was first settled in Hart- ford, the enterprising little town was relatively as im- portant to Connecticut as the flourishing city now is. Dr. Bellamy, feeling a deep interest in the success of the church in this favored spot, resolved to visit the youthful pastor and " see if he would do." On arriving at the residence of his young brother, which was a new house and nicely furnished, Dr. Bellamy remarked as Mr. S met him at the door, " So you have got your house all swept and garnished." " Yes, yes. Dr. Bellamy, all ready for evil spirits ; walk in, walk in." We need not add that Dr. Bellamy, after a hearty laugh, remarked, " He '11 do, he '11 do." The learned Dr. Samuel West once preached for Rev. Mr. Niles of A . He chose for his text that passage in Reve- lation, " His number is six hundred threescore and six." After talking about his text for nearly half an hour, he said to his hearers, " You may think it is time I told what the text means, but to be plain, I do not hnoiv.''^ Mr. Niles afterward remarked, that he was very glad to hear Dr. W acknowledge his ignorance, for he knew that he did not know the meaning of the passage, and as he was a learned man he could afford to say so. Many years ago an immense meeting of the friends of tem- perance was held at the Odeon, in Boston. After two very elo- quent addresses by gifted and popular speakers, a clergyman was called upon. Rising, he remarked, " I find myself in very much the same situation as that of a minister who, in the early history of Massachusetts, although living in a retired spot, was appointed to preach the election sermon. When told of his appointment he said, " I know not what to do. If I do not go, my people will knock my brains out, and if I do go, it will be found that I have no brains." THE JESTING DEACON. 267 At a meeting of an ecclesiastical council for ordaining a youthful minister, an elderly clergyman who was fond of hair- splitting questions, but himself no metaphysician, inquired in examining the candidate, " How do you reconcile the decree of God with the free agency of man?" "I have never at- tempted to reconcile them, because they were never at vari- ance." THE JESTING DEACON. " Neither foolish talking nor jesting, which are not convenient." — Eph. v. 4. DEACON JONES relished a joke as well as any of his unti- tled neighbors. It seemed sometimes that he addicted himself to this sort of pleasantry all the more freely because, being a deacon, folks — especially young folks — were the more ready to laugh at his quips as coming from a quarter where you would not expect them. But Deacon Jones, like every other good Christian who indulges in jesting, did not always find it " convenient," either in the modern sense of that word, as comfortable^ or in its Scriptural meaning as suitable. On one occasion this humorous propensity brought him into the fol- lowing very uncomforta,ble, not to say unsuitable, position. Richard Vaughn, a daring and reckless fellow, who had met with a hundred hairbreadth escapes before, was one day kicked hy a horse somewhere about the head. His skull was fractured, and poor Dick had to submit to a trepanning oper- ation, — the removal of a small piece of the skull-bone. Still, nobody believed that his time had come to die. He who had outlived so many mishaps would survive the kick of a horse, even if, with a piece of his skull, he had lost a portion of his brain, too. So the gabbling neighbors said as they passed the news round from one to another, and so Jonathan Slack thougJit as he met Deacon Jones coming from the door where 268 HOUSEHOLD READING. Richard lived, and asked him in honest simplicity how much brains the doctor had taken away ? Perceiving in Jonathan's face a credulity that might yield a little fun, the Deacon made answer by putting his hands together in the form of a dish which would hold a pint — of brains or anything else that should be put into it — and merely saying, " About so much." Jonathan thereupon went his way, and told the next man he met that the doctor had taken a pint of brains from the skull of Richard Yaughn. The astonished neighbor reported it to another, and he to a third. Before sundown every man, woman, and child in the village had heard the news that Dick Vaughn had parted with a pint of his brains and was doing well. Next morning the village Gazette, which caught the story just in time for its insertion as a " postscript," with suit- able heading and exclamation-points, was carrying it post- haste over the land, and in less than twenty-four hours it had started through the columns of a city exchange on its way to England, France, and Germany. It could not be long, of course, before the story began to meet with contradiction and was branded as a lie. But who started it? This was now the question. It is curious to ob- serve that, however eager your real gossip-mongers are to catch up and carry along an unauthentic tale, they will always re- sent the charge of peddling lies. When a baseless rumor has been run out of breath and actually killed, nobody has lied^ but everybody has been lied to. Dick told Tom, and Harry told Dick, and somebody told Harry. Each would like to know the villain who made up that story ; while, if the truth were known, it might appear to have been made like a snow- ball, by rolling, and every one of them to have had a hand in making it. But in the case of Dick Vaughn's brains, the story started, as we have seen, in its full-grown size. Deacon Jones at first enjoyed the joke, and was intending soon to explain. But when Mrs. Jones, with a concerned look, told him one day that Mr. Slack, who had been accused of setting the story afloat, was reporting all over town that THE JESTING DEACON. 269 lie, Deacon Jones, told him the first that he ever heard of it, the Deacon smilingly said, in reply, that Brother Slack must be mistaken ; that he never had told Brother Slack nor any- body else that the doctor took away a pint of brains or any brains at all from Richard Vaughn ; whereupon Mrs. Jones made haste to tell Mrs. Slack. Here was a flat contradiction between Deacon Jones and Brother Jonathan Slack, both members of the same church, " in good and regular standing," and one of them an office- bearer in it. The Deacon felt that the joke had been carried quite far enough, — in fact, rather too far, — and he was intending to call on his misled neighbor that very night, and undeceive him. But before night came, Mr. Slack met his neighbor Jones in the street, and, with more warmth of spirit than he was thought capable of showing, asked him if he meant to deny that he (Deacon Jones) told him (Mr. Slack) on such a day, that the doctor took a pint of brains from Richard Vaughn ? " I certainly do," said the Deacon. And before he had time to enter into an explanation, Mr. Slack had turned on his heel and hastened off, an offended l^rother. The difficulty was not long in getting before the church as a matter to be searched into and settled. Both parties were brought before that tribunal and permitted to make their statements. Brother Slack was sure that he repeated only what Deacon Jones told him. He even recollected and reproduced the dish-form gesture of the hands whereby he had been given to understand that a pint of brains had been taken away ; and then thrusting his clenched hands under the Deacon's nose, as he sat near him, he asked, with an air of assurance, " Did you not say. Deacon Jones, that the doctor took away so much ? " "Yes," said the Deacon, gazing into the empty palms, " and how much is there. Brother Slack ? " A suppressed titter ran through the assembly. The pastor smiled in his presiding chair. Brother Slack, now for the 270 HOUSEHOLD READING. first time comprehending the joke, stood speechless for a mo- ment, and then, with hat in hand, left the meeting, too deeply chagrined to be ever again on friendly terms with the jesting Deacon Jones, who, as a kind of Protestant penance, listened soon after to a plain and self-applied sermon from his faithful pastor on the text at the head of this paper. To the end of his life he was a soberer man ; and when he found a Chris- tian brother indulging in jokes which he once enjoyed, he would repeat, in a serious tone, " Foolish talking nor jesting, which are not convenient." "I CAN'T REPENT." EXPERIENCE is a good test of doctrinal belief. The fol- lowing incident may serve as an illustration of this. S , a student of theology at a certain divinity school, was spending a vacation in a destitute country parish, as a " temporary supply." He held the theory (growing out of pushing to the extreme the doctrine of human inability) that men cannot repent. One day duty called him to a neighbor- ing village. His only means of public conveyance was by stage, the driver of which was a shrewd sceptic. With a real desire to honor his Master, by sowing beside all waters, he began conversation upon topics that he thought might interest the driver, intending at length to lead to the subject of personal religion. His plan was successful. Step by step the way was opened, till he deemed it prudent to press the claims of God upon his conscience and heart. It was done with plain Christian courtesy, and, as the driver afterwards acknowledged, was felt to be the voice of the Spirit of God. Determined, however, not to yield at once, he in- stantly repUed, " They tell us out here in P that a man can't repent. I should like to know what you say about it." THOMAS GUTHRIE. 271 No allusion had beeu made to this point before. S had evidently won the confidence of his fellow-traveller, for the question was more than half in earnest. It was S now, and not the driver, who was driven to the wall. His thoughts ran with lightning speed over the whole ground. He clearly saw the consequences of saying to the man, under conviction, as he really was, "low cannot repent.''^ He dared not risk the peril in which such an aflSrmative would put his hearer's soul. It was flashed on the mind of S , with a light not greatly inferior to that which showed a certain trav- eller to Damascus once his error on another point of doc- trine, that he was wrong. He can repent gushed forth from the very soul of S , and stopped not short of a most fer- vid utterance in the ear of the driver. Then the Spirit met the word, and sent it to his heart. The convicted man bowed his head and wept like a child. Beginning at that Scripture, S preached unto him Jesus. S proved to be the first to put him on his personal responsibility before God, so as to lead him to see that his guilt lay solely in a determined " will not." It need not be added that S was thereafter a firm believer in the duty and ability of men to repent. THOMAS GUTHRIE. REV. THOMAS GUTHRIE was born in Brechin about 1800. His father was a wealthy banker. The son gradu- ated at Edinburgh, and studied medicine at Paris, and finally came home and continued in the banking-house. In 1830 he was ordained by the Presbytery of Fife, and shortly trans- lated to old Greyfriars, Edinburgh, and in 1840 to old St. John's Church, which was !:/ailt chiefly for him. He was one of the leaders with Chalmers in the Free-Church move- ment, and is now settled over Free St. John's, a fine new 272 HOUSEHOLD READING. church, built as near as possible to the old one. It does not look altogether pleasant to a stranger, to see in Scotland new churches everywhere planted side bj side, or, if possible, face to face, with the old ones, instead of being placed in the un- reclaimed districts. Dr. Hanna, son-in-law of Dr. Chalmers, and editor of his memoirs, is colleague pastor in this fashion- able church. His ability as a scholar and essayist and theologian does not succeed in making him tolerable in the pulpit. But his dull, tedious, painfully wearisome preach- ing is the better foil to his colleague. Dr. Guthrie has been greatly interested in the ragged-school movements, and went hand in hand with Chalmers in his social renovations. He is the favorite minister of the poor, though few of them can get to his church. He is a man of most popular traits, and commands great influence among his brethren. He is a leader in the church courts and assemblies, where he shines and sways the debate by ready sallies of wit and sudden flashes of eloquence. As a preacher, his reputation perhaps is not exceeded by any one in the Free or National Church, if it is by any one in Scotland. There could not be a better testimonial of this than our experience gave us. We reached the church a quarter of an hour before the time of service, and then the crowd extended from the doorway far into the street. By the time of the first singing, we had worked our way into the entry and could look through a door into the audience-room. And just before the long prayer, after the struggling mass had made several ineffectual rushes, trampling on children, or stifling them, and carrying away the outworks of ladies' dresses, we were borne of more than four down into a side aisle almost to the pulpit. Here we stood an hour and a half, casting wistful glances now and then to the happy sin- ners who had got a pulpit stair or banister to lean against. This was no extraordinary occasion, though it is true Dr. Guthrie had recently returned from his summer vacation. But this crowd was to hear a pastor who had been preaching more than ten years in that very place. THOMAS GUTHRIE. 273 Dr. Guthrie is of stalwart height and proportions. His limbs show athletic development, and his features are mas- sive. His large head is crowned with long, streaming hair, and his fingers find frequent occasion to pitch it away from his great blue eyes and off from his wide moorland of fore- head. He wears gown and bands. But the scholastic, silken folds cannot tame the wild, awkward energy of ges- ticulations of such a live Scotchman. His hands go above his head, or are flung sheer over the ledge of the pulpit cushion ; and his long arms crook into angles of every degree, in essay- ing majestic sweeps. And when he sometimes towers for- ward and then sinks back upon his heels, with a vehement energy that fairly makes his knees give way, you instinc- tively looked to see if the pulpit is real oak or imitation. The rich volume of sermons, entitled the " Gospel in Eze- kiel," presents Dr. Guthrie's peculiar excellences and defects so admirably that little need be said. In noble, poetic dic- tion, in affluence of vivid illustrations, in absolute, passionate enthusiasm for natural scenery, and the keenest apprecia- tion of every delicate shade and shadow of beauty, in in- tuitive power of detecting, and the most copious and apt facility of de?'.i'ibing natural scenes, he rivals Professor Wil- son. He rescaibles him also, not only in this faculty and in his personal presence, but no less in that genial abandon- ment and wild luxuriance of style, so full fed and overbur- dened with picturesque adjectives and suggestive parentheses that you do not like to confess the well-rounded periods are bloated. When Professor Wilson has us along we know tliat we are rambling, and do not take much thought of our bearings. Dr. Guthrie, with as rich a genius, we cannot help consider- ing as a sermonizer, subject to ordinances of method. It is kind in him always to announce his text before he begins, so that when you find yourself caught away at tne start, and sentence upon sentence of eloquent discourse ravishes your ear, of all which you see no possible bearing upon the pas- is 274 HOUSEHOLD KEADINa Bage, you live in hope to find a clew to guide you safely, by and by, to the daylight of the text. He announced as his text, this afternoon, 2 Cor. v. 20 : " Now, then, we are ambassadors for Christ," etc. His first sentence was, " There are tides in the ocean. There is a succession of waves breaking on the shore, and after a series of small waves, at regular intervals, a long, heavy swell rolls in and sends the foam far up the beach." And thus he gave a description of these movements of the sea, which a poetic naturalist would fall in love with. He then spoke of the same tides and succession of waves in the atmosphere, and described and partially explained them. And there are tides among men, in society, in nations, — seasons of prosperity and adversity. Such is pre-eminently true of the Jewish nation ; and so he spoke of their being prospered, and for- getting God ; being visited with afflictions, and brought back to him. And at these times, God saved them by raising up deliverers. Then he spoke of Israel as once brought into subjection to the King of Moab ; passed to the whole narra- tive of Ehud and Eglon, giving the stabbing scene with won- derful dramatic skUl. Thus God's ambassadors dealt then. Now I am an ambassador for Christ. I might come to guilty men, to threaten and to strike, etc. And so he approaches the fact and nature and object of the Gospel ambassador. This introduction was fifteen minutes long, before I could see any likelihood of his naming or alluding to his text. It was certainly most eloquent, highly impassioned, a delight- fully refreshing presentation of important truths. The re- maining two thirds of the sermon were on the subject of the text. A great amount of Gospel truth was conveyed. The value of the sermon, however, seemed, to my profane criti- cism, to be in the side-matter and the episodes. He had no notes, and spoke with the fluency of an unfailing memory. His voice passed frequently and suddenly over all the changes of a wide scale. In his pathetic passages he made the sternest faces weep. DEATH IN THE BALL-KOOM. 275 It is sometimes the case that one is not in the state to ap- preciate justly the strange idiosyncrasies of speakers. The dead fly in this pot of ointment to me was the wild extrav- agance of manner which would have seemed bombastic decla- mation in any but one known to be a modest, simple-hearted man ; and the highly wrought, over-fanciful, cloud-careering style, with such a tangled luxuriance of poetic metaphors. There is no foreign preacher one would more like to hear again, for the hope of correcting a first single unfavorable impression. DEATH IN THE BALL-ROOM. SOME years ago there occurred in one of our New Eng- land villages, where I have long been intimately acquaint- ed, one of those terrible scenes which at the time every one thought could never be forgotten. Those most intimately concerned in it were a party of gay young pleasure-seekers gathered in a ball-room. In the thoughtless throng there was one — a young man of respectable connections — who was more thoughtless than the rest, and who to giddy mirth did not hesitate to add awful profaneness. As the hours passed he became more and more excited and reckless, and impatient with what he thought or pretended to think a degree of sobriety in his companions quite unsuited to such an occasion, he loudly reproached them for their indifference to the festivities which they had assembled to enjoy. With a fearful oath he declared his own intention to be to " raise hell before morning, ^^ and so more than carry out the meaning of the familiar words of Byron, — " On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ; No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet." Whether, in any sense, the young man did wliat he an- 276 HOUSEHOLD READING. nounced his purpose to do I cannot say, but for years I hav« not been able, without an involuntary shudder, to think of the sequel to his rash remark. Rushing into the giddy whirl like a man whom God, taking him at his own word, had al- lowed to go mad as a fit preliminary of his signal destruction, he suddenly fell dead by the side of his companions, a corpse in a hall-room ! The effect was indescribable. Others could quote Byron then, — " Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, » And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their oVn loveliness ; And there were sudden partings." For a considerable time the event seemed likely to prove very salutary in its influence over others. But the sad lesson was at length forgotten, and many of the youth so serious that night, again, like unthinking animals, whirled around and over the very spot where their companion had fallen. Such is the theology of those " who know not God, and obey not the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ." This moment uttering oaths in the midst of men, the next singing praises in the im- mediate presence of God ! Now with a brain on fire with spirituous liquor ; anon vrith mind and heart attuned to the worship of the glorified ! The still corpse in the ball-room ; the blaspheming soul in the bosom of God! Such is the boasted rational religion. PREPARATION NECESSARY. 277 PREPARATION NECESSARY. ONE of the principal reasons why no more benefit is re- ceived from the ministrations of the Gospel and all the privileges of the Sabbath, is the want of a suitable preparation of heart and mind. The thoughts and impressions and the whole influence of the business cares and perplexities of the week are not thrown off. They are apt to be with us when we wake on Sabbath morning, and it is well if we wholly free ourselves before entering the sanctuary. But there is a remedy. God has provided ways and means by which our attention may be turned from worldly cares ; a pause made, — our attention arrested, — the currents of earth- ly affections, thoughts, and conversation interrupted. For a little season every day we may give our minds to heavenly meditations, and come under holier influences. Daily secret devotion not only prepares us to go forth upon the duties of the day and siiccessfully meet temptation, but keeps heavenly things in mind, keeps our hearts open to the reception and influence of divine truth from day to day, and enables us to oppose and bar from our thoughts those influences which hinder the proper improvement of the Gospel. The maintenance of family devotion has the same general bearing. Its good effects are felt by the members of the household, and they are aided in preparing their hearts for the reception of divine truth on the Sabbath. Of the same character and value is the week-day social prayer-meeting. This makes another pause in the daily at- tention to business. Called away from our worldly cares, our thoughts are for a season directed to spiritual things. We meet fellow-disciples in the place of prayer and praise. We unite with them in acts of devotion. We receive and give impulses heavenward, and return refreshed and strengthened 21 S HOUSEHOLD BEADING. for the rest of the week, and better prepared for the duties and privileges of the Sabbath. If we devoutly and habitually observe these seasons, — secret devotion, family prayer, and the social prayer-meeting, — we may reasonably expect progress in all that belongs to a sound Christian character. Let one man pursue and the other neglect the course here spoken of, and at the end of years let their positions in the Christian life be compared, their progress be measured, their fruitfulness be estimated, the clearness of their understanding of divine things, the depth and tone of their piety, their steadfastness, their readiness in every good work, be compared, and we should see the value and weight of influence on the spiritual welfare of Christians of those seasons of prayer which God has provided for the daily enjoyment of his children. We know full well in which class we find the most devout and circumspect, fruitful and useful Christians, whether among the observers or the neglect- ers of those privileges we have mentioned. "We all need these helps, — these pools of living water placed along our way, — that here, renewing our strength, we may " run and not be weary, walk and not faint." — yy ^....-^ ' ji^' -' "CAST DOWN, BUT NOT DESTROYED." I HELD a viol in my hand ; Like Jesse's son, before the king, Striving to make each strand With melody to ring, Worthy my Master's ear, If he would deign to hear. Sudden there fell a heavy stroke From him I fondly sought to please, And into fragments broke The fount of harmonies. "CAST DOWN, BUT NOT DESTROYED." 279 Sad, silent, and amazed, Upon the wreck I gazed. " Henceforth," my pale lips feebly said, " Talk not to me of any joy ; My bands henceforth are dead To all their loved employ : My life has heard its doom, Earth is to me a tomb." The Master meekly stooped and smiled, No mockery was in that smile. But love for me, — poor child, — Who bowed in grief the while. He sought, with tenderest care, The fragments scattered there. He gently joined them into one ; He stretched again the throbbing strings ; And, when his toil was done, Drew from their pierced springs Sounds that symphonious rung. As if a seraph sung. Entranced I heard the heavenly strain, Then on my soul the message fell ; See thus, my child, that loss is gain, The sweetest tone may dwell Mute, till God's hand evoke Praise from the heart he broke. 280 HOUSEHOLD READING. JESUS WEEPING. TWICE Jesus vrept, — once over Jerusalem, once at the grave of Lazarus. In both instances the deep interior motive of his sorrow would seem to be his vivid consciousness of the unbelief that surrounded him : in the former case, because the inhabitants of the beloved city would not recognize him as their peace ; in the latter, because even those who loved him, and who trusted him most, and understood him best, still believed — if at all — so imperfectly as almost to prevent them from see- ing " the glory of God." If unbelief made Jesus weep while he was on earth, it would almost seem as if it must make his eye sad and tearful now, as, out of heaven, he watches the progress of his cause, the conduct of those who are professedly his. What sin so blights and chills the life of the Church, and thwarts all its wholesome activities, as this sin of unbelief ? Why are not all the churches revived ; all hearts quickened and glowing with the purest and highest spirituality ; all minds always intent upon the glory of God, and the salvation of souls, as the first great, absorbing, controlling interest ? Can any reason be given why Jesus is not now doing " many mighty works " everywhere, but that same old reason which made Nazareth a barren spot — " because of their unbelief" ? This unbelief — which has made Jesus weep, and, if heaven can endure tears, may make him weep again — is a personal matter ; the stagnation of i7idividual piety. Reader, is any of it in your heart ? Does it make your apprehension of spiritual things dull and dim, and your response to their appeals sluggish and partial ? Then you make Jesus sad, if you do not make him weep. It is not what he expects of you. It is not what you promised to him, not what you owe to him. He loves you, died for you ; GIVING AS WE SPEND. 281 watches you, to see of the travail of his soul, and be satisfied in your affectionate, consistent, faithful, useful life. Render to him his own ! Do not stand in the way of sinners ! Do not freeze your own brother professors by your cold unconcern I Do not make Jesus want to weep, as he compares your unbelieving actuality with what you might be, ought to be, have pledged yourself to become ! GIVING AS WE SPEND. " A H, Mr. Jones ! " exclaimed Deacon Lane, " you are just J-jL the man I wanted to see. I am collecting money to purchase our good neighbor Pike an overcoat. You know he has been sick a long time, and I suppose he is very desti- tute. You will subscribe something, of course " ; and so saying, he passed Mr. Jones the subscription-paper. " Should be glad to assist neighbor Pike, he is a worthy man ; but the fact is, I have paid out so much for myself and family for clothing, this fall, that I am not able to give at present. Besides, the repairs on my house exceeded my calculations by a hundred dollars ; and all these things to- gether have made my purse lean. I think you will have to excuse me this time." " I don't know about that," replied Deacon Lane. " The reason you offer for not giving is one of the reasons why I feel that it is my duty to give. I paid twenty-five dollars for a surtout for myself, and I said, ' Surely if I can do this for my own comfort, I ought to be willing to give a dollar, at least, for the comfort of my friend Pike.' " " "Well, that is a new rule of giving, I must confess," said Mr. Jones. 282 HOUSEHOLD READING. " Not SO new as you may think," responded Deucon Laue. " Eighteen hundred years old, at least ; which is not very new. I apprehend that this is the rule of the Gospel." " "What ! " exclaimed Mr. Jones. " Do I understand you to say, that if we spend much to clothe ourselves, we should, for that very reason, do something to clothe others ? " " Yes ! that is what I mean." " And does this hold good with regard to other things ? Because I spend much for the comfort of my family, in rear- ing and furnishing a habitation, is this a rfeason why I should give to others ? " " That is my idea, exactly," replied Deacon Lane. " I see you are not a stupid man." " So stupid, if you please, that I do not see the authority for such a rule," said Mr, Jones. " That is not surprising," continued Deacon Lane. " Many people say just as you do, in substance, ' I have been at so much expense for my own comfort, that I cannot do anything for the comfort of others.' And I appeal to yourself, if that is not rather of a selfish practice." Mr. Jones was on a new train of thought. He began to see clearly that duty lay where he never saw it before. His eyes spoke, while his tongue was silent. Deacon Lane per- ceived that the argument was taking hold, and he went on : " If people spend money according to their pecuniary abil- ity, then they who spend much upon themselves ought to give much to benefit others. That is my doctrine. When I see a person having a splendid house, richly furnished, with a plenty of servants, yet unwilling to contribute, except in a parsimonious way, to objects of benevolence, I say he does not give as God requires. If he gave in proportion to his gratification of self, his contributions would be very large." " Well, suppose a religious society should erect a costly house of worship," said Mr. Jones, " does your rule hold good ? I mean where there is much outlay to attract the eye." THEOLOGICAL CONTROVERSY. 283 " Certainly," answered the Deacon. " If our society should relinquish our house of worship, worth ten thousand dollars, for the sake of a better one that cost twenty-five thousand, their contributions to benevolent causes ought to increase in the same proportion, provided they incur this additional ex- pense for the sake of display or self-gratification. We should not be consistent without doing this. Doing less than this for God would be doing more for ourselves, in proportion, than we do for his honor, which is selfishness. If everybody should practise upon your principle, neighbor Pike would go coatless the coming winter." Mr. Jones looked wiser than he did a few minutes before, and he said, " Perhaps you are right. Put down a dollar for me." THEOLOGICAL CONTRO YERS Y. THERE are two modes of dealing with those who hold with us substantially, but differ from us in some of the subordinates of dogmatic belief. The one method is to dispute them, to denounce them, to complicate them into falsehoods, drive them into heresies, hold them up to opprobrium, and break them off, if possible, from the body of the Church, or destroy their influence in it. On this principle, they must all say " shibboleth," and not " sibboleth," or we shall run them through the heart, if our arm is strong enough, or our theological spear is long enough. On this prin- ciple we shall hunt for heretics ; our eye will be constantly roving along the ranks, and over the hosts of Christ's king- dom, and especially among the great captains of his army, to detect, if possible, some one not fully panoplied in orthodoxy, — some one who, according to his own deserts, and for a warn- ing to all who vacillate, and the confirmation of the faithful, can be burned at the stake of a theological persecutior . We 284 HOUSEHOLD READING. shall keep the Church ia alarms, with the perpetual cry of " Wolves in the fold." We shall make every man jealous of his neighbor, and ready to suspect soijie enormity of false doctrine in every variation from current expression. If we see one casting out devils in Christ's name, we shall forbid him if he follows not us. In our efforts for the purity of the Church, we shall always be chipping off suspicious fragments, till few besides ourselves remain, as the alone defenders of a pure faith. As our opponents will not readily consent to their own excommunication, nor allow their orthodoxy and their influ- ence to be held at discount, they will respond in self-defence, and to be equal to us, will hurl back our own fiery missiles of denunciation and abuse. Hard feelings, offensive person- alities, violent language, unjust insinuations will follow, and the disciples of Christ will no longer be known by their love to one another. It is at least a question, whether a different mode of deal- ing with the class under notice might not have considerable advantages. It is, to exercise towards them a charity which " vaunteth not itself," which " hopeth all things," and "be- lieveth all things " good of them, — so far as a just regard for the right will possibly allow, — and to associate them with ourselves in earnest works for the advancement of Christ's kingdom. On this principle, though not blinded to obvious heresies, we shall not be watching for them. We shall never misrepresent another's opinions, and make no effort to intertwist and tangle up a brother's words, so as to involve him in inconsistencies or drive him to extremities. Holding alike firmly to great doctrines, we shall allow some minor questions to remain in abeyance, till, by co-operation in im- portant enterprises, we have secured some great results for Christ. In other words, we shall spend our main strength, whether of objurgation or of oppugnancy, directly against the strongholds of Satan's empire. We shall fight the real enemies of our religion, instead of spending our energies in settling difficulties with its friends. Our policy will be to include as A FEEEDMAN'S WEDDING. 285 many among the soldiery of Jesus as are willing to do battle with us for this cause, instead of endeavoring to make the number of his professed supporters so small, that there shall certainly be none but followers of our own straitest sect among: them. A FREEDMAN'S WEDDING. WOULD you hear a description of a freedman's wed- ding ? I have this evening returned from one, the circumstances of which were so peculiar, and withal so touch- ing, that I cannot refrain from making a report of it before I sleep. Richard Tucker has been known to me ever since our occu- pation of this State (North Carolina) as a leading and influ- ential colored man in Newbern. He reads and writes a little, talks well, and is a person of character and standing. He is by trade a carpenter and undertaker, and is a devout class- leader in the St. Andrew's Methodist Church. To-night Richard participated, not in a funeral, but in a wedding; and it was on this wise. Thirty years ago he, the slave of John Flanner, married Emeline, the slave of Raymond Castix, a colored clergyman officiating according to their own simple forms. They have lived together happily, frugally, honestly, heirs of the grace of God ; and fifteen times has their union been blest with off- spring. " How many children have you, Mrs. Tucker ? " one of us asked her to-night. " I have eight head living, and seven head dead," was her reply. But feichard and Em- eline were not satisfied with their slave marriage, and invited me to marry them according to the laws of liberty and the word of God. They knew that legal marriage between slaves was, by decision of the Supreme Court of North Carolina, impossible, and that, according to State law, they were living in adultery and their children in illegitimacy. 286 HOUSEHOLD READING. So to-night they stood together, at their own fireside, before the hymeneal altar, a few colored friends and several officers of the Freedmen's Bureau, and lady teachers from the North, being present and deeply interested spectators and guests. They took each the other by the hand, as their lawful and wedded mate ; and tears of grateful joy streamed down their serious faces, while the sanctions of our holy religion were thrown around their union of thirty years' duration. Their household shrine is proudly rescued from the bondage of Egypt. They stand amid their children and friends in the quiet dignity of citizens who know their place, and do not ambitiously overstep it or basely stoop beneath it. After exchange of pleasant congratulations, all sat down to a bountiful supper, and the past was recounted, the present enjoyed, and the future predicted. Castix, it appears, sold away from them seven of their children, and obtained for them upwards of $5,000. Richard at length persuaded his master, a kind man, to buy his wife and baby, which, with Richard's help he did, for $800. Richard paid his owner $15 per month for his time, and, in addition to this, fully supported himself and his family. (The negroes won't work, they say !) "When, after the war, his old master came back fleeced by his friends, Richard lent him money, and did everything in his power to aid him in his destitution. (The negroes have no generosity, they say !) Richard has gathered his children back from bondage. The oldest keeps a flour- ishing store ; and the younger ones can read and write so well, that the ebon patriarch takes off his spectacles and listens while they read the daily paper aloud ; and at fam- ily devotions they read in the Testament, and he devoutly prays. The wedding feast was followed with some characteristic songs. The refrain of one of them was in the words, — " Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! Jeliovah has trhimphed, his people are free ! " This is very popular among the freedmen of Newbern ; ana PARENTAL INFLUENCE. 287 they sing it splendidly. But the rarest one to me was " Wake, Nicodemus," of which I must quote the first stanza and the chorus : — " Nicodemus, the slave, was of African birth. He was bought for a bagful of gold ; He was counted as part of the salt of the earth, But he died years ago, very old. 'T was his last sad request, so we laid him away, In the trunk of an old hollow tree ; ' Wake me up,' was his charge, at the first break of day, ' Wake me up for the great Jubilee.' ' There 's a good time coming, it 's almost here, 'T was long, long, long on the way ; Now run tell Elijah to hurry up Pomp, To meet us at the gum-tree down by the swamp, To wake Nicodemus to-day." PARENTAL INFLUENCE. EVERY parent should remember that his children are affected by his constantly moulding influence. Beware of the copy you set before them to imitate. Be sure they will mark line for line, shade for shade, blot for blot. Your conduct is their rule of life. Expect no more from your children than you are yourself. The stream rises no higher than the foun- tain. Far better suffer wrong ; let another have the last word, or the last blow even, rather than that your children should photograph your life and character on their own, all disturbed and marred by passion and folly. •288 HOUSEHOLD READING. FELLOWSHIP CHRIST of God ! how teachest thou The loss of self and all below, The fellowship of pain to know ! The wine-press is but beaten blood, Wrung, drop by drop, from feet that trod Alone, where fell the scourge of God. That fire and blood betoken love Is hard to learn, and hourly prove : We shall not question it above ! The tears from Holy Eyes that fell, Which heap the waters of that well Whose depth no human gauge may tell, Must on our sinful hearts return, Must on our scorching eyelids burn, That we their bitterness may learn ; And that deep hunger of the heart, The pain that gnaws with constant smart. Till human love by death shall part : And thirst, that all our utmost will Is powerless yet to bid " be still " ; The want an ocean could not fill ; And learn to bow before the scorn Of petty hate and malice born. While meekness on the brow be worn ; And naught but tender pity pale The brow, where seraph-eyes would quail, Beholding sin cast off" the veil ; THE ENGLISH GOVERNMENT. 289 Our meekest love and mercy pour, Where Higher Love hath gone before ; And wondering seraphim adore ! Each drop wrung out by pain to-day, Refines the spii-it from the clay ; Bi'ings noontide clearness o'er the way. The livid scars left here by fire, Are steps to bring us from the mire ; Consuming, each, some low desire. The discipline will grow more dear As stain by stain shall disappear : Perfecting love will banish fear. When gates of pearl are backward rolled, And sinless feet o'er streets of gold Shall walk, through years that ai'e untold ; When love divine shall satisfy The thirst by which we daily die ; We shall not ask the reason why ! Christ of God ! thy passion's pain We press to share : the sharpest strain Hath wrought our everlasting gain ! THE ENGLISH GOVERNMENT. THE recognized head of the British government is the king, or, as at present, the queen. The idea of royalty is asso- ciated in the minds of the masses in our own country with that of absolute power and of tyranny, yet practically the queen of England exercises but very little authority. She has but the shadow of power compared with the President of the United 19 290 HOUSEHOLD READING. States. She has emoluments. "With many of the English people she is almost an idol. They seem greatly to enjoy having her, nominally, to rule over them ; but she is an expen- sive luxury. The cost of the nation of supporting the royal family at the present time is enormous, about $3,000,000 a year. Every precaution is taken to giiard the monarch against prejudicial assaults. Lest some disrespect should be shown the king, the members of Parliament are forbidden by law to mention his name in debate. The Ministry is held responsible for whatever the Crown may do. The king has, like our President, the veto power ; but, unlike our President, the king does not think it prudent to use this power, — hence it has not been used in England since the time of William III. The Ministry represents the Crown ; and while our President holds his office for four years, and we cannot have a change sooner than that if we would, the English may have a change in their Ministry almost any time. A distinction is sometimes made between the Ministry and the Cabinet, but the Cabinet, as such, has, in fact, no legal existence. The Ministry consists of twenty-five persons lead- ing officers of the government ; but the Cabinet, so called, has but thirteen members. The latter are selected from the former as special advisers of the Crown. They derive their name from the historic incident that in the reign of Charles I. tliey were in the habit of holding their meetings in the Cabinet of the Queen Consort, Henrietta Maria. But this Cabinet council U not recognized by the law, and no record is kept of its doings. The Ministry is the legal body of advisers, as is the Presi- dent's Cabinet in our own country. The Prime Minister, or Premier, is the first Lord of the Treasury. The second post of honor is held by the Chancellor of the Exchequer. When an important measure is brought forward by the Ministry, and the House of Commons rejects it, the Ministry resigns ; and although the king or queen remains as before, there is an immediate change in the government ; as was the THE ENGLISH GOVERNMENT. 291 case recently when the Reform Bill was rejected. The House of Commons is presumed to represent the will of the nation, and hence it is allowed thus by its votes to change the Min- istry. If, independently of any bill proposed by the Ministry, the House of Commons at any time passes a vote expressive of want of confidence in the Ministry, then the Ministry re- sign, or are dismissed by the Crown. Whenever there is a seri- ous disagreement between the Commons and the Ministry, there must be a change in the government. If, however, the Crown thinks the House of Commons does not express the wish of the nation, he can, instead of dismissing the Ministry, dismiss the Parliament, and order a new election. If the old members are returned or re-elected, this proves that they represented the will of the people, and then the Ministry must be dismissed. If, however, new members are elected who are in sympathy with the Ministry, then the Ministry is retained, notwithstanduig the votes of the old Parliament against it. Thus, at any time, if the Ministry does not suit the people who exercise the right of suffrage, the House of Commons, as the representatives of'the people, will condemn the Ministry by its votes, and the people will secure an iinme- diate change of government. If, however, the Ministry and the House of Commons are in sympathy, and both are in conflict with the wishes of the people, then the people can secure a change in both as soon as there is an election of a new Parliament. Hence there is far less stability in the Ministry, which represents the Crown, in England, than there is in our own government ; at least there may be, and if there is not, it is because the majority of the voters desire no change. Next to the Crown, comes the House of Lords. The power of creating peers is lodged with the Crown, and its exercise is intrusted solely to his discretion. The House of Lords consists at present of about four hundred and fifty members. All bills affecting the peerage must originate in the House of Lords, and cannot be altered by the House of Common?, — 292 HOUSEHOLD READING. but in ordinary matters of legislation, the Lords do not op- pose the measures adopted by the House of Commons, espe- cially when such measures are carried in the Commons by a strong majority. Unless the bill is one which will seriously affect the fundamental institutions of the government, the House of Lords, although they have the power to negative the action of the House of Commons, do not regard it pru- dent to exercise that power. Hence in general legislation, practically the Upper House exerts but little influence. But the House of Peers acts not only in a legislative, but also in a judicial capacity, and is the supreme judicial court of the nation, — and in its peculiar sphere must be regarded as a power. The twenty-eight temporal peers sent by Ireland are chosen for life. The sixteen sent by Scotland are elected for each Parliament by the nobility of that country. The Arch- bishops of York and Canterbury, and twenty-four bishops, constitute the spiritual peerage of England. Four spiritual peers from Ireland alternate with each other at successive sessions. The remaining members of the House of Lords are English temporal peers. Thus constituted, this House thoroughly represents the aristocracy of the kingdom. The House of Commons is the popular branch of the gov- ernment. It originated in the year 1295. It has at present a little over six hundred and fifty members. About fifty of these are from Scotland, somewhat over one hundred from Ireland, and the remainder from England and Wales. A few over two hundred and fifty are sent by counties, and about four hundred represent towns and universities. The theory of the government is that this House represents the whole population. The knights, or the members chosen by the free- holders of the counties, are alleged to represent the agricul- tural interests, while the citizens and burgesses, or the mem- bers sent by towns, are said to represent the interests of trade. But the poor have no one to represent them, and the people generally, at the present time, are far from admitting the correctness of the above theory of the government. The THE ENGLISH GOVERNMENT. 293 House of Commons, although the most popular branch of the government, in fact represents only a small portion of the nation. As the members of Parliament receive no pay for their services, no one but a man of large fortune can afford to accept of the office ; and, at present, with the prevailing prac- tice of bribery, it is necessary sometimes to expend a hand- some fortune in securing a seat. Many of the members belong to the nobility. To accommodate those who reside in or near London, and who have business which must be at- tended to, the House does not ordinarily meet until four o'clock in the afternoon, and continues its sessions until late m the night. Of the bills which excite any general interest, it is said that there is not one in a hundred which is passed until after midnight. The House of Commons, although less dignified than the House of Lords, is more alive. It furnishes the chief arena of British eloquence, — and the liberties taken in debate are hardly less than those which prevail in our own House of Representatives. The habits of the House of Commons seem to an American peculiar. The Speaker and the clerks still keep up the custom of wearing an old-fashioned gray wig. The room in which the House holds its sessions is oblong. There is an open space in the centre nearly the whole length of the room. The Speaker's desk is at one end of this open space, and on both sides there are rows of very long seats. As the Ministry of the Crown are selected from the members of Parliament, and many of them from the House of Commons, those members of the Ministry who belong to the Commons always sit on the for- ward seat nearest the Speaker on his right hand. The mem- bers generally sit with their hats on. When one rises to speak, or when he changes his seat, he must take his hat off. Thus should a member move a few feet to speak to another member, or for any reason leave his own seat without taking off his hat, he would at once be called to order, — but it is all right for him to wear his hat so lone; as hti sits still. 294 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. The popular iutei est of the nation centres in the House of Commons. Here is the nation's power, — so true is this as to call forth from Mr. Roebuck, in 1858, the exclamation, " The Crown ! it is the House of Commons ! " USEFULNESS OP FAULTFINDERS. N a certain town in Massachusetts there was a man, several years since, who seemed to be a bold leader of all opposi- tion to religion, and always ready to publish abroad any de- linquencies which might be discovered in any professor of religion. At length he made up his mind to remove from the place to another part of the country. Meeting the pastor of the Congregational Church one day, he said, after passing the usual salutation, — " Well, I suppose you know that I am gomg to leave town soon, and you will probably be glad of it." " Glad of it ? Why, no," said the minister ; " you are one of our most useful men, and I think I shall hardly know how to spare you." Taken aback, somewhat, by such a reply, he immediately asked, " How is that ? " " Why," rejoined the minister, " there can't be a sheep that gets a foot out of this fold, but what you will always bark from one end of the town to the other. I think you have really been one of the most useful watch-dogs that I ever knew." The remaining conversation we will not repeat ; but there seemed to be an idea too good to be lost, in reference to the usefulness of some wicked men, who are always disposed to find fault with the Church. They may often exert some re- straining influence and do good in that way, when they do not intend to. David recognized this kind of usefulness, HONOR FOR THIEVES. 295 wheu he said, " I will take heed to my ways, that I sin not with my tongue ; I will keep my mouth with a bridle, while the wicked is before me." (Ps. xxxix. 1.) If the Lord has bid them curse, why should they not finish their work ? The reward of such a kind of usefulness may, indeed, differ from that of those who really love to honor God in what they, do ; but that God will surely see to in the end, so that no injustice shall be done them. Reflection. More than one kind of watch-dogs may be very useful ; and though they may be liable to occasional madness, yet their bite is seldom fatal to any but themselves. Kind treatment may sometimes quiet them for a season, but the very sight or hearing of a straying sheep is quite sure to make them active again in their useful work. Pity that they could not have reason to use for their own good, as well as instinct, that must be spent alone for the good of others. HONOR FOR THIEVES. TEMPORA mntaiitur, et nos mutamur in illis, (" Times are changed, and we are changed with them,") is an old proverb, but a true one. " Men change with fortune, manners change with climes, Tenets with books, and principles with times." " Honor among thieves " has long been a common saying, but honor /or thieves is the modern rendering. There now seems to be a point where vice rises into the scale of virtue, where swindling becomes a shrewd business transaction, and rascality honorable. But just where stealing ceases to be stealing, and is recognized as evidence of shrewdness, is not as yet clearly defined. There can be no doubt that a miser- able fellow who picks your pocket of ten dollars has commit- ted a great offence, and should be dealt with rigorously, pun- 296 HOUSEHOLD READING. ished to the very extent of the law ; nor is there any doubt, on the other hand, that he who swindles government or cor- porations of thousands or millions of dollars is looked upon as a remarkably smart man, and although, in deference to a little sense of justice still lingering in some minds, he maybe restrained in his personal liberty for a short time, he is not generally regarded as a villain, and erelong reappears in so- ciety and is petted and honored as he never would have been had he remained stupidly honest or honestly stupid. A graduated scale runs from the petty larceny to the gi- gantic fraud, and somewhere on this scale robbery ceases to be sin and becomes a business transaction. But the precise line of distinction is like the vanishing point in a picture, or like the horizon at sea, — it is someivhere, but not exactly dis- cernible ; and, therefore, if a man is inclined to be a thief, his proper course, according to the present standard of honor, is to be sure and make his theft large enough to carry him up to a safe position beyond all possible doubt, and where he is cer- tain to receive that deference which is due to his great skill and success. Robbery thus becomes a question, not of how little, but how much ; for danger lurks in the former, and security and a fortune in the latter. This is not the day for small things ; for why should a man steal an editor's or a minister's pocket- book and go to jail, when he can retire on an ample fortune, secure from all molestation, by stealing a hundred thousand dollars? Human nature is not quite so short-sighted, and therefore it is that we hear every few days of swindlings and robberies which astound us by their magnitude. Then follows compounding with felony, " arrangements " with the rogues, public admiration of the brilliancy of the affair, and minute descriptions of the iniquitous details, which make a hero of the robber just in proportion as they show his skill in crime ; and if the guilty party by some mistake gets inside instead of keeping outside of prison walls, sympathy is immediately roused, petitions from men high in social and business and HONOR FOR THIEVES. 29T official circles pour in upon the Executive, either tliat the un- fortunate man shall be released, or at any rate not be com- pelled to associate or be put to menial labor with those vulgar men who were silly enough to commit insignificant instead of magnificent crimes, for it is manifestly unjust that the accom- plished villain who robs upon a large scale should be put up- on a level with the cowardly man whose trembling soul did not dare great things. At last, when once more free, the finished rascal is received with open arms by the mercantile community, and holds his head as high, at least, as any of his fellows. This picture is not overdrawn. It would be easy to specify instances sustaining all that has been said. Mercantile honor is not what it once was. The standard is sadly lowered, if not, indeed, in many cases, wholly lost sight of. We have seen it stated that strict integrity is not an indispensable qual- ification for admission to our Boards of Trade, or our Cham- bers of Commerce. These names were once guaranties for the character of their members, but it can hardly be said so now. There is rottenness somewhere in our business circles. Shrewdness or business tact are words that cover what we once called di. iionesty, and success in accumulating property by whatever nuans seems to be the grand touchstone to which everything is applied. The very fact that stock gamblings and bogus companies of all sorts are not only countenanced, but oftentimes originated and carried on by men claiming to be honorable in their deal- ings, shows that the moral element i-s sadly lacking in the business community. We heard a broker remark a few days ago, that it was nest to impossible to transact his business on a basis of rigid integrity toward both buyer and seller, and we fear that the number of those in business circles who would shrink from a public exposure of all their dealings is fearfully large. The theory that " all things are honorable in trade " is practically adopted by many whom we little suspect, and we fear that many who profess the Christian name do not carry 298 HOUSEHOLD KEADESfG. 4' the principles of the Bible into their counting-rooms. There are those always ready to declaim against mixing religion with politics or mercantile affairs ; but is there not need of it ? Is it not time for sober thought and action, when oui code of business morals will not stand the test of our church morals ? when we feel compelled to separate our religion from our daily vocations, lest it, too, become contaminated and lose its identity ? Is it not time to cease being honest onl^ when it is the " best policy," to cease from that practical honoring of rogues which our consciences condemn, but which our code of business morals too often allows, and to carry enough of religion into our daily transactions to save community from moral rottenness ? "WE ESTEEMED HIM NOT." WE were showing to a very little boy a picture of " the child Jesus in the Temple with the doctors," and were saying that they did not know that he was the Christ. He replied : " But why did n't they know him ? He has n't got his shine, has he ? They 'd know him if he had his shine. ^^ Ah yes, that was the true reason. When the Son of God came to earth he laid his glory by. He made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men. Long beforehand the prophet had described him as being without form or comeliness, with no beauty that we should desire him, as a root out of a dry ground. He left " his shine " behind, and so people won- dered, not knowing who he was. He spoke wonderful words, and did mighty deeds, and thus gave hints of his rightful glory, which were in strong contrast with his humil- ity and poverty ; but only once were men permitted to see his TWO DYING BOYS. 299 glorj. Tliat once was on the mount of transfiguration, when " his face did shine as the sun, and his raiment was white as the light." But at all other times, to the human eye, he seemed to be a child among children, or a man among men. Many painters have thrown a radiance around the head of Jesus, suggested by their ideas of his glory, but not author- ized by any Scriptural account of his appearance. We can but admire their works as works of art, and yet we need to guard ourselves and our children against the thought that there was any such " shine " upon our Saviour's face when he lay in the manger, or wept over Jerusalem, or suffered on the cross. TWO DYING BOYS. SAID the Rev. N. McLeod of Scotland, " The other day, I was requested by a brother minister, who was unwell, to go and visit a dying child. He told me some remarkable things of this boy, eleven years of age, who, during three years' sickness, had manifested the most patient submission to the will of God, with a singular enlightenment of the Spirit. I went to visit him. The child had suffered excruciating pain ; for years he had not known one day's rest. I gazed with wonder at the boy. After drawing near to him, and speaking some words of sympathy, he looked at me with his blue eyes, — he could not move, it was the night before he died, — and breathed into my ear these few words, " I am strong in Him."' The words were few, and uttered feebly; they were the words of a feeble child, in a poor home, where the only ornament was that of a meek and quiet and affec- tionate mother : and these words seemed to lift the burden from the very heart ; they seemed to make the world more 300 HOUSEHOLD READING. beautiful than it over was before ; they brought home to my heart a great and blessed truth. May you, sir, and I, and every one else, be strong in him ! " It is now almost five years since the sufferings of this dear boy ended, — since he entered that painless world where the inhabitant shall no more say, " I am sick," but where all are " strong in him." Many times, in the interval, has a vision of that death-scene passed before us ; many times has it brought to painful consciousness the weakness of our own faith, in contrast with the strength of that patient little suf- ferer ; but many times has it made us " strong in Him " whose strength was thus made perfect in weakness, and who enabled that dying child to breathe forth, though but in whis- per, those last strong words of faith and hope. These words have been wafted to these Western shores ; they have been repeated on the islands of the sea ; they have doubtless been spoken in languages of which that dear boy had never heard. We would not detain them from their blessed mission of strength to the weak, of patience to the suffering, and of hope to the dying. Nay ! rather will we again intrust them to the winds of heaven, and speed them on in their errand of peace and joy, — to visit yet other shores, to speak in yet other tongues, and to enable yet many departing souls to feel, if not to whisper, " I am strong in Him ! " The scene changes from an obscure chamber in Glasgow to the still more secluded wigwam on our Western border. Again the minister of Jesus is present to cheer a dying boy, as he looks down into the dark valley, and timidly reaches forth his hand to grasp the staff of the good Shepherd. The little Testament, which his kind teacher had taught him both to read and to love, lies by his side. With an earnest- ness which cannot be denied, but with a reach of purpose which his teacher cannot fathom, the meek child of the forest makes one last request, — "When you lay me in my cofiin, I want you to place my little Testament at the side of my head, and bury it with me." When asked why he desired TWO DYING BOYS. 301 thi&, he replied, " In the resurrection, when so many shall appear before the Saviour, I am afraid he will not notice me. I will take my little Testament in my hand, and hold it up, and when he sees that, I am sure he will receive me." We love to think of this meek and lowly child. We love to follow him through the river of death, and along the farther shore, until he stands before the gates of the celestial city. He bears in his hand a passport, on which the watch- ful sentinel at the pearly gate needs not to write his name, for it hath already on it a name which is above every other. It is the same passport which was sealed by John at Patmos, and which alone has admitted, to the New Jerusalem, every one of its blood-bought and ransomed inhabitants. He moves forward towards the burning throne, all unconscious of inferiority of age or race or present rank ; all unmindful of former doubts and fears and conflicts ; wrapt in the vis- ion of glory which surrounds him ; filled with a fulness of joy which his tender thoughts had never conceived; and joining already, without waiting to be taught the strain, and with a sweetness which no practised cherub can surpass, in the new song which is sung in heaven. Standing, at length, before Him who sitteth on the throne, and laying his passport at his feet, he feels a gentler than a mother's hand laid upon his head, and hears a voice, sweeter than that of his earthly teacher, saying to him, " Of such is the kingdom of heav- en ? " Dear boy ! you, too, are now safe in the tender Shep- herd's arms. We would take up the passport which you have laid down. We would bear it with us through all the wanderings of our earthly pilgrimage, until we, too, are guided safely home to the loved fold, where there shall be one flock and one Shepherd. B02 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. THE BITTER CUP. " Father, remove this cup." THOUGH in his stress of human grief An angel bore him up, My Lord loved not the gall to taste, Nor seized the draught with vaunting haste, But cried, while yearning for relief, " Father, remove this cup ! " Not with a stoic's stony pride, Veiled by a seraph's wings, The Christ looked through the Garden's gloom. Upon the thorns, the cross, the tomb, But faintly turned his head aside, With human shudderings. When sin's red vintage must outflow, His cruel drink to be, With no defiant step he trod The wine-press of the wrath of God, But meekly prayed, to shun the woe, " Remove this cup from me." And may not I, when from the cloud That darkly folds me up, The heavy drops of grief distil. And life's deep chalice overfill, Cry out, afraid, and not too proud, — " Father, remove this cup ! " Why need my lips the gall embrace. Nor shrink with pale dismay, It is enough, that I as he. The servant of his Lord should be, And I may plead with God's sweet grace, — " Let this cup pass away." PENDANTS AND PILLARS. 303 Yet while I sue, like my dear Lord, Some bitter cup to shun, Like him the murmur I must fold, In high resolve, and purpose bold, And copy still his loftier word, — " Yet not my will be done." His fainting flesh and faltering speech, May not my patterns be, While these alone I wrongly learn. And from the true example turn, Which my weak words may never reach, — " Remove this cup from me." This plea be mine, — and only then, — When from these lips of clay Can break the Master's after-tone, Yet " not ray will, but thine, be done," And joyful suffering hush the strain, " Let this cup pass away." PENDANTS AND PILLARS. CONVERSING- a few days since with a friend, respecting a church that had lost several valuable members by death, and expressing some fears for their prosperity, he replied, " Their loss is more than made up in young . He has piety and good sense, and is very active and useful in the church." All understand that much more was conveyed by this statement respecting the individual in question, than the sim- ple fact that he had made a profession of religion. He had not only entered the church, but he had carried his manhood with him. Many a young man fails to take all of himself in- to the church. That which can plan, and execute, and suf- 304 HOUSEHOLD READING. fer is left without. If you would learn his true power, you must see him when employed in secular affairs. Then he is a lion ; terrified by no enemy, disheartened by no opposition, shrinking from no self-denial. If you would learn his weak- ness, follow him to the labors demanded by his Christian pro- fession. There you will see timidity, irresolution, and, along the plainest path of duty, a halting step, that contrasts most painfully with what you witnessed before. But this young man in this church was all sanctified and set apart to the service of God. His energy, his reliability, his power of accomplishment as a man of business, showed themselves in the church in the performance of the duties which his profes- sion enjoined upon him there. The risks of life follow us everywhere. While destitute of religious principle, the young man is in constant peril. Indulged appetites and passions, or that more seemly friend- ship of the world which is enmity with God, watch for his soul. If, hopefully escaping from these, he enters the Church, his highest growth may be impeded, and his promise of use- fulness prove delusive. We look with delight upon the beau- tiful blossoms of spring, but it is a delight chastened by the conviction that few of them will fulfil the fair promise they make. The frost will chill. The storm will blight. The worm will gnaw away their life. And few will bring forth fruit unto perfection. So have we looked, at some commun- ion scene, upon the throng that have come forth to profess their faith in Christ. There was youth. There was talent. There was energy of character. It was inspiring to think of the good that might be performed, of the attainments made, of the treasures laid up for a better world by that fair com- pany that were just then putting on their armor. But the saddening reflection, suggested by experience, would occur to us that this bright promise would not be fulfilled ; that the forest and the field, with their disfigured, dwarfed, and dying forms of vegetable life, " are emblems true " of the Church ; that here, as respects the highest usefulness, fail- ure is the rule and success the exception. LUKE SHORT. 305 In almost every church there are those who are prompt at the call of duty, ready to assume responsibility, to perform the labors and bear the burdens that their profession imposes. These are the body-guard of the church, — the men that meet its emergencies and sustain its interests. It is not ex- travagant to say that the number of such is, relatively to the whole, very small, in most of our churches, while in some they hardly exist. The great mass must be " watched and tended." They are unsightly jyendants, not pillars, — either of strength or beauty, — in their church. When the intelligence that some one professor of religion is active and useful produces a feeling akin to surprise, it is plain that we greatly need that dispensation of the Spirit which shall secure to the Church the resources that are rightfully hers ; that shall not only plant new trees in the courts of the Lord, but render those that are already there fair and flourishing. An entire consecration to God, such as the Scriptures enjoin and true piety approves, of all now in the Church, would be felt to the ends of the earth. Then would Zion aris3 and shine, " her light being come, and the glory of the Lord being risen upon her." LUKE SHORT. " Can a man be bom when he is old f " LUKE SHORT was born in Dartmouth, England, about the year 1630, and lived there till he was sixteen years old. At a later period, he came to this country, and settled in Marblehcad, where he led a seafaring life. Later still, he re- moved to Middleborough, Massachusetts, where he spent the remainder of his days. At one hundred years of age, he worked on his fi|rm, and his mental faculties were but little 20 306 HOUSEHOLD READING. impaired. He remembered to have seen Oliver Cromwell, and to have been present when Charles I. was beheaded in January, 1649. He was sitting one day in his field at this advanced age, calling to mind, as aged people are wont to do, the scenes of his early life, when memory recalled the fact of his having heard the celebrated John Flavel preach on the text, 1 Cor. xvi. 22, " If any man love not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be anathema maranatha." Mr. Flavel explained these words somewhat in the following manner, " Let him be cursed with a grievous curse, let him be devoted to utter destruction when the Lord shall come to judgment." Mr. Short recollected much of the sermon ; and also that Mr. Flavel, when he came to dismiss the people, said, " How shall I bless this whole assembly, when every person in it who loveth not the Lord Jesus Christ is anathema mara- natha " ? The impression on the assembly was exceedingly solemn, and one person, a baronet, was so overcome by intense feel- ing that he fell to the floor. These reminiscences now passed in solemn review before the mind of Luke Short ; and, through the infinite grace of God, led to his saving conver- sion. He joined the First Church in Middleborough, May 22, 1731. Rev. Peter Thacher, who admitted him, and who records the transaction, says, " I suppose him near one hundred years old." He gave pleasing evidence of piety until his death, which occurred in 1746, at the age of one hundred and sixteen. Here, certainly, is a striking instance of the indestructibility of impressions once made on the mind. Impenitent sinner ! all the solemn warnings you have ever heard, though you may have forgotten them for the present, will sooner or later come to mind, perhaps to your everlasting sorrow. ANDEESONVILLE PRISON. 307 ANDERSONVILLE PRISON. I AM elevated about eighteen feet from the ground, and command an ahnost perfect view of the accursed den. I am in the valley formed by the little brook that runs directly across the enclosure, nearly bisecting it. This brook is not, as has been said, a slow, sluggish stream, but a ripple is clearly discernible, glinting in the sunlight until it disap- pears in the stockade' on the other side. The water falls six feet in crossing the prison grounds. Hills arise on both sides of this stream, that on the north side much more pre- cipitous than the one on the south. The former is now much washed and gullied by storms, but formerly it was literally honeycombed by caves in which the prisoners lived, or rather wretchedly stayed. Some of these caves now re- main, and are objects of intense interest, and it will repay us to go in and examine them minutely. You must crawl in on hands and knees, and be reverent as you go, for many plucky hearts and weary frames have gone before you. "When you get in, you can scarcely sit erect, but look around, and you will find that a workman has been there. The red clay can be cut into any shape, and does not easily crumble. There is a bench formed by cutting away the earth above, the corners as square now as when the work was completed. There is a little fireplace carved elegantly out of the solid clay, the jambs and mantel yet entire, the cunning, square chimney, cut through up to daylight, — there it is, without a flake having fallen from its sides ; and the ornamental top above the surface is there entire, with its little black hole, making one think that a little volcano had been in action. Then looking a little farther you will see where the poor prisoner scooped with an unfaltering hand his bed out of the cold, damp clay. There he slept and dreamed of home ; there, perhaps, he died. But let us take 808 HOUSEHOLD BEADING. a look on the other side of the brook. Here the color of the earth is light yellow. There are no caves except one that is found sunk under one of the large sheds used for the sick who were not taken to the hospital. This cave was dug in the level ground about three feet deep, with chimney and fireplace as in the others. We lighted some straw in the fireplace, which illuminated the interior and burned with a great roar, so powerful was the draft. Here are hundreds of huts, made of mud and sticks, the weeds and grass grow- ing over them. Let us enter one of them. The side walls are about one foot in height, laid up most beautifully with laths split from the pine. A cornice is made of the same material, the lath running in an opposite direction from that in the wall. On this cornice the rafters are laid, running up with a very sharp pitch and meeting about four and a half feet above the ground. The rafters are covered with the same kind of lath about half-way up, when thatching begins, evidently from want of material. In the midst of these huts there is what they called a ward, which consists of posts planted in the ground, covered with a shingle roof. Of such sheds there were eleven within the stockade. Each would contain about one hundred and twenty-five men, and one plate and drinking-cup was fur- nished by the " Confederacy " for the whole. Some objects of interest can be seen in walking about among those huts. Here are the remains of an old shoe, tied up with strings to keep it together, another is fastened with wire. I kick over a bruised and battered piece of sheet -iron tied up into shape by strips of cotton cloth, and am about to ask what it is, when I discover that it is a drinking-cup. And scattered all about are tiny staves, some of them only two inches long, some much longer. These were once parts of a drinking-vessel, curiously made with a penknife. The stories of horror, materials for which are supplied by the history of this place, will be read with a shudder so long ANDEESONVILLE PRISON. 309 as American liistjiy shall be known. The shocking crimes against humanity were, like all crimes, so unnecessary that they are without a single apology. The prison was situated in a region of country teeming with abundant supplies, as yet not wasted by the ravages of war ; near a dense pine forest, from which, had our men been permitted, they would in one week's time have covered the whole enclosure, but from the insatiate malice of the enemy they were compelled to shiver in the storms, and scorch under the rays of the midsummer sun. Entering these gates seemed like going alive into one's grave. The inner stockade is an immensely strong thing, the logs rising eighteen feet above the ground. Then all around the top arose at every few rods the sentry-roof, where a blood- thirsty wretch watched, too glad to have an opportunity to shoot a man if he but crossed the dead-line with his hand ! Twenty rods behind this stockade rose another equally strong, and two rods in the rear of this another was in process of erection, which opened into nine different forts, all nearly completed, rendering escape impossible. The grounds lie in two slopes, and one earthwork with two or three guns, and a fort with five or six, were so arranged that they could sweep every foot of the interior of the stockade. But there was an- other battery of a more frightful character, — a battery that opened twenty mouths on the prisoners, — the slave-hunting bloodhounds ! This was a real institution, consisting of three log buildings about a hundred rods from the stockade, one house for the dogs, one for the keepers and drivers, and one for the horses. It was the business of the keepers to make the circuit of the stockade with the pack of hounds every morning to detect the track of any prisoner who might have escaped. These dogs actually tore the flesh of our men, and I have seen one who was tracked to his hiding-place by them. This caps the climax both to the strength and diabolism of this prison. In view of all this, what was the dark and bloody philosophy on which this prison was founded ? What the reason for such 310 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. ' ^f^ inhuman treatment? It was not necessary to the perfect security of the prisoners, neither was the Confederate cause advanced thereby, at home or abroad. The philosophy is simply this : it was an outcropping of the system of American slavery. When 1 left those dreary gates, through which so many American citizens have gone to die, I uttered these fear- ful words to my companion, which, on reflection, I want to put on record. Pointing back to the stockade, I said, " That is the damnedest fact of this age, — a hieroglyph on the walls of hell appearing in time ; and posterity will decipher it with a shudder." It is the last grand spasm of the demon Slavery, as he shakes his gory locks at liberty, order, and law, and then sinks into outer darkness. If the above words skirt the borders of profanity, please let the unconscious type utter them on my responsibility, for profanity here becomes the utterance of sober truth. GONE! — SO SUDDENLY! IT was between six and seven in the afternoon when I reached the house. D was very sick. He was a young man " of wonderful strong constitution," the father said. The doctor had told them, " There 's nothing alarm- ing in the case." They all thought so. I had a glimpse of him as he opened the door, and called for his sister, a girl of marked excellence, — his only sister. There are only three of them, — two brothers and this sister. He was in the field with the horses three days ago, and has not taken off his clothes only nights. I 'm some afraid of diphtheria. So we just spoke through the door. I felt uneasy at the tone and symptoms. An hour after the physician came again, — saw " no cause for alarm," — left him. In a little time poor D could not GONE ! — SO SUDDENLY. 311 endure the agony for breath, — called for ice, — sprang up, — went through the door to a room where his father sat, and in convulsive anguish strove for breath until blood flowed. The strong, noble father (he is six feet and more, and heart as big in proportion) embraced him to help him, drew him to a lounge in the room, and while holding him in his arms, D gasped, " Jce, tee/" The head fell back; he was — dead ! The clock had struck nine and a half. The house was still. Nobody was in it, by chance, but the father, mother, the brother and sister, and the dead son. They were stupefied with horror, and laying him at length on the seat, they sat down, speechless, tearless, motionless ! and gazed, and gazed, they say, an hour ; — not a word, not a tear from one of them. Neighbors at length came in — took up the body. Tears and cries filled the house. I 've just been again. Such a house of mourning is seldom seen. D was the rising hope of the family, fine in form, brilliant in gifts ; a master of the city-side of the business ; almost an idol in the family ; and gone so suddenly ! 0, putting all together, did I ever see such a morning ? Was Tie a Christian ? If you have read so far, you are sure to ask that question. He never thought he was. None claimed it for him. Alas ! the brilliant gayety of the young manhood had no tinge of the blood from the cross on it ! " No hope, — without God in the world ! " Young reader, I have written this for you. Put your soul in that soul's place, and say, does heaven or hell await you ? Stop, young man ! young woman ! ponder. Hearken at your own heart. Dying in your working suit, — in the arms which meant just to support you, — say, are you ready ? " Crone so suddenly I " 312 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. GOD'S ANGER. IT is not that impatient, stormy, passionate wrath which men indulge ; but something calm, self-poised, tender, yet unerring and fearful. Have you ever been in a court of justice when a kind-hearted judge was in the act of pro- nouncing a fatal sentence upon an offender? If so, your attention was perhaps arrested by perceiving his deep and subdued emotion. You heard his address to the criminal, and were surprised on discovering his voice sometimes growing husky, his hands trembling, and his eyes suffused with tears. You listened to his words, and were deeply moved to hear him say that it was inexpressibly painful to him to consign a fellow-man to death ; that he would freely give all he possessed could the deed of wrong be undone, and, were it right, he would hasten to solicit a pardon for the guilty man ; yet that far deeper than his pity was his love of right ; that he could not allow his sympathies to disturb the tranquil decision of justice, and must, though weeping, utter the words of doom. If you have seen this, you have felt that justice in man is not a mere passion, which exists only by subduing every gentle and kind emotion, but rather that it is something more central and vital than any passion ; itself peaceful, yet having power to touch the finest sensibilities, and assemble in its train all the tenderest emotions of the soul. Not unlike this is the justice of God. It does not stifle his compassion, and create a reign of pitiless severity in his breast ; it rather quickens the play of all compassionate feelings, and utters its decisive voice in accents of sympathy, as did the Saviour when he beheld the city and wept over it, even while he con- demned it. How hopeless will be the sinner's escape from such " an- ger " ! The judgment of an enraged being would be less certain and awful. OUR BABY. 313 OUR BABY. WHEN the pansies' purple buds Opened in the early spring, And all Nature from her sleep Woke 'mid songs and blossoming, Baby opened her soft eyes, Bluer than the April skies. Purest depths of feeling stirred For the helpless little thing, Sent us from the Father's hand. Such a wealth of joy to bring ; By her coming, filling up To the brim life's sweetest cup. Peeping through the cradle bars, "With her gentle eyes of blue. Answering back each fond caress. With a low and dove-like coo, Daily golden cords of love Close around our hearts she wove. But the cradle 's empty now. We shall turn there for the light, Nevermore, of soft bright eyes ; Ne'er again the pillows Avhite Will be pressed by that dear head : Baby has another bed. Withered flowers and grassy turf Cover close the form so fair : O, how bitter were our grief! If our gaze but rested there. If what memory could recall, And that little grave, were all I 314 HOUSEHOLD READING. Now, as when he walked on earth, Jesus bids the children come. Many, listening to the call, Have gone up to his bright home. Safely in that upper fold, Is the lamb of our flock told. Saviour, in this chastening hand Let us love and mercy see. By it, draw our wounded hearts Near, and nearer unto thee, So, when free from earthly stain, Baby shall be ours again. THE PLEASURES AND BENEFITS OF TRAVEL. THERE is no more profitable expenditure for any man than that which is made, occasionally, at least, for the purpose of seeing his own country, and, if his resources will admit, of visiting other lands. The pleasures of travel are among the purest and most de- lightful that we experience. We see the varied wonders and beauties of nature, and our tastes thus become elevated and refined, and our minds are impressed with the evidences everywhere afforded of the power, wisdom, and goodness of the Creator. If we travel into foreign climes, we are surprised with the difference between the habits and appearance of the people there and those of our own country ; while we are pleased with the displays we see of enterprise, wealth, and magnificence. We are delighted to visit spots which are hallowed by the touch of genius on the part of the poet and the novelist, or by recollections of the illustrious men and women who once dwelt there, and whose memory still lingers around the vicinage. "GOD IS LOVE." 315 But there is no satisfaction greater than that which is felt when we look upon objects hoary with antiquity, and stand in places associated with great historic events, which carry us far back into the past as we call to mind the scenes enacted there, and strive to reproduce in our imagination the actors in those scenes. One of our most gifted writers has said : " The pyramid in its sandy vale, the Parthenon, the Acropo- lis, the Colosseum, the Tiber, flowing so quietly, while the decrepit mistress of the world slumbers amid the relics of departed greatness, touch new sources of feeling and con- templation." Nor are the pleasures of travel to be exhausted while we are traversing foreign lands. There is a perennial source of satisfaction in the retrospection of what we have seen and heard and felt. " Travelling," says Mrs. Farrar, in her " Rec- ollections of a Lifetime," " is one of the few pleasures of this world that does not 'perish in the using.' Southey said, 'It is more delightful to have travelled than to travel,' and I think he is right. The most prosperous journeys have their anxie- ties and disappointments, and sight-seeing is so fatiguing as sometimes to destroy all enjoyment. But in the retrospect all that was unpleasant is forgotten, and we only live over the most delightful part of our experiences." "GOD IS LOVE." ANNA G died at the age of thirty-two. At twenty- two she publicly professed her faith in Christ, and united with the Church. The goodness of God led her to repentance. Then she was laid in the furnace, — by the inscrutable providence of God appointed to suffer. Twelve wearisome years of invalid life were hers. More than eight years she lingered on within the walls of a sick-room, and most of the time unable to leave her couch. Severe were 316 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. her sufferings ; yet in all the dwelling no room was more cheerful than hers. Everything was just right. She wel- comed whatever her friends did, as the best that could be done, and so it was never a task, but always a delight, to take care of her. The writer has never seen, and never expects to see again, such patience, cheerfulness, fortitude, unfaltering trust, as throughout this sickness. So serene and sweet was the ex- perience, such heavenly joy and fellowship were vouchsafed, and so clearly could this sufferer read her title " to mansions in the skies," that she desired her pastor, when she was dead, to preach a funeral discourse from these words, " God is love." Wearisome days and nights were appointed, yet her song of daytime and of night was, " God is love." It pleased her Heavenly Father to strengthen her Christian hopes and remove all clouds from her mind. She was a re- markable example and illustration of sustaining grace. The world needs such examples. They are a power. Probably no one ever left the chamber where lay this daughter of adver- sity — as the world would say — without a silent testimony for Christ and his religion. Our friend has only gone from one apartment of our Father's house to another. She is released from suffering and reigns in glory. Her voice to survivors is, " Come, come up hither." Through faith and patience, she now in- herits the promises. On golden characters she reads the mysteries of Providence, and perceives why it is if we would reign with Christ, we must first suffer. Her serene life, her peaceful death, were a fulfilment of the Divine promise, " My grace is sufficient." MISS DAFFODIL. 317 MISS DAFFODIL. / OMY eyes ! " said Clo. Now Clo's eyes were worth looking at just then ; they were very blue, and very round, and very wide open ; more- over, there were two bright dancing lights in them, that played hide-and-seek with her long lashes. But then, you see, that was n't what she meant at all. She was standing on the very edge of a chair, on the very tips of her toes, with both her hands put up on the closet shelf, half her curls, and half her face, as far as her little round nose, raised above it, so that she could just peep in. To be sure, the edge of the shelf did jam and flatten the nose, so as to be decidedly unbecoming, but she did n't care for that. For upon the shelf stood a little arm-chair covered with dark-blue velvet, and in tlie chair sat a doll as large as a good-sized baby. And such a doll ! Its hands and arms were of flesh-colored kid, and looked so much like real liands and arms that Clo always insisted upon it she could n't tell them from her own, unless she tried pinching. Its face was made of the prettiest and pinkest of wax, with two exceedingly red cheeks, and two very black eyes, that opened and shut according to orders. Its hair was long, and could be arranged after every passing fashion. Just now it was crimped into two very peaky, perky, wide-awake little rolls on the top of the head, with a bunch of tiny yellow flowers between. She was in full dress for a party, and wore a cream-colored silk that trailed as much as half a yard behind, — I mean a doll's half-yard. Altogether, she looked about as much like some bright, golden, spring flower, picked by mistalce, as it was possible for a young lady of her size and abilities to look. That was the way she came to be named Daffodil. 318 HOUSEHOLD READING. Now, of all subjects of earthly happiness or ambition, Clo thought Miss Daffodil held the pinnacle,. She also thought it a very mysterious arrangement of Providence, that her mother forbade her to touch the doll without leave. It was a discipline she could not understand, and to which she had never become fully resigned. Therefore, on this particular afternoon, when her mother had gone out to walk, and left her alone, the hollow pleas- ures of her picture-books and paint-box were soon exhaust- ed ; the attractions of the new blocks and the tin soldiers served only to prove that there was an aching void in her heart, and she gave herself up to the melancholy occupa- tion of meditating upon her affliction. " 0, I never ! donH she look splendid ? " she sighed, clutching tight hold of the shelf, to keep from falling. " dear ! her undersleeve 's gone and come unbuttoned, and I 'd oughter fix it, I know I had." By dint of great exertion, she managed to get her chin up high enough just to rest on the edge of the shelf, and then she put out one hand to fasten the undersleeve. " It 's only one little button, and mother says I must keep all my doll's clothes in order ; she did, of course she did. She said so, one, two, three yesterdays ago." So Clo fastened the little button, and strangled herself holding on by her chin, meanwhile. " Now, if I only could take her just on the floor a little minute, and we 'd play house, — how nice I 'd amuse me. Mother said I must amuse me till she came back." Her eyes grew rounder, and bluer, and larger, and she began to feel of the soft silk of Daffodil's dress. Her little fat hand looked like some pretty pink spider walking all over the flounces and trimming. " my ! 0, suz me ! " Clo kept on looking and looking, and the longer she looked, the more she wanted the doll. " Mother lets me have her lots of timos ; she allers gives mSS DAFFODIL. 319 me to her, — no, — I mean she goes and gives her to me, when I 've got a headache. I do guess I 've got one now, — a awful one." She put her hand up to her forehead, and felt all over it. " Yes, I knew it did. It just aches like everything, and it 's goin' to make me cry by and by, if I don't have some- thin' to play with." Then she began to cough, and choked a little, and then she groaned with the funniest little groan. It was more like the noise a kitten makes when somebody treads on its tail than anything else. " I 'm gettin' worser and worser, — I guess I '11 have to have the doctor. May be I '11 be lyin' dead on the carpet when mother comes home — ivouldnH she cry, though ? I do think I '11 have to take Daffodil to make me well. Nobody don't see me, and nobody won't never know, and I '11 just be all over it, and just as — just as well as ever when mother comes. I think she 'd oughter be real glad." So Clo took hold of Miss Daffodil's throat, and began very slowly to pull her out of the chair. But all of a sudden she stopped, let the doll fall back into her seat, and began to look all round the room, — up to the ceiling, and down to the floor, and behind all the chairs. Then her face began to grow very red. " I should n't wonder a mite if He was ! " she said, aloud. You see she had a thought just then — a little quiet thought, that came into her heart before she knew it — about God. " May be he 's right in the room, and he 's been lookin' at me all the time. I don't guess he 'd like it a single bit, if I went and took Daffodil." She waited a minute, looking very hard at the doll, then around the room, then at the doll again. Then she turned away her face, and sliut her eyes very tight, to shut out all sight of Miss Daffodil's silk dress and flowers, and so climbed down from the drawers, and shut the closet door. 320 HOUSEHOLD READING. " There ! " she said, giving it a little bang, " you 're a hateful, horrid door, and I wish I had n't never opened you." When her mother came in, about fifteen minutes after, she found Clo was engineer to a long train of cars, built out of the nursery-chairs, and looking as happy as could be. " Clo," she said, " have you been a good little girl ? " "Yes, mum/'^ said Clo, talking very fast. "I've been just as — 0, just as good as anything ! I thought I was goin' to be naughty once though, and then I thought I guessed I would n't." Her mother said she was very glad, and went to hang up her bonnet. " Mother," said Clo, presently, giving the bell of her locomotive a furious ring, — " mother, what do people in Bos- ton, and Europe, and Asia, and all those places do for a heaven ? " " 0, they have a heaven just as much as we do, Clo." " 0, well, I suppose their heaven is just hitched on to ours, then." " No," said her mother, biting her lips, " it 's all one heaven. God is everywhere, you know." " Clear in the closet, on the shelf ? " asked Clo. " He is everywhere, all at once," said her mother. " He could see into the closet." " Well," said Clo, winking very hard, " I thought so ; and it scart me so all to once this afternoon. I was goin' to do the awfuUest thing — O, you don't know! I was — I was goin' to -*- 1 was — " Here Clo stopped to have a little coughing fit, and then began again. " I was going to take Daifodil down. I got her clear out of the chair, and then I thought may be He was lookin' right down from heaven, — right smash down, — and I put her straight back, and shut my eyes tight, and runned away," Clo's mother stooped down, and gave her two or three Extemporaneous PEEAcmNG. 321 kisses, and said something that made the little girl very hap- py, — something about being very much pleased with her, and about God's being pleased, too. Awhile after, she went into the closet, and brought out the doll. So Clo and Miss Daffodil played house till supper- time. EXTEMPORANEOUS PREACHING. THERE are some tendencies in the custom of preaching from the manuscript alone which limit very generally the effectiveness of the pulpit. One of these is a tendency to sameness. The clergyman who preaches written sermons altogether is very apt to cast them all in the same mould. Many, it is true, resist successfully this tendency ; but still the tendency exists, and the majority more or less yield to it. Another tendency is to the adoption of the essay style, that is, a style litted for matter which is to be read, and not heard. Of written sermons those are best adapted to their purpose which are composed as if the preacher while writing had his audience in imagination before him. This can seldom be effected if the writer never speaks extemporaneously to his people. Doing this in the lecture-room is but a partial cor rective of the evil. The preacher must speak from his pulpit a part of the time, if he would make his written sermons have, in full, the character of speaking sermons. The pulpil of the church and the desk of the lecture-room are far from beinjr the same in the preacher's mind or in the minds of his hearers, but are different stand-points in his relations to his people. Another tendency is, to degeneracy in the character of preaching, or, at least, to the hindrance of growth. Those who write all their sermons write too much to do it as well as they should in justice to themselves and to their people. This 21 322 HOUSEHOLD READING. ■writing just so much matter weekly, — this writing by the yard, as one may term it, — is a drudgery that in most cases inevitably enfeebles and dulls the mind. " His ordinary ser- mons do not show his real power," was said to me of one of the most commanding minds in the clerical profession in this country. The explanation is found in the quantity that he writes so rapidly from week to week for his pulpit, in addition to his other labors to which he is called, from the prominent and wide influence that he exerts upon the public mind, I am clear in the opinion, — and I am sure that any one who has had any extended experience in composition will agree with me, — that clergymen generally cannot write more than one sermon every fortnight, without either breaking down more or less in health, or failing to improve in sermonizing, or, perhaps, even degenerating. It is only extraordinary mental power that can enable one to avoid either one or the other of these results. Another tendency is to the separation of the preacher from the modes of thinking and the sympathies of his hearers. This comes in two ways, — there is too much of looking out upon men from the study ; and the amount of writing to be done interferes with the parochial duties which bring the pastor into near and practical fellowship with his people. This isolation tends to bring into his preaching too much of either the technicalities of theology, or those unpractical spec- ulations which more suit the study than the throng and bustle of every-day life. All these tendencies may be obviated by a judicious and faithful use of extemporaneous preaching. I say judicious and faithful, for if there be carelessness, neglect of due preparation, too frequent use, or a too large reliance upon extemporaneous powers, there will be failure. Half of the sermons should be written. If this be the plan, the preacher will not speak as if he spoke always, or write as if he wrote always. The two classes of effort will affect each other, — the written giving definiteness, con- A REFOEM-SCHOOL SCENE. 323 ciseness, and system, the extemporaneous giving life, freeness, and adaptation to the actual present needs of the audience ; the written furnishing the scholarly element, tlie extemporane- ous the practical ; the written supplying both mind and heart with the deep riches of truth, the extemporaneous gathering the resources of imagination, and of thought inspired and elevated by a living sympathy. This mutual influence will always be on the increase, so that from year to year the two modes of sermonizing will become more and more assimi- lated. That the plan which I advocate should be universally adopted, I do not claim. The elderly clergyman, whose habits have been long fixed, cannot be expected to change them ; he would probably fail, if he attempted it. But the plan is a feasible one for all young clergymen, unless it be some few, who from original constitution, coupled with defective education, are incapable of any extemporaneous effort. It cannot, however, succeed fully, until there is a different mode of training in our theological seminaries. The student should be taught how to speak as thoroughly as how to write. A REFORM-SCHOOL SCENE THE long lines had been signalled to enter their sleeping- cells, and stood, exposing each a hand through the grat- ed door, while the watchmen rapidly turned the bolts. At last all was still, excepting the necessary movements of scores of retiring boys, the tread of the inspector on the corridor, and the voice of one sobbing child. " That hoy must he still,''^ rang through the vast hall in the stern voice of the superin- tendent. But he was not stilled. It was the chaplain's privilege to seek out and comfort the little stranger. He had " slept with his brother the night before, in .the room next to 324 HOUSEHOLD READING. his parents." His " sister played with him yesteiiay." He was " kissed by a mother's lip," last night. 0, how his young heart sank now. Alone! A grated door! An iron bedstead ! No table ! No chair ! No friend ! He had thrown himself upon his bed as I entered, and I took his hot hand in mine. It was not hard and rough like the hands of most of his future companions. His soft hair was evidently used to lying upon his forehead in glossy ringlets as I saw it now. After being soothed with kind words and a seat upon my knee, he asked, — " Please, sir, will you let me go home ? I will never steal again. Indeed, sir, I will not — ever. Can I go, sir ? Can I ? " He had slipped down upon his feet, his tears ran like water, and he evidently hoped to hear me tell him, " Yes." That stern command, " Let the noise in the third corridor cease," could not hush his earnest alto voice to a whisper. He pleaded to see his mother. " She will forgive me, sir. May I not see her ? Oh, sir, I will do right after this." Let the curtain drop here. It was but one of numbers of such scenes. And now that years of active life have inter- vened, such tender pleas still follow dreams of the day, as well as of the night, and whisper, " Pray for those lonely, misled, but not yet ruined boys." LENGTH OF LIFE. WHAT an amazing lifetime was that of the patriarchal fathers of the human race ! Our minds reel around the very conception of such a hoary age. Century after cen- tury passed over them, and beheld them still in the prime of their enduring manhood. It almost seems as if nothing could waste the lusty vigor of such a prodigious vitality. Of those LENGTH OF LIFE. 325 ten lives whose moniimeuts are set in that early record, — the tenth, reared rather on this side the dividing waters of the flood, — three reached or exceeded the age of nine hundred and fifty years, four just entered upon their tenth century, one attained within five years of that century's birth, one just failed to complete his eighth century, and one left earth in his early youth, — not dying, but translated, his years matching the days of our year, one year for each day. The single life of Adam would overspan just thirty-one genera- tions of the modern life of humanity, counting thirty years to each generation. Reckoning the world since man was created to be not yet six thousand years old, the life of our first father prolonged itself through nearly one sixth of earth's present age. Six lives like that of Methuselah would have reached almost the dawn of this latest century of time touch- ing the boyhood of some of us who yet linger here. To help us conceive the breadth of one of these ancient lives, let us suppose that Noah, the second father of men, had just been borne to his grave at the noon of our century, and trace back his biography of nine and a half hundred years to see what lines of human history it would cross. He was born, then, just as Alfred the Great, of England, died. In his early boyhood, Harold, the last of the Saxon kings, fell beneath the battle-axe of the Norman conqueror. He is still young when Peter the Hermit preaches the first crusade. His youth has not yet passed when English WicklifFe arises, — the morning star of the Reformation. His manhood nears its meridian when the art of printing is discovered. The bark of the Genoese touches the shores of a new world before that manhood wanes, and the night of the Middle Ages pales before his eyes in the breaking day of religious reform and the revival of letters, while yet those eyes have suffered no dimness of age. In his autumnal years the feet of the Pilgrims press New England's storied rock, and the Puritan cause reigns in England, guard- ed by stern Oliver and his Ironsides. Peter the Great's im- perial apprenticeship in Holland, the battles of Blenheim and 326 HOUSEHOLD KEADING. Pultowa and Culloden, the old French and Indian wars of our colonial story, the drama of our own Revolution, the me- teoric career of him after whose name only France has again run mad, — these are with the dying patriarch events of yes- terday. History, of course, was not so eventful in Noah's times as in the period over which we have thrown so brief a glance. But what changes in the strange annals of the mul- tiplying and wide-spreading race, — the world drowned and repeopled from his own loins, — saw those eyes that watched the course of time for so near a thousand years. Enter now some rural graveyard of our day, and read what the silent marble keeps on its white, lettered pages, " Died, an ' infant of days.' " — " Departed this life before the fifth, the eighth, the twelfth summer, the child of two fond parents." — "Called in the flower of youth, a young man, a young maiden, — not yet a score ! " — " In the midst of his useful- ness and activity, fallen a pillar of the Church or State, — a man of forty winters ! " — " Drooped beneath the infirmities of age, a mother in Israel of threescore and ten, a patri- arch .of /owrscore .^ " And so the inscriptions vary. And almost before tlie turf is settled on the graves of one genera- tion, the fresh-broken mold shows where the next are sleep- ing by their fathers' side. What an amazing contrast with that old-world record ; a youth of seventeen with young Enoch of three hundred and sixty-five ; a patriarch of ninety- five, with an original patriarch of nine hundred and fifty ! And when the press hands about from daily to daily an in- stance of extraordinary longevity, — the obituary of some hardy old veteran, who struggled forward with staff and crutch to the farther bound of a hundred years, — what is it more than as the fleeting childhood of one of those elder worthies ? If good old Jacob, at the age of a hundred and thirty years, could say to tlie monarch of Egypt, " Few and evil have been the days of the years of my pilgrimage com- pared with the days of the years of my fathers," how befitting is such language to our lips, who must repeat after Moses, NEW HAMPSHIRE FEMALE CENT INSTITUTION. 327 " The days of our years are threescore years and ten, and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labor and sorrow, for it is soon cut off and we fly away." NEW HAMPSHIRE FEMALE CENT INSTITUTION. THIS institution had its origin in the late excellent Mrs. Elizabeth McFarland, wife of Rev. Asa McFarland, D. D., many years pastor of the First Congregational Church in Concord. She was a native of Boston. Her father's house was the rendezvous of clergymen at anniversaries of the old Massachusetts "artillery election." At home on such an occasion, in 1805, she heard the ministerial guests conversing on methods of raising funds in aid of benevolent objects, among others that of societies whose members should contribute at the rate of one cent per week. Pleased with the thought, Mrs. McFarland felt that something might be done in this way to aid the New Hampshire Missionary Society, then only some four years old. On returning to Concord, she named the matter to some of her Christian sisters, and a society was formed, consisting of females, on the principle of each mem- ber's contributing at the rate of one cent a week. The receipts of the society the first year were five dollars, indicating that the membership did not exceed ten persons. The next year cent societies were formed in some of the neighboring towns. The receipts that year from the several societies were $ 34.23. The existence of these few societies becoming known, like societies were organized in still other towns, in different parts of the State, and the third year the receipts were $ 129.02. New societies were formed from year to year with almost constantly increasing income. The aggregate receipts in 1816, the twelfth year, were $ 1,546.72. In 1850, they rose to $1,891.48. 328 HOUSEHOLD READING. From tlie organization of the first cent society in 1805, in Concord, during a period of fifty-six years, the total receipts from the several cent societies in the State have been $ 55,883.88. The present number of these societies is a little short of one hundred, all of which are embodied in a general society under the title of " The Female Cent Institution," aux- iliary to the New Hampshire Missionary Society. There is no annual meeting of the institution ; indeed, I do not know that any such meetings were ever holden by the general society. The cent societies of the several towns hold anniversaries. The vital bond of union between them is the Annual Report of the Treasurer, its only officer. A copy of this Report is de- signed to be sent to every member of all the cent societies throughout the State, from which all see at once what the whole have done through the year, and in this silent way pro- voke one another to good works. A striking peculiarity of these female cent societies is that they are, in a great measure, self-sustaiiiing. Many of them, with almost no influence out of their own circle, have lived vigorously and efficiently for more than half a century. Of tlie 20,200 members of the Congregational and Presbyterian churches in New Hampshire, 13,801 are females, of whom some 3,500 are members of cent societies, giving at the rate of one cent per week. Were all the female members of the Congregational churches in the land to contribute one cent per week annually to the cause of Home Missions, what incalculable good would result ! A WINTER SUNRISE. 329 A WINTER SUNRISE. ALL through the long, dark winter night The snow was faUing soft and hght, While weary eyelids gently slept, Save tliose that patient vigil kept. Or those that pressed the couch of pain, Seeking the blessed boon in vain. While the wild pulse of life was still, The snow-elf did his work at will, And through the dark and silent night, Unheeded, wrought his robe of white. The Sabbath morning's dawning ray Revealed the landscape. Calm it lay As folded wings of seraphim. Above upon the horizon's brim, A belt of amber shed its light On field and hillside spotless white. And glowed behind the bordering screen Of a dark wood of evergreen. Lovely amid that Sabbath scene, So pure, so breathlessly serene, Like heaven in brightness and repose, The church in simple beauty rose. Upon its roof a snowy crown Resting like fleece of lightest down, The smooth white slopes around it spreading, The sky behind its glory shedding, It seemed in saintly grace to stand Betwixt earth and the better land. Now in the east the brightness grew More bright, till sudden bursting through, The full orb flashes, — tapering spire. Hill, field, and village catch the fire 8S0 HOUSEHOLD READING. And rays on snowy crystals gleaming, Glance back with myriad lustres streaming, As if were suddenly revealed The wealth in India's depths concealed. I bowed my head before the might • Of Him whose fiat brought the light ; Who spreads the darkness, works his will In the smooth snow-flake, soft and still. Lord of life and beauty ! we Here but thy glory's shadow see. Earth 's but the hiding of thy power. With all its wealth of summer dower. And autumn pomp, and winter's snow, — What then must be its unveiled glow ? Let seraphs tell, who evermore Cover their faces to adore. Ah, thus do they, with covered face, Pure spirits, bow ? AVhere is our place, Unholy, but the dust, when we Dare to approach thy majesty ? NEW ENGLAND HOMES IN KOORDISTAN. TAKING a new route to Persia, for the sake of visiting the missionary station at this place, I found myself here, November 1st, (1862,) on the head-waters of the Tigris, among the rugged mountains of Koordistan. Hardly anything could be mO-C romantic than the situation of this town, which hangs picturesquely along the slopes of two parallel mountain ranges, divided by a small tributary of the Tigris. It con- tains thirty thousand inhabitants, one third of whom are Armenians, and a majority of tlie rest Koords, with a sprink- ling of Jews, and a few Jacobite Christians. But the point that struck me the most forcibly at this place is the marvellous contrast of the missionary homes here NEW ENGLAND HOMES IN KOORDISTAN. 331 to everything around them. Jnst outside of the town I was met by Mr. Knapp and Mr. Burbank, who had notice of my coming, and I was by them conducted to the bouse of the former, through many a narrow and crooked lane. All dusty and weary as I was, from my long, rapid, and hard journey, on which my nights had been passed (as my Arme- nian host in one instance very graphically stated the case) " with fleas beneath, and mice above, and cows, calves, and buffaloes around me," to be ushered, in that plight, and from such antecedents, into the presence of Mrs. Knapp and Mrs. Burbank, was a transition that utterly defies description. The ladies looked like angels, without the use of a figure, and the clean and comfortable room, like a fairy mansion. Never was I before more forcibly impressed with the power of New England women to create oases in the desert, and almost out of nothing. And what was the dwelling which presented such charms to my eye, not then, to be sure, in the most fastidious mood ? A common structure of the country, built of huge blocks of rotten sandstone that abounds in the mountains. Glass windows had been introduced into this structure, — the first ever seen in Bitlis. Hardly anything else had been changed. A few articles of the plainest furniture, most of them man- ufactured by natives, under the guiding hand of Mr. Knapp, who is a Yaiikee, were so arranged and disposed by Mrs. Knapp, — a real "Ophelia" from Vermont in this matter, though without any acute angles, — that the whole presented the charms I have mentioned. When dinner came, that too was thoroughly New England in style, and never have I en- joyed a more neat and comfortable, though perfectly plain table. Now think of Mrs. Knapp suddenly transferred from the post of a greatly respected teacher in the beautiful village of Castleton, Vt., to these wilds of Koordistan. The accomplish- ments that adorned her station there are by no means wasted here. They only shine the more brightly and conspicuously, 332 HOUSEHOLD READING. and to far greater advantage, amid these wild and rude sur- roundings. I hope I shall not seem too material in mj tastes, in dwell- ing on this feature of the missionary cause. Though not the most important, it is also not the least so. THE FIRST DEATH-BED. MARY was about nineteen, a lovely and pleasant girl, full of youthful buoyancy, and fond of gayety, yet meaning nothing but her own enjoyment. Serious thoughts of things unseen had frequently knocked at her heart for consideration, but her worldly inclinations had always been deaf to their admission. Once, indeed, they had gained a temporary entrance ; but, as she told me afterwards, her gay companions proved too strong an influence to be resisted. She lived like thousands of other youth of her age, quieting a now and then complaining conscience with promises of future attention to its demands, which she could never find time to fulfil. At length she was taken suddenly with a hemorrhage from the lungs, induced by a cold, which prostrated her at once upon her bed. I was called to visit her, and expressed my fears as to her recovery, and the pressing importance of her attending immediately to her long-neglected duty to her Saviour, while her strength was equal to the work. But it was without any apparent impression. She was buoyed up by a hope of recovery, which a loving family were unwilling should be dissipated. A few days passed without any apparent improvement in her health, or marked interest in her mind. In about two weeks her pastor was suddenly sent for. It was Sabbath evening, and near the close of a prayer-meeting which he was THE FIRST DEATH-BED. 333 attendiug. The messenger came up to the pulpit and whis- pered, " Mary is failing and is asking continually to see you." As soon as the meeting closed I issued forth to pay the pain- ful visit. The night was dark and the air was full of falling snow. The ride was long and dreary, and passed over in an almost silence with a sobered driver. We were met at the door by a weeping mother ; who could only say, " Mary is calling for you all the time, to pray with her." I speedily entered the room, and saw, in a glance at the bed, that the invisible messenger was there before me. The father, her two brothers, and a sister were weeping around the fire in suppressed silence. Mary, flushed 'with fever, and with arms flung in distress over her head, was moaning to herself, " I can't die now ! I can't die now ! " Her face turned quickly at my entrance, and she exclaimed with eagerness, " 0, pray for me, I cannot die ! " During the prayer she subsided into a calm, and at its close remained quiet with closed eyes, in evident anxious thought. I withdrew silently to the afflicted group around the fire, and ventured a few whispered inquiries respecting her state of mind. Shortly .she opened her eyes, and, missing me from her side, called me back again. Supposing that some par- ticular request weighed upon her, I inquired what she wished. " Pray for me again," was her instant reply. I endeavored to point her to the Saviour, graciously waiting to hear her own heart call upon him, and ready to deliver her even at this eleventh hour of her short life ; but I could not succeed in directing her disturbed soul to the only Deliverer in death's distressing hour. I moved again to withdraw, but she could not have us out of her sight. She stretched out her now cold fingers, and placed them in my hand, and begged me pitcously not to leave her. I sat by her side and watched the slow approach of death. It was now nearly midnight of a dark, stormy, winter night. The icy branches of the large elms above the house creaked in the screaming blast, and it was certainly to me a most 334 HOUSEHOLD READING. solemn hour, by the bedside of that young dying girl, clinging to her pastor as a last earthly hope, while shrinking in agony from the dark unseen into which she must shortly step. I never understood the "fearful looking for of judgment" before. At length the last struggle came on. One more exhortation to cast herself upon the tender mercies of Him who loved sinners so much as to pass through death himself to save them. But to every entreaty, she replied, — " I have tried to, but he won't help me ! He won't help me ! " At the last moment, I bent my head down close to her ear and asked if she was still conscious. She gave a sensible pressure to my fingers in reply. I asked her, if she could yet trust her soul to the Redeemer, to repeat the same signal. But no pressure came ! " She died and left no sign." This was my first personal observation of dying, and it haunts the memory still, after many years. Who of the young is willing to pass through this door into the dark domains of death ? They that say to the Holy Spirit, " Go thy way for this time ! " Do you ? TESTIMONY OF THE STARS. NEARLY a half-century has passed away since Dr. Chal- mers preached his celebrated astronomical" discourses. It was, we believe, the first attempt worthy of the name, on the part of the Christian ministry, to show that science, in- stead of being the supporter of infidelity, is the handmaid of religion, and that astronomy gives infallible testimony to the truths of divine revelation. Since the publication of those discourses there have been great discoveries. Conclusions which were then based on probabilities have become certain ties, and hypothesis, which then was deemed possible, has been proved to be improbable. Stars which then were fixed TESTIMONY OF THE STARS. 335 are found to be in motion. Faint films of light which were dike luminous clouds, changeless in space, have, before the penetrating telescopic eyes of these later years, become im- mense systems of suns and starry spheres. Throughout the unfathomable depths, new evidences have been revealed of the existence of a God of wisdom, power, majesty, eternity, goodness, and glory. Now, to the human mind, as never before, do the " heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament show his handiwork." The discoveries have been so rapid, that literally " day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge." If the Church is the conservator of truth, she has been, in the past, also, the conservator of error. When Columbus, in 1486, met the learned doctors of the Church in the Convent of St. Stephen in Salamanca, to propound his theory of reaciiing the Indians by sailing west, they spread out before him the chart of the Geographer Cosmos, who, taking the Bible for his authority, and attaching literal interpretations to figurative language, had represented the heavens as spread like a " tent above the earth," as spoken of by the Psalmist. The earth was a body of land surrounded by oceans. It was not round, but a plane. In the North, or beyond the Cas- pian Sea, was an immense mountain, around which the sun revolved, and which, by intercepting the sun, brought on night. The great navigator was met by citations from Moses, Job, David, Christ, and the Apostles. Ridicule was used by the learned bishops. " Is any one so foolish," said they, " as to believe that there are antipodes where men walk with their heels upward and their heads hanging down ? Where it rains, hails, and snows upward, and where trees grow with their branches downwards? " One hundred and fifty years later, in 1633, the Holy Inquisition met in the Convent of Minerva at Rome. Be- fore the assembled prelates and cardinals stood Galileo, the philosopher of Florence. He was old and gray-headed. He had made a telescope, — the first the world had ever 336 - HOUSEHOLD READING. seen, — a poor affair, not equal to those on board a Down East fishing-schooner. He had looked through it at the sun, moon, and stars, and, seeing new phenomena, proclaimed to the world that the earth moved. That was a heresy. It was contrary to the Bible, to their own sense of sight. He was laid upon the rack ; from the rack he passed to the dungeon, and, after a short respite, from the dungeon to the grave. John Winthrop was then Governor of Massachusetts ; not so very long ago as might seem. It comes almost down to our own times. At that time, in one of the Lincolnshire cottages in Eng- land, there was a pale, sickly child, who, as he advanced in boyhood, whittled out water-mills and mouse-machines, or tread-mills for the little cheese-thieves, in which the caged animals trotted all day to reach a bit of toasted cheese within an inch of their noses. As he grew to manhood, he read the writings of the pious Kepler, who, when entering upon a study of the motions of the heavenly bodies, after praying that God would guide him, rose from his knees and wrote in his diary, " I believe that God works by fixed laws, laws that may be expressed in numerical terms," and who was led, through all the darkness of the past ages, through prejudice, through scientific and theologic error, into the clear light of truth, to show to the world that there are no contradictions in the works of the Creator of all things, but that throughout the celestial spheres there is harmony. Isaac Newton read the laws of nature as laid down by Kep- ler, — that planets move in elliptical or oval orbits around the sun, — that a line extended from the sun to any planet will, as it is carried forward by the planet, sweep over equal areas in equal portions of time, — that the planets are a har- monious brotherhood, moving in regular motion. " Why," he asked, " does nature have such laws ? Why are the orbits of planets ellipses instead of circles ? Why do they move with accelerated motion when approaching ihe sun ? What is the fixed law which regulates the clockwork of the sky ? " • TESTIMONY OF THE STARS. 337 Theology gave one short answer to all these questions, — that God governs. But Newton believed, with Kepler, that God works by laws which are as unalterable as his own immutable character, — laws which in the kingdom of nature may be expressed in numerical numbers. He saw the rain-drops fall, the apples, or whatever was left free to move. Wliat power sent a stone, dropped from a tower, downward with a velocity increasing in proportion to the square of the distance through which it fell ? "What retarded it in the same measure when tossed upward into the air ? If all matter was free to move, why did not the sun, moon, and planets rush together ? The earth was round, but in England, America, and China apples dropped to the ground. Why ? It was all a mystery. Kepler had devoted seventeen years of study to the subject before he declared to the world that God worked in nature by law, and, in like manner, after seventeen years of study, Isaac Newton made known to the world that God kept the planets in their courses by making every particle of matter in the universe attract every other particle with a force propor- tioned to the quantity of matter in each, and decreasing as the squares of the distances which separated the particles increase. The last step was taken, the last discovery necessary for explaining the movements of the heavenly bodies was made, and the human intellect was commissioned to go out from this little speck of a world, to sweep from orb to orb, meas- uring and weighing them, travelling in advance their paths, beholding them as they will be ages hence, going back over the past, beholding them as they have been from the primeval morning, questioning them in regard to the future, if they are destined to dash the universe to atoms, and crush out all the celestial wheel-work of the great eternity clock, — sweep- ing from the little orb lying close up to the sun, out to that far-off sentinel on the outer aisle of the solar fields, keeping ward and watch in slow and solemn marches down the path- way of ages ! 22 • 838 HOUSEHOLD READING. This last grand discovery was made when our grandfathers were alive, — when the grandfathers of those of us who are in the prime of life were children. It was in 1680. Cotton Mather was just entering upon his great career, and Boston was the largest town in America. The short and hasty years of two generations of men only lie between us and Sir Isaac Newton. The heavenly fields are wide, and they are filled with in- numerable starry flowers, which demand our admiration of their beauties, and which also demand our adoration of Him who set them on high so bright and fair. The subject is en- larging, ennobling, and elevating, and, at the same time, humiliating. It is calculated to exalt the Creator, and to abase the creature. Modern science has illuminated the world. By the light of the stars we read the Bible under- standingly. Blazing suns and revolving systems shine from the amazing depths of space, and there we behold infinity, — eternity. LITTLE WILLIE. THE name brings before me visions of his blue eyes and golden hair, of his rosy cheeks where dimples loved to linger, and the ruby lips that so often used to say, " Tecer, are I a dood boy to-day ? " But best of all were the gentle words and winning smiles that made him such a sun- beam in our little school. His heart seemed overflowing with love and sympathy for every one. I remember how he came to me one day, after a regiment of soldiers had marched past the school-house, bringing a strip of a bufialo-robe covered with long hair, which he had found beside the road ; and as he held it up he said, pityingly, — " Do thee ; thomebody losth their whithkers." One afternoon I told the primer class, of which he was a LITTLE WILLIE. 339 member, how Christ took little children in his arms and blessed them, and I taught them the verse, " Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." That •afternoon, after school was excused, as I was locking my desk, Willie stole softly back. Climbing upon the desk, he put his arms around my neck and kissed me, saying, — " I love 00, tecer." " What is love, Willie? " I asked. He thought a moment, then replied, earnestly, — " It 's what makes us dood^to folks." After a little pause, he added, " Tecer, who is Kwist that b'est 'ittle children ? " Before I could reply, there came a knock on the door. I opened it, and a little girl handed me a billet, saying tim- idly,- " Mrs. Hamlin supposed it had been sent before." It contained an urgent invitation for me to spend the after- noon with a friend. I knew that Willie was the child of irre- ligious parents, and that I ought to encourage this his first seeking after divine truth, but the tempter whispered, to-mor- row will do as well, and I yielded to the voice. To-morrow ! how many broken hopes, how many duties unfulfilled, come from too firm a reliance on its deceitful promises ! But the next day Willie's place was vacant. I missed the bright face and ringing laugh of my little pet, and after school had closed, I directed my steps toward his father's house. On my way I met his sister. Taking my hand, she said, hurriedly, — ^ " teacher, won't you come right down to our house ? Willie is so sick, and he don't know any of us." In a few minutes I stood by the bedside of the little suf- ferer. He was tossing to and fro with restless pain, and they told me that scarlet fever was drying up the fountains of that young life. As I entered the room, he said, softly, " Who is Kwist that b'est 'ittle children ? " Sitting beside him, I told Mm 840 HOUSEHOLD BEADING. then the sweet story of the cross. But reason was dethroned, and when I ceased speaking, he said, with pleading earnest- ness, — •■' Pleath tell me who is K'\yist that b'est 'ittle children ? " " Will you pray forus ? " asked the father. It was all he could say, for his heart was full. Kneeling there, I prayed that God would spare our darling if it was his will, and if not, that he would comfort the h arts of his parents in their great sorrow, and make me more faithful to the little flock committed to my charge. When we arose, a convulsion came over Willie, and the little form writhed in agony. It was but for a moment, then he lay still with closed eyes and clasped hands. Silently we watched beside him, till the ticking of the old clock that stood in one corner seemed like a sombre interlude, weaving the moments of suspense together. An hour passed on. Then there was another convulsion. It was longer and harder than the last. At its close he lay pale and exhausted. Suddenly he opened his eyes, and his lips unclosed. There was a strange, agonizing earnestness in his voice as he pleaded, — " Pleath tell me who is Kwist that b'est 'ittle children : oh ! pleath tell me who is Kwist that b'est 'ittle children ! " " Pray for him, for him,^^ sobbed the father, and I prayed then as I had never done before, that Christ would reveal himself to that dying child. God heard the prayer ; for as we watched him, an exultant look glanced across Willie's face. He lifted his head and stretched forth his small white hands toward heaven. I shall never forget his last words, — " There is Kwist that b'est 'ittle children ! I coming, I com- ing." And the golden head was buried in the pillows. The beating heart was hushed forever. Two days after, when the clouds were weeping rain-tears, we laid him down to sleep. And as the aged pastor told us that Willie had gone to see Jesus Christ, who blessed little children, there were eyes unused to tears, and hardened, sunburnt GRACE ABOUNDING. 341 faces, that were moistened with something else than the rain- drops that were falKng thickly around us. Brief was his life, beautiful his death, yet through God's blessing they were the means of leading his parents to fix their hopes for both time and eternity on that dear Saviour who blessed little children. And in the great day of account how many ransomed souls will there be who have fulfilled the prediction, "And a little child shall lead them." GRACE ABOUNDING. IN the town of M , in the State of New York, there lived, some years ago, an old Dutchman, whose religious experience is worthy of record. In early life he became an advocate of Universalism, and for years labored with only too great success in poisoning the minds of his neighbors with this soul-destroying error. But at length as old age came on, and he began to realize that eternity must be near at hand, he fell into trains of refl.ection concerning his spiritual state and prospects. He began to inquire for what purpose he had lived, and what preparations he had been making for an ex- change of worlds. As is usually the case in such instances, the more he reflected the more his thoughts troubled him. He saw that the error wliich he had so industriously propa- gated had been of no benefit to himself, nor to any of his neighbors, but had only operated to cause them to neglect all serious preparation for eternity, and to live, in great measure, in disregard of God and divine things. These conclusions but increased his unhappiness. He now began to realize what he had been about, and to have glimpses of his own character, which, with the workings of conscience, distressed him, and led him to look about for help. In these circumstances he resorted to various expedients for relief; 342 • HOUSEHOLD READING. but all of no avail. Finally he said, " I see my mistark ; I mus' to as Jacop dit." So he told his " old woman " that he did not feel very well, and wanted his bed brought out before the fire that night ; and, after sending the rest of his family to their rooms, he carefully put a fork over the latch, and then, as he said, " I pegins to pray, and I prays and prays and prays." Unconscious of the flight of time, he continued his supplications all night. When his son came to build his fire, and told him that it was morning, the father, in his anxiety, fearing that all was lost, cried out, " mine Gott ! I have lost de plessin', — I 'm goin' to hell, — I 'm an old sinner, and I ought to go to hell." On looking round everything seemed changed, — appearing bright and good and lovely, as never before. This he regard- ed at once as an indication that he was about to die, little realizing that the change was in himself, and not thinking- it possible that he had received the " plessin " without know- ing it. On meeting his wife at the door, he exclaimed, " 0, how good ye look ! " but he continued, " I 'm goin' to die. I 'm a great sinner, and I 'm goin' to hell, and I ought to go to hell." He then entreated her to seek religion, telling her that she might get the " plessin," for she was not such a great sinner as he was. To his son and his daughter-in-^» he ad- dressed himself in the same strain. As yet he liaj no hope for himself, and therefore he entreated them as one m^despair. And so earnestly did he plead with them, and so honestly did he condemn himself, and justify the ways of God with him in casting him off, as he supposed, forever, that his family were soon overcome with their emotions, and by the quicken; ing influences of the Spirit were led to cry mightily on God for help. In the course of a few days, hope dawned upon the old man. His family were soon found hopefully in Christ, and for years they lived to sing of his amazing grace and to adorn the doctrine of God our Saviour in all things. From this brief sketch some important truths may be drawn : (1.) That the sympathies of the truly convicted and THE MOURNER'S PRAYER. 343 converted are thenceforth on the side with God, and against guilty self. No more complaints against God's law. (2.) Some people may be Christians when they do not know it. (8.) With the renewal of the heart by Divine grace the errors of the head disappear. It is the heart first, and above all things else, that is not right. (4.) Why, then, do not God's people, clerical and lay, bear this in mind, and act more accordingly ? Aim at the heart. "Not with wisdom of words, lest the cross of Christ l3e made of none efiect." THE MOURNER'S PRAYER. MY Saviour dear, to thee I pray ; Through all the sorrow of this day, Be thou my strong, unfailing stay. Closer than earthly friend can be, When heart meets heart in sympathy, pitying One, draw near to me ! " Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," — To earth's unconscious sod I must Commit this day most precious trust. Help me in faith to lay it there, — " In sure and certain hope " to bear The form I love from out my care. Watched over by the sleepless eye Of Him who called the soul on high, It shall, I know, in safety lie. Till he a quickening power shall bring, And bid it, sown in weakness, spring Into a glorious blossoming. 844 HOUSEHOLD READING. And when, this crushing duty o'er, I seek my lonely home once more, Jesus, draw nearer than before. Help me, with resting, quiet heart, Hiding away the inward smart, To act in life a holier part. To joy, henceforth, in others' weal ; The grief of other hearts to feel, And strive through thee their wounds to heal. And thus, perchance, some blossoms fair. From out the grave we hollow there, May precious fragrance to thee bear. THE BIBLE IN THE PULPIT. THE Bible is not read enough in our pulpits. It is re- garded as a secondary matter whether it be read much or little. A leaf out of the sermon cannot give way for a leaf out of the Bible. Hence, if any part of the service is to be shortened, it is the reading of the Scriptures. The hymns cannot give way, and the prayers must occupy the usual space, but the selections from the Bible, it is thought, may be easily curtailed. I have heard of a minister who was cen- sured for making long prayers, and who excused himself by saying that he had no means of telling how long he did pray. Perhaps that was the case with those whom Christ censured for long prayers, but he does not seem to have thought of that excuse. There is really no reason why the reading of the Scriptures should be so subordinate to the other parts of wor- ship. We pray and sing three times, but we open the Bible but once, and that often for the briefest space. This is the THE BIBLE IN THE PULPIT. 345 general custom, though some of our clergymen read at two different times, and some always read from both the Old and New Testaments. But so rarely is this done, that many min- isters in the course of twenty years read no more than a very small fragment of the Bible. They preach, perhaps, two thousand sermons, equal in matter to a score of Bibles, and read to their people not a hundredth part of the Bible itself. This fault appears more plainly when we notice that the Scriptures are not read with system. But ought not the reading of the Scriptures to have a meaning and value of it- self? And ought not every book of the Bible to be some- times used ? If it were so, a new interest would be aroused in that part of the service. The preacher need not read in exact course. He need not read whole chapters always, but sometimes parts of several chapters where an interesting his- tory is given, or where devout and striking passages are inter- mingled in chapters that are chiefly local, and not instructive to the general reader. In this way every book in the Bible may be laid under tribute ; and in the course of a few years a large portion of the Scriptures will be read in the pulpit, and the regular worshippers will be instructed in this part of the service. The time spent in selecting and pondering suit- able portions for the Sabbath reading will be richly le'pf.id in the new views of truth that will open on the preacher'u i/and, and the rich themes that will be suggested to him foi I'labo- rate development. 346 HOUSEHOLD READING. "GONE." " nnHE Great Republic is gone," says Mr. Russell to the JL British people. Of course Mr. Russell knows. He wrote Crimean letters which England read at her breakfast- table with breathless interest. He has been travelling now these several weeks in the Great Republic. He was guided through New York. He saw the inside of Washington. He wanders at his own sweet will among the cotton-fields of the sunny South. He has seen the forging of swords, the round- ing of shot, the priming of guns, and he puts his trumpet to his lips and rolls his verdict over the ocean, " The Great Republic is gone ! " Not so fast, my boy. A part of it is gone, but there are several large slices remaining. A part of it is gone, — gone to Baltimore, gone to Fort Monroe, gone to Fort Pickens, gone to Cairo, gone to Washington ; but there are a few more left of the same sort, to be had at the shortest notice, and on the most reasonable terms. Gone ? Mr. Russell, what do you mean ? Is the Mississippi shortened ? Is the Ohio dried up ? Has Niagara stopped agitation ? Have the prairies of Illinois grown barren ? Have the Pennsylvania coal-mines caved in ? Has Lake Superior given out ? Is there no cop- per in Michigan, no lumber in Maine, no granite in Massa- chusetts, no grain in Minnesota, no gold in California ? Has Mount Washington bowed his hoar head, or the Blue Ridge dissolved in blue air, or Pike's Peak vanished in smoke ? Does Lake Wenham no longer freeze in winter, or the surge dash against Newport in summer ? Is Valley Forge forgot- ten ? Has the memory of Saratoga passed away ? Have Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill given up the dead which were in them ? Are there no bones of brave men buried along the Atlantic shore? Are there no deeds of heroes flaming in song and story ? " GONE." 347 " The Great Republic is gone " ; but, Mr. Russell, what constitutes a state ? One of your own poets has said, — " Men, high-ininded Men, Men, who their duties know. But know their rights, and knowing, dare maintain. Prevent the long-aimed blow, And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain ; These constitute a state ; And sovereign LAW, that state's collected will, O'er thrones and globes elate Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill." This is what we are doing to-day, — repressing ill and crownuig good. This is what we mean to do, — crush the tyrant while we rend the chain, — a chain under which we have been too long quiescent ; but we grew restive at last. The iron has entered into our souls, and now the nation arises in mailed might, hurls off the manacles from her wrists, and thrusts back the dagger from her heart. In this main ingredient of a state the Great Republic was never greater than now. What trials, what sacrifices, what shame or sorrow or humiliation, await her in the future we do not know ; but as yet her eye is not dim, nor her natural force abated. The most imminent danger is over. It lay in her apparent acquiescence in cumulative wrong. Money, it was feared, was becoming her god. She was falling down before material prosperity. Success became the criterion of merit. Show stood for substance. Luxury usurped the throne of integrity. Rank, position, power, lorded it over genius, merit, benevolence, and the inflexible principle of right. We have changed all that. The lethargy is thrown off. The crisis is past. Life sweeps through her into fever, and her redemption draweth nigh. Her present attitude is her best vindication of her past course. Now men and things are rated at their true value. Now you shall see capital vying with strength and skill to insure that the Republic receive no harm. You shall see men giving up, without hesitation, the luxuries, and even the comforts of life ; chil- dren deny themselves toys ; women wear last year's raiment ; 348 HOUSEHOLD READING. students turn resolutely away from the book-stalls : all take joyfully the spoiling of their goods, for a better and more enduring substance. The Great Republic is gone. Whither away? Put it at the worst, Mr. Russell. Grant that a line of division be drawn between the Free and Free-growing States, and the Slave and Slave-cherishing States, what then ? What element of greatness is departed ? How is virtue gone out of us ? What source of material or moral strength is diminished ? Is a tree killed when its unsightly branches are lopped off? Is a state ruined when its murderers are hung ? Is a man dead when his wart is cut out ? These States are our weak ness, and reproach, and shame, — a thorn in our flesh at home, a fling in our faces abroad. Their manners and morals would be a disgrace to Dahomey. Scarcely a news- paper but contains an account of their hacking, hewing, or hanging the stranger that is within their gates. There is not a cannibal island in which a Northerner would not be just as likely to travel safely as in the South. You can scarcely stop a day in Europe without feeling your cheek redden by some allusion to the Southern plague. The whole nation is saddled with the weakness, and vice, and villany of the South. They have been the chief source of our annoy- ance and trouble these forty years. They have clogged the wheels of progress. They have sucked the blood of religion. They have clamored, and strutted, and mouthed, and ranted, and bullied, to such an extent that we are likely to overlook even the good things that do exist, and may be found among them. They have never paid their own postage, nor printed their own books, nor educated their own children, nor made their own shoes. They are a lady-bug, sitting in the rose's breast, and smiling with pride and scorn, as she sees a plain- dressed ant go by, with a heavy grain of corn, — and there is a great deal more of the bug in them than of the lady. Mr. Russell, what are you talking about ? There is not a Free State, I verily believe, that would not be glad at this moment " GONE." 349 to be quit of t'/ie whole slave South, if it could be done with honor to ourselves and with justice to the memory of her loyal dead and the weal of her loyal living. "We could slough her off at any moment, and, for all dependence on her, never know it. We might be short of calico for a while, but in a year or two somebody in Connecticut would invent a superior article — impossible to be torn, and warranted to wash — out of winter-killed grass. We should be more modest than now, — the loudest braggart element being gone, — and, consequently, more agreeable. In a little while Canada and the North would unite, frame a new Constitution, which should embrace all the good and reject all the evil of both British and American, call ourselves by a new name, the auspicious and beautiful Italian name, Columbia, and behold a young nation girding its loins, and starting, with lithe and sinewy limbs, on such a race as the world has not yet witnessed. Mr. Russell, neither you nor I, wise nor foolish, can see a hair's breadth before us in this tempest ; but my vision is every whit as likely to come true as your lugubrious vaticina- tions. " The Great Republic is gone." Yes, thank heaven, the Great Republic that you saw is gone. That was a great image, whose brightness was excellent, and the form thereof terrible. This image's head was of fine gold, but, alas ! his feet were part of iron and part of clay. Therein lay his weakness. His base feet baffled the fine gold of his head. You think you have seen the blow given which is to hurl this great image to ruin. Not you. You have seen a pebble flung up against his invulnerable head. The stone which is to destroy him was cut out without hands. It is the spontaneous, inexpressible uprising of a great people that will to be free. They will smite the image on his feet that are of iron and clay, and break them to pieces, and old things shall pass away. This spirit of freedom shall become the soul of another republic, springing up on the same soil, 350 HOUSEHOLD READING. but more glorious than the old. It shall become a great mountain, and fill the whole earth. No oppressor shall pass through it any more. Nations shall walk in the light of it ; and the kings of the earth shall bring their glory and honor into it. Have you seen a dark stain on the pavements of Baltimore ? It is the baptismal seal of this new republic, whose corner- stone is universal right, whose headstone shall be brought forth with shoutings, crying, " Grace, grace unto it." Do you see there only a mad conflict of chaos with chaos ? But " I see the skies grow ruddy with the deepening feet of angels." " The Great Republic is gone." Mr. Russell, do not you be too sure. You come of good English stock, and you must be familiar vsdth the thrilling history of Chicken Little. Chicken Little rushed to Hen Pen one day with the startling news that the sky was falling ! " How do you know that ? " says Hen Pen. " I heard it with my ears, I saw it with my eyes, and a part OF IT FELL ON MY TAIL ! " The force of evidence could no further go, it would seem ; yet the sky smiles as serenely to-day as when the morning stars sang together. It was only a roseleaf fluttering earth- ward which Chicken Little's sensitive tail intercepted. But, Mr. Russell, mark well the fate of Chicken Little. He died a victim to the panic which he originated. It was only a roseleaf, but it might just as well have been the sky, so far as he was concerned, for he and Hen Pen and Duck Luck, and the whole fear-stricken company rushed into the jaws of Fox Pox, and not a feather remains to mark the spot where they fell. " The Great Republic is gone." Mr. Russell, those who have a tender regard for your reputation are beginning to think it may not be amiss for you to follow suit ! OPINIONS OF A NEGRO. 351 OPINIONS OF A NEGRO. ON the steamer from City Point to Fort Monroe, I came upon a group of negro soldiers in friendly conversation and banter with some white soldiers. They were all on a furlough, and consequently good-natured. The colored men were going to Norfolk ; they had been selected for merit as entitled to a furlough. One was a sergeant, — a fine, open- faced, well-formed man of twenty-seven or twenty-eight years, with his sword at his side. He heard the conversation on fighting-men, high bounties, etc., in silence, till a battery-man turned to him and asked, — " What bounty did you get ? " " No bounty. I would n't enlist for bounty. I have twenty-three more months to put in. I don't say I will go in again, — can't tell that till the time comes ; but if I do, it will not be for bounty. I would n't fight for money ; my wages is enough." " How much pay do you get ? " " Seven dollars a month, till they riz to sixteen. That keeps me along right smart. Them big-bounty men don't make good soldiers." " What 's the matter with them ? " " Dey come in for money, dere is no country 'bout it, an' dey has n't no stomach for fighting an' digging an' knocking around like soldiers has to." " What 's money got to do with that ? Why can't a man fight just as well if he leaves a thousand dollars in bank to have when he comes back, may be sick or wounded ? " " Well, he mout ; but you see it 's the greenbacks that fetches him in, an' he keeps studying how he can jump for anoder bounty ; an' dem sort o' soldiers ain't no 'count for fightin'." oo2 HOUSEHOLD READING. " Sergeant, did n't you enlist 'cause you had run away from master, and had no place ? " "No, sir (with spirit). I had a place an' good wages, — heap more 'n a soldier gets, — driving team for quartermas- ter ; and when I told him I was going in, and wanted my back pay, he cussed me, and said I should n't 'list. I told him I had a right, and I would, and all I asked of him was to pay what was coming to me, — more 'n two hundred dol- lars. He swar and took on about 'resting me, and next day when I had 'listed, he saw me on the street, and called a guard and put me in irons ten hours. Dat 's my bounty, two hundred dollars' wages gin up, and ten hours in irons by a copperhead quartermaster." The soldiers had gathered around, highly interested in. the sergeant's straightforward, earnest story. " I 'd a split his copper head open with the irons," said one of them. " That 's not me," said the Sergeant. " I don't take ven- geance, — dat 's God's business, and he '11 work it to suit hisself." The men drew back a little, and were silent all around the ring. I stepped forward, and said to him, " Sergeant, how long have you been a Christian ? " He looked at me with a full, quick eye, as if he had found a brother, " Ten years, sir." . " How old are you ? " " Twenty-eight, sir." " Then you were converted when you were eighteen years old. Where did you live ? " " Near Richmond." " Have you a wife ? " " Yes. I left my wife and son when McClellan came close up to Richmond, and everybody reckoned he was going to walk in." " How old is your son ? " OPINIONS OF A NEGRO. 353 " Not quite a year when I got away." " Do you hear from them ? " " Yes, I seen a lady from thar in Norfolk, and she said my master done an' sole Nancy and de boy." " You will hardly see them again, will you ? " " When dey get done fighting, I reckon I can find her." " But you won't know where to look." " Den I '11 keep looking, an' I reckon I '11 find 'em. Any- how, I trust in Providence about it." " What do you mean by that ? " " I mean de Lord God Almighty ; he knows all 'bout it, and he will do what 's right." " Yes, Sergeant, the Lord may do what 's right, but the man who has bought Nancy and your baby and carried them oflf may not do what 's right about it. What then ? " " Why den I reckon dat 's for him to settle 'bout; I 'se nothing to do wid dat." " You are pretty near your master. He might be looking for you one of these days." " Yes, he mout, and den I mout be looking for him. Chance de same on both sides now. They say my master was 'scripted, a;id had to go in." " Perhaps you will have a chance yet to pay him back," said the battory-man. " I never pays back. De Lord Almighty takes the ven- geance. Dat 's hisen, an I don't have nothing to do wid it." " That 's his doctrine again. He sticks to his text," says a Pittsburg soldier. " He 's right, too, all the time," said another. " Well, Sergeant, have you really made much by running away ? " " Made much ? I made two hundred dollars in Norfolk, but did n't get it." " I mean, you are not much better off soldiering, lying out in the wet. and digging in the trenches, and going in where 23 354 HOUSEHOLD READING. the minie-balls hum. That 's not much better than to be at home on the old plantation with wife and baby." " Soldiering is hard work, but there is a heap of dif- ference." " What 's the difference ? " " Freedom, sir, freedom ! I say liberty in Dutch Gap. I wake up in the night and say liberty. Yes, there 's a heap of difference. I can say liberty all de time." " You said you enlisted for your country. "What has your country done for you except to give you a chance to make tobacco and cotton for your master, and have your wife and baby sold down in Georgia ? " " God has done a heap for me. He has given me my life. I never had no sickness, and now he 's done and made me free, and I am willing to fight for de rest of them." " Sergeant, do you know that you are just like Jeff Davis on the war question ? " " Not much, I reckon." "Exactly alike," I said; "you are both fighting for the nigger." " That may be, but it makes a heap o' odds which whips." " God be praised for such piety and patriotism ! " came from my thankful heart, and I parted with the Sergeant going to the Norfolk boat, with a prayer for the mother and baby far away, and that a country saved by such devotion may learn at last to deal justly by all her children. SYSTEM IN BENEVOLENCE. 855 SYSTEM IN BENEVOLENCE. NOWHERE is system more important than in our chari- ties. Each church should have a well-digested plan of its own. Let it be decided for what objects a public contri- bution shall statedly be taken ; let there be a definite order in which the various objects decided on shall receive atten- tion, each having its appointed month or week ; and when the time for a given collection cornqs, let it be taken. Here is a work for pastors and churches too generally neg- lected, faithful attention to which would give a new impulse to all our benevolent operations. And individual contribu- tors, as well as churches, should have a system based on the Scriptural principle of statedly setting apart a certain per cent of their income, giving as the Lord prospers them. Af- ter all that has been said and written on this subject during the last few years, it is proved that no considerable portion of professing Christians have adopted any scheme of systematic giving. How many in our churches have conscientiously de- voted to the Lord, beforehand, a fifth, or a tenth, or a twen tieth of their income ? How many, at the beginning of the year, have any idea what they shall give in charity, or, at the close of the year, have any idea how much or how little they have given ? How many are there who do not leave this whole matter at loose ends, giving only in a haphazard way, without any settled plan or principle ? It surely ought not so to be. From this state of things arises the necessity for one of those evils in our charitable movements, of which they are most ready to complain who do least for its abatement. There has been, for years, a widespread grumbling over the expensive employment of agents in collecting funds. And certainly it is highly desirable to remove this wasteful encum- brance from our machinery. But how is it to be removed ? 856 HOUSEHOLD READING. Not by complaints, however loud and oft repeated. The societies themselves, who employ agents, would gladly be rid of them. Let the funds come forth freely and spontaneously, and agents will disappear like dew before the sun. We do not hire men to pump water from a full, outgushing fountain. There has to be a great deal of pumping done to bring the water up from the low and shallow wells of our charity. Agents are but men at the pump. Let our wells become overflowing fountains, and their trade will be gone. • Let Christians give from principle, and systematically ; let the churches do their own collecting from principle, and sys- tematically, and the evil complained of is removed. Let the members of our churches generally adopt the Divine plan of systematic charity proportioned to their means, giving not less than a tenth of their income, and more, as their property increases, and the treasuries of our benevolent societies will be quickly replenished, and kept full to overflowing. Why shall not the experiment be tried ? Surely it is time for us to realize more fully that the gold and silver are the Lord's, and that we are but his stewards, to use it in his ser- vice. A perishing world sends up its urgent appeal by day and by night. The great work of its redemption is but just begun. We must enlarge our hearts, and enlarge our charities, if we would see the Saviour ride forth conquering and to conquer. MONICA AND HER SON. ABOUT the year 350 of the Christian era, there lived at Thegaste, in Africa, a woman who bore the name of Monica. She possessed that meek and quiet spirit which is of great price in the sight of the Lord. While yet a virgin, she had embraced the Christian faith, and over her disposition, naturally gentle, the religion of Jesus had exerted its holy in- MONICA AND HER SON. 357 flucnce, thus making her a Mary who delighted to sit at the feet of the heavenly Master. In the providence of God, she became the wife of Patricias Augustine, who was precisely her opposite in disposition. He was extremely irascible, and almost demoniacal in temper. Slie, however, meekly endured his harshness, and in the arms of her faith bore him to the throne of grace. " The un- believing husband," though born and nurtured a heathen, " was sanctified by the believing wife." When at length his earthly career was closed, her eye of faith followed his depart- ing spirit, and saw him take his place at the right hand of the adorable Redeemer. One child, a son, followed, by the mother's side, the father to the grave. 0, how did the motlier pray that Aurelius might be a comfort to her in her widowhood. But, alas ! he was " vile." He had passions whose strength was equalled only by their corruptness. Stimulated to evil conduct by temptations without, which appealed, not in vaiii, to strong passions within, he wandered into ways which were offensive to God, and a great grief to his mother. After acquiring an education such as his native place afforded, he went to Car- thage, and thence to Rome, and thence to Milan, where he spent many years in teaching oratory. Here he became grossly profligate, and lived in open violation of the seventh commandment. Meanwhile the mother, Monica, prayed with great earnest- ness. For more than thirty years, she hoped against hope, and maintained confidence in God, when everything but his naked promises prompted to despair. Filled with anxiety which none but a mother can feel, who believes that " sin, when it is finished, bringetli forth death," as she contemplated the sinful career of her wayward son, she could not rest in Africa, while he was away from her. She longed to look upon him with her eyes, and fold him to her aching heart, and to breathe into his ear words of affectionate entreaty. She left her home and found her way to her sen. 358 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. A little previous to this, Ambrose, who was the Governor, became, by unanimous consent, the Bishop of Milan. His heart warmed towards the young and ambitious orator, and his prayer was, that his talents as a public speaker might be consecrated to the service of God. Augustine listened to him ; his conscience testified to the truth of his words, but the " law in his members " was opposed to the convictions of duty, and obtained the mastery over him. The mother took counsel with Ambrose, and they labored and prayed in unison for the conversion of the son. He was prevailed upon to put away the idol of his heart, and she was sent to Africa ; but so vagrant were his heart's desires, that he soon set up another idol. Who would wonder if history had recorded that, under these circumstances, the faith of the mother had failed ? Who would be surprised, had it been written that her hands hung down and her heart was broken ? History does not so record. It tells how her faith in God rose triumphant over every obstacle. She gave herself to prayer anew, with a faith which did not falter. It soon had its reward, for God had mercy on her son. He delivered him from the bondage and pollution of sin ; and he became a free- man in Christ Jesus our Lord. Who can describe the feel- ings of the mother, when that son fell upon her neck, and told her he had found Jesus ? All her struggles for more than thirty years were forgotten. The emotions of gratitude and joy drove from her remembrance the sorrows of the past. Her work was done. She had lived to see him converted. She felt like Simeon. The language of her heart was, " Now lettest thou thine handmaid depart in peace, for I have seen thy salvation." She wanted to die at Thegaste, but before the journey was completed, Christ took her to himself. Augustine grieved over her loss. He who, had she died while in his sins, would have rejoiced that a faithful reprover was removed, now deeply mourned that, just as he had learned to appreciate her worth, she must be taken from him. This son became Bishop in Hyppo. MONICA AND AUGUSTINE. ' 359 Let mothers who have wayward sons continue instant in season and out of season. Let them continue in prayer. God will hear their supplications, and answer them in his own time. Save faith in Crod. MONICA AND AUGUSTINE. [The following passages from the life of Saint Augustine and his mother may be found in his "Confessions."] IN the martyr Cyprian's chapel there was moaning through the night ; Monica's low prayer stole upward till it met the early light : Till the dawn came, walking softly o'er the troubled sea without, Monica for her Augustine wept the dreary watches out. " Lord of all the holy martyrs ! Giver of the crown of flame Set on hoary-headed Cyprian, who to thee child-hearted came. Hear me for my child of promise ! Thou his erring way canst see ; Long from thee a restless wanderer, must he go away from me ? " 'T is for thee, God ! a mother this her wondrous child would keep ; Through the ripening of his manhood thou hast seen me watch and weep : Tangled in the mesh of Mani, groping through the maze of sense, Other, deadlier snares await him, if from me he wander hence. " Thine he shall be, Lord ! Thy promise brightens up my night of fears ; Faith beholds him at thy altar, yet baptized with only tears ; For the angel of my vision, came he not from thy right hand, Whispering unto me, his mother, ' Where thou standest he shall stand ' ? * * While Augustine was yet a believer in Manicheism, his mother dreamed that a shining youth came to her, telling her that her son shall stand just where she is. Augustine interpreted it to mean his mother's conversion to his belief; but she replied : " No, no ; it was not said to me, ' Where he is, there shult thou be also ' ; but, ' Where thou art, there shall he be also.' " 360 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. " Saviour, Lord, whose name is Faithful ! I am thine, — I rest on thee ; And beside me in thy kingdom I this wanderer shall see. Check the tide ! hold still the breezes ! for his soul's beloved sake Do not let him leave me ! Keep him, keep him ! lest my heart should break ! " When the sun looked o'er the water, Monica was on the shore ; Out of sight had dropped the vessel that afar Augustine bore ; Home she turned, her sad heart singing underneath its load of care, — " Still I know thy name is Faithful, thou God that hearest prayer ! " Man must ask, and God will answer ; yet we may not understand, Knowing but our own poor language, all the writing of his hand : In our meagre speech we ask him, and he answers in his own ; Vast beyond our thought the blessing that we blindly judge is none. By the garden-beds of Ostia now together stand the twain, Monica and her Augustine, looking o'er the beauteous main To the home-land of Nuraidia, hiding in the distance dim. Where God parted them in sorrow, both to bring the nearer him. Now the mother's prayer is answered, for their souls are side by side Where his peace flows in upon them with a full, eternal tide ; And Augustine's thought is blending with the murmur of the sea, " Bless thee. Lord, that we are restless, till we find our rest in thee ! " And their talk, — the son and mother, — leaning out above the flowers. Is like lapse of angel-music on through heaven's enraptured hours ; Hushed is all the song of Nature ; hushed is care, and passion's din ; In that hush they hear a welcome from the Highest, — " Enter in ! " " What new mercy has befallen ? Every earthly wish is gone " ; Monica half speaks, half muses, " Why should earthly life move on? MONICA AND AUGUSTINE. 361 Ah, my son, what peace and gladness surging from this silence roll, — *T is the Eternal Deep that answers to the deep within my soul. " Not a sigh of homesick longing moves the stillness of my heart. In the light of this great glory unto God would I depart ; Though more dear thou art than ever, standing at heaven's gate with me, For the sweetness of his presence I could say farewell to thee." There 's a silent room in Ostia ; tearless mourners by a bed : Since the angels roused that sleeper, who shall weep, or call her dead ? Not beside the dust beloved shall her exiled ashes lie ; But she knew that One could raise her, though beneath a Roman sky. Now Augustine in his bosom keeps the image of a saint. Whose warm tears of consecration drop on thoughts of sinful taint ; In the home that knew -him erfing, — a bewildered Manichee, — Minister at Truth's high altar, him that mother-saint shall see. In the dreams of midnight, haunted by the ghosts of buried sins ; III the days of calm, the spirit struggling through temptation wins ; Monica looks down upon him, joy to bless and gloom beguile. And the world can see Augustine clearer for that saintly smile. Still the billows from Numidia seek the lovely Roman shore. Though Augustine to his mother sailed long since the death-wave o'er, Still his word sweeps down the ages like the surging of the sea, — " Bless thee, Lord, that we are restless, till we find our rest in thee ! " 362 HOUSEHOLD READING. FORMS AND CEREMONIES. THE moment we begin to depart from the simplicity of tlio word of God, we are beginning to wander from him, o.nd from the truth ; and the moment we begin to receive in rv^ligion the traditions and commandments of men, we are in danger, and know not to what degree of degradation in re- ligion we may be left to arrive. The greater part of the traditions and commandments of men our Puritan fathers re- jected, and they were called Puritan, because they wished to receive nothing in religion which is not found and clearly taught in the pure Word of God. Many of them were men of great talent and learning, and of ardent piety. Of the name they bore I am not ashamed, though I wish to take no other name than that of Christian^ according to the Word of God. 4nd to that Word we owe, as a nation, all tlie civil and religious privileges which we now enjoy, — all our prosperity and happiness hitherto unexampled in any other part bf the world. The mixing of the traditions and commandments of men with the pure Word of God by the Jews was the primary cause of all their error, and the consequent misery brought upon them, and all they have suffered in their dispersion among all nations for eighteen hundred years. And the mixing of the traditions and commandments of men with the pure Word of God, by the Christians in the East, was the primary cause of their degradation and subjection to the Mussulman power for hundreds of years. And the degra- dation of morals among multitudes in the Western Church, and the want of civil and religious liberty, may be justly attributed to the same cause. And in so far as we see tliat same cause operating in any other church, we have reason to fear its consequences in that church, and its influence on society. FOflMS AND CEREMONIES. 363 There is no safety for an individual, nor for any church, but in keeping close to the pure Word of God, and the sim- plicity of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. To that simplicity let us all return, if we have, in any degree, wandered from it. Let us not be allured by pompous ceremonies of any kind, by gorgeous dresses, theatrical performances, or enrapturing strains of music, to leave the simplicity of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, who, when he sent out his disciples to preach the Gospel, told them not to take tivo coats, and who himself, when he preached in Judaea and Samaria, and till he was led out to be crucified, wore, as we have reason to believe, simple garments, and a seamless vesture, on which the Roman soldiers cast their lots. Simplicity in rites and forms, simplicity in religious wor- ship, simplicity in the places where they met for prayer and religious instruction, characterized Christians everywhere in tlie time of the Apostles, and during the greater part of the first century after Christ. And never did Christianity appear more lovely, and never was the preaching of the Gospel more efficacious in pulling down the strongholds of sin and super- stition and paganism, than during that period. The vilest of men may be, and often are, delighted with pompous rites and ceremonies, and frequent the churches where such rites and ceremonies exist, as they do the theatre and opera, for mere amusement, without receiving the least apparent spiritual benefit. 364 HOUSEHOLD READING. DO YOUR BEST. WE mean you, brother minister, — you who are all the while preaching to others. Sit down and let us preach to you a moment. " Suffer the word of exhortation." Do your best, then, we say. Not your smartest, nor your profoundest, nor your beautifulest, but your best. It is a rare privilege you and we enjoy, after all that is said in dis- paragement of the minister's position and influence. There is a whole day once in seven set apart for our purposes. God consecrates the day and hallows it. Our people feel that it must not be given to ordinary objects, — that it must be kept for the sanctuary. When that day comes, other men are silent. The lawyer is quiet, the lecturer is mute, the politi- cian holds his peace, but you and we may speak. The people gather to hear us. What a place is that in which they gather ! The sanctuary, with its comeliness and comfort and hallowed associations. The sanctuary, where solemn things are to be said and done, and where there is ever a solemn presence. Who has such a place to speak in and such surroundings as we ? No matter whether the congregation be small or large. The smallest congregation is large when reckoned according to the arithmetic of the sanctuary. They have come to worship, — they have come to listen. They love to come. Not all, indeed, love God. Not all love the Gospel. But, for one reason or another, the great body of our hearers love to come. See them as they sit before you, still, decorous, attentive. " We are all here present before God, to hear all things that are commanded thee of God." Not attentive, do you say ? Not interested ? Readier to listen to the flashy lecturer, to the mountebank orator, to any- body or anything rather than the Gospel ? Nay, brother, do not judge the people too hardly. Their curiosity may be DO YOUR BEST. 365 more awake in looking at a stranger than at you, whom thej have seen every Sabbath day for years. The merest clown in fantastical garb, the pedler of other men's jests, may amuse them more, may awaken more of that sort of interest which shows itself in clapping and stamping and iiproarious laugh- ter ; but it is a question if they like anything better, as a constant matter, than the preaching of God's word. That, after all, has attractions that nothing else has. That goes to the heart. That stirs depths in the soul which noth- ing else can reach. The people recognize its substantial in- terest, the grandeur of its themes, its practical force and bear- ing. They recognize these, and are, for the time, affected by them, whether they turn them in all cases to practical account or not. They are ready to listen to them. They would tire of anything else sooner. If Daniel Webster, in his lifetime, had come to discourse upon the Constitution, no doubt your church would have been fuller than you ever saw it before. But if even he had come a hundred times a year, perchance Ids audience might have been somewhat reduced. Behold the people, then, before you. There they sit, — more or fewer, — every Sabbath day. If more, you cer- tainly will not complain ; if fewer, then the better guaranty you have that they who have come have come to listen. There they sit, your people, and you their minister. It is yours to speak, while all besides keep silent. It is something to have an opportunity to speak to your neighbor as he passes to his daily business ; but here that neighbor sits, free from business engagements, and says, " I am ready to hear "What is the best thing you can say to me ? " It is something to wield a pen. In some respects, undoubt- edly, the pen and the press have the advantage of the pul- pit ; but in other respects how greatly the pulpit has the ad- vantage over them ! In the press, it is your simple thought th^t speaks ; but in the pulpit, it is your thought incarnate, — yourself. You, a living, breathing man, stand where men can look at you, and hear vou, and feel the pulsations of your 866 HOUSEHOLD READING. heart, and you speak to them. With tongue and lips and eye and hand, with your whole visible and audible self, you speak and they hear. This often, this habitually, this every Sabbath day, when yoir people are most favorably situated and in their most hopeful mood, and when all the surroundings are serious and impressive. What an opportunity ! What a privilege ! What a power this which is put into your hands ! How much you may do to direct the inquiries, mould the views, determine the char- acters, and thus the destinies, of your hearers ! May we not well say, — Do your best ! NOT A NEW IDEA IN IT! N* tired of such preaching ; it does n't interest me. I 'm going to give up my present pew ajid take one in E Street, where they say their new minister gives them the most unheard-of sermons. Neighbor P , who has been over there a month, told me that the Rev. Mr. Sodawater gave them last Sunday, in the morning, the most beautiful disqui- sition that you ever heard, on the " Music of the Spheres," and, in the afternoon, a most eloquent and startling discus- sion of the Chinese and Turkey question, with some remarks upon the Ingraham and Koszta affair. The fact is, a man might go here ten years, and never know that anything at all was going on in the world except sin and repentance and all that old and worn-out stuif. I am going to speak to the sexton now, and tell him to rent my seats. I must go where something is stirring ! " Well, good by, parishioner ; you did n't think I over- NOT A NEW IDEA IN IT. 367 heard you, but no matter. You and I have faced each other, — you in the pew and I in the pulpit, — (let us see) it must be now some six months. You came here, if I re- member right, from Dr. Galvanism's church in B Street ; and the reason given was because the Doctor de- voted rather too much attention to the spiritual-rappings, and preached too often upon dry, " scientific " subjects ; and you wanted a little of that kind of Gospel which Jesus used to preach. You have been here pretty regularly in the morning, and in the afternoon I have pretty regularly no- ticed you driving by my study window in a buggy-chaise headed toward the country, about twenty minutes before the ringing of the second bell. You have usually listened to the text, especially if in any sense unique ; and I have known you to look up toward the pulpit with some intel- ligence in your eye for the first ten minutes of the discourse. Once, when the Rev. Mr. Q (agent for the So(;iety) occupied the morning, and told a great variety of stories more or less queer, I did know you to keep awake until the com- mencement of the closing appeal, preliminary to the passage of the contribution-box. Circumstances (other than those alluded to above) have led me to the supposition that you have an immortal soul, and on that supposition I have preached to you. More than once I have prepared a sermon with your case in my eye, and have cherished the momentary hope that my words might find the (difficult) passage from your ear to your heart ; but your bowed head (not in prayer) has soon convinced me that I was preaching only to the one hundred and sixty pounds of flesh and blood and bones, with their linen and broadcloth envelopes, which constitute by far the largest portion of the complex being which has just stalked off in indignation from the door of my church, and which will be to-morrow accosted upon State Street as Mr. . You have been afflicted since you came among us. I well remember your little daughter, whose sweet face ( lit up by 368 HOUSEHOLD BEADING. her motlier's eye in miniature) was the light of your pew, when first it was yours ; and ho"w she looked when the fever- flush was giving place to the death-pallor on her cheek, and your tears dropped like rain upon her little bed (then it was that I knew you had a heart); and how, at your summons, I rose at midnight from a Sabbath night's overwearied couch to thread the streets to your dwelling, to commit her departing soul, in prayer, to Him whose gentle " suffer the little chil- dren to come unto me " was upon both her lips and mine, and to close her eyes, and to speak comfort and warning to you. I remember this, and I remember my hopes and prayers that, by the avenue of that sharp grief, conviction and penitence might find their way to your heart. The crape is on your hat now, but you have forgotten these things ; and it is many days since I surrendered all hope that God would use me as the instrument of making an im- pression of eternal value upon your spirit. I have n't preached to you any new ideas, it is true (though your slumber-steeped brain is a poor witness) ; for I do not know of any new ideas to be preached to old sinners like yourself. I presume in the six months that you have been my parishioner you have not eaten or drunken any new ideas in the way of food, but that your daily hunger has been satiated and your daily life nurtured by such old ideas as bread and beef and their kindred staples. I doubt whether you would dismiss your baker for not putting daily by your plate a wheaten loaf with somo here- tofore unseen substance glittering upon it, and some here- tofore unknown taste resident in it ; or your butcher for not supplying your table with a daily joint, the roasting of which should develop some odor heretofore unsmelled. In the matter of clothes, too, you seem to keep on good terms with your tailor, though I notice that he still fits you with coats and pants like the rest of the world. Your body seems to get on reasonably well upon old ideas newly served up to suit daily wants. NOT A NEW IDEA IN IT. 369 And as to your soul, I know of no reason why the old facts of its condition and necessities and dangers are not just as essential to its life now as ever. And, if you would keep the peace with your doctor when he gives you old physic for your plethora, and old tonics for your feebleness, I know not why you should desert and abuse your spiritual physician for prescribing according to his best skill for the malady of your heart. No, I have not preached about the " music of the spheres," nor have I discussed either "Koszta" or the new Constitution ; not because they have not an inherent interest, but for the same reason that, when a woodman is felling a forest of oaks, he does not stop to grub up the ferns and berry- bushes that grow far down under their shadow. A man can die in peace without a matured opinion upon the Koszta case ; but a man cannot die in peace without matured opinions and acts upon the great matters of Christian faith. And as long as men are dying thick around us, and all men are exposed to die at any moment, the time has not come yet when the pulpit can afford to take a microscope to find its subjects. We are not to meet any more under this roof, it seems ; probably — as your departure breaks the link that bound us, and your daily walks are wide from mine — we may never meet again in this world. But, ex-parishioner, let me tell you, we shall meet again in an august assemblage. And when certain books are opened, there will be a reckoning be- tween you and me in reference to our brief parochial relation. I must answer to God for all my sermons, — poor, poor things. If conscience did not plead for them that they were well meant, I should tremble for that. And you must answer to him for your hearing and your not hearing, your sleeping and your waking, your sins of omission and of commission of which God's house has been the scene. It will be a solemn hour ! Very dreadful will it be to you, if you do not repent. Yes ! if I could call so loud after you that you could catch the sense of what I say, I would repeat 24 370 HOUSEHOLD BEADING. those same ever-old, ever-new ideas, " Repent and be con- verted, so your sin shall not be your ruin." Wake up, and prepare for the hour of death and judgment. Until then, farewell ' IN AFFLICTION. " God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble." TT^ IS sweet, upon the bed of pain, I When anguish racks the tortured limb, To look to Christ who once was slain, And all our sorrows cast on him ; To lift the heart in love and faith To Him who holds the keys of death. 'T is sweet to know that he is near, A present help in trouble's hour, Tempted in all as we are here, Yet proof against temptation's power : Our Great High-Priest, whose heart can feel Our sorrows which to him appeal ; — To feel 't is he who makes our bed In all our sickness, — he who keeps His angel watching by our head ; Who never slumbers, never sleeps, But brings us through the darkest night, With wondrous love, to morning light. And when to us Death draweth nigh, And seems to say our hour is come, 'T is sweet to feel, that Christ on high Is fitting up our endless home ; And lift the heart in cheerful prayer, Not doubting we shall soon be there, HIGH STREET, EDINBURGH. . 371 HIGH STREET, EDINBURGH. IT^DINBURGH, which has become to all who speak the -^ English language, since the days of Sir "Walter Scott, one of the leading spots of the world's interest, has one long street, which, divided into two sections, and called by two different names, is the centre of the interest of Edinburgh. I speak of the famous avenue known in one half of its course as the High Street of Edinburgh, and in its other half as the Canon- gate. Robert Chambers has beautifully said of it : " As the main avenue from Holyrood into the city, it has borne upon its pavement the burden of all that was beautiful, all that was gallant, all that has become historically interesting in Scot- land for the last six or seven hundred years." I confess I never have seen any street which is so crowded with memo- rials of the past like this one. It lies on the ridge of a hill, which is not conical as a hill ought to be, but which extends a mile in length, rising like a camel's back. The two sides of it are quite steep, and one end is precipitous, and there at that end stands frowning the old and the famous Edinburgh Castle. From this crowning point runs the long street of which I write, ever descending with a gradual slope till it reaches the plain a mile away, and confronts at its opening the still more famous Holyrood Palace. This street is the heart of the old town of Edinburgh. In it stand all, or nearly all, the buildings known to fame ; and the High Street and the Canongate have witnessed nearly all that is sad and thrilling in the public history of Scotland. Not the least interesting feature is the houses themselves, and they would be interesting, even without the historical associations which hang around. Palaces they were a hun- dred years ago ; now they seem like tall houses, standing like a guard of grim giants guarding the way. Edinburgh has the highest houses of any city in the world, and it is not un- 372 , HOUSEHOLD READING. common to ooiint from seven to ten stories in those houses which are built on the sides of that hill whose long ridge is formed by the High Street and the Canongate. As one stands on the plateau of the new town and looks up, these tall houses seem like a band of giants trying to scale the hill, and as you walk down the Canongate, you meet the same giants keeping guard. The houses, too, have a most impressive air of antiq- uity. The small windows, the curiously cornered roofs, the projecting upper stories, the old English mottoes, the antique signs, the grimness and blackness of age, the stone staircases, either outside of the buildings or winding up into them like the stairs of an old ruin, — all these things bring back the past most vividly. And then the people who live there are of that class whose manners and habits do not much change from generation to generation. The rich follow new fashions; and their life is ever spent in seeking new novelties. But the poor of an old European town have no money to throw away on novelties ; they are independent of the fashions, because they have not the means to follow them; as their fathers dressed and lived, so dress and live the children. So when I look at the men and women of the swarming population of the Canongate, I feel that the past is before me, that I now see those whom Scott has painted ; and if a few changes in dress have been made, yet that, in all the great features of the scene, these are the men and women who are so interesting, or " quaint," as we say in history. And the High Street and Canongate are alway so swarmed with this old-fashioned life that it brings out still more strongly the impression. I hardly ever pass up the street without seeing, in the tide of low, ragged life there, the self- same Porteus mob which Scott has so vividly painted in the Heart of Mid-Lothian. For the Canongate, once the residence of the titled, is now wholly deserted by this class, and is in- habited by the lowest classes of the population. From the street lead narrow lanes, about ten feet wide, and called closes, and they were once filled wi^^h the mansions of men HIGH STREET, EDINBURGH. 378 whose names are conspicuous in the history of Scotland. But now those closes are the abodes of filth and wretchedness ; and the guide-book remarks, with a sly humor which I did not appreciate till I had visited them, that the tourist must visit the closes of Edinburgh, " if he wishes to witness the change, of a century in the manners and customs of society." From the windows of palaces where once dwelt dukes and earls you may now see every day of the week a pole five feet long, with two or three strings attached to the end, and fastened at the sides of the window, while from the stick and the strings hang the week's washing, the suds dripping upon the passers below. Nor is this scene confined to the narrow closes alone ; but from all the windows of the Canongate the same sight is seen. One must make his excursions into this street on one of the last days of the week, or else walk in the middle of the street. It would be almost impossible to do justice in a single letter to the many interesting memorials of the High Street and the Canongate. Beginning at the Castle, you have in it an object on which the eye loves to linger, and in which are choice objects of interest. How grandly that old Castle lifts itself to the skies. Seven, even forty miles away, it seems to be the presiding genius of Edinburgh ; and such indeed it has always been ; and these tall houses have grown up around it, that many people might be securely sheltered under its pro- tection. The long hill of the High Street comes to an abrupt termination with the Castle, and so there it stands on a bold mass of rock two hundred and fifty feet high, telling so many stories of the warlike history of Scotland. That Castle, which runs back before the time of authentic history, has wit- nessed all the development of Scottish glory, has been be- sieged and ruined and restored, has been scaled by Wallace, has given the unfortunate Mary a prison-room, — alas! it only competes with the Tower of London in the sad sights, too, which it has witnessed. In the Castle, too, are kept the re- galia of Scotland, interesting in itself as the c;'own of Bruce, 874 HOUSEHOLD READING. the swoi d of state must be, but made more interesting from the fact that during the whole civil wars it was hidden, and it was thought lost, till about 1816, long after quiet was re- stored, it was discovered hidden in a strong oak box carefully laid away by some strict loyalist then in the grave. And there are the rooms in which Mary was imprisoned, — most interesting both. They are little changed from what they were ; the old and rich wood-panelling remains ; so, too, the inscriptions on the walls, and the little marks of Mary's taste. In the smaller room, James the Sixth of Scotland, and First of England, was born ; and from the window of this room was let down, a height of two hundred and fifty feet, in a basket, when he was but eight days old. A picture of Mary hangs upon the wall, — a noted picture, which has come down from her times, and is considered one of the best portraits of her in existence. And certainly, however high I may have thought Mary's beauty was, I have never rated it so high as this picture would indicate. The face is square, as the com- mon pictures of Mary represent, and not oval, as the statue at Westminster Abbey gives you to infer ; the nose is straight, and not Jewish, as is too often represented. But the eye, the hair, the complexion, the brightness and animation of face, — all these are so attractively represented, and the dress withal has such a modern air, not distracting your attention with any absurd exaggerations of lace, that I was lost in ad- miration, no longer wondering that much trouble should have been brought into the world by one who was thus beautiful. " If to her lot some human errors fall, Look on her face and you 'U forget them alL" "A LAUGHING-STOCK." 375 /'A LAUGHING-STOCK." HE was a good man, that Deacon L . I knew him well. He was my kindred and my friend. I met him often for many years. He stood over six feet high, and was proportionally large ; a farmer, " well to do," always moral and upright. When about forty years old, he became deeply interested in personal religion. Naturally very, very diffident, he said little or nothing to any one about his feel- ings. Months rolled on, and still he was anxious, dis- tressed ; while yet he had regular seasons of secret prayer, read his Bible, and was doing all he felt he could and ought to do, save one thing. He was the head of a family. He had a lovely wife and four children, all impenitent, but they were his, and conscience urged him to the duty of erecting the family altar. But the cross, it was too great for his timidity ! So it was put off, and new duties discharged in other directions as an offset ; but he grew nothing the better, nay, rather the worse. At length, one morning, in his field he solemnly resolved that that night he would, come what might, make the attempt at least to pray in his family. A seamstress was at his house, from whose ridicule and scorn he shrank ; but his mind was made up. And here I give his own language. " When I went to dinner she told me she wished to go home that afternoon. Never did I carry a person from my house so gladly before. She was now out of my way, and one great obstacle was removed. Night came on, and I seemed to gain strength for my duty. But just as I was about to get my Bible and tell my family what I intended then and thereafter to do, who should knock at my door but the youngest brother of my wife, a mirth-loving, captious young man, a member of col- lege, just the last person in the world I then wanted to see. What shall I do ? what ? what ? my heart cried, and my 376 HOUSEHOLD READING. agony seemed to me more than I could bear. But my vow had been made, and there could be no gomg back. I arose, got my Bible, and told them what I was about to do. My wife looked as though she would sink. My children looked one to another, at their mother and at me, not knowing what was to happen. My brother-in-law seemed greatly amazed. But rallying all my strength I read a Psalm, and knelt down, and at length said, " Lord," — and could not utter another word ; and there I stood, a great stout man, upon my knees, a laughing-stoch for my dear family. There I stood, I could not speak, and there my proud heart was humbled, and there my Heavenly Father met me, and my soul was filled with unutterable peace. When I arose, my poor wife was mortified, and hung her head to conceal it. My brother-in-law said nothing, soon retired, and the next morning left for college again." That family altar has not yet ceased to burn with daily incense, though the priest thereof has ministered unto it for forty odd years. Now mark the result of that attempt at prayer, when the good man was, in his own esteem, a " laughing-stock." In about a week he received a letter from that brother-in-law student, which began with these words, " Rejoice with me, Brother Daniel, for I have found the Saviour, and that scene at your house the other evening God has blessed to the sal- vation of my soul." This young man studied divinity at ^ndover, but when about to be licensed to preach the Gos- pel, was taken with bleeding at the lungs, and soon went to his rest. That wife, those children, and many others under the same roof, have found the Saviour through the instru- mentality of this praying man. He bore the cross and re- ceived the crown. He lives still in a green old age, waiting for his summons to go up higher. Be sure it is always best to obey God ? Nothing is gained, but much lost, by shrinking from duty. They are difficulties, overcome and conquered, upon which we rise. T\ie Christian FICKLE PIETY. 377 is a soldier. He must not fear when executing a command. The anxious lose, — how much they lose ! sometimes the immortal soul, — by failing to do the right thing, that om thing, to which God evidently calls. Many a head of a family has stumbled at the cross of family prayer, and lost all. What though for once, or a hundred times, he may be a " laughing-stock ! " It matters nothing, when such inter- ests are in peril. The care of the soul is the great care. Who can, or will, neglect it ? FICKLE PIETY. WHY is there so much defective piety in the Church ? We imagine one reason is a sad, practical mistake in the proportioning of faith and works. A person, for example, opens his Bible, and reads there of the incomparable beauty of religion, as consisting in that charity without which we are nothing. He finds that it is a heart free from sin, and a life radiant with love and well- doing, that God approves ; that it is pure religion and unde- filed to wipe away the orphan's tears, to soothe the sorrows of the tried and the oppressed, and to keep one's self unspot- ted from the world. He pictures in his own mind such an angelic character walking the earth like a form of pure and radiant light, itself uncontamiuated with the contact, cheer- ing and blessing all around as it moves on through the world, until, at the end of life, it goes out to us like the setting sun, only to burst forth with a new and clearer effulgence in the eternal world, shining there as " the brightness of the firma- ment," and " the stars for ever and ever." " That," he ex- claims, " is my idea of true religion." And then, perhaps, he honestly resolves to be religious. He sets himself strenu- ously to the work. He will restrain every s\a"ong passion; 878 HOUSEHOLD READING. he will put down every sinful thought and feeling ; he wih kill out the rank selfishness of his nature ; he will nurture every angelic grace ; in short, he will at once commence, step by step, the ascent ; so, step by step, he will ascend to that heavenly character which God loves, and which will secure to him the rewards of the righteous. Reaching the summit of the first mountain of attainment, he finds that another still rises before him, seemingly, now that he is nearer to it, piercing the very skies. Nothing daunted, he girds himself afresh for the work, and at last makes the as- cent. But what is his dismay to find that still moiintain rises on mountain, stretching away into the interminable distance, and he knows not that, e\-en at that farthest visible point, he should reach the full height of the requirements of God, and be perfect even as he is perfect. Looking back, and looking forward, he seems to himself to have made no advance at all, and so, at the very beginning of this stupendous ascent, he falls back panting and discouraged. Again he opens his Bible, and, to his surprise, finds that he has heretofore omitted, or at least passed thoughtlessly over, a very large class of texts, which all seem to point in one direction, and, as it now appears to him, a very different one from that which he has been pursuing. He finds them on almost every page, interwoven with nearly every narrative, hardly ever omitted in the parables of the Saviour, never ab- sent from the sermons and letters of the Apostles. Wearied by his ineffectual efforts to scale the heights of the divine law, and to make himself an angel by the loveliness and beauty of his own obedience, he reads such passages as these : " Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest " ; " By grace are ye saved, through faith ; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God ; not of works." These, and such as these, he reads, and wonders that they have never attracted his attention before. So, then, all his laborious painstakings to reach the heights of the divine requirements, and become pure and holy by his own FICKLE PIETY. 379 obedience, have been in vain. The only way to please God, and attain unto everlasting life, it seems, is to trust Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who ijroposes, through the great and mysterious sacrifice of himself for me, to place me at once, where of my own efforts I never can get, on a vantage-ground equivalent to that of perfect obedience, so that thus I may be accepted of God, and admitted to the eternal glories of his presence. He proposes this as a strictly free gift, offered to my acceptance, purchased for me at a price which no created intelligence will ever be able to estimate ; and the only con- dition he annexes is my repentance for sin, and my grateful and affectionate trust in him. Now, in the case of such a great reaction in the religious experience of a person, possibly he may entirely forget, or at least act as if he had forgotten, that first class of passages, which are equally true with the last, and which so entranced him with the sweetness of religion, as consisting in a pure and benevolent life. He has forgotten the beauty of that personal holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord, and the pure and cheerful radiance of that charity which is to live and sing when faith and hope are dead. He is simply to believe in Jesus, he now thinks ; there is no other duty to perform, no other command to obey. He is to be saved, not by works, but by trusting Christ, and (fatal inference, secretly drawn) consequently he thinks it can make no great differ- ence what life he lives or what spirit he breathes. And so he sinks down into a cold, heartless, dead piety, immovable, useless, a mere profession, the very negation of all religion^ his heart full of worldliness and covetousness and bigotry, his life following its impulses, and himself a burden upon the Church ; until, finally, startled by some fearful providence of God, or some great awakening of religious interest in the community, or by some dread truth of God's word flashed upon his mind, he wakes up from his long death-like stupor, and under the lashings of remorse and fear for his remissness and ungodliness, and satisfied that he has not ever yet been 380 HOUSEHOLD READING. upon the right ground, very likely again attempts to answer all the requirements of God by his zeal in well-doing, — a zeal which he thinks will never again languish, but which, in reality, burns for a while, only to go out as before. And thus he oscillates between these two extremes, like a pendulum, finding rest nowhere, never dreaming that the only place of rest possible to him is that very medium point, so often passed over in his vibrations, where the two extremes harmoniously meet and combine, where faith takes hold of life, and life takes hold of faith, where life becomes a life of faith, and faith becomes faith in life, each necessary to the very existence of the other, both together securing at once remission of sin and personal holiness, and the two, like angel wings, neither of wliich can be spared, bearing the soul up to the bosom of God. THE LITTLE TEACHER. HER IDEAL SCHOOL. " 1%/r OTHER did say yes, and now she can't help it. 0, ■i-T-JL I 'm so glad the school is fairly engaged, that I 'm half crazy ! " " Crazy," said Miss Paddleford, peeping over her spectacles ; " I think myself there 's been a degree of partial insanity about you for some time. Here 's your little sister just got over a fatal sickness, and your mother never needed you so much in the world ; and you must go off in spite of all she can say, and keep school ! " " But, Miss Paddleford, father is willing ! " " yes, your father 'd let you do anything under the sun. Just got your dresses let down ! Thirteen years old. It beats all ! " ^ THE LITTLE TEACHEE. 381 " 0, I 'm fourteen, Miss Paddleford, and three months over, and very large for my age ! " " Well, well, it 's ridiculous. You 've about as much no- tion of governing a school as a baby ! As soon as a girl is old enough to write a palatable hand now-a-days, she thinks she must keep school ! " And Miss Paddleford went on pressing the seams in Willy's pants, and her goose seemed to hiss out scorn of Rose and all little girls who tliought they could keep school before their time had come. " Well, Miss Paddleford," said Rose, saucily, " if I ever have to earn my own living, I 'd rather be a teacher than a tailoress, anyhow ! It 's a good deal more genteel ! Board- ing 'round, too ! I shall have the best chamber, and live on strawberries and cream, and be just as dignified. I 've made up my mind to be dignified ! " " Have you ? " cried Will, who was going by the window. " Begin now, and let 's see how you '11 look ! " " Behave, Will ; I was n't talking to you. You say that just because I have my hair curled in my neck, I suppose. But I can be prim enough, I 'd have you know ! " " A perfect primrose," said Will, drawing down his mouth. " I 'm thankful I don't belong at Getchell's Corner, Deestrict No. 3 ; ' the terror of your noble eye would strike me dead.' " " You saucy thing ! I 'd strike you with something heavi er than my eye, I guess. Should n't I enjoy punishing you for impertinence on the old score ? If I only once got hold of you ! " And Rose drew herself up, and assumed the attitude of Miss Lyon, her favorite teacher, whose deportment she in. tended to imitate whenever she could think of it. Will thrust his hands into his pockets and laughed ; leaned against the fence to laugh harder still. " I '11 tell you what it is, Rose ; if you can catch me you may give me a smart flogging, and welcome. Now for a race 382 HOUSEHOLD READING. from here to the sweet-apple-tree. One, two, three, — be- gin ! " And Will started off at the top of his speed, and Rose after him in close pursuit, her face aglow, and her hair streaming in the wind. As she skimmed over the ground, shouting and laughing, she seemed for all the world like a little girl, and not in the least like a young ladj. Or at any rate, so thought her mother, who was standing at the pantry window watching the chase. " "Well, well," thought mamma, as she finished rolling out her biscuits, " the child is determined to teach school, and perhaps it 's all for the best. I can't help hoping she '11 be better contented afterwards to stay at home and help me." HER REAL SCHOOL. There were bits of paper, dry leaves, and sticks lying about under the seats and in the corners, undiscovered by the girls' brooms. The curtains were tearing away from the gentle clasp of the tack-nails, and leaned over from the tops of the windows as if they were tired of the sun themselves, and wanted a little rest. Rose wanted a little rest, poor child ! School was out for the day, and she sat by her desk scribbling in a blank-book because she wanted to " free her mind," and had no one to talk with. I have seen that blank-book, and have a mind to give you a peep at it. It is written sometimes with black ink, sometimes in blue, and then again with a lead-pencil. It is blotted, too, — with tears. " Monday night. — First day over. Seems like a week. It is n't a bit as I expected. I jumped once or twice when they said, ' Miss Lawrence.' (It sounds dignified, though ! ) How the children do stare ! I wonder how they like my looks. They '11 go home and tell their mothers f.^rnie kind of a story! I know one thing, — I've looke'l as grave as a tombstone. I suppose it would n't do to smib. I nearly THE LITTLE TEACHER. 383 smiled, though, when those little girls came out to read their letters. I pointed to ' T,' and asked the pretty one what she drank out of cups sometimes. She looked sober and said, ' Nothing. They don't give me anything but cold water in a pint ! ' "Then I asked the other one, and she said, ' My mother has grounds in her coffee sometimes, but it does n't look like that ! ' " dear, it was so funny ! I wanted to kiss the little darlings, and send them out to pick buttercups. But no ! I had to make them take their seats and fold their hands. The pretty one nodded, and finally lost herself, — not much of a loss, poor dear ! " There ! how strict I am going to be, and yet they will all love me. And when the School Reports are printed. Dis- trict No. 3 will go before the rest, perhaps. " I 'm afraid the other teachers in this town will feel morti- fied, — so young as I am, and my first school. But I sha'n't feel like rejoicing over them ; I know I sha'n't. " Will may treat me more respectfully, though, and I shall be glad of that. It is certainly provoking the way he talks to me, as if I were a child ! " ^^ Friday. — Those three ' Committee-men ' ! They have been in ! I had to hold on by the chair, I shook so ! I wished I was dead and buried, and the grass was a foot high over my grave, for a few minutes. " Don't know what they thought. I can't even remember what they said. My tongue felt as if it had been changed into something as stiff as leather. I had no idea I could speak with my tongue feeling so, and my throat having such a lump in it ; but I did, and they, the men, did not look at each other and smile, as I expected they would. I guess I appeared very brave. They gave me enough good advice to last me if I should live a hundred years. They will come in, the last week, again." 384 HOUSEHOLD READING. " Thursday. — Why, liow these children do act ! I scold as hard as ever I can, but they don't seem to mind much about it. I wonder if they mistrust I 'm only fourteen years old ? They keep running out of their seats with questions. I sup- pose I ought not to let 'em. " It 's ' Miss Lawrence, need Nancy tickle me ? ' " ' Miss Lawrence, I was just lying down on the seat, and Tid Glover spilt some ink on my neck. She says she did n't go to do it, but she did.' " ' Miss Lawrence, may n't I speak ? I want to get the tink up, — it 's under Johnny's dinner-basket.' " dear me — there ! I wish I was at home, out in the orchard, under the trees, and could hear mother call me in to supper, — ' Rose, Ro-ose, Ro-osa ! ' " Mrs. Applebee sweetens her custards with molasses, — who ever heard of such a thing ? Coffee, do. (bread, dougK). Mother never made me eat fried pork at home, and because I don't like it they think I 'm ' big-feeling, stuck-up, and proud.' " Mrs. Applebee is n't like Mrs. Glover, where I boarded at first. She petted me, but Mrs. Applebee thinks I ought to be a woman, I suppose. She said something about letting me have a tub to wash my clothes. Perhaps she thinks I can wash ! I '11 make believe, then (it will take the skin off my fingers, though)." ^^My last week ! Monday. — I 'm boarding now ever so far from the school-house, and it has rained almost every day for a fortnight. The clouds seem to be let loose. I wish they had some kind of check-rain. " I 've kept a boy after school, and have got to whip him if I can get up the courage. Then I shall go paddling through the mud to Mrs. Johnnet's, and hear her scold, scold. I don't like boarding round. I hate teaching school, — now it 's out ! ' Needles and pins ! needles and pins, — When a girl teaches her trouble begins ! * THE LITTLE TEACHER. 885 " I only want to live througli this week, so I shall be alive next week ! Then the cage will open and I shall fly out." *' Tuesday. — Worse and worse. Then I 'm so homesick, if I must own it. I 've cried myself to sleep ever so many nights. I want to see mother. I don't think I used to treat mother just right, I always hated to wash dishes so. But if I once get home, I '11 go to work, the first thing, and wash all the dishes in the house, clean ones and all. I miss father and Ada, and I know Will misses me. Will 's a good-hearted boy, after all." ^^Last day ! The Committee ! — Dr. Palmer is the one that makes sucli long sentences, with so much dictionary sprinkled over them. And he is the one I think is heartless. He al- ways looks as if he thought you were very much to blame about something. He made a speech about ' order,' and ' regulations,' and ' system,' and ' discipline,' and I don't know what all, for I had as much as J could do to keep from crying. I wonder if he has got any daugliters about my age ? I know one thing, he never will let them keep school ! Well, father told me I was a silly child to attempt to govern ' other children.' I begin to think one's father and mother know best, I wonder if the other teachers in town will be jealous of little Rose Lawrence, — ' the Rose that all are prais- ing ' ! Well, little miss, you won't keep school agahi till you reach the years of discretion. If you do, I hope some kind friend will just take you and use you for a pincushion." as H8S HOUSEHOLD READING. THE PRAYER-MEETING. A WEEKLY prayer-meeting is something which no church can well afford to do without. It might about as well dispense with its family altars, its closets, its places of Sabbath worship, and, I had almost said, its Bibles. And there are the best reasons for believing, that, if a church feels no interest in sustaining a weekly prayer-meeting, its members are also sadly neglecting their family altars, their closets, their places of Sabbath worship, and their Bibles. It has its foundation in a church's necessity. It is the needful key which a church should ever have at its command to wind up its spiritual machinery, whose tendency ever is to run down. The prayer-meeting is a withdrawal from the din and turmoil of life to the place of devotion. It is the assembling together of saints, and Christ is in the midst of them. It is the Christian's agape, — his feast of love. And it is this meeting which is the thermometer of the church ; it indicates its spiritual temperature ; it is a reliable index of its spirituality. The Christian cannot best be such as a recluse. Piety does not thrive best in cloisters and by itself ; it needs the sunlight and ventilation, and to come in con- tact with other piety. Piety shut up in one's own bosom smoulders and dies, as soldiers sicken and die of inaction. Embers, asunder, go out. Bring them together, and they kindle and burn. My brother, we can, and we should, bear one another's burdens, — I yours, and you mine. You are my keeper, and I am yours. You should pray for me, and I for you, and in each other's presence. Perhaps either of us may do for the other what neither of us could do for ourselves You may see my failings and my spiritual necessities more distinctly than I see them myself, — so I may yours. I will tell you of my sins, my struggles, and my successers, and you A WORD IN SEASON. 387 shall tell me yours, aud we both shall thus be made more vigilant, wiser, and stronger. "We will meet in our weekly meeting for prayer, open our hearts, and agree as touching one thing. "We will unite in prayer. And our union shall be our strength, and we shall prevail with Him who has the residue of the Spirit. I pity that member of the body of Christ who never meets with his Christian brethren in the place of social prayer, and who feels in his soul no pressing need of coming to the church's weekly convocation. He is among those who for- get the assembling of themselves together, — and at the very place where he needs most of all to come. For a church- member never to be found at any of its stated meetings for prayer, is an ominous symptom. He has reason to beware lest he should not be welcomed to that greater meeting, where all prayer shall be exchanged for praise. ' The prayer- meeting is a strong link in the golden chain which unites any church here below with the Church above. A WORD IN SEASON. EMMA C , an earnest young Christian, had returned from school, where much religious interest existed, to her country home to spend a summer vacation. It was a sultry Sabbath in August, and the long, dusty walk to church was very wearisome. Toiling up the hill before her, she saw Mrs. D , a young woman about her own age, who was far more weary than herself, — weary of her life of toil and hardship, weary of her cares and trials, but, above all, weary of her own sin- ful heart, — weary without any hope or prospect of rest in this life or in that which is to come. Arrived at the small church, they found it closed. It was the pastor's summer 388 HOUSEHOLD READING. vacation, and no supply had been obtained. Numbers turned away, sadly, to pursue tlieir walk homeward under the rays of the fierce noontide sun, and Emma, as she turned, caught a glimpse of Mrs. D 's sad, careworn face, and thought she detected more than ordinary regret at the dis- appointment. In an instant she was by her side. Their way home was the same, and Emma resolved that Mrs. D should not return without a friendly invitation to come to Jesus. To her surprise she found her more than willing, — anxious to learn the way of life. Earnestly Emma pointed her to the Lamb of God which taketh away the sins of the world. As they parted she said, " Now, my dear Mrs. D , go to your room and leave it not until you have resolved to cast your soul upon Jesus, and I will spend this Sabbath in prayer that you may be accepted. When they next met, this was the language of Mrs. D 's heart : — " I came to Jesus as I was, Weary, and worn, and sad ; I found in liim a resting-place. And he has made me glad." And her subsequent life proved the reality of the change. She gave herself no rest until her sisters were also brought into the fold, and both Mrs. D and those sisters are now rearing their families " in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." " In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening with- hold not thy hand ; for thou knowest not whether shall pros- per either this or that, or whether they ^th shall be alike good." DEAD. 389 DEAD HE left us, our "first-born blessing," our brave, noble, beautiful boy left us, to lay his precious life a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom. It was a sad, painful day, and yet how different from this ; for then white-winged hope flut- tered over my heart, warding off the sharp arrows of fear. True, when night came, and our dear boy had gone to the seat of war, the world was less bright, but still hope whispered of the loving letters that would soon come to cheer us, and with that the heart rested. And they did come, soon and fre- quently, — for months they came, those long, interesting, tender epistles, and the last one came. Then the kind-hearted captain wrote, and, one dreary March night there came a message, — and we were smitten. Bead, — what a crushing weight that little word brought ! How much of earthly joy it blotted out ! He was dead, and the " sacred dust " was even then on the way to his loved home. What a night it was ! What a sad, tearful, sleepless night ! And when at last it had worn away, how strange and gloomy everything seemed. But the agony of our bereave- ment was yet to come. An " express," all unlooked for, stopped at the gate. One hasty glance revealed the errand, and 0, had not God's pitying angels then been near, reason had surely left me. I ran to my chamber to be alone. I heard the muffled tramp of feet, and knew they were bringing in the still form, that went out so full of life, so determined to fight valiantly for "freedom's sake." They came to me with tender words : " He looks so natural, so peaceful, so lovely, you will feel better to look at him." I begged to go alone. " I would be alone when I meet my sonP I opened the door. "A coffin !^^ Others have doubtless experienced the same emotions that swept over me in that dreadful moment; but, thank God, they can never 390 HOUSEHOLD READING. come but once " A coffin in our house ! Oh ! can I live ? " A score of years had come and gone since our home was con- stituted, and in all that time the death-angel had passed us by, invading the nomes of nearly all around us, and now our time had come. " A coffin in our house!" I stepped trem- blingly forward, and looked. It was indeed my son, but oh I so pale, so thin, so changed, yet with an expression so peace- ful, even as the good captain had written, "peaceful as a child asleep." " It cannot be that he is dead : he must open those dear eyes, must call me motlier ! " I touched my lips to the broad, beautiful brow. It was cold, oh ! so cold! that I for the first time really knew that he was dead ; and oh ! my heart's rebellion, in the agonizing moments that followed, was fearful ! I forgot the loving heart that ever beats in sympathy with my own, forgot the dear ones that are still left to call me mother, and felt that I must die, and be with my patriot son. Then there came a voice to my heart that said, " Be still, and know that I am Grod,^^ and I sank_ beside that sacred clay in humble submis- sion to His will, and communed with him as I had never done before ; and his heavenly love so filled my soul, I had such glorious perceptions of his wisdom and justice and mercy and love, that I arose with a spirit of peace and gratitude, knowing that my Father had only afflicted that he might draw me nearer to himself. " And in that room of death my soul drew nearer To the great presence of the things unseen , The deep, dark mystery of life grew clearer, Until on life and death I looked serene. " And looked serene upon that lovely sleeper ; Kissed the pale face, which silently had taught That death and sorrow bring us knowledge deeper, And deeper joy than this dear life had brought." Mourning mothers, I have turned to this saddest chapter in my life-book that I might show you the sweet, sustaining DEAD. 391 power of heavenly love, and entreat you to lean trustingly upon the Saviour. Every fresh announcement from battle- field and hospital carries me swiftly back to that sorrowing time, when earthly ties were suddenly riven, and the joys of heaven took a brighter glow ; and I long to take you tenderly by the hand, — you especially who cannot lay the great burden of your grief at the foot of the cross, who cannot, amid your falling tears, say, " Even so. Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight," — and tell you of the blessed love that has often filled my heart with praises to the " great and glorious Giver," even to forgetfulness of the loss of one of its dearest objects of earthly solicitude. Nothing but God's grace can sustain us in these sorrowing times, and that is all-sufficient. He knoweth how much affliction is necessary for our disci- pline ; and let us accept it meekly, nay, gratefully, and go on our way with increased faith and chastened love. Let us remember that one may be selfish even in grief; and though our tears must sometimes fall for the bright, beautiful ones who will never appear again in our home circles, our smiles must not be withheld from those who are still left us. And though our sons may go down to patriot graves, others' sons are left, for whom we may labor. "While we remain in this life we have a work to do, and let us give ourselves to it with cheer- fulness and zeal. Let us not brood over our sorrows, but rejoice at our manifold blessings. What though our eyes are dimmed, and cheeks withered, as with many years, it matters little, so that the spirit is brightened with new beauty, and the soul drawn nearer heaven. 892 HOUSEHOLD READING. *' AND A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM." yOICELESS, in our human speaking, Ignorant of human teaching, Hardly yet beyond the reaching Of the angels, strong and fair ; Little exiles for the sky. Wailing no one knoweth why,. With a grieved and homesick cry, As for mother's watch and care. Eyes, half-closed in silent wonder. Head, that bends the strange weight under, Of the new life, rent asunder From the life that gave it birth ; Hands that clasp with feeble clinging Our poor strength, its aid down bringing, With the love that, strong, upspringing. Gladly welcomes them to earth. Ears that hear the far-off ringing * Of the songs the saints are singing. While the calm, celestial hymning Bends the little lips in smUes ; Converse sweet the soul is keeping ; Safe escaped from earthly weeping. See how calm the child is sleeping. Breathing soft and low the whiles. Feet not yet sore, worn, and bleeding, With the rough path of their treading, But the upward way now leading To the land of perfect rest. Lead, children ! patiently. To heaven's fair and broad country. To the home where we would be, — To the people of the blest ! PRAYER IN A PERILOUS POSITION. 393 PRAYER IN A PERILOUS POSITION. DEACON C. G. McN , formerly of Andover, Massa- chusetts, a bee-master of the Langstroth school, in com- pany with several others, was lately hunting bees in the woods skirting Cedar River, Iowa. He had ascended a tree about twenty feet from the ground, and cut a limb containing a swarm of bees, when it fell against another tree, knocking him off, and catching his left hand in a crotch of the tree. Here he hung for about half an hour, unable to extricate him- self, or to obtain any support, except by clinging partially around the body of the tree with his legs. His friends were unable to reach him or afford him any relief; and it seemed to him that he must either cut his arm off with his knife, and drop to the ground, or die in a most distressing manner where he was. His hand was growing black and numb with impeded circulation, and he was becoming faint with pain and exhaustion. His friends told him they could do no more for him. He loplied that he must then see if there was any help for him in God. One of the men could just reach his right hand from a limb above him. He requested him to reach down and support him a little, while he engaged in prayer. He prayed earnestly that God would spare him and send relief, if it were possible ; and prepare him and his fam- ily for death, if he must die. After prayer, he was relieved of the faintness and felt stronger. It then occurred to him that if a long pole were set up against the tree, so that he could rest his feet upon it, he might possibly be able to. extricate his hand. A tree was cut and placed so that he could rest one foot upon it. After slipping from under him once, it at length supported him, when he succeeded in pressing his hand up, and was set at liberty. He could now just reach the temporal y ladder by which he ascended the tree, and was soon safe on the ground with his rejoicing companions. •^94 HOUSEHOLD READING. After resting a few moments, the Deacon remarked, that such a deliverance was too great to be passed by without tlianlcsgiving . None of them were Christians, and some of them far from righteousness. But he knelt down before them all, and offered up hearty thanks to God " for his goodness and his wonderful works to the children of men " ; they also kneeling, reverently and uncovered, during the ex- ercise. Such an example of cool self-possession in extreme peril, calling upon God in trouble, and giving thanks for gracious deliverance, must have made a salutary impression upon those who witnessed it. Was it not a fulfilment of the prom- ise, ''^Call upon me in the day of trouble ; I will deliver thee^ and thou shalt glorify me^^ ? lAGO. HOWEVER the other characters bustle, lago is the mov- ing spirit in the play of Othello. He is not only every where present himself with his stealthy personality, but he is the direct occasion of all the actions of the other persons. His devilish face looks out of every scene, at Venice, and at Cyprus, in the council-hall, in the midnight revel, in the chamber of love, and in the chamber of death. He pulls the strings that move every tongue and arm. He points Roderi- go's sword at his friend's bosom ; he prompts the intemperate fury of Cassio ; he brings tears into the undimmed eyes of Desdemona ; he unsettles the steady soul of Othello ; and " the tragic loading of the bed " is " all his work." A per- fect parallel to the character of lago cannot be found, either in the writings of Shakespeare or of any other author. A man without a touch of human goodness, — a villain, without a villain's weakness, — a polished intellect, without a ray of in- lAGO. 395 tellectual elevation, — even Shakespeare could not have cre- ated such another. When Richard III. cries out on Bosworth field, " A thousand hearts are great within my bosom," we forget the tyrant and murderer, and wish him a brave death and a soldier's grave. lago has not even the ruffian's daring to recommend him ; he strikes with the assassin's steel in the dark, and stabs, like Joab, under the guise of a friend. When the usurping king of Denmark soliloquizes with such mourn- ful pathos about his crime, and kneels to ask the forgiveness of Heaven, we yield him our pity, and feel that, though a deep ofiender, he still has feeling. lago has no such " compunc- tious visitings." He scoffs at the present, and sneers at the future. He does not profess himself an atheist, for that would be too blundering work for his exquisite sense of evil ; but he covertly undermines God's throne by making all things true, and honest, and just, and pure, and lovely, and of good report, the objects of his wicked wit. He has been compared to the Mephistopheles of Goethe ; but the im- measurably higher power of Shakespeare is shown by discard- ing the supernatural, and by subjecting all human passions and weaknesses to the control of a totally corrupt ivill, while the bounds of nature are not for a moment transcended, lago is undeniably human, while yet the incarnation of evil. Mephistopheles amuses us by his tricks and transformations ; but lago actually makes us tremble, and we draw a long breath when he is put out of the world. We see that the pure maliciousness of lago is somehow in the capacity of a human soul. There have been approximations to it in his- tory, and it may be in our own observations of men. Some men have apparently become steeled to good, and totally " given over " to evil. The seeming want of motive in lago's conduct has often been noticed. Coleridge calls it his " motiveless malignity." A hint or so which he himself gives us about disappointed ambition, and an indefinite suspicion of his wife's integrity, are the only alleged reasons for his stupendous and destruc- 39G HOUSEHOLD BEADING. tive course of wickedness. Is not this a proof of Shake- speare's fearful acquaintance with the human mind ? Instead of setting motive over against action, as we study cause and effect in the science of mechanics, he has a more subtle and vital view of the human heart, and reveals its workings as thej really are, too indefinite to be analyzed, too spiritual to be philosophized about. There are influences within and be- yond, not possible to be represented, not confinable in terms and systems. He lets actions crop out, but does not attempt to follow down the vast sweep of their hidden strata into the central abysses of the world of sin. It was indeed quite enough for a thoroughly evil nature like lago's to have a noble nature like Othello's constantly before him, to excite the deepest hatred by the law of opposites. So the very spec- tacle of pure and virtuous enjoyment, such as the love of Othello and Desdemona, was sufficient in itself to rouse " the cruel devil of his will " into full and fatal activity. Shake- speare is willing to appear unphilosophical and unintelligible in order to be true, and to exhibit things as nature often ex- hibits them, and as the Bible exhibits them. The Bible rep- resents the unrenewed human heart as " deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked." It is an inexplicable thing, a bottomless deep. The two most prominent features of lago's moral character are his entire selfishness and his supreme hypocrisy. In his first conversation with Roderigo to whom, in his contempt for him, he was not afraid to expose somewhat of his real character, he says, — " Were I the Moor, I would not be lago ; In following him, I follow but myself." He moulds all, while outwardly subservient. He serves no one but himself. In his advice to Roderigo, he says : " I have looked upon the world for four times seven years, and since I could distinguish between a benefit and an injury, 1 never found a man who knew how to love himself." His hypocrisy is carelessly manifested. It is the only thing he seems to do lAGO. 397 naturally. He says to Roderigo, " I am not what I am." In another place he remarks, " Though I hate him as I hate hell-pains, yet for necessity of present life, I must show out a flag and sign of love, which is indeed but sign." He is hail- fellow with the youthful carouser and deep drinker, and yet with perfect grace he becomes the saint, and tells Othello, " I lack iniquity sometimes to do me service." Othello calls him to the last, " honest lago," " my just friend." Even his wife seems to have no suspicion of his real character. After Satan, lago is the truest type of the worst style of Jesuit. The chief mental characteristics of lago are instinctive sa- gacity, or marvellous perceptive power, and cool, unconquer. able force of ^ill. He seems to have made .a study of the concealed springs of human action, — to have made himself master of men. He had unfortunately found out that good men had weak points ; not in their principles, but hearts. He took deliberate advantage of this discovery. He adapted himself intuitively to the disposition of every one with whom he had to deal, and plied him with those baits that would prove successful to his overthrow. The mode in which he turns to account the smallest circumstance shows that he un- derstood men, and knew that they were ill-balanced and weak creatures, not moved by earthquakes, but by shadows and sunshine. He never neglected little things. The cautious but sure method in which he proceeds to plant the suspicion in the mind of Othello, the mysterious tone, the abstracted repetition, the obscure meaning, the undefined hint, winding up the curiosity of the man to that pitch of excitement in which his calm judgment became confused, shows his deep sagacity in the study of men. lago's practical philosophy, or vigorous metaphysics, in a good man, would be almost worthy of imitation ; but, like any bad intellectual man, he has no corresponding faith to save and sanctify his will. . None of the old fathers had a more profound idea of man's self-determining power of will than he. He regarded himself as the complete maker of his own •S98 HOUSEHOLD READING. actions and destiny. " 'T is in ourselves," he says, " that wo are thus and thus." He would bring every emotion, every passion, under the control of an iron determination. " Love ! " he sneeringly exclaims ; " it is merely a lust of the blood, a permission of the will." This is the secret of his constant self-possession. He leads the creatures of passion by whom he is surrounded after him at his pleasure. He is a Napo- leon, without Napoleon's childish traits. Shakespeare has even put much sound wisdom and shrewd advice into the scoffing, leprous lips of this unadulterated villain. Who will say that the character of lago is not a powerful sermon ? Show us the preacher who can preach like this. Spurgeon's coarse and tremendous images do not appall like the vague, unbounded capabilities of lago for pure evil. There are depths of hell in single words of his from which we shrink terrified. lago preaches to every man's conscience. He warns every man against swerving from the plain path of truth. He warns especially against the Jesuitical method of action. The hint, the concealed suggestion, the underhand mode of saying and doing things, are opposed to the charac- ters of " the children of light and of the day," and belong to Satan's way of doing things. Christians should never deal in these weapons. One cannot love his brother who-is afraid of speaking the truth to his face, or who works against him in a hidden manner. We are all liable to temptation in this as in everything else. When shall the clear and sweet at- mosphere of perfect truth, and of unfeigned love pervade even the Christian world ? DEACON RISING'S DANCING-SCHOOL. 399 THE FIRST GLASS. SAID Edmund Burke, in the British Parliament, while pleading against the incipient step to a questionable measure, " A spider of natural size is only a spider ugly and loathsome, and his flimsy net is only fit for catch- ing flics. But, g\3od God, suppose a spider as large as an ox, and that he spread his cable about us ; all the wilds of Africa would not produce anything so dreadful!" We are sometimes reminded of Mr. Burke's spider, as we see a dramseller intrenched amidst his glittering decanters in some fashionable saloon. He calls our youngsters about him with most seductive blandishments. He weaves his net with inimitable skill and grace. At first it is so delicate and plastic, the victim hardly knows he is within its folds ; but by and by the fibres wax stronger and stronger, till they become like the cordage of a mighty ship, and the struggling victim, bound hand and foot, struggles in vain. Young man, the first step to a drunkard's fate may be the first glass, the first vile habit, the first time you coiisort with a gay companion, the first cigar, or the first time you place your foot within the threshold of a gilded dram-shop. Shun them all, and be safe. DEACON RISING'S DANCING -SCHOOL. THERE are some people who are so honest, single- minded, and sincere, that we seem to feel that they are the Nathaniels of our generation. We always love to meet such men. We feel that it would be hard for tempta- tion to fasten on them ; and if the wind ever blows dust on 400 HOUSEHOLD READING. them, it soon blows it off again. Such a man was Mr. Simplemiud, — well known in all our region as one who found it hard to do wrong, and equally hard to imagine it in others. He was a home man, but on one occasion he was called to go on urgent business for a friend to the village of Suppleham, some two hundred miles from home. His busi ness took him at once to the house of Deacon Rising, of whom he had heard often, and in whose society he expected to enjoy much. The Deacon lived in a new, jaunty-looking house, evidently smarting up, and determined not to be left behind in paint or furniture. It was, indeed, quite stylish, " with all the modern improvements." Mr. Simplemind arrived just before tea, and, of course, was invited to the hospitalities of the table. As soon as the tea was over, the Bible was brought for family worship. The two young ladies, the daughters, and very pretty they were, said that they must be excused in order to dress, and so they were not to be at prayers. Mr. Simplemind looked disappointed. A short chapter, selected for its shortness, evidently, and a short, hurried prayer, were soon over. "I beg your pardon," said Mr. Simplemind, " I presume your daughters are dressing for company, and I fear if I accept your kind invitation to stay with you, I shall be in the way." "0, not at all. We are not to have company. My daughters are only dressing for the dancing-school." " TJie dancing-school! Why, Deacon Rising! " " You seem to be surprised, sir. Well, we did hesitate . some about it, but all the young people were going, and we did n't want to be rigid." " All the young people going ! Why, there must be some very hard ones, unless your place is very remarkable." " I don't mean all, but all the first families. We took special care to see that none but moral and respectable young people were admitted." " I see. Then dancing-schools are such places that the DEACON EISING'S DANCING-SCHOOL. 401 immoral and the not respectable are likely to go, and so likely that you have to take ' special care ' to guard against it. You don't take any such pains when you open a new prayer-meeting or Sabbath school, do you ? May I be permitted to ask if Clmstian parents are doing right to send or allow their children to go to amusements or places to which it is so natural for the wicked to go that you have to take special care to keep them out ? " " Now, my good sir, let us be candid — " " Well, 1 feel sure I want to be, and have been afraid you would think me too candid." " What harm does it do for my children to go to a dancing- school with good moral companions ? They are particular not to keep late hours." " Late hours, then, are the 7iatural consequences of the thing, or else they would not have to be ' particular.' You don't have to make this remark about any religious meeting or gathering. I never heard such a thing said about any charitable gathering in my life." " Now, Mr. Simplemind," said Mrs. Rising, " don't the Bible say there is a time for all things, and ' a time to dance ' ? " " Truly, madam, the Bible says there is a time to dance, and a time ' to pull down,' and ' a time to kill,' but I have never yet pulled down my house, or killed anybody, because there is opportunity for doing such things. You surely don't understand that text to teach us to tear down the house, or character, or influence, or to kill body or soui ? " " Well, but did not David dance before the Lord ? " " Yes, and danced with all his might ; but tliat was relig- ious worship. You don't mean to say that your daughters go to the dancing-school for religious worship, do you ? If they do, then we should ask a question or two, whether, un- der the light of the Gospel, this is the best method of wor- ship ? But I know you don't pretend to place it on that ground." " Well, sir," said Deacon Rising, " we live in peculiar 26 402 HOUSEHOLD READING. times. Our religion has suffered because we have been rigid, and thought to be morose.- I don't think we should make men hate religion, by being sour and crabbed." " Certainly not. But, my dear sir, is that your motive in sending your children to the school ? Was it a religious duty, a desire to honor Christ, that led you to do it ? I feel certain it was not." " Now, really, Mr. Simplemind, you carry things too fai . Pray, what hu7't does it do for my children to go to this dancing-school ? " " The very question I have been wanting to have you ask ; and I will be very brief and plain in my reply. It does hurt in these ways : — " («.) You were chosen to be a deacon of an Orthodox church, because your brethren thought that, in character, in example, and influence, they could safely point their families to you as a model. They thought you to be a simple, humble Christian, — one who would not strive to gain both worlds. By this act you have fallen in their regards, in your influ ence, in your weight of Christian character, I have no doubt. " (5.) I have also no doubt that the whole church feels the influence. Are not your prayer-meetings veri/ thin, and cold, and formal ? Don't you find you cannot hold up your head, and speak and pray as you once did ? Religion 77iust be very low, before you would do such a thing. " (c.) Your minister, I am bold to say, was amazed and grieved when he heard of it. He is now. He mourns in secret places. And if he were asked by you he would tell you so. I happen to know him to be a most excellent man ; but don't it begin to be whispered around that he is ' dull,' ' is not popular,' ' is not up to the times,' and it would bo well for .your people to have ' a more popular man ' ? And depend on it, Deacon, they will soon look to you to lead off in this dance. Their instincts teach them that an officer of the church who patronizes the dancing-school will not long be true to his faithful minister. DEACON RISINGS DANCING-SCHOOL. 403 " (df.) Yon have brethren in the chnrch who are grieved, I have no doubt. Have you not some conscientious Christians who do not allow their children to go to tlic dancing-school ? Their children want to go, would be delighted to go, per- haps beg to go, and urge that Deacon Rising's children go, and these parents are tried. They seem severe. But they gave their children to Christ in infancy, and they dare not let them go on the Devil's ground. You grieve all these exceedingly. " (e.) You hurt your own children. There must be some limits to the thing. You know that if you put guns into the hands of boys, they will fire them off. If you give a child a taste for dancing, and the power to dance, she will inev- itably want to go to public places of amusement, where there is opportunity for display, and where the company is not ' very select,' or ' moral,' and where they do ' keep late hours.' " (/.) Your children will have new and strong ties fasten- ing them to the world, and drawing them away from Christ. Anything that unfits her for the trying duties of life, and for the self-denial of the Christian, is a wrong done to the child. And pray. Deacon, what possible cross does the community see you and your Christian family take up ? You have no theatre and no horse-races here, and you do not patronize them. But if I understand Christ, we are to take up some cross daily, something that will be felt and seen as a cross. Now where is the cross which they see you take up for Christ ? " (^.) If your children are Christians, the wrong is hardly less to them. If they are Christ's, he dwells with them. Suppose he should call in here in person to-night, and pro- pose to talk with your children, would you like to take him to the dancing-school to introduce him ? Or would you ask him 'just to stay outside, while you went in and called them out ' ? Deacon ! Deacon ! I fear you are hurting your- self, hurting your family, grieving your fellow-Christians, wearing down your minister, and grieving the Holy Spirit, in 404- HOUSEHOLD READING. conforming to the world. The Master says, ' Be not con- formed to the world.' " Alas ! Mr. Simplemind was sad ! Deacon Rismg was sad ! A.nd I am sad ! Reader, are we all foolish in being sad ? "COME UP HITHER." ^OWNWARD through the still air falling, From the Eternal Heights above me, Comes a voice so tender, calling, " Wilt thou not, who fearest, love me ? Come up hither ! I, who died for thee, All thy strength will be ; Come up hither ! " Seems the voice so far above me ! Yet so full of mercy ! Teach me, Thou Divine One, if thou love me, How, in blindness, I may reach th<^.e. All this dreary Path which leadeth on. Must I tread alone, — I, so weary ? " Dreary, when the cross doth guide thee. And thou knowest its wondrous meaning ? Weary, when I walk beside thee, Thou upon my bosom leaning ? Alas ! with thee Have I dwelt so long, Still thou hast not known, Hast not known me ! " Wouldst thou see me, thou, who fearful Falterest in the march ? Uplifting . COASTING. 405 To the hills thine eyes, — not tearful, ■ Gird thine armor on. The rifting Clouds shall show thee Where thy path doth lead : Ah ! thy weeping hid Its fair glory ! " For the faithful and victorious, Out of blindness, wide the portal Openeth into light how glorious ! Out of Death to Life immortal ! Come up hither ! Fair in this sweet land The many mansions stand ; Come up hither." COASTING. " £^ WON'T we have some capital fun, coasting, when this V^ snow-storm 's over ? I tell you, I guess the sleds will fly down Pliny Hill ! " " I guess so too, and I wish mine could be among them. I wonder what makes father feel so about my sliding in the highway, with the rest of tlie boys. He is always talking to me and cautioning me, and since that accident last winter, he has forbidden my sliding there at all. I am sure I don't think there 's any danger, if a boy is only careful. Do you ? " " Danger ? no ! My father lets me slide where I choose, and I guess my sled '11 come down Pliny Hill pretty swiftly, for it is a grand one, the runners are so smooth. I don't be- lieve there 's another sled in town swift as my Arrow. But was there an accident here last winter ? " " Yes, tiioagh there was n't much harm done." 406 HOUSEHOLD READING. " What was it ? You know I did n't live here then." " Why, you see there were a lot of boys on Pliny Hill, coasting, and Ned Ruggles was among them. You know what a venturesome fellow he is ? Well, Ned was just up the hill ready for another slide, when a man came along with a horse and sleigh. He drove very slowly, as the road was worn so smooth, for he was afraid his horse might slip. Ned got tired of waiting, and called out, ' Come, boys ! my horse won't stand. He is bound to go by that drone of a beast. Come on ! ' ' Don't go, Ned,' said Fred Carleton ; ' perhaps you '11 frighten the horse.' ' Ho ! no danger of that,' replied Ned ; ' he has n't activity enough to be frightened at any- thing, and I 'm sure he could not jump if he was frightened. At any rate, I '11 try him ; so here I go, boys ! Come on ! ' And, suiting the action to the word, he sprang upon his sled and was away in an instant ; and Billy Whipple and Frank Rouins followed him. They soon overtook the sleigh, and Ned darted by, the others following close behind him. But no sooner did the horse get sight of him, than he instantly sprang from the road into the ditch, upsetting the sleigh and throwing out the driver, who, clinging to the reins in hopes of stopping the animal, was dragged some distance by the frightened creature, as he ran furiously down the hill. The boys all started after him, shouting, ' Whoa ! ' ' Whoa ! ' but it only made him run the faster. He was, however, stopped as soon as he came into the village, but the sleigh was dashed to pieces." • " Was n't the man injured very much ? " " No. He was considerably bruised, but no limb was broken ; he was exceeding angry, though, and before he started for his horse, he stopped Ned and Frank and Billy, and made them give him their names." " He did n't do anything with them, did he ? " " Yes ; he prosecuted them ; and their fathers were obliged to pay twenty-five dollars each, to settle the affair. And my father says eve/ry boy ought to be prosecuted who slides in the streets." COASTING. 407 " 0, they could n't do that ! " " Yes they could, because there is a law which forbids it." " Pshaw ! I never heard of that before. I don't believe it, either, for I guess our selectmen would put a stop to it." "Don't you think my father knows? I should think a latvijer ought to know what laws there are." " Well, at any rate, I don't see the good of it, if it 's not made use of." " I think it is very strange that people don't pay more attention to it, when it causes so many accidents." " Well, I 'm always pretty careful, and I don't think any- thing serious will happen to me. Anyhow, I think I shall try it this afternoon ; for, sec ! it 's clearing away. You come Tip on the hill, too, won't you, Le ? You can come and see the rest, you know, if you don't slide yourself." " Perhaps so ; I '11 see," said Leander just as he arrived at his father's gate, where he turned and went in. This conversation took place between Leander and George, while on their way home from school, — two boys of nearly the same age, who were fondly attached to each other, though very unlike. George, like most boys, was thoughtless of danger. He was free and careless, with high and happy spirits and a kind heart. He won the name of " Great Heart'''' from his schoolfellows, because he was ever ready, not only to sympathize, but to act for them in any emer- gency. Then, too, lie was exceedingly generous, even to a fault, ne-^er refusing to give of anything he had ; and though he had naturally a strong will, his generous and kind heart won for him many friends. Leander was quite a different lad in some respects. He was more thoughtful and cautious of consequences, perhaps owing in some measure to the oft-repeated instructions he received from his judicious father. He was a good boy, and, like George, found many friends. He loved to mingle with his playmates in their sports, but was always happy to be a spectator only, if forbidden by his parents to join them. 408 HOUSEHOLD READING. In the afternoon the clouds had all disappeared, and the clear, blue sky and frosty, bracing air lured Leander away from home toward the company of boys on Pliny Hill. Their merry shouts greeted his ears long before he reached them, and he distinctly heard George's voice among the noisy group. We fear there are not many boys who could withstand so many urgent entreaties to join in the pleasure as Le did that afternoon ; but his father had forbidden it, and he willingly obeyed. It was a gay scene, — that merry group shooting down Pliny Hill, only to hasten up again ;■ and even so gay they were that they soon lost their usual caution and became reck- less of danger. "Now," said George, wild with excitement, "I 'm going to shoot my Arrow between those two sleighs coming up the hill." " 0, don't, George ! " cried Le. " I know there 's danger. Don't you remember what I told you this noon ? " "Ha! ha!" laughed George; " no danger forme. lean steer my little Arrow straight between them. So here I go ! " and he dashed away, with Harry Watson close behind him. On, on he goes ! How well he steers. His aim is true, and smoothly he glides over the shiny way. Suddenly he leaps a stone, — 't is only a little one, — but the Arrow whirls, and George, poor George ! is thrown violently against one of the sleighs and his brains are dashed out ! ! Too lata now for Harry to turn or stop. He plunges on, and by the sudden collision is thrown from his sled, and one leg and one arm is broken. 0, what a sight ! How the merry scene has changed ! Poor George is taken senseless to his agonized parents, and Harry is borne on a litter to his afflicted home. George lingered in an insensible state for two or three days, and then died. Harry endured much pain in setting the two broken limbs, and the long confinement that followed. ENDLESS ROADS. 409 thoughtless boys ! do you not suppose Leander was now glad that he had so careful a father, and that he had so per- severingly heeded his commands ? Both the accidents are true, and we hope some parents and children may profit by their occurrence. ENDLESS ROADS. TIME is endless. So is hope. So is action. The lines of life stretch further than we think. "We lay our plans for to-morrow, and they prove to be a track that never ends. All our paths here go out into the unseen world. They leap the chasm between life and eternity, not stopping when the body gives out in the long march, but still reaching forward to traverse the scenes beyond. As you look across the street, the line of your vision is terminated by some building ; you can see nothiiig beyond. If that building were away, you could see other houses and streets. If all these were brushed away, you wcild see the distant hills and woods. And if these, too, wjre gone, the line of your vision, unchecked, would shoot off alone to the stars, beyond the sun-rising ; nor, staying there, would push onward among the farthest constel- lations, overtaking and outstripping the swiftest travellers of those unknown fields, till it had reached the utmost verge of the great universe, — yes, and beyond, into the silent and shoreless expanse, ever onward and onward, hastening after and never reaching the infinite. So the hopes of this eartlily life, its plans and schemes and busy contrivings, are all endless lines that reach into an end- less future. Within the little circle of yourself, the plans you make for to-morrow, the wishes and hopes you entertain for the coming months and years, you may not see or realize how far your favorite purposes stretch off into the distance. Does 410 HOUSEHOLD READING. your vision stop with these nearest things, and linger within the narrow limits of these visible houses and lands, tliese men and marts just around jou ? Do you never think how they touch on the margin of an endless future ? Do you never see how all earthly things are embosomed in an always present eternity ? 0, eternity is near. It is close to us. It is all around us, like the invisible air that envelops our homes. We walk every day in the embrace of eternity. Its light shines upon every deed we do and every step we take. Which way are we travelling ? Whether backward or for- ward, whether to the right hand or to the left, whether to the cross or away from it, our journey's end lies somewhere in eternity. The issue of every purpose is there. The end of every plan is there. The result of every deed is there. Into the fields of eternity are hurrying the footsteps of every man's life. No path will end this side. Eternity! Eternity! How long art thou, Eternity ! Yet onward still to thoe we speed, As to the fight the impatient steed. As ship to port, or shaft from bow, Or swift as couriers homeward go, Mark well, man ! Eternity. BROTHER GRIMWOOD. ND who is tliatf'' asked my friend, whom I had per- suaded, somewhat unwillingly, to accompany me to the evening prayer-meeting. And as he spoke, he pointed to a figure walking with stern, uncompromising step upon the other side of the street. I hesitated. We had been having a long talk upon life, its responsibilities and trials ; for we had both emerged from the rosy dreamland of youth, and knew but too Tsell that BEOTHER GRIMWOOD. 411 ** man is born unto trouble as the sparks fly upward." But I had been trying to convince my somewhat sceptical friend that there were still many happy hearts in the world, and that, almost without exception, the only truly cheerful per- sons, who had passed the season of childhood, were Chris- tians, — those who had always the shadow of the great Rock in every weary land, and who, though " the fig-tree should not blossom, nor fruit be in the vines, though the fields should yield no meat, and the flock should be cut off from the fold," could yet " rejoice in the Lord, and joy in the God of their salvation." And in the heat of my argument I even ventured the somewhat hazardous statement, that I could decide by glan- cing at the countenances of the passers, which were those whose minds were kept in that " perfect peace." " See," said I, as Doctor Freeman passed, with a blessing in his kind, benevolent eyes. " Could any one mistake that face ? He has seen great trouble, but he is one of those ' Who in every sharp affliction God hut nearer to him hrings, And the darkness gathering round them is the shadow of his wings.* "And that is Miss Faith B . ' Her eyes are homes. of silent prayer.' And that earnest face belongs to young Mr. Goldby — " But here my friend interrupted with the question, "And who is thatf^ pointing with inexorable .finger to the object of interest. I hesitated, not that I did not know him ; who could ever mistake "Brother Grimwood" ? But was ever anything so unfortunate for my theory ? How could I have forgotten that the followers of the Lamb were not yet all sealed in their foreheads? I confess to being cowardly, and I began rap- idly,- " As I was saying, this young Mr. Goldby — " . " But I don't care for Mr. Goldby, now," interrupted my friend. " I want to know who that thoroughly wretched-look- ing person is, with those cold, lifeless eyes, and that thin, compressed mouth, that looks as if it ^hut with a snap like a purse-clasp." 412 HOUSEHOLD READING. I still hesitated, und my friend continued, — " He must have some crime upon his soul, poor fellow ! Perhaps he is some wretched Wall-Street speculator, who has just failed, and dragged so many down with him that his conscience is turned into a sort of special train with a load of ruined widows and orphans. Or, has he poisoned any- body, or committed a forgery or any other crime which he thought safely buried, and which threatens to rise from its grave in these grand resurrectionary times ? or lastly," — and my friend's eyes twinkled with the climax, — " is he a Seces- sionist?^^ It was certainly growing no easier, and I hastily began, " You were never more mistaken in your life. That is Brother Grimwood, — one of the pillars of the Church, a most excellent and devoted Christian." My friend started, and slightly smiled. " Yes," continued I, with some warmth, " I wish we were all as sure of heaven as is Brother Grimwood. He is truly an Israelite without guile, and — " " Eminently cheerful^'' suggested my friend. I confess to being somewhat annoyed, and, in the silence that followed, I eagerly, but vainly, ran over my small stock of argumentative artillery to see what could be used in Brother Grimwood's defence. I could not, in truth, say that he was cheerful or genial ; on the contrary, if I spoke at all, I must admit that he had one of the coldest, most unsympathiz- ing faces I ever knew. How, then, convince my friend that he was walking in the "ways of pleasantness"? I knew that children, with their sure instinct, avoided him, and started in fright if he suddenly addressed them, fearing that they had been caught in some contraband pleasure, and having a vague idea that he considered them all young reprobates. Indeed, I knew one sensitive child, who during the Sabbath services suddenly burst into tears, and knew no reason, only that she had been looking at Brother Grimwood's mouth, — those stern, unloving lips, that seemed long since to have forgotten how BROTHER GRIMWOOD. 413 to smile. And yet who could doubt that Brother Grimwood was a Christian ? Where could we look for more unflinching honesty, more patient self-denial, more uncompromising war- fare with evil, a more relentless, exacting conscience, or a more earnest desire to spend and be spent in the service of Christ ? And yet, — " They say the world has dealt harshly with him, and every one knows that he is a lonely man. Poor Brother Grimwood ! there were no sweet domestic ties, no small baby fingers to carve more genial wrinkles in that thin face, and ' Eyes grow early cold and dim, which light of love have missed, And Patience weaves a ghastly smile on lips that ne'er were kissed.' " Poor Brother Grimwood ! Filled with these and kindred thoughts, iii silence we reached the church. They were singing, and, lo ! as we en- tered, Brother Grimwood's voice swelled the chorus ; but he sang " Jesus, lover of my soul," with the same tone and expression he would bestow upon " Plunged in a gulf of dark despair." After a while he rose to pray, and in a cold, monotonous, almost hopeless voice, offered his petitions. There was much about God's justice, and his anger with sinners, but .so little of his love and mercy. We felt oppressed, and almost de- spairing, and, as the last words died away, with a long sigh of relief we turned to look at Brother Grimwood. The ttern, unyielding mouth was again closed, as if it could never open again, the cold eyes were shut, and the whole face and form motionless and rigid as an antique statue. And again we thought, " Is this truly one of God's disciples ? Are the ministering spirits sent unto him in answer to his prayers ? And 0, what do the angels — 'fresh from looking upon God ' — think of this stern, sad, unsmiling brother ? And yet he must be a Christian " ; and in vain speculation our minds wandered on. 414 HOUSEHOLD READING. But, brother, if this should chance to meet your eye, for- give me for one word more. You are not yet called to receive your reward, for your work is not finished. I know, that, with sleepless conscience, you are eager and ready for that work ; but do you never think that by your stern, forbidding face you dishonor that Master whose service is joy ? You dis- courage the lambs of the flock, who look up to you for exam- ple and guidance ; for though doubtless you would willingly give a cup of cold water to one of these little ones, I do not know of one who would have the courage to ask you for it. You frighten and dismay those who are striving to enter in at the strait gate ; for, seeing your shadowed brow, how should they suspect that " light is sown for the righteous, and glad- ness for the upright in heart " ? And what shall I say to my friend, who, looking at you, decides that this harvest must be very dim and uncertain ? Ah, brother ! if at the coming of the Lord the floods clap their hands, and the hills rejoice together, have you no streaming lights and banners of joy to show to all the world that the great King has come unto you, and has made a "guest-chamber" of your poor, unworthy heart? HYPOCRISY WHEN men commend what is virtuous, lovely, and of good report to others, and indulge in vicious practices themselves, — when they speak aloud for the honor of God, and habitually tread his authority in the dust, disregard his teachings, desecrate his Sabbaths, and treat the sanctuary with irreverence, — when they show much love with their mouth while their heart goeth after covetousness, and indulge in evil surmisings and words of slander, — when they pay tithes of mint, anise, and cummin, and omit the weightier HYPOCRISY. 415 matters of the law, giving to rites and ceremonial observances the importance due only to tlie great principles of evangel- ical truth, — when they boldly claim infallibility for their opinions, and sneer at the conscientiousness that resists their claims, — when they advocate a religion of forms in contra- distinction to the religion of the affections, and assume that they are the people, and that wisdom will die with them, — when they hold firmly upon the traditions of the fathers, and neglect the earnest searching of the Scriptures, or even subject their testimony to the higher court of reason and fancy, — they have reason to judge themselves, and are not injuriously regarded by others, as guilty of hypocrisy before God. Not a few communities of greater or less extent, and in- dividuals without number, will doubtless recognize in one or other or all of these specifications their own portraiture. Happy is the man to whom none of them belong ; for of all the beauties of human character, the eye of God turns upon none with more complacency than upon sincerity. Nor in any one can the falsely accused believer more innocently exult, when truthfully with an apostle he can say, " In simplicity and godly sincerity, Thave had my conversation in the world." But the hypocrite shall not come before God, — his joy is but for a moment, — fearfulness shall surprise him, — his portion will be assigned him where is weeping and gnashing of teeth. But hypocrisy is not confined to the visible Church. It dwells in the bosoms of the profane and the reckless, — nor is it less odious in its aspects when boasting of virtues grafted upon the stock of infidelity or indifference to all religion than when praying upon the house-tops, or blessing God at the gate of the temple, in the language of the Pharisee. " Thank God ! I am no hypocrite," says the bold reveller and profane swearer, — " I make no pretensions to religion, but am as good as the best of those who do." A more arrant hypocrite lives not on earth than this same reviler of religion. Miglit he be believed, he is more the friend of God and man than the meek 416 HOUSEHOLD READING. and lowly disciple who waters his couch with his tears, and pours forth his prayers without ceasing, and devotes himself to the active duties of piety all the day long. But he carries a lie in his right hand. With professions of virtue and reverence for God on his lips, he belches forth blasphemy, and yields himself a voluntary captive to the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the service of the Devil. But the hope of the hypocrite shall perish when God taketli away his soul, whether he be found within the Church or out of it. A. spider's web is not more easily broken up. A dream of the night is not more unsubstantial. What though he amuse himself with airy fancies, and lay the flattering unction to his soul, that he shall establish his vain preten- sions when summoned to the bar of God, and impose on Omniscience as he now imposes on himself or on his fellow- men ? Disappointment awaits him, doubly grievous through the aggravation of his guilt, arising from the implied acknowl- edgment that he knew what he ought to be, — the friend of God and the worshipper of Jesus, — and that what he ought to be he would have been but for his fixed aversion to Divine claims. No wonder that the hypocrite and unbeliever are classed together in the assignment of their everlasting portion. The character of each has the same basis, and deserves the same doom. The Christian is instructed to shun each approach to this offence against the Majesty of heaven ; to lay open his heart freely to the inspection of his own eye, and to the cognizance of all with whom he has to do ; and to pour forth the prayer continually, " Search me, God, and know my heart, try me, and know my thoughts, and lead me in the way ever- lasting;." "ELEONOEA, A POOR SINNER." 417 "ELEONORA, A POOR SINNER." WE find, ill the darkest ages of the Church, many most attractive examples of genuine piety. Through clois- tered glooms, and the accumulated moss of superstitions, we see beaming forth, in many a disciple, the gentle, loving, de- voted spirit of Christ. About one hundred and fifty years ago, there was in the Jieart of Germany a young duchess, residing in the castle of her father, Pliilip, the Elector Palatine. In early childhood she became a Christian, an earnest and impassioned Chris- tian, longing for the love of God, and eager to make any sacrifice, and to practise any self-denial, which she thought would prove acceptable to him. Guided by the teachings of her spiritual instructors, who, though doubtless sincere, had engrafted upon the precepts of the Bible the traditions and superstitions of the Church, she was taught to deprive herself of almost every innocent gratification, and to prac- tise upon her fragile frame all the severities of an anchorite. Celibacy was especially commended to her as a virtue pe- culiarly grateful to God ; and she consequently declined all solicitations for her hand. Leopold, the widowed Emperor of Germany, sent a mag- nificent retinue to the palace of the grand Elector, and claimed Eleonora as his bride. It was the most brilliant match Europe could offer. But Eleonora, notwithstanding all the importunities of her parents, rejected the proffered crown. As the Emperor urged his plea, the conscientious maiden, that she might render herself personally unattrac- tive to him, neglected her dress, and exposed herself un- bonneted to the sun and the wind. She thus at length succeeded in repelling his suit, and the Emperor married Claudia of the Tyrol. The Elector Palatine was one of the most powerful of the 27 418 HOUSEHOLD READING. minor princes of Europe, and his court, in gayety and splen- dor, rivalled even that of the Emperor. Eleonora was com- pelled to present herself in the gorgeous saloons of her father's palace, and to mingle with the festive throng in all their pageants of pleasure. But her heart was elsewhere. Several hours every day were sacredly devoted to prayer and religious reading. She kept a minute journal, in which she scrupulously recorded and condemned her fail- ings. She visited the sick in lowly cottages, and with her own hands performed the most self-denying duties required at the bedside of pain and death. • After the lapse of three years Claudia died, and again the widowed Emperor sought the hand of Eleonora. Her spirit- ual advisers now urged that it was her duty to accept the imperial alliance, since, upon the throne, she could render herself so useful in extending the influence of the Church. Promptly she yielded to the voice of duty, and, charioted in splendor, was conveyed a bride to Vienna. But her Chris- tian character survived this fearful ordeal, and remained unchanged. She carried the penance of the cloister into the voluptuousness of the palace. The imperial table was loaded with every luxury ; but the Empress Eleonora drank only cold water, and ate of fare as humble as could be found in any peasant's hut. On occa- sions of state it was needful that she should be dressed in embroidered robes of purple and of gold ; but to prevent any possibility of the risings of pride, her dress and jewelry were so arranged with sharp brads pinching the flesh that she was kept in a state of constant suffering. Thus she endeav- ored, while discharging, with the most scrupulous fidelity, all the duties of a wife and an empress, to be ever reminded that life is but probation. These mistaken austerities, which were caused by the darkness of the age in which she lived, will surely not dim the lustre of her crown. When Eleonora attended the opera with the Emperor, she took with her the Psalms of David, bound to resemble the THE WEE-BIT BAIRN. 419 books of the performance, so that she might unostentatiously keep her mind fixed upon Divine things. For the benefit of her subjects she translated the Psalms into German verse, and also translated into German several other books of a devotional character. She survived her husband fifteen years, devoting herself with untiring self-sacrifice, through all these years, personally to the instruction of the ignorant, to nursing the sick, to feeding and clothing the poor. All possible luxury she discarded, and endeavored in every re- spect to live in imitation of her Saviour, who had not where to lay his head. Her death was like the slumber of a child who sobs herself asleep in her mother's bosom. At her ex- press request, her funeral was without any display, and she directed that there should be inscribed upon her tombstone simply the words : — ELEONORA, A POOR SINNER, Died January 17, 1720. THE WEB-BIT BAIRN. WE ha'e a wee-bit bairn at hame, ' Sae blithesome, cannie, bright, That, ever syne the day he came, He 's filled the house wi' light. He now is twa years auld, or mair, A' glib o' tongue and foot ; He climbs up ilk a fatal stair, He climbs ilk cast-ofi" boot. Barefit he toddles roun' the streets, Wi' gran'sire close behin' ; Giving ilk person that he meets Piece o' his childish min'. 420 HOUSEHOLD READING. "WTia kens the wee thing, what he '11 be, "When years a score ha'e gaun ! Gladding his mither's grateful e'e, Piercing her breast wi' thorn ! God gi'e his angels charge to keep The bairn ie, lest he stray ; And, though in death we fa' asleep, Show him the narrow way. SCIENCE AND THE BIBLE. IT is a very common idea among large classes of men, that the wonderful revelations of science in these latter days are tending all the while to undermine the Bible. This senti- ment is most widely extended among those who, in fact, know very little about the Word of God, — who have never made the Scriptures the theme of study, and with whom " the wish is father of the thought." On the other hand, to those who give critical and careful attention to the subject, it seems more true than ever before that the Bible is the book of God, because, though written thousands of years ago, it harmonizes so beautifully with all the real truth which has been discovered in this wide explora- tion of the fields of nature. Yea, more than this, its lan- guage, instead of being incongruous and discrepant, was so shaped and adjusted originally by Infinite Wisdom that it re- ceives a grander and fuller meaning from all these wonderful revelations of science. For example, a Jew, living before the time of Christ, as he read the Eighth Psalm, and came to " When I consider thy heavens," &c., would doubtless have his soul lifted up with wonder at these marvellous works of God ; but to one who reads them now, amid all the light which astronomical discovery has thrown over these vast SCIENCE AND THE BIBLE. 421 iieavenly spaces, the language is just as harmonious as ever, while it fills itself with a loftiness of meaning, with a grandeur of conception, unseen and unknown in the earlier days of the world. So, too, of the first chapter of Genesis. It must have been a wonderful and impressive chapter to men in all ages of the world ever since Moses wrote it ; but never did these opening verses sound out with so full a majesty, with so large and comprehensive meaning, as now, since astronomy has ex- plored the heavens, and geology has uncovered the secrets of the earth, and showed the successive steps of God's creating energy. " In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form and void, and dark- ness was upon the face of the deep. And the spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said. Let there be light, and there was light." If our men of science sup- pose that such words as these can ever be outlawed, — can be rendered vague and meaningless by anything which they have done or can do, — we venture to think that they are entirely mistaken. Rather will all their labors and discoveries lend a fuller force and compass to these majestic words, as they go down the ages, and are read by unborn generations. It is true, in every age of the world, that men, in their short- sighted views of things, are disposed to give a technical and narrow meaning to many of these Biblical passages, according to the measure of their knowledge at the time. Science often breaks in upon this technical interpretation, but does not dis- turb the substance of revelation itself. This is the perpetual wonder of this sacred book, and those who watch carefully what is going on in this seeming conflict between science and the Bible gather strength year after year, and are more and more ready to say, with devout confidence, " Thy testimonies are very sure." 422 HOUSEHOLD READING. THE NIGHT OP DESPAIR. "O EV. Mr. J relates the following very impressive -fl-»^ history of a parishioner. Jane B was a young lady of wealthy parentage, and had all the means of culture and enjoyment of the world that afBuence and affection could furnish. She was also a child of many prayers. The power of " things seen and temporal " was upon her spirit like a spell, and her golden dreams were disturbed only by the still small voice of the Holy Ghost, which at times made her weep. She resolutely stifled her convictions. While at a boarding- school, completing her education, she was taken ill. No at- tention and medical skill were spared to save her from the embrace of the skeleton destroyer of all things terrene. When it was apparent that the effort was vain, the physician advised her removal home. She was borne to the bosom of domestic sympathies and care. As she crossed the threshold, and met her mother with such tears as she alone can shed, the invalid exclaimed, " Mother, I have come home to die ; and I am lost ! I am lost .^ " She continued to waste away, often repeating the same words ; and when only the faintest whisper could be heard, it was still, "Jam lostf^' In Virginia, where she lived and died, the weather was intensely warm, which, with the nature of the disease, made it necessary to have the burial the same night. At nine o'clock in the evening the procession moved to the cemetery. When the coffin was lowered, and the light of the lanterns fell into the gloom, the silence was broken by the sudden and convulsive starting of a sister of the dead, who, stepping forward to the margin of the grave, cried, in tones of piercing agony, as she gazed into the narrow home of the decaying body, " Jane is lost! Jane is lost .^" It is not strange that the good pastor should say, " Those PKOFESSmG CHRIST. 423 accents of woe, ringing out upon the still air of night, and over the place of graves, are still in my ear, and will be while I live." How true of the impenitent are the words of the living Oracles, " Madness is in their hearts, and after that tJie^ go to the dead^ PROFESSING CHRIST. THE Rev. Dr. Nettleton (for many years an evangelist, and afterward a professor in the East Windsor Semi- nary) was a keen judge of human nature, and possessed a rare faculty of " hitting the nail on the head." Visiting once in a quiet country town, his advice was sought by the pastor of the church in that place relative to a small class in the con- gregation who seemed unreasonably to delay a public profes- sion of their faith in Christ, " There is Mrs. D ," said the pastor ; " she hopes she is a Christian, she is very constant in attendance upon all the meetings of the church, but utterly declines to take the vows of God upon her." " What reasons does she give ? " inquired Mr. Nettleton. " 0, it is sometimes one thing, and sometimes another," was the answer. " Generally her excuses take on the form of extreme humility. — a profound sense of her own imperfec- tions, and a strong fear of dishonoring the Master whom she would profess to serve. I wish you would talk with her, Brother Nettleton ; I confess to a conviction that you would succeed where I should fail. And I am very anxious in the matter ; for Mrs. D occupies such a prominent position in society, that her influence is and must be potent for good or evil." Mr. Nettleton consented to the pastor's wishes ; and, as he had already made the acquaintance of the lady, there was no difficulty in finding a suitable time and place for an inter- 424 HOUSEHOLD READING. view. Mrs. D was an intelligent woman ; and so long as the conversation rested upon general religious topics, she talked fluently and well. But as soon as her visitor touched upon the special subject which he had come to speak of, her nianner changed ; she became embarrassed and reserved. Perceiving that she was desirous to evade such a direction of his remarks, Mr. Nettleton addressed her at once with great seriousness. " Mrs. D , you have been speaking freely with me of the religious movements of the day, of various plans for the extension of the Redeemer's kingdom, of the value of the Gospel, and the success of its ministers and churches. In all this talk you have participated as one having a personal in- terest in its sul)ject, and wishing to be identified with the cause and prosperity of religion. In short, you have in- tended to express yourself as a Christian. Why, then, do you not perform that clear and primary Christian duty of confess- ing your Saviour before men ? " " 0, sir, I could not, — I dare not, — I hope I am a Chris- tian at heart, but — " " Stop a moment, Mrs. D ; remember that the same Divine Word which says ' With the heart man believeth unto life,' adds immediately, ' With the mouth confession is made unto salvation.' Do not you put asunder what God has thus joined together ? " " I am so unworthy, Mr. Nettleton." " I know you are, Mrs. D , and God knows it better than you or I. But as it is not your worthiness — only Christ's — that you are called upon to profess, that should not hinder your obedience." " My life, sir, is so imperfect, I should be such an inconsist- ent professor as to disgrace myself and the Church; and thus I should become a byword and reproach. This is my strongest objection." And the rising tone and heightened color showed that she spoke the truth. " Well, we have touched bottom at last," said Mr. Nettle- CEAZY CATHERINE. 425 ton, significantly. " Your excuses, dear madam, all resolve themselves into that one source, — pride. While professing a very humble self-distrust, you are putting your own feelings before Christ's wishes, and your own decisions above his com- mands. And beneath the plausible pretence of fearing to dishonor him, you are cloaking a sensitiveness to the world's reproach for yourself, and an unwillingness to strive to con- form your life to a pure and blameless example. In the name of my Master, and in the words of his servant of old, I charge you, ' Repent of this thy wickedness, and pray God, if perhaps the thought of thy heart may be forgiven thee.' " Mrs. D was at first confounded by this address, and then indignant, muttering in an undertone " that it was hard to be misunderstood and slandered by one who professed to be a Christian and minister both," she left his presence at once. The sequel showed that she was rightly judged. For though she was afterward coaxed by a clergyman of another sect to join his church, she nursed her pet sin till her death ; and no ray of Christian humility and faithful cross-bearing ever illumined the darkness of her own path, so far as others could see, or beamed to lead benighted souls to Christ. CRAZY CATHERINE. THEY tell me I am not myself. They tell me I am strange, and sometimes almost wild. I believe they are right. I am shattered. And I must never feel hard toward my cousins and my cousins' children if they tire of me ; so I say to inyself whenever my head is clear as it is to-day : but at other times I believe I rail against their penuriousness. The good Lord forgive me ! I have no home, and nobody wants me, for I can't be of use to any one. Sometimes I think the Lord would reward them for taking me in, more 426 HOUSEHOLD READING. abundantly than tliej would ask, if they only did it in a cheerful spirit, and then at other times it comes over me that the Lord has forgotten all of us together. Yes, for he has forgotten to take me away from the world. But to-day I know — for I just read it in the good Book — that the dear Lord never forgets. But then my mind has been such a singular one. When I was a little child I planned to die at thirteen. You will think it very odd, and I suppose it was so. For I have heard others say it never entered their minds, when they were children, that they could die. I was as positive of my destiny as though a leaf had been torn surreptitiously out of the great book of fate by my guardian angel, and given into my hand, inscribed with the very day of my death. But when the bonny chrysanthemums had blossomed thirteen times, I was still going back and forth from my father's to the school-house through the biting winds of winter, the slosh and thaw of spring, and the sultry air of summer. I was weak and small and melancholy, but I kept on living. I was astonished at myself for my bravado ; but if the pitcher at the fountain would not break, nor the silver cord be loosed, what could I do ? Still there lay hidden, as I believed, somewhere in the rose-garden of my teens, the tender-hearted angel who would take me up the shining ladder. Because beyond this garden stretched the wilderness, — the wilderness of maturer life, dark and tangled and briery, and full of dreadful creatures. God never meant I should walk through this wilderness ; else why had he made me so tiny, so weak, and frail, and fearful. But still I kept on living. My twenties came, and the winds blew fiercely from that same wilderness, cutting through my warm life like cold steel. But I passed into it ; and what befell me there I shall not tell you. But it was a labyrinth. I am in it yet. There is no outlet. One thing it is well for me to tell you. The One who appeared as " the fourth " in the fiery furnace of the Chaldean king — the One who shut the fangs of the royal lions in the den where they cast the prophet Daniel — is here. CRAZY CATETERINE. 427 I hav(! met him. But he does not let me out. The arrows from the quiver of disease stick fast in me ; there is no rest or refuge from them. But I keep on living. I am yellow, and wrinkled, and mummied. Vitality manifests itself by a slight power of locomotion, and by the exquisite sensitiveness of the nerves. The nerves are alive, — yes ; but the stomach is nearly dead : so is the heart. I know, for they often send up telegrams to the brain that they can't hold out much longer. My soul is shut up in a smoky glass case ; the green pastures do not look right to me ; the violets are different from what they were. But I stumble on with singular pertinacity. The incidents I used to enjoy are now to me just about as pungent as horseradish after the strength is all gone, — all gone, mind you. On some days I am better. I am like a deer lying down in the park. He says, " I will arise, I will shake my lithe limbs, I will fly over the lawn, I will swim the river, I will toss my antlers on the top of the ragged cliff." Alas ! just let him try. He forgets how that tied to his lithe limbs are immense weights, like the cannon-balls the prisoners drag. My friends grew old. One by one, with their white garments on, they went away, — they who used to bear me in their arms, on whom I leaned heavily. Yes, they have gone away. The cousins and cousins' children cannot sustain my weight ; I keep the sunshine from them. But still I live on. I am not old yet. no. Had I lived in the days before the flood, they would have accounted me as an infant of days. But it is as though the weight of a hundred years held me down whenever I feel the stirring of the winged nature within me. But I live on. There are reasons for it in God's mind. I see it clearly to-day. God does n't always tell us his reasons, thougli we take him to task if he does n't. We seem to think he is like a novelist, bound to make the story of our lives come out to the reader's satisfaction, our- selves being reader. But the book of our history may be written out clear and beautiful to higher intellects than ours, — to higher moral developments, I mean. Ah, yes. It may be 428 HOUSEHOLD READING. the angels see that the mansion preparing for me by Christ the Consoler is not yet perfected, or that I am not yet ready to be promoted. I kiss the hand ; He will never wrong me. And when you see poor Crazy Catherine, remember it is one of His little weak ones. HERBERT'S NEW YEAR. WHEW ! how the wind was blowing ! Around the street corners, rattling sign-boards, and roaring down chim- neys, and bearing upon its unseen wings millions of tiny snow-flakes that were weaving a shroud for the old year to lie down in. " Would n't it be fun, though, to travel about like one of these ? " thought Herbert, brushing away the melting, plumy particles of snow from his face and eyes. Right on through the dark night, with its storm and cold, the brave boy went trudging, intent upon an errand with which hi& father had intrusted him. The gas-lamps winked and shook out uncertain flames of light, at which the spirits of the air must secretly have laughed ; for there still remained a wide black roofing of sky hiding every star. Now he entered a handsome street, bril- liant with gay shop windows, whose various stores were dis- played in tempting profusion. Herbert paused before a fashionable bookstore, charmed by the gleaming array of blue and purple and crimson volumes, edged and lettered with gold. " 0, if I had money ! " whispered the boy to himself, " such a library as I would collect ! I should care more for books and pictures than anything else, I think." And he bent nearer an engraving lying just within the window, — a sweet, HERBERT'S NEW YEAR. 429 tender face with that smile of lip and eye which his dead mother's had worn. Several minutes passed as Herbert stood looking straight before him, into the cloud-land of Fancy, where life must be a very different thing from his every-day experience of the same. At length, with a start, he hurried on ; nor had he gone far when a sudden gust snatched the cap from his curly head, and sent it spinning down the sidewalk, Herbert following after in close pursuit. " Was ever such a plague ? " he cried, catching and set- tling it upon its former perch. In stooping to regain the cap, a paper parcel lying near attracted his attention. " Halloo ! what 's this ? " The boy stepped beneath a lamp to examine his prize ; the string confining it had loosened, and the contents were slip- ping out. Books ! new and shining in holiday dress. " Is n't this a windfall ? Of course in so large a city I should never find the owner." The tempter suggested this to Herbert's first thought, but he was not doomed long to remain in suspense as to the right- ful claimant ; turning it over, he read upon the wrapper in plain characters, " William Maylie, Esq," — the very mer- chant in whose store Herbert served as errand-boy. " Well, I have another walk to take this stormy evening," our hero reflected, rather soberly. " I must carry this to Mr. Maylie's house in Russell Square ; there is no help for it ! " " Stop a moment, Herbert," pleaded a stealthy voice. " Why must you be at so much trouble for a bundle of books which Mr. Maylie can easily replace ? " " No, no ! Herbert, remember your promise ! " And now the tones were altered, and the darkness formed a background for the shining of a pure, transparent face, while again his mother's voice whispered, " Remember." Then his thoughts went back to the chamber where she had died ; with almost her last breath enjoining upon him a petition which should be his shield from all coming trial ; 430 HOUSEHOLD READING. " Lead us not into temptation." With this memory his strength returned. " Can I see Mr. Maylie ? " A rosy-faced, bright-looking boy stood in the vestibule, as the servant opened the door of a brown-stone mansion " up town." " Yes, I guess so," answered the man good-naturedly, " though he is vei^y busy just now ; come in ! " Such a change from the outer to that inner world of warmth and luxury ! Herbert seated himself in a comforta- ble hall-chair, as directed, gazing about him in a bewildered way. Why, this was like the air-castles he had built, hour after hour, lying in his little low-roofed chamber, where the moon remembered him in her lonely track, and stopped to make even the dingy walls and clumsy furniture beautiful as for a king's palace ! Soft carpets upon the floor, pictures and marble statuary looking down from above, and through two or three half-open doors a glimpse of long, rich, drawing- rooms, occupied by many people. " This way, my little man," said the tall waiter, returning, and leading Herbert to another part of the house. It was the library door before which he paused, saying respectfully as he threw it open, " This is the lad, sir." "Ah, Herbert ! is it you ? " Mr. Maylie extended his hand kindly to the boy, whom he had frequently noticed as being active and faithful. " What brings you out such a terrible night ? " " This, sir," said Herbert, handing the parcel, and explain- ing how he had chanced to discover it. " Sure enough ! " exclaimed the gentleman, glancing at his overcoat thrown hastily upon a couch. " I was obliged to write some letters directly upon returning, and had not thought of my purchase ; though," he added, laughing, "I presume my children would have taken me severely to task if I had neglected it altogether." Then, meeting the wishful glance roving over his well-filled book-shelves, he asked, — HERBERT'S NEW YEAR. 431 " Are you fond of reading, my boy ? " " 0, sir, I cannot tell you how I love it ! " " And did you not want to keep these handsome vol- umes ? " lifting them one by one, — the treasures which had cost Herbert so severe a struggle. The keen yet kindly eyes were fixed upon his, and the boy answered, frankly, " Yes, sir, very much." " And what prevented your doing so ? " further inquired Mr. Maylic, pleased with his straightforward replies. " The thought of my dear mother," faltered Herbert, after a pause. " And my prayer, too, the Lord's Prayer, you know, ' Lead us not into temptation.' " Herbert's gaze was fixed upon the carpet: he did not, therefore, perceive the shadow creeping over the face of the strong man before him, nor, if he had, would he have sus- pected its source. Only the day before, a moment of fierce temptation had beset this upright Christian merchant ; and he, too, might have fallen, but for the restraining power of that petition. " It is a blessed prayer, Herbert," said Mr. Maylie, thoughtfully. " I am glad you have tested it to-night. Your New Year is well begun ! " And while our friend Herbert enjoyed his treat, in the cosey and quiet room, Mr. Maylie repeated to a group of eager listeners the history of that night's struggle and triumph. Very small, perhaps, beside the achievements which are printed in capital letters in every daily news- paper ; but not small in the view of One who notes even a sparrow's fall. " And, now, what shall we give to Herbert for a New- Year's present ? " Mr. Maylie appealed to the whole, when his task was over. " A book, of course," said one. " Skates ! " urged another. " And I would give him my dolly, with oyes that open and shut," put in Fanny, anxiously, " only the wire is 432 HOUSEHOLD READING. broken, and one eye is always open and the other always shut ! " A general laugh greeted this generous proposal, and then the question was seriously discussed. " I think," said the father at last, decisively, " it will be best to give Herbert the book now, and I will see what can be done toward securing him a situation where he will be able to attend school." And upon that, Mr. Maylie returned to the library, fol- lowed by the pattering footsteps of " little Bunch." " Are you Herbert ? " asked the small lady, clasping her tiny fingers about his ; and, receiving a smiling assent, she stood looking up at the clear, honest face, venturing once to say, under her breath, " You are very pretty ! " Meanwhile, Mr. Maylie was saying, " I hope this will please you, my boy," and he laid before the astonished lad a large and handsome volume,' on the fly-leaf of which was written : — "Herbert R , " A New- Year's gift from his friend, "William Maylie." No matter, now, if the winds blow cold, and the snow has deepened to a heavy matting upon the sidewalks. With light footsteps and lighter heart, Herbert pressed forward, hugging tightly to his breast the precious gift so bravely earned. And still in his joy of possession, hastening toward home, a heavenly presence seemed to move beside him, and his Saviour's accents breathed, " Blessed is the man that en- dureth temptation." BLACKBURN AND THE LAWYER. 433 BLACKBURN AND THE LAWYER. THE name of Gideon Blackburn stands for a star of the first magnitude in the annals of Western preaching. The writer "vyell remembers his commanding figure, whose more than six-feet height had acquired an additional stateli- ness and force from the military habits of his early life. Stories are told of his power of painting in the pulpit such scenes as the biting of the fiery serpents, the crucifixion, the final judgment, which equal anything that is related of the finest efibrts even of Whitefield in this particular line. The following anecdote finds a place in Sprague's Annals of the Presbyterians. The Doctor had an appointment to preach at the opening of the Tennessee Legislature. A certain lawyer was one of its members, — a very accomplished, classical, and general scholar. He had formed quite a contemptuous opinion of Blackburn from hearing that he was in the habit of mispro- nouncing certain words, — thus, jjoolse, impoolse^decreptitude ; also, he done, for " he did," and the like. The lawyer was sure that Dr. Blackburn's popularity was a mere whim of the jDublic mind, and resolved that he would go to hear him to test critically his merits. Arming himself with pencil and paper, he took his place in the court-house. The preacher began in his usual careless and rambling way, dropping pretty soon into a fine illustration from Xenophon concerning Cyrus and a captive prince. This rather disarmed the critic. Gathering strength as he advanced, the speaker now careered along in his peculiarly fascinating and majestic style. The critic forgot entirely his purpose in the spell of the hour, and when the service was concluded, looking at his note-book, he found this solitary memorandum, " Brung for brought." In telling this anecdote himself to a friend, he laughingly said, " Why, I could not criticise him. Not that 28 434 * HOUSEHOLD READING. he was not vulnerable enough ; but a man must be a cold- hearted, mean, contemptible creature to criticise such a man and such preaching. He that would or could do it would criticise anything, — the falls of Niagara, the bend of the rainbow, or even Homer's Iliad." This gentleman never afterwards failed to hear the Doctor whenever he could, but with his pencil lying quietly in his pocket. CRADLE SONG. L^ ULLABY, lullaby, Baby must sleep ; Now when tke daylight dies, Closed be the little eyes ; Rest till the sun arise, — Sleep, baby, sleep. Lullaby, lullaby. Baby must sleep ; Peaceful shall rest thy head ; Noiseless shall be the tread Round our dear darling's bed, - Sleep, baby, sleep. Lullaby, lullaby. Baby must sleep ; No cause for anxious fears ; Not yet for thee the years When life must have its tears. Sleep, baby, sleep. Lullaby, lullaby. Baby must sleep ; Baby by Heaven blest ! Cares trouble not thy breast ; Naught shall disturb thy rest, - Sleep, baby, sleep. MAN NOT MADE FOE PERDITION. 435 Lullaby, lullaby, Baby must sleep ; Mother will watch and pray Danger may keep away, Until the dawn of day,— Sleep, baby, sleep. Lullaby, lullaby, Baby must sleep ; Forms that we cannot see, Loving, are watching thee ; Thus may it ever be ! Sleep, baby, sleep. Lullaby, lullaby, Baby must sleep ; God answers from the skies Mother's fond prayers that rise ; Baby must close his eyes , — Sleep, baby, sleep. MAN NOT MADE FOR PERDITION. " /~^ OD never made a part of his creatures to be saved, and VJ a part to be damned." So one replied to me to-day, when I inquired of him how the subject of religion stood with him, as a practical matter. Pastor. Are you, then, an atheist ? Parishioner. By no means. Pas. But do you believe that the Sepoys, in India, have been butchering women and children, like fiends ? Do you believe that murders have been committed in Boston within a month ? Par. Certainly I do. 436 HOUSEHOLD READING. Pas. My friend, this is a sheer impossibility, en your prin- ciple. Par. I do not, by any means, perceive the train of reason- ing that leads you to such a conclusion. Pas. I must then request you to take up your reply to my inquiry, and give it some expansion, for it is one of those con- centrated sophisms whose power to delude lies in their brev- ity and in their elliptical form. When I inquired how you regarded the subject of religion as a practical matter, you understood me to inquire why you had not complied with the requirements of the Lord Jesus Christ. Your answer was, " Why, I cannot believe that God ever made a part of his creatures to save them, and a part to damn them." If you will pardon me the comparison, this is one of the slung-shots by which impenitent men knock us down when we come to lead them to Christ. It is multum m parvo ; a proposition of vast dimensions in a few words. Whenever you strike with it, you seem to regard us as done over, or " struck dumb." And there is great power in it, on one condition, — that what it impliedly affirms is true. Its real meaning is this : since God never made men to destroy them, they will all be blessed forever. And since the goodness of God will make us all blessed without our troubling ourselves about religion, we need not trouble ourselves about it. Par. Yes, I admit that is substantially the meaning of my reply. But what you meant by saying that I must then be an atheist, or not believe that the Sepoys, or any one else, had committed murder, I confess is by no means obvious to mo. Pas. Cheerfully will I explain. Your argument, reduced to a syllogism, stands thus : — A good Creator never created any being that suffers the consequences of wrong-doing. But God is a good Creator, therefore his creatures never suffer the consequences of sin. Believing that syllogism in each of its propositions, you, of MAN NOT MADE FOR PERDITION. 437 counse, must disbelieve either that there is a good Creator, or that any of his creatures sin and suffer. If you believe that God is, and is good, then all his creatures are virtuous and happy. But if some of them are neither virtuous nor happy, then there is not a benevolent Creator. Par. I concede that your reasoning is valid. Pas. Yes, it is valid. And if you will allow me to pursue the subject, I will direct your attention to some other things involved in your reply. Its very form conceals a subtle sophism which no honest mind would intentionally employ, and which, therefore, needs but to be pointed out to any such as may have used it. Par. Pray, what can that be ? Pas. It is this : the phrase " made his creatures to be damned," involves a proposition which may be thus stated: — " Whatever any free agent becomes or suffers, that his Creator had in view, as an end, in creating him." Now, it may be that you are prepared to accept that propo- sition when thus distinctly stated. I trust not, however. You have employed it as a convenient shield to defend your conscience against the claims of Jesus Christ, without having deliberately and formally adopted it. Par. But I do not see how it is involved in my reply. Pas. Your object was to justify yourself in neglecting the requirements of the Gospel. And the ground of justification was, that you have no need of the promises of the Gospel. You are to be saved, because all men are to be saved ; and all men are to be saved, because, if any were to perish, the very fact of their ruin would prove that God made them to destroy them. And, as that cannot be, they are not to be ruined. Your reply means that, or it means nothing. And, as you are too sensible a man to utter unmeaning phrases, I take it as significant, and to mean just that. Par. You are right, although I confess I never before an- alyzed the phrase, though I have used it more than once, much as I have to-day. 438 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. Pan. Then, see what you have done to-day. God called you by a fellow-creature to repent ; for he uses human lips to utter his words, as he used human hands to write them. They are his, whoever repeats them. Your reply was then to God, and, if valid now, will stand at the judgment. And I will interpret it, and put it in a form that will make its mean- ing still clearer to you. " My God, I will not repent of sin, nor turn to seek thee, because thou art too good to let me perish, whether I repent or not." Par. But I was replying to you, not to my Creator. Pas. You have my view of that ; but let it pass now. I wish to show you one other aspect of your reply. Suppose it produces just the effect you intended, — silences me, and tranquillizes yourself, — what have you gained ? No, my friend ;* it is a victory that will cost you more than you have dreamed of. Just so far as you were insincere in using it, you hurt the fine edge of your conscience. Just so far as you were sincere, you confirmed yourself in atheism. If your argument is sound, or if you believe it to be sound, then every crime you hear of, and all the remorse and misery con- sequent on crime, of which you hear, will go to convince you either that God is not good, or that, if he is, he did not create man. Par. Where, then, is my error ? Pas. In confounding God's intention with his permission. If he intended to create a free agent, capable of being virtu- ous, then he vcmsi permit him to sin, if he chooses to sin, and permit him to sufier the consequences of sin. But God no more created Judas in order to destroy him, than he created him to betray the Son of God. But he permitted him to be- tray Christ, to hang himself, and to go " to his own place." Acts i. 25. THE ANGKY INQXHEER. 439 THE ANGRY INQUIRER. ONE of the first meetings for religious inquiry. I ever at- tended was conducted, in the absence of the pastor of our church, by the late Dr. Elias Cornelius. No one who ever saw or heard that beloved man can easily forget him. His symmetrical figure, his beautiful countenance, his im- pressive manner, and, above all, the earnest and pointed ap- peals of his sermons were fitted, at any time, to arrest and fix attention in a remarkable degree. In a season of general revival, he seemed almost inspired. At least it was so in N . " Never man spake like this man," was upo;i the lips of not a few of his admiring hearers. One sermon, in particular, upon the words, " The harvest is past, the sum- mer is ended, and we are not saved," was the means, it is believed, of arousing the anxious attention of a large num- ber of persons of all ages. At a meeting for inquirers, held a few hours after the service in which this sermon was preached, there were present not far from two hundred per- sons. As Dr. Cornelius desired to speak personally with each one of this large number, he requested them, for his own con- venience, to occupy seats on either side of the middle aisle of the church, — those who were indulging hope that they had found the Saviour on one side, and those who were still with- out hope on the other. As he passed around, now in one pew and now in another, making, in all cases, very brief and pointed remarks, and in some cases uttering only a single sentence after receiving an answer to his question concern- ing the particular case before him, he came up to a young man who had prided himself upon his moral, if not mental, superiority to many, if not most, of the assembled throng around him. He had, for many weeks, been more than usually serious, had attended all the meetings except those 440 HOUSEHOLD READING. for conversation, had listened very respectfully, and every day had even condescended to pray, though with a very feeble sense of his lost and helpless condition as a sinner ; and even the faint conviction that he had was gradually be- coming fainter, because it was so intimately associated with the delusion that he had greatly improved since he began to pray and attend the meetings. He regarded himself as almost good enough to go to Christ and demand a pardon which he had nearly paid for by his excellent character and seriousness. Yet, as he had not that peculiar sense of for- giveness and relief of which many spoke, he classed him- self with those who had no hope, though he was, he had no doubt, in a very " hopeful way." Whether Dr. Cornelius read all this fatal self-deception in the young man's self-complacent face, I never knew, but if some one had told him all, he could not have uttered two short sentences more perfectly adapted to the case than the two he directed, like barbed arrows, to that young man's heart. There was no introduction. The first words were, " Why are you not a Christian ? " The young man, having been, up to this moment, on such excellent terms with himself, expected to be addressed in commendatory and comforting terms, and was so disconcerted by this strange abruptness and apparent roughness, that he could not at once suffi- ciently compose himself to reply. With some vexation ex- pressed in his countenance, which the good man evidently noticed, he paused, hesitated, and while at last he was m the act of trying to stammer out something as an answer. Dr. Cornelius very quietly interrupted him, exclaiming, '^ Isee; your own mouth condemns you ! " and left him to the tumult of his own thoughts. Tlie young man was mad. " Is this the way," thought he, " in which Dr. Cornelius treats a decent inquirer ? Is an up- right, serious, praying young man to be set one side as un- worthy to be talked with, or insulted as if he were a profane swearer and a drunkard ? " MOBNING MUSINGS. 441 He soon left the house with a friend, whose experience, he was not sorry to find, had been similar to his own, and to- gether they went homeward venting their angry resentment of a supposed insult from Dr. Cornelius in not deigning to recognize the goodness that was in them, and refusing even to stop and talk with them, though he gave a special atten- tion to others whose character had, as they thought, far in- ferior claims upon his respectful notice. It need only be added, that that was a dreadful night to the young man. His anger had reached a point very unusual in his experience, and as he retired to his room and found him- self alone, he was filled with horror at the thought of what he had said and felt. Conviction seized upon him as never before. Sleep departed from him. For twenty-four hours his soul was in an agony, from which he found relief at length only by surrendering himself as a lost, guilty, and helpless sinner to Christ as the Saviour of only such as he. And to this day, the memory of no minister of Christ is so dear to that young man, — now himself a minister of Christ, — as that of Elias Cornelius, with whom he was once so angry. MORNING MUSINGS. I "WENT into my study quite early this morning, before it was light. There was only the faintest streak along the east, — enough to teach a watchful eye to recognize that point of the compass. My fire had burned out, and the cold ashes and brands were lying as they had been left the night be- fore ; and as the blue light of the match that I kindled re- vealed, under its dim glare, the dead embers, the straggling chairs, and the scattered books and papers upon the table, a sense of chilliness, lifelessness, and desertion came over me, 442 HOUSEHOLD READING. even there in my study. However, I lighted a lamp, — shading it behind a quarto, — opened a window for the fresh air, kindled my fire, put out the light, ate my morning crust, and stowed myself within the ample embraces of my large arm-chair. By this time, the streak in the east had grown broader and brighter. How still it was ! Scarcely a sound was to be heard, save the far-off roaring of the southeast bar, dis- tant, certainly, not less than nine miles. The deep presence seemed to fill all that quarter of the horizon. The light grew broader yet; the clouds reddened; the leaden masses above began to glow ; and golden glory tipped the edges and the points of those lowest down ; various noises had already begun to make themselves heard ; the wide, dim landscape had come out bolder and bolder ; the hill-tops were suffused ; the river caught the colors ; up comes the red sun, — what a glorious, peaceful scene. How full of strength and hope is the morning ! Steadily the light comes on ; the clouds and the darkness strive to bar its progress, in vain. It comes, it triumphs, it brings the day, it awakens the world. As I sat there, I felt thankful for my pleasant home, — that it gave me so glorious a scene and so grand a sound ; that I lived where so much of earth could be taken in at one glance of the eye, and so much of the heavens ; that so many hills, such broad meadows, with their crooked rivers, the distant sand-hills by the sea, the ocean beyond, were present to me there. I thanked God, and rejoiced. Then I thought within myself. But how many noble homes there are in this land ; how many pleasant houses by the Atlantic, how many more are to be by the Pacific shores ; how many stately, delightful mansions in the cities ; how many charm- ing villas in their neighborhood, or along the margins of wide rivers, or looking out upon the lakes or tlie prairies ; how many farm-houses on smooth hillsides, in sunny val- leys, amid broad, green slopes. I thought also of the beauty and the happiness there will be in this land, when its MOKNING MUSINGS. 443 wonderful expanse is full of Christian people (as I hope it will be) ; when even those little garden dells, shut in anlong the salt and stony deserts of the Rocky Mountains, shall be dwelt in, — white cottages among their thickets ; children prattling by their fountains, among the flowers ; lovers stray- ing at sundown along the peaks and the ridges ; parents in arm-chairs, watching the fading summer glow upon topmost summits ; church-bells solemnly calling the living to the house of prayer, or tolling that same unchanged requiem for the dead. I was glad, as I thought of the noble and lovely homes of this land ; and that so many eyes would be made joyful and peaceful in contemplating their beauty, and so many souls would be enriched by the glory and the loveli- ness all about them. The rich cannot take all this wealth to themselves. A great many houses can be built along sea- sides and mountain-sides, in the valleys and on the prairies, — more than the rich and the great can live in ; unless all the people are rich or great. There is too much of this glorious land and water for a monopoly. God made the continent for the people ; and theirs it shall be. I turned to my study-table ; and a newspaper, with a piece of verse in it, caught my eye. It was headed, " The Invita- tion corrected," and began : — Not " as thou art, without one trace Of love, or joy, or inward grace, Or meetness for the heavenly place, O guilty sinner, come." Further down, came the following lines : — " 'T was yor the sheep the shepherd died. The bridegroom suffered for the bride, The number ' given,' and none beside." I do not know whether my previous meditations had any- thing to do with it, but these lines filled me with peculiar disgust and sorrow. I thought of the Saviour's " Come unto me, ALL ye that are weary and heavy laden." I remem- bered here, " the Spirit and the Bride say, Come." Whoso- ever willy let him take of the water of life freely." What a 444 HOUSEHOLD BEADING. different key note have we here ! The generosity of Nature, and the loving-kindness of the Bible, are attuned to each other. Both are large-hearted and full. The breath of Heaven flows through both, and God's own " holy light " floods both. But there is a theology which is akin to neither, — born by lamp-light, a spiritual dyspepsia, acrid, sensitive, timid, and exclusive. So I was thinking, as I sat by my Bible, the glorious spring morning at my back ; a tap at my door reminded me that musings and mornings come to an end, — it was break- fast-time. HEAT WITHIN AIDS HEAT WITHOUT. A CURIOUS and interesting paper was read last August at the annual meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, which contained some singular statements respecting the effects produced by the rays of the sun. It stated, as the result of many careful observations, that the effect of the solar ray in elevating temperature varies with the temperature of the atmosphere enveloping the body on which the ray falls. In winter, if the sun shining di- rectly on the blackened ball of a thermometer outside of the window raises the mercury twenty degrees, it might at the very same moment raise the mercury of a thermometer in a warm room forty degrees above the temperature of surround- ing objects in the shade. And the greater the heat of the room, the greater the heat-dispensing powers of the sun. So that the rays, which passing through a cold medium have lit- tle power to work a change, seem to acquire new energy the moment they enter a heated apartment. And so, perhaps, the greatest effect might be attained by pouring the sun's rays through a lens upon a heated furnace. HEAT WITHIN AIDS HEAT WITHOUT. 445 This law of heat, though not yet fully ascertained, must have an important connection with many facts relating to climate, vegetation, the melting of snow, and the breaking up of frozen streams. We have referred to it as illustrative of some spiritual truths. It seems to be in harmony with the law of God's provi- dence, " Whosoever hath, to him shall be given, and he shall have more abundance." We believe that those who receive the most benefit from the ordinary services of the house of God are they who go there with the best preparation of heart. If the prayer-meet- ing is one of unusual interest and fervor, it is because prayer was offered beforehand. If a fast-day, intercalated among days of business, brings the soul to realize its condition, its wants, and its refuge, this result will be due partly to its pre- vious exercises. The pharisee and the publican went up to the temple at the same hour ; they both went to pray ; they appeared before the same God ; but how much the antecedent state of each had to do with the acceptance of one rather than the other ! How much depends upon a preparation to receive a bless- ing from God ! When a church is quickened and revived, the obstacles to the Spirit's work are partly removed, and means of grace are clothed with power that before seemed to be ineffectual. A pastor preaches a sermon, and it is for- gotten as a thing of no account. He repeats it a year or two after in a revival, and it takes hold upon hearts that heard it once unmoved. He gives utterance to some commonplace truth in certain states of religious emotion, and the effect is overpowering. We have the same Gospel all the year round ; its effects, how varying ! When Jesus visits his people, they should arrange to receive and welcome him. Better to sit at his feet like Mary, than, like her sister, to be troubled about many things. 446 HOUSEHOLD READING. PAY THAT THOU OWEST. STRICT honesty, it is to be feared, is fast becoming a vir- tue possessed by but few, even of those who would mar- vel greatly to learn that they are suspected by any as swerv- ing from a course strictly upright. We have been accustomed to believe that for a pupil in school to take a pencil belonging to one of his fellows, without the knowledge or against the wish of the owner, is just as really dishonest and sinful as would be the taking, in the same manner, of one dollar or ten ; and we see not why the same principle does not hold true with children of a larger growth. We confess that we are surprised and confounded at the want of uprightness and the dishonesty now prevailing in the community, and too often even among those who profess to square their con- duct by the Word of God. The following illustrations will serve to make our meaning and the importance of the subject more apparent. A man fails in business, it may be through unavoidable misfortune. He is indebted in various sums from one to five hundred dol- lars, to those who have been in his employ, who, in conse- quence, are made to feel the sharp pinchings of poverty. The dress for the mother, the shoes for the little ones, and the more convenient household furniture, are but specimens of articles that must be given up, so that, perchance, by sparing and squeezing economy the poor man's honest debts may be paid. Meantime the employer has obtained a discharge from his creditors, and has again engaged in business, through the assistance of friends. In a few years he accumulates a hand- some fortune, and thereafter lives in a style of elegance and luxury. His old creditors struggle on in their poverty, he not acknowledging their claim upon him, because, forsooth, he has got his discharge. Has Crod, or has his own conscience, given him a discharge ? PAY THAT THOU OWEST. 447 A young lady engaged passage from one town to another in a stage-coach, the driver agreeing to call for her. He for- got to do this, but his partner, learning the fact, secured a carriage and drove in haste after the stage, overtaking it and putting her aboard, after a hard ride of several miles. It was customary to take the fares at the commencement of the route, and they had accordingly been collected when she got into the stage ; consequently, in the haste of the transfer and the excitement of the ride, the fare was forgotten by both parties, and the mistake did not occur to the young lady till she had reached a distant town, from which she took an early opportunity to remit the amount due. Who believes that she might have neglected this remittance with any just claim to honesty ? Yet, in a case so clear as this she was laughed at, even by professing Christians, for her " scruples," in sending back the money, " which it was the driver's business to look out for," as it was remarked ; as though the honesty of his passengers was a responsibility for which he would be called to account. A man failed in business, paying not ten cents on a dollar, and yet, for several months, while his discharge was pending, and his affairs were in process of settlement, he made free use of elegant clothing, replenishing his own and his wife's wardrobe at will with the choicest of silks and broadcloths, displaying numerous luxuries, while many of his creditors were obliged to exercise the strictest economy, both in respect to their table and their wardrobe, — an economy rendered, of course, more necessary by the anticipated settlement at less than ten cents on a dollar. If tested by God's law, could this be called honest ? A man borrowed of a friend twenty-five dollars, on the express condition that it should be returned in a few days. The lender not receiving it, in due time called on the bor- rower, reminding him of his promise and requesting payment, but it was " not convenient " that day ; he would " pay soon." Thus it went on several months, the lender, to whom a small 448 HOUSEHOLD READING. sum was not of small consequence, having frequent occasion to use it, — in fact, seyeral times having great need of it, — ■while the borrower, as it afterwards appeared, expended during this period several times the amount due, in the luxu- ries and not the necessaries of life. Did he keep the com- mand to deal justly ? The above cases are not imaginary ones, but are each sub- stantially true ; and the fact that all the parties mentioned are professors of religion invests them with a painful interest. Is there not a great deficiency in the training of children, especially by example, on this all-important subject ? and do not our churches need to be newly indoctrinated in the first principles of honesty ? SCENE ON MOUNT WASHINGTON. LET me write for the readers of the " Congregationalist," while it is fresh in mind, the description which a cultivat- ed and enthusiastic physician has this morning been giving me, of twenty-four hours on the top of Mount "Washington. It shows what may sometimes be found there under the most unpromising appearances. My friend has made the ascent between twenty and thirty times, but has never seen the equal of this. Here, therefore, may be seen the explanation of the great variety, not to say contradiction, of experiences detailed respecting a visit to this airy summit. Our party went up on Wednesday last (September 5, 1866). Arrived above, in the afternoon, they were supposed, by spectators at the Glen House, to be completely enveloped in mists, which alone they could see. But, in truth, they were entirely above the mists, looking down from their lofty zone of sunlight on brilliantly illuminated clouds. SCENE ON MOUNT WASHINGTON. 449 Now appears the wonder and the glory. This mass of cloud-land becomes a perfect mirror ; and the sun being at just the right height, the whole peak of Mount "Washington is reflected in it so distinctly that it seems as if it might be photographed from its clear image on the bosom of the cloud ! This passes away, and then returns ; and in the interval, the most delicate tints of many hues come and go, wavering and playing with tremulous light. At length, the sun goes down, plunging into an ocean of fogs. The wind rises and blows furiously, sweeping and screaming all night across the heights. My informant thought he had heard and felt the wind when rounding Cape Horn, and in other parts of the ocean, but never as on this night. Next morning, up at half past four o'clock. A faint hint of sunrise through volumes of driving mists. The rest of the company, after breakfast, wet with the damps, the mercury at thirty-five degrees, and the winds still implacable, determine that the show is over, and set their hearts on a return to lowlier places. The doctor tries to dissuade them and induce a few hours waiting, tilling them, " Who knows but they may yet get a glimpse of the ocean ? " — laughingly, — a feat he had himself never uicceeded in accomplishing, in his more than twenty visits. They had been gone not an hour when the sun broke grandly out. Sebago Lake, twenty miles from Portland, comes out in fine relief. " And what is that great shining mass beyond ? " " That is the Atlantic Ocean ! " There it lies sparkling in the gleam, no narrow line, but a broad expanse glittering, eighty miles off, before your eye as plainly as if it were under your feet ! And now it closes in again ; and now comes back. Six separate times on that memorable forenoon did the magnificent ocean rise on their delighted gaze ! 29 450 HOUSEHOLD READING. CHARLEY GREY'S DREAM. CHARLEY GREY was gazing out of the school-room win- dow one sultry afternoon, with his el])ow on his desk, his head resting on his hand. His book was open before him, but his eyes did not rest upon it. Instead of that, they wandered wearily over hill and brook, wood and field, now toward the flocks of sheep and lambs that were cropping the grass on the hillside, now toward the brook as Charley dreamily thought of the bright little fishes that were sparkling in its cool depths. "Watching for a moment the calm flight of a hawk which, with scarce a motion of its great wings, was hovering over the tops of the trees, and then looking listlessly at the cows lying in the shade. As he sat sleepily there, the idea came slowly into Char- ley's idle mind, that his would have been a happier life had he been born a beast, a fish, or a bird, instead of a boy, to be sent to school and compelled to learn long lessons in July. " I would rather," thought Charley, as he yawned and closed his eyes, — "I would much rather be a calf lying in the shade of the acorn-tree yonder tlian the first boy in my class." Wonderfully enough, a sudden and surprising change came over Charley Grey. The school-room, witli its slug- gish drone and confined air, melted imperceptibly away. There was a moment of darkness, and Charley found him- self lying under the acorn-tree. His wishes had been real- ized. He would be a calf, and a calf he was. His astonish- ment and alarm were but for a moment. All was then over, his past life forgotten. He remembered nothing about his home, friends, school-boy life, or his wish so wonderfully gratified. For any knowledge of the past which his calf s head con- tained, he might have been born in the stable and hred in CHARLEY GREY'S DREAM. 451 the fields. He was happy, the shady ground was delight- fully cool, the fragrance of the fresh grass was to him most grateful perfume. With half-closed eyes, he was rolling on his tongue a delicious morsel, in comparison with which the delicacies a school-boy covets are but as dry crusts to Christ- mas puddings. "While in the full tide of his quiet enjoyment, a brother calf who had been lying by his side slowly rose and stood upon his feet. Charley (we call the calf by the school-boy's name) languidly opened his eyes and stared stupidly at his risen brother. Something told him that brother was in- clined to vary the monotony of the occasion. He tossed his head and wagged his tail with looks of mischief. In lan- guage which Charley well understood, he bade him admire his strong neck and horns, and invited him to a trial of strength. Finally, with drooping head, he rushed upon the prostrate Charley and gave him a furious lunge in the side. This brought the calf Charley to his feet. Bellowing with rage and pain, he rushed to meet his adversary. It was a fierce combat. Charley's antagonist was older than he, larger and stronger. It was an unequal contest, yet Char- ley's rage and courage compelled him to keep the field. It was not long, however, before his strength began to fail ; hot, fatigued, and bleeding, he was about to yield the battle, ' when it met with an unexpected interruption. An old cow with long sharp horns, who had been regarding the affray with evident dissatisfaction, now determined to put an end to it. She advanced quickly toward the combatants. Acting upon a principle said to be occasionally practised by mankind, she singled out the weakest of the two as an object of punish- ment. "When Charley saw this new and terrible enemy approAch- ing, he instantly took to his heels ; the cow with the sharp horns gave chase. Exhausted as he was by his battle, she gained rapidly upon him. Every moment he expected to be caiight on those sharp horns, and sent whirling througli the air. 452 HOUSEHOLD READING. Just then a little bird, which had been seeking worms in the pasture, frightened at the approach of the beasts, flew into the air, and was quickly out of the reach of harm. Then the calf Charley thought, " that I were a bird, that I might fly from this terrible pursuer. The wish was scarcely formed, when, lo! — there were certain powerful and pro- pitious fairies controlling Charley's destinies, — the calf be- came a bird. The cow had just bent her neck, and pointed her sharp horns to give Charley the fatal toss, when the latter, transformed into a beautiful bird with gilded wings, rose lightly into the air. He saw the cow in her headlong course shatter her horns against a wall, and then soaring lightly, and, singing gayly, he reached the neighboring wood. Scarcely had he congratulated himself upon his escape, when the experiences of his calf life faded from his memory. He was a bird, sitting upon the topmost bough of a lofty tree. He was free, and rejoiced in his freedom. " I will quit," thought he, " these dark woods and fly over the fields and houses." As he emerged from the shadow of the trees, and was flying over the pasture where he had so recently escaped from danger, he had a dim consciousness that there was danger still. Far above, and between him and the sun, there was a great shadow, which instinctively filled the poor bird with terror. Soon he heard a rustling sound as of wings, and then he saw, what the school-boy had seen before, a great hawk which had hovered over the tall trees watching for the little birds to leave them. There was a great shock in the air, and the little bird knew that the hawk was making the awful plunge from which there was no escape for him. , With a scream of terror Charley awoke to find that all about the calf and bird was a dream, that he had startled the school by crying out in his sleep ; he awoke to receive punish- ment for being so idle and so noisy, — happy enough to find that it was nothing worse, and that he is still a school-boy. TO MY GRANDMOTHER. 453 Wheu boys say to Charley they wish they were birds, he tells them to be glad they are not, for he was one once, and never wishes to be again. If reading Charley Grey's dream will help to convey to my young readers the idea that every position in life may have its trials, and that even those careless creatures, calves and birds, may have their troubles, I shall not be sorry that on this occasion Charley fell asleep in school. TO MY GRANDMOTHER. THOUGH bleak and chill the wintry wind, Though dark the day, and drear, Though lifeless 'neath her icy chains The fettered earth appear ; Though leafless boughs sway, bent and torn, Before the furious gale, Yet cold, nor snow, nor wintry blast 'Gainst Nature shall prevail. She is waiting, only waiting, Till the spring-days come once more, Only cla-jping close her treasures All the brighter to restore. Soon shall the sun's glad warmth and cheer Unloose each heavy chain, The tempest wild have spent its wrath, Soft zephyrs breathe again. "With verdure clad, with strength renewed, The flower-crowned earth shall rise. With song of birds, and rippling streams Salute the smiling skies. After waiting, calmly waiting, She shall rise a queen once more, — All her weakh of joy and beauty O'er our happy hearts to pour. 454 HOUSEHOLD READING. Though age and care thy form have bowed, Though dark thy day and drear, Though friends of youth are from thee torn. Earth's joys no longer cheer ; Though lonely, weary oftentimes, Though strength and vigor fail, Yet age, nor pain, nor weariness ■ Against thee shall prevail. Only waiting, only waiting, Till release from earth be given, With the heart secure in Jesus, How we long for rest in heaven ! But soon shall dawn a brighter day, All clouds be overpast, Then may thy spirit upward fly. Thy soul find rest at last. The loved and lost be found again, Full strength for weakness given, And weariness and pain forgot. In perfect bliss in heaven. After waiting, meekly waiting. Through these many weary days. With the sanctified in glory, Sing eternally God's praise ! PEACE IN TRIAL. IT seems to the worldly man a paradox, and almost a self- contradiction, that the Christian can enjoy peace and en- dure trials at the same time. And with most irreligious men it is a sSlf-contradiction. With them an essential requisite to peace in the soul, peace even in an inferior sense, is external comfort. Let bereavement, disappointment, and adversity become their lot, — " Let cares like a wild deluge come, And storms of sorrow fall/' — PEACE IN TRIAL. 455 and the commotion and strife within will De quite equal to the troubles that prevail without. Their fountains of happi- ness are in this present world, and when those fountains are dried up, their thirsty souls know not where to find relief. But it is not so with the Christian. His Redeemer has opened for him a perennial fountain of joy. To him has been given access to " the river of the water of life," yea, there is within him a " well of water springing up into ever- lasting life." When Christ was about leaving the world, he left his beloved disciples this rich legacy. " Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you, not as the world givetli give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." This promise was not confined to the primitive disciples of Christ. The same gre6n pastures and still waters that were accessible to them still remain for all the flock of Christ, in all ages of the world. To us he is in effect saying, " In the world ye shall have tribulation, but be of good cheer ; my peace I give unto you, let not your heart be troubled." And what is the peace of Christ ? It is not such as the world giv- etli, — mere temporal prosperity, or personal ease, or the grati- fication of natural affection. It is the peace of the soul, a peace imparted by the heavenly Comforter, a calmness of mind at times when others would be filled with anxiety, or terror, or rage, the comfort of a hope reposing on the Rock of Ages, a support and strength derived from the presence of the Lord, and from " the power of his might." It is a peace of conscience, a peace with the world, a peace with God. And this peace the devoted Christian may enjoy, in seasons of severe trial, when the waves of trouble are rolling and roaring all around him, and the storms of adversity, with their thunderings and lightnings, darken all his sky. - The Christian is subject, like other men, to losses and dis- appointments. Those who are near to him by the ties of relationship and affection are taken from the world. If he has wealth, it takes wings and flies away ; distress is brought 456 HOUSEHOLD READING. upon him by reverses in business ; the comforts of life fail, and want, that he thought to be far off, comes to look him in the face. Many earthly enjoyments are in prospect, they are innocent, and his soul desires them, but they are denied him. Fond reliance he has placed on friends and associates, for the accomplishment of purposes on which his heart was set, but they fail him in the hour of need. Cruel experience is sent to teach him that all things earthly are transitory and uncer- tain. But in all these trials a well of consolation is opened for him in his spiritual union with Christ. If earthly treas- ures are lost to him, the costliest treasure he can possess, a treasure too good for earth, is laid up for him in heaven ; and the mere title he now has to it makes him rich. If friends depart, other friends survive, and Jesus, the best friend the universe affords, will never leave nor forsake him. Have his plans of life been defeated, and objects on which he has ex- pended much thought and labor, eluded his grasp ? He sees the hand of his Heavenly Father has, for the best of reasons, brought about the failure, which to the most dearly cherished object of his hopes and the chief purposes of his life, the friendship of God and a heavenly crown, he can still look for- ward with the utmost assurance of hope. Has he seen the fondest of earthly hopes, those that are reared on the soil of friendship and affection, rudely and suddenly crushed ? has intemperance, or licentiousness, or some other form of vice, brought ruin upon his kindred, and filled his soul with bit- terness ? It is perhaps a bitterness which the stranger doth not know. But religion is capable of healing the bitter waters of grief; yea, " Earth has no soitow that heaven cannot heal." He has, above, a Friend that never disappoints. He has in Christ's flock beloved ones on whom vice has no power. And the fiery trial tends to purify his affections, to wean hira from the vanities of the world, and place his hopes more firmly on the good things that will never pass away. THE MINISTER'S MONDAY. 457 iHE MINISTER'S MONDAY. WELCOME Monday! Once more we gratefully find ourselves within that brief favored space in the flying week which bears thy name, grand working day in the kitch- en, chief leisure day in the study ; dreaded by Bridget, anti- cipated with joy by us ! With ministers in general, Monday may, so far as any direct setting forward of their ordinary business is concerned, be set down as a dies non. Some there are, indeed, who go to their studies as regularly, and work as diligently, upon that day as any other. But there are few who can do this profitably, if, indeed, any can. It is, or should be, to his physical and mental nature, the minister's Sabbath. The first day of the week, which brings rest from toil to others, brings to him what are often the most exhausting labors of the whole seven. From that third service, where, if lie does not assume the whole burden himself, he is expected to throw out a few thoughts to put other minds in motion, he returns to his home often too tired to rest, and too much ex- cited to sleep, till the best hours of the night have rolled away. No wonder he hails Monday with some such emotions as a sailor does port after a storm. To-day he can let his pen repose from the never-ending and always laborious toil of ser- mon-writing, and let eye and brain enjoy brief release from conning " Text and context and theme, And theme and context and text." To-day he feels as if his habitual burden had for the time slipped from his shoulders. And yet it is no idle day. If there are no cases of sick- ness or new affliction or difficulty in his parish that need immediate attention, there will be many little items of de- ferred business, domestic and miscellaneous, that must be at- tended to. And often not a few busy hours are required to 458 HOUSEHOLD READING. clear the docket of neglected correspondence, &g., &g. This is so far a change of employment from hard thinking to that which requires comparatively little mental effort, that it is in a degree recreation. But he needs recreation of a more positive character. Something of this he finds in his weekly newspaper, into which he could cast but a hasty glance on Saturday. To-day, perchance, he takes up a magazine, or volume of light litera- ture, — a 7iovel, if you will, — seldom or never else indulged in. To-day, if ever, he lets mind (and body too) range free whither it will, amid the gi-ave or the gay. But not wisely will he linger much among the former. Lay reader, be not scandalized at the suggestion that i/our minister, the very day after he has been addressing his hearers on the most momen- tous themes, and pleading with them, perhaps, in tears, should be laughing over a humorous story, or joining in the sports of children, making himself a boy again, or engaging with some professional brother in the play of wit and side-shaking mirthfulness. The minister, of all men, needs such divertise- ment, and needs it most of all on Monday. If mental recre^ ation, pleasantry, and laughter be not sins to bo banished from earth, then may a minister lawfully have part in them, at least one day in seven. We plead not for levity and folly, though these may not always be discriminated from those in theory or practice. We plead for nothing from which a cler- gyman may not return to his studies with new energy, to his devotions with unabated earnestness. And let none who would have their pastor full of vigor and pathos when he preaches, full of sympathizing tenderness by the bed of sickness, and in the house of mourning, forget that it is not in humanity to carry such a load of thought and feeling incessantly, and carry it long. Let your minister, if he pleases, be even merry on Monday, But there are " diversities " of taste and of requirements in this regard, as well as " of gifts." One man, one minister, will find recreation in what would be the very antipodes of PEOGEESS BY CONVULSION. 459 recreation to another. Anything not positively prohibited, and not inherently sinful, which any man finds best for him, should be viewed with liberal indulgence by others, while all retain just remembrance of the Apostle's words, " Only use not your liberty for a cloak of Izakia^'' in any of its forms ; and that word will cover milder things than " malicious- ness." PROGRESS BY CONVULSION. SUCH has been the law from the beginning. The slight- est review of history is sufficient to prove the fact, while very little reflection is needed to perceive the reason of the fact. What are the great dates of time, but epochs of violent social agitation, resulting in each instance in a real advance- ment of the race ? That great purification of the face of the earth from its corruption, which Noah was privileged to wit- ness, it required a deluge to accomplish. Israel rose from its Egyptian enslavement to national independence only by a Divine deliverance, whose violence utterly desolated the land of bondage. It cost the conquest of almost the whole civilized world by the Roman army to prepare the way for the Messiah's advent ; and the destruction of Jerusalem, and the scattering of the ancient covenant people to the four winds, needed to precede the ingathering of the Gentiles into the kingdom of God. It was by no quiet process^ but by a disturbance that shook all Europe, as with an earth- quake's power, that Luther recovered for the dishonored Bible its liberty and rightful authority over the conscience. It was only by a revolution^ attended with all the perils and suf- ferings of long civil war, that the Netherlanders, the Puri- tans of England, tlie American Colonics, wrested their im- munities and precious civil rights from the grasp of tyranny. But in each instance the result was worth all that it cost. 460 HOUSEHOLD EEADING. These conspicuous examples are quite enough to indicate the law. All important human progress has been made, — not by a peaceful development of already established social forces, — but by means of violent and wide-reaching social convulsions. They have been the short-lived and salutary storms that have cleared the air. The grand programme was laid down long ago in that ancient Divine prediction, " I will overturn, overturn, OVERTURN, until He comes whose right it is ! " That is the great thing to be effected, — the coming in power of " Him whose right it is," and who, when he comes, will "reign in righteousness ^ This is the consummate result of human histciry, the full establish- ment of Christ's righteous kingdom. All contributes ulti- mately to this ; the calms of peace and the storms of revolu- tion alike. When social evils grow rank, and root them- selves deeply as national institutions, too firmly to be re- moved by gentle influence, there may be need of a new work of " overturning,^^ of some violent social convulsion, to cast the great overshadowing upas to the ground. And the repetition in the language of the prophecy forewarns us how continuous and thorough the destructive process that must precede the upbuilding of the righteous kingdom may be expected to be. The near prospect of such a disturbance is agitating. An earthquake is no gentle agency ; a nation cannot be rent asunder, without some very serious attendant calamity. All worldly interests, that thrive best in the clear skies of peace, naturally dread the approach of such an event, and are eager to avert it by some sort of compromise, not caring too scru- pulously about the preservation of honor and true manhood. But of one thing we may be well assured ; if this country, recently so firmly united, is now suddenly thrown into a state of anarchy, it will not be through human instrumen- tality only, or chiefly, but by the power of Him who, in his own way and time, " overturns, overturns, overturns," to bring more rapidly forward " the reign " of universal " right- ORIGIN OF THE SIX MUSICAL SYLLABLES. 461 eousness ! " And his friends, friends with him of the whole human race, may calmly await the issues he will bring to pass, and in faith and hope " lift up their heads," believing that " their redemption draweth nigh! " ' ORIGIN OF THE SIX MUSICAL SYLLABLES. GUIDO ARETINUS, or Guido of Arctium, a monk of the order of St. Benedict, and afterwards abbot of the mon- astery of St. Crux Avellana, near Arctium, now Arezzo, a city in Tuscany, flourished about A. D. 1024. He excelled in the knowledge of music, — no uncommon accomplishment at that time in monasteries, — and wrote several books on that subject. He introduced a new system of musical nota- tion, substantially the same, we believe, with that now in common use. Sigebert, an old writer, in his Chronicon, un- der the year 1028, says : " In music, Guido greatly excelled all who went before him, since by his method boys and girls were taught to sing tunes previously unknown to them with more facility than by following the voice of a master, or in the use of an instrument ; for, by only affixing six letters or syllables to six sounds (which are all that music regularly admits of), and distinguishing these sounds by the johits of the fingers of the left hand, their distances ascending and de- scending through the whole diapason are clearly presented both to eye and ear." That is, he invented, or first used in music, the six syllables ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la, deriving them from that well-known hymn of Paul the Deacon (who lived about A. D. 774) to St. John the Baptist : — " UT queant laxis REsonare fibris MIra gestorum FA muli tuorum SOLve pollutis LAbris reatum, Sancte Joannes." * * Holy John, remit the guilt of our polluted lips, that thy servants may cele- brate thy wonderful deeds on their resounding lyres. 462 HOUSEHOLD BEADING. These six syllables, with the syllable si of later date, have also been derived from a distich of an uncertain author : — " Corde Deum et fidibns gemituque alto benedicam Ut Re me Facial Solvere Labra Sibi." Again, they have been supposed to be taken from a distich of Abraham Bucholzerus, in his chronology, under the year 1044 : — " Cur ihibes tristi numeros cantumque labora 1 Ut Relevet Miserum Fatum Solitosque Labores." The stanza first quoted is clearly the true source of these famous syllables. The first syllable of each hemistich forms a regular series of the six natural sounds of music in the ascending scale. At the side of each of these syllables Guido placed one of the first seven letters of the Roman alphabet A, B, C, D, E, F, G, the Greek letter gamma being placed under the lowest of the six syllables to make the number seven ; whence the whole scale was called gamut, a name retained to this day. Guido is thus entitled to the honor of inaugurating a new era in music, in place of the confusion previously existing, by the use of the lines, spaces, clefs, and syllables in the mu- sical scale, much as we now have them. He himself ascribes it to the grace of God, that in the use of his system, boys pre- viously untaught were able in the space of a month to sing at first sight tunes which they had never seen or heard before, to the great wonder and delight of many witnesses. He was accustomed to say, " Music without lines is like a well with out a rope." The preceding facts are derived from a sketch of Guido Aretinus, in the Patrologice Cursus Completus, ed. J. P. Migne. Vol. 141, column 375. Dr. Burney, in his " History of Music," labors hard to de- prive Guido of the credit of the present system of solmiza- tion, and will scarce allow that he introduced any improve- ment except that of using lines and spaces together in the staS"; alleging that before his time lines were used without ORIGIN OF THE SIX MUSICAL SYLLABLES. 463 spaces, and spaces without lines, and denying that there is any proof tliat Guide invented the syllables ur, re, mi, fa, SOL, LA. Still he is obliged to admit that the invention is as- cribed to him by writers who lived very near the time of Guido, and who would be very likely to know ; particularly by Sigebert, a monk of Gemblours in Brabant, whose state- ment has already been given. He cites also the chronicle of Tours under the year 1033, which expressly says that Guido constructed the gamut, and applied the six syllables to the six sounds, as now universally used in music. " For before that time," adds the chronicle, " practitioners had no other guide than habit and the ear." In the musical scale of Guido, no provision was made for accidental flats or sharps, or for any other sounds or keys but those which may occur in the octave of C natural. And it is worthy of special note, that he made no provision for the sharp seventh of the key. This indeed was wanting, till some time in the seventeenth century, when, after various trials and proposals to the public, the syllable si was intro- duced in France. At a still later period, indeed not long be- fore the present generation, the syllable do, long used by the Italians, was introduced instead of ut. More than one hun- dred and fifty years ago, the English musicians had rejected from the scale the syllables ut and re ; using the only remain- ing four invented by Guido, — mi, fa, sol, la. They thus reduced the scale to one of tetrachords, the very thing which was in use before the time of Guido, and which he labored sutcessfully to reform. When the present writer first at- tended to the study of music, which was in 1817, such was the practice in New England, and probably throughout this country. But more recent composers have made the scale to consist of the entire train now in use, — do, re, mi, pa, sol, LA, si. The system of Guido was perhaps as great an im- provement on the preceding modes as the Arabic figures over the Roman numerals, or the American decimal currency over the cumbrous sterlino; reckonino;. 464 HOUSEHOLD READING. EMINENT ENGLISH PREACHERS. IT is a capital study for a preacher to hear other preachers for a time, wliile he himself is relieved of personal respon- sibility for the pulpit. But in order that he may hear to the best advantage, he should divest himself of the critical spirit, and as far as possible of the professional feeling ; should place himself in the position of a simple hearer of the word, seeking his own edification ; and when he is moved or quick- ened, or sees others about him fitly impressed by the sermon, he should ask himself what it is that affects his own mind, or the minds of others thus and so, and he will get at the secret of effective preaching by inward spiritual signs rather than by oratorical criticism. In the matter of hearing preaching, I have endeavored to profit by the best masters ; and most devoutly would I thank the great Master and Teacher of all, that there are so many really good preachers, each good in his own way. The richness of the Gospel and the fulness of the Spirit's dispensation are both illustrated by this diversity of gifts. Every preacher must be a law to himself, using his own gifts in his own way, so that his preaching shall be as simply natural as is any function of his being. It is a disadvantage of our mode of theological training, that it runs whole classes of young men pretty much in one mould, and that the mould of the professor who, for the time being, is most popular or most magnetic. Dr. Bushnell's doctrine of " unconscious influ- ence " is strikingly illustrated in every theological seminary, and indeed wherever a young preacher has had before him some controlHng mind as a model or a teacher. A gifted young man was lately called to be the colleague of one of the most distinguished preachers in Scotland. The senior pastor being asked what he thought of his associate's sermon, replied, " 0, it was an excellent sermon ; but some one who EJHNENT ENGLISH PREACHERS. 465 knows him well enough to speak to him on such a matter should give him a hint about hitcliing his shoulders at such a rate. It is not only awkward, it is really ludicrous." And ludicrous it was ; for it was the most characteristic action of the senior pastor himself, which the young man had uncon- sciously imitated, and of which his critic was quite unaware. Let the preacher first of all be natural. It will not be imagined, then, that in these random notes upon a few eminent preachers, I am about to hold up any one as a model, or to single out peculiarities for imitation. The debated question as to the relative merits of extemporaneous and written discourse loses much of its importance in a com- parison of eminent preachers. I heard Mr. Newman Hall and Canon Wordsworth in carefully written discourses ; and Mr. Spurgeon and Dr. Candlish in sermons entirely without ]iotes, — all fine examples of the men and their gifts; but the written discourses were to me the most impressive, and seemingly the most effective iipon the hearers. I adhere to the judgment formed fourteen years ago, that the ablest preac'ior in Great Britain within my knowledge is Dr. W. Lindsay Alexander of Edinburgh ; clear, strong, ear- nest, instructive, spiritual, " able to teach others also," and " apt to teach," according to the requirements of the text or of the times. Dr. Alexander preaches written sermons, commonly prepared with great care. He always has some- thing worth saying, and he always says it well ; and when these conditions are fulfilled, the question of written or oral discourse is altogether secondary. Dr. Alexander represents the solid thinking and the cul- tivated scholarship which we so mucli admire in certain men, whom we place in the front rank of our New England preach- ers ; and he enjoys that freedom from conventional forms, whether of dogma or of ritual, which is the glory of our Con- gregational polity, and which favors the best development of the individual. I was glad to find that Edinburgh had learned to appreciate him, and that the old, dingy little 30 466 HOUSEHOLD READING. chapel, in whicli he seemed as a light in a dark place, had been exchanged for a commodious and attractive edifice, well situated, and filled with an intelligent and appreciative congregation. Dr. Alexander approaches more nearly the American style and standard of preaching than any Dis- senter whom I have heard ; and the weight of this compli- ment will be appreciated when I quote the exact words of an excellent English brother who had spent much time in the United States : " American preachers think where "we Eng- lishmen talk.^'' Yet there has been a great advance in the thinking power of the Dissenting pulpit in England, and I do not quote the above in any spirit of disparagement. I heard the Rev. Newman Hall in a finished address before the Congregational Union, upon which he had evidently ex- pended his whole force. It was a masterly performance, and I could discern in certain parts of it the secret of his popular power. Mr. Hall does not seek to sway men by mere rhet- oric, though he is capable of very fine effects of style. He thinks ; thinks closely and sharply, and speaks to his hearers as thoughtful men, in well-defined sentences, that carry home his mind to theirs. Many of his sentences have a ring that causes them to vibrate in the memory long after their utter- ance. The strength of this address lay in its vindication of the doctrine of atonement as the central, vital truth of the Gos- pel. The fervor and earnestness of the speaker in his argu- ment showed with what power he might move the plain masses of men, giving them thought and argument in clear phrase, and with that glow which kindles the brain through the heart. Some of his figures were exceedingly beautiful, and they had always the merit of being pertinent and well sustained. His manner is easy, graceful, and effective. I hope you may yet judge of him in American pulpits. I heard Mr. Spurgeon in his own Tabernacle, — where I sat an humble unit in the gallery, amid a concourse of six thousand human atoms drawn together and hold together by ErnNENT ENGLISH PEEACHEES. 467 the strange power of one voice and mind. I must own, how- ever, that Mr, Spurgeon himself did not get hold upon me very deeply, though the congregation did, and the singing, and the whole sublime spectacle. His sermon, as to sub- stance and structure, was about what you and I, my dear " Congregationalist," would carry with us to an evening lec- ture or a conference talk, but would hardly offer to one of our trained congregations for their Sabbath-day food. Yet it was good, wholesome, profitable, with occasional passages of real power, and with very few objectionable phrases. His rare felicity of utterance, his homely phraseology, with much of the quaintness of Bunyan, his masterly self-possession, his evident sincerity and earnestness, his close adherence to Scripture, with somewhat of that spiritualizing habit which is always fascinating, his strong theology, his downrightness in asserting the truth, — these seemed to me the qualities that cause " the common people to hear him gladly." His text was, "If the foundation s be destroyed, what shall the righteous do?" — a sermon suggested by the financial panic, and making that its most telling illustration. We should rejoice that the masses in London have two such preachers as Mr. Hall and Mr. Spurgeon. I had the opportunity of meeting Mr. Spurgeon quite at his leisure at Lowwood Inn, near Windermere, and was deeply interested in the strong, simple, resolute character of the man, in his devotion to principle, his charity toward men, his catholicity for the saints, especially his advocacy of communion with all believers, irrespective of the question of baptism. He said to me, by the way, that, in his breadth and variety of mental endowment, Mr. Beecher seems to him more like Shakespeare than any man who has lived since his time. How shall I picture Dr. Candlish, with his broad shoul- ders, wriggling and twisting spasmodically with every utter- ance, his wiry hair twisted and untwisted by the nervous clutching of his fingers, his broad Scotch jerking itself out at 468 HOUSEHOLD READING. first in slow periods, then rushing like a torrent, but always keeping its channel, and finally broadening out into a full, steady, clear-flowing stream. His text was, " The foundation of the Lord standeth sure," &c., and his treatment of it was textual to a most minute degree. Yet, without forcing the construction, he contrived to put a rich meaning of doctrine or precept into every word, and he has lodged that text in my mind by so many points of suggestion and instruction that it will be sure to remain. That is a good test of preach- ing, and a good fruit also. Dr. Candlish's illustrations were chiefly drawn from the Scriptures, and were very tersely and often strikingly put. I did penance at Westminster Abbey, in standing through a long service, thus learning to have compassion upon some who, in other places, have had to endure long sermons with- out relief from a change of position. Here, however, it was the service that was tiresome ; the sermon was a positive refreshment. When Canon Wordsworth appeared, had I judged only from his carriage, his hair, his general expres- sion, I should have said that Professor Hitchcock, of New York, had put on the surplice. But the sing-song tone of delivery soon undeceived me. The sermon was on the prom- ise of paradise to the penitent thief. Instead of linguistic criticism and patristic lore, such as Wordsworth's Common tary had led me to expect, there was a grand simplicity of statement, a clear and forcible putting of the Biblical doc- trine, — showing that the paradise of immediate felicity is to the heaven of perfected bliss as the king's garden to his pal- ace ; and an application at once so tender and so pungent that I could have fancied myself in an old New England meeting-house in a time of revival. I came away from that sermon with the conviction that the preaching which brings out clearly and strongly some truth of the Bible, and that presses this home with force of conviction, so that it carries both judgment and conscience with it, is the preaching that lives, and, however commissioned of men, is ordained of God unto life from the dead. "WHEN THOU HAST SHUT THY DOOR, PRAY. 469 "WHEN THOU HAST SHUT THY DOOR, PRAY." LORD, I have shut my door, — Shut out life's busy cares and fretting noise : Here in this silence they intrude no more ; Speak thou, and heavenly joys Shall fill my heart with music sweet and calm, A holy psalm. Yes, I have shut my door Even on all the beauty of thine earth, To its blue ceiling from its emerald floor. Filled with spring's bloom and mirth. From these thy works I turn, thyself I seek, To thee I speak. And I have shut my door On earthly passion, all its yearning love. Its tender friendships, all the priceless store Of human ties. Above All these my heart aspires. Heart divine, Stoop thou to mine ! Lord, I have shut my door ! Come thou and visit me. I am alone ! Come, as when doors were shut thou cam'st of yore, And visitedst thine own. My Lord ! I kneel with reverent love and fear, For thou art here ! 470 HOUSEHOLD READING. SOLDIERS' MONUMENTS. THERE seems to be a general movement in the towns and cities of this Commonwealth, as well as in other States, for erecting memorials to the honored dead who fell in our great struggle for freedom and Union. The feeling which prompts this is a noble and a generous one, and should not be discouraged ; but it is highly desirable that it be wisely directed. There are two forms in which we may rear these memo- rials, — one by stone or marble monuments, the other by buildings dedicated to the purpose. The choice is between these two modes. Which is most desirable, most rational, most beneficial to the living, as well as most honorable to the memory of the dead ? That is a question of great interest at the present time, because millions on millions of dollars are to be expended in Massachusetts alone for these monumental purposes. If marble or stone monuments are desired, the considera- tion arises that a large sum must be expended to make any considerable show. Five thousand dollars will accomplish but little, ten thousand dollars will rear nothing very striking or impressive. If marble be selected as the material, in most cases it will soon become discolored and more or less disinte- grated ; for our climate is too severe for most marbles. If granite or sandstone, the expense of cutting inscriptions is heavy, and besides this require a great deal of room. Nothing can be put upon such monuments as a general fact but the mere names of the fallen. The remaining consideration in regard to these monuments is, that they have no utility except as perpetuating the names inscribed upon them. On the other hand, suppose it be decided to erect a Memo- rial Hall in memory of the patriots who had given their lives to the country. In the first place, such a building may be SOLDIERS' MONUMENTS. 471 erected as cheaply as a monument; in the second place, when completed, if made, as it should always be, of brick or other durable material, it may be made more conspicuous and ornamental than any ordinary monument of equal cost ; in the third place, when completed, it may be used for many desirable purposes, and in such a way as shall be a constant source of happiness and improvement to the living ; and in the fourth place, the memory and history of the dead can be in this way more fully secured. This will appear from the following illustration : — Suppose in one of our thrifty and growing New England villages such a building were erected, say a brick, two stories high, and of dimensions adapted to the size and wants of the town. The lower room of this building to be fitted up as a reading-room, with a library attached, open to all the citizens on prescribed conditions. The upper story to be the Memo- rial Hall, suitably finished and ornamented. In the walls around the room may be inserted marble tablets, upon which are inscribed the names of the departed, the regiments in which they served, the battles in which they fell, or the hospital or prison in which they perished. These tablets arranged around the Hall will afford ample room for all the inscriptions that may be needed. Besides this, if desired, the portrait of each person may be hung upon the walls. The present state of the art is such that this can be easily done ; for the cases are few in which pictures of the deceased of some kind are not to be found. These, by the happy art of photography, may all be copied of uniform size, and be put in uniform frames if desired ; and what appropriate ornaments they would make for such a place, and what pleasing mementos, recalling the forms and features of the departed ! Besides this a cabinet might be formed in this Hall of all the relics of the great contest which may have been brought or sent home by those who have been engaged in it. How interestino; would such a collection be ! How much would 472 HOUSEHOLD READING. thus be saved that would otherwise be hopelessly scattered and lost ! What a place of resort, not only for tho citizens, but for all strangers visiting the place ! But there is an argument above and beyond all this. Such a hall, so used, would be a great benefit to the young men who survive. It -^/ould meet one of the great wants of our age. Young men, especially in New England, need a build- ing of this sort. We are a manufacturing people, we are gathered into densely populated villages. Young men come into these in great numbers for employment. They live in boarding-houses and work in shops. After the toil and con- finement of the day are over, where shall the young man spend his evenings ? At home ? He has got no home. He is a boarder. He may go to his chamber, which he most likely occupies with others, and sit there if he will ; but it is a cheer- less, comfortless place, perhaps, without even a chance to make a fire to keep it warm, even if he could incur the ex- pense. He is not welcome anywhere else within the house. Boarders are not wanted around the family fire, nor in the dining-room, except at meals. The young man feels all this, so he takes to the street. He must go somewhere, to the stores, shops, groceries ; but in none of these places does he feel contented for a great while. But there is one place where he will be welcomed, one place where he will find room and a seat, a fire and plenty of company. That place is the saloon. True, the room is filled with the fumes of lager-beer and tobacco-smoke ; but these, though offensive at first, he will get accustomed to. Here he finds a home, and, poor as it is, all the home he can command. Of necessity he accepts of it, and of course accepts of its hospitality. They " do not sell intoxicating liquors " at this place, nothing but " lager- beer," and the like innocent drinks! But young men get intoxicated, and learn to be drunkards at this place contin- ually, notwithstanding no intoxicating drinks " are allowed " to be sold ! Is not this the position of thousands and tens of thousands SOLDIERS' MONUMENTS. 473 of the young men of Massachusetts to-day ? If so, ought there not to be an earnest eflfort to relieve them of the disa- bilities they suffer and dangers to which they are exposed ? 4nd what better provision can we make for them, than a pleasant, cheerful, well-lighted, and well-furnished reading- room, where all their week-day evenings can be spent in read- ing or conversation ? How can we more suitably do honor to our illustrious dead than by providing for the welfare and happiness of those who have survived them ? We have heard of but one objection to the erection of a hall instead of a monument ; and that is, that the former may " be burned, and then the names be lost." There is no force in this objection at the present day. Suppose the hall destroyed, the names are all safe, — the history of every offi- cer and private is preserved in the archives of the State, in the reports of the Adjutant-General of the Commonwealth. All can be recovered ; all can be restored. Once it was not so ; but the time has gone by when the names of any who have honored and served their country can be buried in oblivion. Monuments of stone were very well in the days of the Pha- raohs, in dark and barbarous ages, when there were no secu- rities for civilization and its works ; but that day has long since passed by. We are not obliged to build pyramids, or mausoleums, or marble columns, to perpetuate the name and fame of a departed hero. It is an idle waste of human labor to do so. We have better means, and we should have higher aims. We should subserve the interests of the living, while we do honor to the memory of the dead. 474 HOUSEHOLD READING. HOME DEBTS. *' "\/r^ husband and myself think we oive as much to each -LTX other as to anybody ; that we should be as painstak- ing in each other's society as in the society of friends, for our mutual pleasing as for the pleasing of others. This is the philosophy of our domestic economy, so that we are ready to receive our friends at all times, and welcome them without embarrassment to that which we provide as good enough for ourselves." Such was the expression of a wife and mother, in moder- ate worldly circumstances, with a young family growing up around her. Seldom has the true philosophy of domestic life, and its relation to social life, been more happily or profoundly expressed. Home, husband, family, are words which convey a wealth of practical meaning, and are rich with the life of the mind and heart of her who so thinks of them. They were not spoken for public ears, but the words are worthy to be repeated from every pulpit, shouted along our busy streets and quiet valleys, to be nailed to the door- posts of every habitation, that all who enter might read and feel them, — " husband, wife, you owe as much to each other as to anybody." None would doubt his welcome there, or fear for his happiness. You owe as much painstaking, as much personal care to render every meeting around the family board, every welcome from toil and care abroad to rest at home, every conversation by the cheerful evening fire, every communing with the heart in which your life is hid, and out of which must flow your own joy or sorrow, pleasing and satisfying, as you bestow upon tlie friend who once a year or month drops into the sacred circle of your domestic life. Ah, this painstaking, this delicacy of thought and feeling and expression, how little of it do we see in the greater part of our Christian homes, when it is said, " no- HOME DEBTS. 475 body is here to-day," " we are alone to-night." Theio is nobody for whom we need to take special pains to exert our- selves to interest and delight, to whom we are debtors, for it is " only the family." The door-bell rings, and the mother hurries away to make herself more lovely in dress, or remove the litter from the apartment, and the father bestirs himself in his equally ne- cessary preparation for a friend, whom they greet with glow- ing countenances and tender words, because they are felt to be duo to a friendly visitor. What an amount of real im- provement has been made, during the five minutes that have passed since they were quietly seated in each other's society around the same hearth, where now they entertain and de- light a friend. The smallest child feels the change which brings a new joy, though the circle from which the visitor has come is always made happier by his or her absence. If he comes to dine, what new and unwonted attractions are added to a table already spread for the husband and father, or what delicacy will he secure after a friend accepts his invitation. Why may not the few minutes so fruitful of reforms give zest to the quiet evening at home or the family dinner, where such care would sweeten the daily bread, lighten the daily toil, divide or prevent life's sorrows, give a new relish and value to conversation, and fill the cup of domestic bliss to overflowing. The philosophy of the domestic economy is at fault, and gives its chief concern to the transient and ex- ternal, and too little to the ever-present and interior life. A stranger eats the feast of our attentions, and too gften of our only expressed affections, and then is gone forever, and leaves domestic happiness to starve upon the crumbs of our social prodigality. The child, too, may often see attentions and endearments lavished upon its companion, for a day or hour, which itself has never delighted in. The principle with which we began our remarks finds a place as a ruling fact in but a few of our homes. There is little painstaking to 476 HOUSEHOLD READING. make tliem as attractive to those who live in them as to those who visit at them. But there is more due of all that is delicate and fitted to please every sense, and the payment day will come erelong, when time brings forth fruit according to the seed sown. Then all shall suffer loss, for domestic debts admit no day of grace. Every day has its own account, and is its only time of discharge. Let it be thought upon and acted upon, that the members of the family " owe more to each other than to anybody else," — more to domestic than to any other rela- tions ; that home debts paid will afford us the greatest means for discharging all other obligations. If there is carelessness, let a stranger bear it, and not those whose very life is daily dependent upon our own, and on whom our own depends. Home is the garden of our joy. LABAN WHEATON'S QUESTION. ABAN WHEATON, SENIOR, the founder of the Semi- nary at Norton, which bears his honored name, was dis- tinguished alike for his manly form and vigorous mind. The dignity of his bearing, the decorous gravity of his counte- nance, and the full, clear tones of his voice, were sure helps to the classic diction and stern logic of his discourse, whether in the forum, at the bar, or in the elevated discussions of more social life. Few men of his profession in Massachusetts were so wise counsellors or so successful advocates. Mr. Wheaton was a member of Congress during the stormy period of Mr. Madison's first Presidential term. As he was no orator for Buncombe, so no member was less likely to vex the House with flippant or impertinent speeches. He spoke only when he had something to say, and nothing to take back. LABAN WHEATON'S QUESTION. 477 t If an occasion, however unexpected, called him to meet it, his thoughts and his words seemed to be as well chosen as if he had weighed them carefully for months, with a distinct foresight of their time of need. In the course of some stir- ring debate, at that period when " trifles light as air " were ■watched with eager suspicion, Mr. Wheaton, in the progress of his speech, made some pertinent remarks on the subject of slavery, — a topic then wholly tabooed in Congress, where the slave power was holding an almost absolute supremacy. The allusion to that contraband subject was as a spark to gunpow- der. In an instant a dozen hotspurs sprang to their feet with loud, rapid, and imperative cries of " Order! " One of the fieriest of the combustibles, catching the eye of the Speaker, fiercely renewed his demand of order, exclaiming, " Mr. Speaker ! the gentleman from Massachusetts would excite the slaves to cut their masters' throats ! " Then, as if having fully exploded, he dropped like a stick into his seat. Mr. Wheaton, still keeping the floor, calmly resumed his speech, very gravely putting the question, " And why, Mr. Speaker, should n't the slaves cut their masters' throats ? We cut our masters' throats to secure our liberties, and why should n't they cut their masters' throats to gain their liber- ties ? I put the question to the honorable gentleman who has so earnestly called me to order. Will he have the good- ness to answer it ? " Suffice it to say, there was no response, and Mr. Wheaton finished his speech without further inter- ruption. Though no man would have been slower to rouse the slaves to blood than Mr. Wheaton, and though no one knew better than he not to be pertinacious of every right which he miglit strictly challenge as his own, yet, when a just and necessary freedom of debate was domineeringly and intolerantly called in question, none was more careful, none more prompt, to poise himself on that right, and to vindicate it with manly honor. Nor in that defence did he neglect to reassert, by a question full-fraught with the spirit of liberty, the inborn and 478 HOUSEHOLD READING. inalienable rights of mankind, the right of the black as well as the white bondman to break his chain, and to lift him self up from his low servitude to the dignity and manhood of a freeman. He saw no " rhetorical flour ish,^^ no ^'■glittering generality^'' nothing to be mocked at with sneering contempt in that great safeguard of humanity so solemnly published to the world by the collected wisdom of this new nation, and so triumphantly vindicated by the sacrifices and achievements of a seven-years' war with the strongest and haughtiest power of the Old World. That timely question, as yet unanswered, had, when put, a fulness of meaning which a later, but less experienced age scarcely comprehends or dreams of. Its rebuke of the inso- lent tyranny which had brought its whip from the plantation to the Congress of a free Republic was both a sarcasm and an argument, against the point and edge of which there was neither shield nor hope. The cowardice of the attack was equalled only by the cowardice of the retreat, a counterpart which Nature herself has fitted for the protection of all rights from usurpation and tyranny. The man, the people, that will be free must dare to be so. If wisdom must 8eek, courage must make opportunities. What to the coward, the heartless in Church or State, seems only a murky failure, is to the brave a brilliant success. The one sees the beginning in the end, the other the end in the beginning. The one looks only at the gallows, the other scorns it for the unfading light which shines from the heaven beyond it. CHRIST AS A PREACHER. 479 THE DARKENED CAGE. IT is a curious fact, that, wliile some birds refuse to sing when the cage is darkened, others have softer, sweeter notes of song. And so it is in human existence. When the soul of one comes under " tlie shadow of a great affliction," it has no longer the voice of melody. The resources and the heart of joy are gone. But another sits in shadow, and sends up to God the purest tones of music, the loftiest strains of praise, from the chastened spirit. It was thus with David, whose harpings are never so heavenly as when they rise from " the depths " of his sorrow. It is not strange that those are dumb when " the days of darkness come," whose song of delight lived only in the glare of earth's fitfal, transient splendor. CHRIST AS A PREACHER. THE best method of presenting the Gospel to the men of our day has been somewhat discussed in the " Congre- gationalist," and I have been interested in the arguments for and against the written or the unwritten discourse, — inter- ested, but not satisfied. As the great object of the preacher is, without controversy, to preach Christ, it has seemed to me strange that so little account has been made of Chrisfs oivn method in preaching. I do not now call to mind that it has once even been directly referred to, as of the smallest impor- tance in settling this mooted question. Now, for the purpose of drawing out something on the subject from abler pens, rather than with the hope of enlightening others myself, I wish to call attention to some facts of the record, and pro- pose some queries in reference thereto. 480 HOUSEHOLD BEADING. 1. The Master adopted, in his preaching, the unwritten method exclusively. 2. His speech was of the simplest possible character. All he sought of language, apparently, was to carry the thought to his hearer. 3. He made almost no use, if any, of what would be called graces in style or oratory, delivering his discourses mostly while sitting, in conversational style, with abundant illustra- tion from common, and, generally, passing events and objects. 4. This was through no lack of ability or poverty of re- source. He could, if he had chosen, have electrified the in- tellect and ravished the imagination. He could have swept the chords of feeling with a master's hand, and taken the sen- sibilities captive. Eloquence and poetry and passion would have yielded him all their highest powers, if he had only willed it ; but he did not. Burning and vivid description of past, present, or future, the joys of heaven and the woes of hell, he might have given as no Chrysostom or Whitefield ever could ; but he never dilated on either. Never man spake like this man, might be said of him in these respects, in a very different sense from that in which the words are usually accepted. Such simplicity, such reticence, stands alone in its own divinity. And now let me present a few queries that are suggested by this state of facts. 1. Was this extreme simplicity in his method of preaching due solely to the age in which he lived and to the habits of the people whom he addressed ? 2. Was there any special reason in his character or mission that would forbid his being the great exemplar of the preacher through succeeding ages ? 3. Granting the difference in the habits of Oriental and Occidental nations, and the higher style of modern civilization, is not the contrast too great between the standard of preaching as approved and practised by the Master, and that of the present day ? DEPARTED FRIENDS. 481 4. If Christ should again appear among us as a simple, un- known minister, exhibiting the same disregard of the graces of style and of eloquence, conforming, of course, so far as he would deem needful, to the modern habits of thought, what standing would he be accorded among ministers, and to how many of our churches would he be welcomed as a preacher ? I cannot doubt but there would be a power of attraction that would sooner or later draw to him all who allowed them- selves to know him, and I think it would be admitted, as a curious thing, that there was a marvellous power in his simple talk. But I query much if the current opinion would not be something like this : " Brother is not a great man, but he is a good man. He is a lovely Christian, if he is not much of a preacher " ; and some would add, charitably, " Wo believe he might excel as a preacher, if it were not for his morbid dread of anything that savored of show or display." DEPARTED FRIENDS. " Die, Heir, zu deiner Ruhe kommen.' HOW blest, O Lord, the tranquil slumber, Of those who to thy rest have come, And join to swell the happy number Who there have found a lasting home ! On earth with toils and cares oppressed, In heaven they now forever rest. There in that bright celestial dwelling They join the sweet angeUc strain, — That song, all earthly songs excelling, " Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain ! " Redeemed from earth by him alone, They cast their crowns before his throne. 31 482 HOUSEHOLD READING. Our Father ! while on earth abiding, May we their faith and patience share, And to thy heaven our footsteps guiding, Give us to meet among them there. So shall thy praise our lips employ Through ages of eternal joy. "GOOD AT A BARGAIN." THIS was the praise which Mr. Hallett oftenest bestowed on his eldest and favorite son. When he first wore jackets, Ned proved himself an adept in small trades, swap- ping off his worn-out and damaged toys for the better ones of his playmates. Before he was ten years old, he had changed knives a half- dozen times or more, making a good bargain each time, until he was the owner of a double-bladed, pearl-handled one, of the best make, instead of the broken jackknife, bought with his school dinner, with which he had begun the knife busi- ness. Of course some persons suffered loss for his gain, but this, he professed to think, was nothing to him. " Look out for number one," was his motto. If he had ever heard the com- mand, " Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself," he paid no attention to it. His compassion was never moved by the pain and regret of his victims, those whom he had duped ; and when they plead with him for redress, he coolly claimed that he had made a fair bargain, that they had eyes and ears, and could look out for themselves as well as he for himself. He tricked a poor little fellow out of a silver pencil-case, which he had received for a birthday present, by fascinating him with a whistle of trifling value. When the first charm of the whistle was gone, and the tender birthday remem " GOOD AT A BARGAIN." 483 orauces connected with the pencil had come back to the victimized cliild, he urged Ned to receive again his whistle, ond restore him his pencil. He added inducements, but Ned was not to be moved. He had the best of the bargain, and he kept it. In similar ways he obtained a wealth of boys' treasures, to the admiration of his companions, and his own great delight. But was he happy ? Surely not. Has God made the soul to be satisfied with knives, pencil-cases, balls, and tops ? Can a boy be happy when he is full of selfishness, meanness, deception, and unkindness ? He may laugh, he may sing, he may talk largely, and walk proudly, but he must be wretched. " There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked." Ned was once sent by his father to buy himself a pair of shoes. He was to buy such as are usually sold for a dollar and a half. With his habitual acuteness, he obtained the promise that, in case he could buy them for less, he should have the surplus money. At the shoe-store he found such shoes as he wanted, and tried them on, but complained that they did not fit. He tried pair after pair, with the same com- plaint. At last he found some for which he thought he could make a good bargain, since one of them had a defect in the leather in a place where neither strain nor wear could come. He tried them on, pronounced them a perfect fit, examined them, dwelt upon the flaw, condemned them, and flung them aside. He tried other shoes, but none of them suited him. The salesman recommended several pairs ; biit no, they pinched him. Ned said he could not endure them. At last he pretended to be discouraged, and took up the defective pair, declaring them the only pair that fitted him, and expressing his deep regret that they were not perfect. The salesman examined them, and pronounced the defect unimportant. Ned re-examined, complained, and regretted again. The salesman, growing weary, offered them at a re- 484 HOUSEHOLD READING. duced price , Ned offered a still lower price, tried the shoes again, threw them from him, and rose to leave the store. The salesman, unwilling to lose a customer, wrapped up the shoes, and handed them to him, saying, " There, take them at your own price." Ned took them, and left the store, greatly pleased with his cunning and its success, triumphant. He had saved a quarter of a dollar for himself. He had haggled, deceived, had been mean, had been false, for a quarter of a dollar, and he was satisfied ! Are good behavior, manlines, justice, honesty, worth no more ? What ! will any one sell his truth, his honor, his good conscience, for money? Ned sold his for twenty-five cents, well pleased with the bargain. " What do you think of that ? " he said to his father as he boastfully exhibited his purchase, and the silver he had re- tained. " You always were good at a bargain, Ned," was his fa- ther's complacent answer. " I could n't have done as well. These shoes are well worth a dollar and a half." But he did not tell Ned that he ought to have paid the full price for them. He had never taught him that every man should have a fair equivalent for his property. On the con- trary, he had encouraged him in taking advantage of others by praising his tricks in trade, commending him as " good at a bargain." Grown to manhood, Ned Hallett still cultivated and prac- tised his sharpness, and for a time with success. But he be- came known, and people were suspicious and watchful, and gave him few opportunities to make his good bargains. At last his skill and cunning were employed in an insur- ance fraud, which was discovered, and led to his conviction and imprisonment. His father was an anxious listener at his trial, but no one could think that he had any satisfaction in the sharpness then developed. When the shameful and dread sentence of guilt was pro- nounced, he covered his face with his hands. He could not MARANATHA. 485 look upon the son whom he had helped to ruin, whom he had encouraged in his first steps toward crime. It was a heart-sickening scene when father and son first met in the narrow prison-cell. Eacli looked at the other with reproach. Each blamed the other for the pain and shame he suffered. " This is a bad bargain, Ned," said the old njan, weakly. " You 've ruined us all." " Ruined you ! Who ruined me ? " exclaimed the prisoner, in a tone that stung the old man to the heart. " /was ruined when you called me ' good at a bargain ' instead of dishonest, when you praised my trickery instead of punishing it. ' Good at a bargain,' when for knives and pencil-cases I must pay in prison-walls, convict labor, and a felon's name ! Call you a man ' good at a bargain ' when he sells even his soul for a bawble ? for a piece of gold ? " MARANATHA. WHAT single verse of the Bible contains more that is suited to awaken anxious inquiry than is the one con- taining the word heading this article ? "If any man love not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be anathema ; maranatha." The original word, here rendered any man, is the same found in Christ's address to Nicodemus, " Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God " ; and it is the most comprehensive possible. By anatheina is meant what is devoted to destruction ; an accursed thing or person. Applied to the latter, it denotes one excluded from the favor of God, and delivered over .to perpetual despair. MaranaiJia is a " Syro-Chaldee expression signifying ' the Lord is to come, i. e. will come to take vengeance on the disobedient and vicious.,' " 486 feOl/SEHOLD READING. What constitutes a person, anathema ? By doing or bj not doing what, will an accountable being on earth become ac- cursed, devoted to destruction ? The passage of Scripture already quoted informs us. " If any man love not the Lord '^esus Christ,''^ he is anathema. It is not, then, necessary that an individual should be extravagantly wicked in the estima- tion of the world, in order to be accursed. Not a single out- ward act of transgression is requisite to render one anathema. He may be such, while regarded as a model of politeness in the fashionable world. A person may be adorned with the highest intellectual gifts and acquirements, yet be anathema. Simply a lack of love to Christ brings one under this con- demning term. This is what the Holy Ghost affirms, and we do not believe that he has said aught anywhere which demands more serious meditation. They are anathema that do not love the Lord Jesus Christ, and tvho are they that fall thus under condemnation ? Who have not such love ? Are in- stances rare or of frequent occurrence in which it is want- ing? Would it be difficult to find an individual, whether young or old, who is anathema, because he loves not the Me- diator ? Is it probable that ten of such could be found in any community of a thousand souls ? The Lord Jesus Christ ! He is altogether lovely ; the be- loved of the Father ; the compassionate friend of sinners ; the world's Saviour. Who can read the holy records of his com- ing, and doing, and suffering, without loving him ? Does not every knee, where Jesus is known, bend in adoration of him? Can there be a heart which does not glow with pure and en- rapturing delight in him ? If any man do not feel thus to- ward him, how must the delinquent's rational powers all cry out against him ! Surely reason commands the heart to love God's Son, sincerely and supremely. Every honoralile motive prompts to the same course. What is the actual state of the case ? How do most persons stand affected toward the Sav- iour ? Is he enthroned within them ? In the pre? ence of Him who searches the heart, what, reader, is thy response ? Dost MARANATHA. 487 thou love the Lord Jesus Christ ? Art thou an anathema or not ? By thj fruits thou mayst know thyself. Is the will of the Messiah thy law of life ? Canst thou, for Christ's sake, part with a foot, a hand, or an eye ? "Wouldst thou burn at the stake, rather than forsake this holy Master ? Art thou hated of the world, because thou belongest unto the Saviour ? " If ye were of the world, the world would love his own ; but because ye are not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore the world hateth you." Thus spake Jesus to his disciples, and furnished them with one test of attachment to himself. " The prince of this world cometh," said the Saviour, " and hath nothing in me." How much of a hold has tlmt prince upon thee? Is thy " life hid with Christ in God " ? The above questions have been varied and multiplied, to assist the reader to settle the point whether or not he is an anathema. For " if any person love not the Lord Jesus Christ," he is anathema. what terror this Divine an- noimcement contains for those destitute of the specified love ! Alas ! what numbers are without it ! It is not difficult to find persons who have no more afiec- tion for Immanuel than have the rocks of the earth. Ah, the difficulty is in finding examples of devout attachment to Jesus. Omniscient God, thou seest thy well-beloved Son despised of men. The great majority of all to whom he is named hate him with all the heart. We seem to see anathemas falling in showers upon every community. thou Most High ! in thy presence myriads are labelling them- selves as candidates for a woful eternity. Upon their own souls they are writing the designation, — anathema. 488 HOUSEHOLD READING. THE SILENCE OP SCRIPTURE. THERE are many things not revealed to us in " the Ora- cles of God " which we are very desirous to know. "We sometimes wonder why the curtain hiding these things is dropped, when other matters, which we account of far less in- terest to us, have so much light shed upon them. Had it devolved upon us to have made a volume for the instruction of mankind, and had all knowledge been committed to us for this purpose, we should probably have made known the nature of the sin, and particulars of the fall of the apostate angels ; have unfolded more minute descriptions of the in- visible world, the relations of the departed dead to the liv- ing ; many items touching the personal appearance, domestic habits, and childhood of Christ ; the manner in which he passed his time between his resurrection and ascension ; a much more full statement relative to Mary his mother ; many forms of prayer instead of one form ; and an exact form for the administration of Gospel ordinances, instead of no form whatever. This we probably should have done, be- cause that communications on these points would be es- pecially welcome to the curiosity of men is apparent from the fact that this deficiency apocryphal Gospels, Moham- med, Swedenborg, Romanists, and Mormons have endeavored to supply. Now the sacred penmen doubtless felt as we do. They had curiosity as well as we, and as strong as we, for they were flesh and blood as we are. Had they, then, been left to them- selves, they would have discoursed upon these very subjects which we have specified. They would have deemed such a course peculiarly fit and important. Had uninspired men written the Bible, knowing how glad they themselves would have been to be informed of curious matters, and aware that others were like themselves in this particular, and conse- THE SILENCE OF SCEIPTUBE. 489 qucntly that a book imparting knowledge on these topics of inquiry would be eagerly sought, they would not have failed to make their volume popular and attractive by teaching con- cerning them. And why have they not so done ? Simply because they were under the guidance of a Power above themselves ! They " wrote as they were moved to write by the Holy Ghost," wrote " what the Spirit within them signi- fied," and that only. Hence the very silence of Scripture is evidence of the in- spiration of Scripture. Truly is it observed by Archbishop Whately, " The Christian revelation stands distinguished from all other religions in its omission of everything that would serve merely to pamper vain curiosity. We have in the con- trast thus presented, in the wisdom and dignified simplicity of the Scriptures with the idle and arrogant pretensions of human fraud and folly, a plain proof that our Scriptures were not of man's devising, that no impostor would, and no enthu- siast could, have written them." Was the Bible a human production, it would be found at- tempting to clear up those mysteries which now perplex mortals, and essaying to open up avenues of light to those things into which mankind earnestly desire to look. Says Trench, in his Hulsean Lectures : " It is not only what Scripture says, but its very silence, which is instructive for us. It was remarked by one wise man of another, that more might be learned from his questions than from another man's answers. With yet higher truth might it be said that the silence of Scripture is more instructive than the speech of other books." Not from neglect, but from wise design, are the utterances of Scripture confined within their present range. It is well that " the Oracles of God " are silent where man would have them speak ; for it shows that they are " the Oracles of Crodj and not of man, — the Oracles of Him " whose glory it is to conceal a thing," though thereby the pride of creatures is humbled, and the curiosity of creatures disappomtetl. 490 HOUSEHOLD READING. LILY BELL. WHEN the autumn winds were sighing All among the leafless trees, And the autumn leaves were dying, Floating down on every breeze ; "Where the chilly, damp winds dally With the trembling asphodel, Down into the silent valley "Went our darling Lily Bell. Angel bands we knew were waking Sweetest music for her ear, And our weary hearts were breaking, "While she knew no shade of fear. Angel bands were bending o'er her, And she heard their music swell ; Heaven's bright gate was just before her, Darling, loving Lily Bell. "Where the pale, sweet blossoms quiver By the dark and swelling tide. Entered she the silent river ; Soon she gained the other side. Angels welcomed her to heaven, Evermore with Christ to dwell, And a golden harp was given To our darling Lily Bell. So we smoothed the golden tresses From the pallid marble brow ; And with many fond caresses Touched the lip and cheek of snow. Then we brought a snow-white blossom, For she loved the flowers full well, And we placed it on the bosom Of our darling Lily Bell. OUR SENIOR DEACON. 491 And we twined some fragrant flowers 'Mid her clustering, golden hair; Oft in morning's dewy hours Had she gathered such to wear. Then, where autumn leaves had shaded All the quiet woodland dell, And the blossoms fair had faded, Laid our darling Lily Bell. OUR SENIOR DEACON. WE think our Senior Deacon is a good man, a sincere friend of Christ and the Church. But he has such an odd way of showing his piety that many have little con- fidence in it. He is generous to a fault ; will labor and deny himself for the cause of Christ, and the interests of the Church. Though a poor man, he will give liberally for the support of the Gospel, and for the house of God, and for missions. He gives from principle, cheerfully. But then his money must be expended precisely according to his plan, or there will be trouble in the church and society. If others decline to give according to their means, he would, if pos- sible, force them to do it. He is a man of power, and he knows it, and will make others feel it. While the cause ad- vances, he is hopeful, and zealous, and useful. He is industrious and fond of business, always ready for a new enterprise. He will rise early and work late, if he can only at once see the visible effects of his labor. He is ex- tremely impatient if he can't see energetic action in the Church. He is very ingenious, able to construct machinery, and al- most any kind of building, from a vessel to a dwelling-house. It is said he can build a church and scat it, and, with a little aid, organize the body to occupy it, and feels confident that 492 HOUSEHOLD READING- if he could hire a minister of the right kind he could run the whole machine. He has a plan for carrying on everything of this kind, and feels sure of success if others would only fall in with him, and lend him their aid. He thinks that if we only put the machine in order, and then apply the power, we shall inevitably obtain the result. He does not deny the in- fluences of the Spirit, but says it is promised, and he would vigorously apply the means to secure a revival at once. If the iron is blunt, he would put forth more strength. If the iron is too cold and hard to be shaped, he would smite it till it gets heated. His peculiarities are prominent, and he seems proud of them, and nurses them so that they grow with his age, become more apparent and unyielding. Though younger than his pastor in age and in his religious life, he imagines he has vastly more experience. He reasons as if a man of education and reading cannot be a man of observation and experience. In his opinion, his own experience is worth more than the expe- rience of all his brethren. He has one habit which I have been sorry to notice in some preachers. It is a habit of fretting and finding fault with the coldness and carelessness of the Church, when the cold and careless ones that need the rebuke are mostly ab- sent. Why is it that some preachers are so pleasing and laudatory in fair weather, when the house is filled with worldly professors and impenitent hearers, and on the next stormy Sabbath (when the worldlings, self-satisfied, are at home) pour out the vials of their censure on the few faithful ones that have denied themselves and exposed themselves to get to the house of God ? Though getting old, the Deacon is fond of new things. He is opposed to a permanent ministry, and believes in evan- gelists and stated supplies. He believes the world is going faster, and if we would keep up with the times, we must often get fresh hands, and use engines operating upon the high-pressure principle. He would put the Ark of the Lord NO SECT IN HEAVEN. 493 in a new cai't, and propel it by locomotives of the highest power constructed with the last improvements. His oddities and eccentricities render him unpopular, and some say there is a streak of monomania in his mind ; but others affirm that " there is method in his madness," and adduce facts to prove it. His poverty will doubtless follow him through life ; for he is so enamored of the credit system, that he has no sooner paid one debt than he contracts two more if he can. The hardest charges against him respect his pecuniary affairs. He has a horror of that text, " Owe no man anything " ; and I hardly know how he could endure a faithful sermon on that text. Of course, his earnest prayers and generous contributions are by many counted of little value. How sad is the fact that many religious men of talent, energy, and influence will, by such means, paralyze their moral powers and destroy their usefulness ! NO SECTS IN HEAVEN. TALKING of sects quite late one eve, What one and another of saints believe, That night I stood in a troubled dream By the side of a darkly-flowing stream. And a " Churchman" down to the river came, When I heard a strange voice call his name, " Good father, stop ; when you cross this tide You must leave your robes on the other side." But the aged father did not mind, And his long gown floated out behind As down to the stream his way he took, His hands firm hold of a gilt-edged book. 494 HOUSEHOLD BEADING. " I 'm bound for heaven, and when I 'm there I shall want my book of Common Prayer, And though I put on a starry crown, I should feel quite lost without my gown." Then he fixed his eye on the shining track, But his gown w^as heavy and held him back. And the poor old father tried in vain A single step in the flood to gain. I saw him again on the other side, But his silk gown floated on the tide. And no one asked, in that blissful spot, If he belonged to " The Church " or not. Then down to the river a Quaker strayed, His dress of a sober hue was made, " My hat and coat must be all of gray, I cannot go any other way." Then he buttoned his coat straight up to his chin And staidly, solemnly, waded in. And his broad-brimmed hat he pulled down tight Over his forehead, so cold and white. But a strong wind carried away his hat. And he sighed a few moments over that, And then, as he gazed to the farther shore, The coat slipped oflP, and was seen no more. Poor, dying Quaker, thy suit of gray Is quietly sailing — away — away. But thou 'It go to heaven, as straight as an arrow, Whether thy brim be broad or narrow. Next came Dr. Watts with a bundle of psalms Tied nicely up in his aged arms, . And hynms as many — a very wise thing. That the people in heaven, " all round," might sing. NO SECTS IN HEAVEN. 495 But I thought that he heaved an anxious sigh, As he saw that the river ran broad and high, And looked rather surprised, as, one by one. The Psalms and Hymns in the wave went down. And after him, with his MSS., Came Wesley, the pattern of godliness. But he cried, " Dear me, what shall I do ? The water has soaked them through and through." And there, on the river, far and wide, Away they went on the swollen tide. And the saint, astonished, passed through alone, Without his manuscripts, up to the throne. Then gravely walking, two saints by name, Down to the stream together came. But as they stopped at the river's brink, I saw one saint from the other shrink. " Sprinkled or plunged, may I ask you, friend, How you attained to Ufe's great end ? " " Thus, with a few drops on my brow " ; " But I have been dipped, as you '11 see me now." " And I really think it will hardly do. As I 'm ' close communion,' to cross with you, You 're bound, I know, to the realms of bliss. But you must go that way, and I '11 go this." And straightway plunging with all his might, Away to the left — his friend at the right, Apart they went from this world of sin. But how did the brethren " enter in " ? And now where the river was rolling on, A Presbyterian church went down ; Of women, there seemed an innumerable throng, But the men I could count as they passed along. 496 HOUSEHOLD READING. And concerning the road they could never agree, The Old, or the New way, which it could be ; Nor ever a moment paused to think That both would lead to the river's brink. And a sound of murmuring long and loud Came ever up from the moving crowd, " You 're in the Old way, and I 'm in the New, That is the false, and this is the true," Or, " I 'm in the Old way, and you 're in the New, That is the false, and this is the true." But the brethren only seemed to speak, Modest the sisters walked, and meek, And if ever one of them chanced to say "What troubles she met with on the way, How she longed to pass to the other side, Nor feared to cross over the swelling tide, A voice arose from the brethren then, " Let no one speak but the ' holy men.' For .have ye not heard the words of Paul? * O let the women keep silence all.' " I watched them long, in my curious dream, Till they stood by the border of the stream. Then, just as I thought, the two ways met. But all the brethren were talking yet, And would talk on, till the heaving tide Carried them over, side by side ; Side by side, for the way was one, The toilsome journey of life was done. And priest and Quaker, and all who died, Came out alike on the other side ; No forms or crosses, or books had they. No gowns of silk, or suits of gray. No creeds to guide them, or MSS., For all had put on " Christ's righteousness." GUNGA: OR, THE "ALL-BAD" AND THE "ALL-GOOD." 497 GUNGA: OR, THE "ALL-BAD" AND THE "ALL GOOD." THE long, dreary rain had scarcely ceased its constant patter for weeks, against the window of the sitting- room of a bamboo cottage in Northwestern Burmah. A lady stood by the window, looking beyond the trickling drops that chased each other down the water-dimmed panes in weary succession, looking beyond the limes, the plantains, and the cocoanuts that embosomed the little mission home, upon the swollen banks of the rapid Brahmaputra, one of those " twin rivers " of Asia, rising in the same region with the Ganges, flowing separately hundreds of miles, and then uniting again to pour their waters by a double mouth into the Bay of Bengal. If you had not looked closely, you might have thought she was idly watching the muddy stream that filled its low banks to overflowing, or some native boat gliding rapidly upon ils swollen surface ; or perhaps recalling the sad calamity which befell their former mission home in Sadiya, when, three years before, one of the four long- looked-for missionaries who was nearing their town was drowned in this same river, in sight of the mission station he so eagerly sought. But had you observed carefully, you would have felt sure that neither the river nor the driving rain held her attention. Tears were slowly cours- ing down her cheeks, which Time had scarcely furrowed ; though he had mingled a few delicate threads of silver with the soft brown curls that shaded her thoughtful face. The present was lost sight of for the moment, and warm thoughts were busy with the past. A curiously carved secretary, of dark wood, stood near the window, and on its top a Chinese tray, filled with bright Patna toys, — a child's tea-set. One hand lay carelessly on the window's 32 498 - HOUSEHOLD READING. ledge, while the fingers of the other toyed absently with a scarlet sugar-bowl edged with bright green and bands of shining black. The little dishes were too fresh and glossy to have been worn by childish fingers, — not a bro- ken knob or handle told of childish use. They were a new set, only there to fill the place of an old one, which had often stood there when busy fingers had grown weary, and left them for their good-night pillows. And where were the little ones ? Ah ! it was that question with which memory was busy ; tugging at that which ever lies nearest a mother's heart. One, the little boy of five, the most tenderly cherished, and, if possible, the best beloved, because for months a patient sufferer from a terrible disease peculiar to the climate of India, lay now sweetly sleeping in his turf- covered bed in a cemetery at Calcutta ; the infant form of another lay alone near their home in another part of Burmah ; and yet another, the first-born, who had early given her heart to the Saviour, and been early called home, was separated from them by the ocean, and slept sweetly at last in her mother's native valley in New England. She had been first buried in a little guarded enclosure, but a few steps from their own door, but twice her re- mains had been disturbed by the natives, from the belief that the missionaries were accustomed to bury treasvires in the graves of their dead. She thought of the night when, a few years before, she awoke from a bed of pain in the midst of a severe storm of wind and rain, startled by having dreamed that the little form had been for the second time removed from its resting-place, and s» anxious, from some unaccountable im- pression that it must be true, that her husband, more to calm her fears than that he felt that it could be needful, went with an English friend to the grave, found it re- opened, and securing the remains, kept them secreted in a place of safety until they could be conveyed to America. GUNGA: OR, THE "ALL-BAD" AND THE "ALL-GOOD." 490 The three, sweet in their lives, and so widely separated in death, no doubt shared their pure joys together, where harps of gold are wakened to sweetest praise. And two still were left. She wept not for the three, safely folded by the Good Shepherd ; but, as one after another had been taken, the parents had decided that the two remaining ones could not be brought up in India, and it was but a few months since this mother, now looking indeed so desolate, had returned from America alone, leaving her little boy and girl in Christian homes in New England, where, too, she had taken the remains of her first-born. The tea-set, finger-worn and partly broken, whose place the new Patna toys now occupied, had gone with Lizzie to America ; and Willie's ivory balls and Chinese puzzles were no more scattered over the matting of their empty playroom. These scarlet toys formed the link in the chain which went from the mother's heart across the Atlantic with electric speed, and joined her heart to two little orphaned ones on the other side. She was thinking of the last good-by, the last prayer in which she had knelt by her sobbing children to plead with the Father of us all, that He would, in very deed, be their Father and her stay in the great trial whose depth of bitterness yet remained to be proved. She was thinking of the answer to that prayer, — the new strength that came into her heart, lifting her into a sunlight of peace she had not believed she could feel. She was thinking of the long voyage, — the heart alone on the wide sea, divided painfully between the chil- dren left behind and tlie husband and home and heathen children awaiting her in India, — of the safe return, — the glad and yet sad meeting with her beloved husband, who looked beyond her, when greeting her return, as if he should see two little forms to share their mother's wel- come. It was a picture of the past which gives us one of those glimpses into real missionary life, that dry statis- tics, hurriedly given, fail to open before us. bOO HOUSEHOLD READING. Soon other thoughts seemed chasing away the vision. The tears were brushed back, the toys put into a drawer, out of sight, and leaving the window, the mother crossed the room, and gently opening a door in one corner, revealed a pleasant study, where sat a gentleman bending earnestly over a volume on the table before him. Piles of papers and books lay near, but the work on which his thoughts were intently fixed was a large manuscript, — a copy of the New Testament, which he was translating into the Assamese language ; a work he had commenced nearly seven years before, and which, three years after (in 1849), was completed, and given to an eager and waiting people. " It is enough ! " she said, giving words to the conclusion of her long revery ; " this more than pays for all. I have to come to you yet for strength," she said cheerfully, as she laid her hand on the nearly completed work. " You have been ' thinking ' again," he said pleasantly ; " and then came here for strength. Let us both seek it from the only true Source of strength." The two knelt in prayer. It was a sacred hour ; and not only did they receive new help in their own need, but might not their angels, " who do always behold the face of their Father in heaven," have been stimulated in their watchful care by the earnest petitions which ascended for the dear ones in America ? " I have been thinking, now that they are all gone, of my old wish and plan for receiving some native children into our own house. I would rejoice to take even the lowest Karen to my home and heart." " Perhaps the desire is given to pr^^pare you for the work," replied her husband. Just then a heavy step and voices were heard at the outer door. A man, rough and repulsive in his appearance, stood at the entrance, holding by the hand a very little girl, scarce- ly three years old. He had come to give her to the " good people," if they would have her. " Her mother was dead, and he had no way to care for her." GUNGA : OR, THE " ALL-BAD " AND THE " ALL-GOOD." 501 " Have you no other child old enough to help take care of this one, to give me also ? " He had none but a girl of thirteen, " who was already- sold to her future husband for a pair of oxen." " It will be more than you are able to do, I fear," said her husband. " Not more than I should like to attempt. God will provide a nurse," and the lady took the little brown hand in hers, and her heart warmed toward her first baby " scholar." The man thankfully accepted the lunch of cold rice and roasted yam which were offered him, as he sat on his mat by the cottage door ; and then with perhaps a feeling of relief, rather than regret, went his way, and left the little Naga in her strange new home. Scarcely had she been dressed in her new and neat attire, when, a few days after, a " mountain man," coarse, and almost savage in his manner, led to the missionary's house a stout, bold-looking girl, apparently about twelve or thirteen years of age. *' This is the nurse for Naga, and my second scholar ! " was the teacher's first thought, as the man, stopping at their door, asked in his own broken language if they wanted a very bad child. He could do nothing with her. She would run away and remain in the mountain recesses like a wild girl, — in short, she was "all bad." He had heard that the missionary teacher would take children in his home, and had brought her to them, hoping they could do something for her. The missionaries vainly endeavored to suppress their smiles at this honest statement, but they promised to try the girl in whose countenance they could read nothing, so perfectly immovable seemed every linea- ment of her oval face. Two scholars ! an infant, and Gunga, the all-bad, as nurse ! They soon found there had been no mistake in the description of Gunga. It was most emphatically all- bad. 502 HOUSEHOLD READING. If she had known the Ten Commandments, and sought to try each day how many she could break, it might, in some degree, have accounted for her conduct. " It will never do," said the missionary to his wife one day, after a serious hour of conflict and partial discourage- ment with the incorrigible girl ; " you will wear out between the two, and no good, I fear, come of it." But the same smile that rested on his wife's face, after the prayer in the study on that rainy night, still came, to reply to his fears as she answered : — "I am not discouraged yet. The words of Jeremiah, regarding the Jews, seem whispering hope to me, in spite of her wickedness : ' For I will restore health unto tliee, and I will heal thee of thy wounds, saith the Lord ; because they called tliee an outcast.'' It is ' the guiltiest of the guilty, the vilest of the vile,' who will shine in the brightest robes when they are once washed and purified. It is the ' scarlet and the crimson ' that shall be white as wool and as snow." A year passed away, and Gunga still remained nearly the same. Constant watchfulness, untiring patience, earnest prayer, and unswerving faith were the ties that kept her in the home school. Other children had been added, each different in temperament, each trying enough, but none like Gunga. Little Naga was the growing comfort of the household ; and almost the only spark of affection ever noticed in Gunga was an occasional gleam of hearty good- will toward the ' baby scholar.' Her large scarlet and black Betel box showed treasures gathered by Gunga ; the prettiest necklaces of bright-colored seeds were strung for Naga, and the gayest feathers selected for her curiously constructed little toy fans : but woe to even these, if by chance she offended Gunga, or in any way taxed her pa- tience too far ! The suddenly snapped cord would send the scattered seeds of the necklaces in every direction, or make the feathers of her choicest fan fly as suddenly to the GUNGA : OR, THE " ALL-BAD " AND THE " ALL-GOOD." 5C3 wind ; a coarse laugh, or an indignant exclamation of dis- gust, being the only response to the pitiful cries of poor Naga. Unless, indeed, with greater marks of depravity, her cries of dismay were suddenly stopped by horrible threats of what the bronze image of Juggernaut, which stood on a shelf in the study, would do for little girls who cried within a mile of his presence. But in spite of all this, Gunga was not without some sober thoughts, and although no good fruit was to be seen as the result of the patient instruction she daily received, something was no doubt working in her inquisi- tive mind, more than always appeared on the surface. More than once her kind teacher had seen a curious look of contempt cross her features when she was explaining the folly of many things believed by the Hindus about their gods ; and a peculiar laugh, showing anything but reverence for the Divine powers of Juggernaut, was all the expression she gave of her attention to the explanation she once sought, as to the reason why in all the images of this god the fingers and toes were left in an unfinished state. She had no faith in the idle tales of her own people, and none in the wiser counsels of the missionaries. Naga was sitting in her favorite corner one afternoon, and Gunga, on the matting beside her, was busied with forming words, from letter-blocks she had herself prepared for her little charge, when, looking up, Gunga's attention was suddenly attracted to her mistress. She sat near the little window by the secretary, and again tears were rolling- down her cheeks, and blurring, as they fell, the large open sheet of closely written paper before her. Gunga had never seen her mistress weep. She left the blocks and Naga, and stole softly up to the lady's side. She stood so long, looking silently into her face, that the tears ceased to flow ; the lady's attention was drawn from herself, and her arm gently placed around the wondering girl. " I am not sad, -Gunga ; I was crying for joy ! " 504 HOUSEHOLD READING. Gunga's eyes opened wide, and her mouth also, in her vain endeavor to comprehend such a strange statement. She did not venture a word, but looked, with a solemn earnestness never before seen on her face, into her teach- er's eyes. " Yes, I was crying for joy, Gunga. Listen, and I will tell you. I once had a dear little boy ; not brown, but white and fair as a lily. He died, and we put him in the ground, and then another little boy was given us, and we buried him, and a sweet little daughter, too, was taken from us, and none of them are buried where I can often go to look at their little graves. But away — very far away — I have still a dear little girl, fair, and very precious to me. She could not live here. She would have died, too, and I took her away to another land, where I once lived, and left her there, to come back to India, and teach you, and other children, who are taught to pray to idol gods, that can do no one any good, about the true Saviour. " And now this letter is from that dear child away in America ; and what do you think she has told me, that has made my heart so full of joy ? It is that she has given her heart to this Saviour, and loves him, — loves him more than she loves her darling brother ; yes, more than she loves her father and mother whom she never again expects to see in tliis world. I could not live away from them if I did not love yon. Gunga, if you would love this same Saviour, pray to him, ask him very earnestly, with all your heart, and he can give you, too, a neiv heart ; and you will make me cry again for joy. I will call you, then, my child, you shall have her name, and I will rejoice that I could leave her to bring you to Christ." Suddenly, without a word, Gunga darted from the room. For days she scarcely appeared again, and when she was about her usual task, caring for Naga, there was a strange look upon her face, — a something which seemed almost like despair. GUNGA : OE, THE "ALL-BAD" AND THE "ALL-GOOD." 505 But one morning she came into the teacher's room with that look all gone. There was a sweet, earnest light in her eye, as she came up tremblingly, and, bursting into a flood of tears, exclaimed, — " I think I love Lizzie's Saviour ! " Had an arrow pierced the lady's heart, she would not have felt a keener thrill ; but it was a thrill of joy ! Gunga, the all-bad ! Was it possible she had been sitting at the Saviour's feet, and had now come — a repetition of the old miracle — clothed, and in her right mind ? " Pity my unbelief ! " was all she could exclaim, as with streaming eyes she embraced the wondering child. It was a happy evening in the Bamboo Cottage. Words cannot portray the sacredness of that joy. Songs of new praise ascended from its reed-thatched roof, and reached the ears of Him who waked it. And Gunga was changed indeed. Others in their home school and in the daily mission school had given evidence from time to time of a change of heart, but in none was this so apparent as in Gunga's case. The crimson had be- come like snow. The whole energy of her nature was now bent in an opposite direction to her past life. She lived for years in the missionary's family, a beautiful example of the spirit of Christ. She was married by the missionary to a Chris- tian convert, and their home was a Christian home. The family altar was set up, and cherished with a sacredness which might put to blush many families who had never known an all-bad among their inmates. The lady still lives, and her husliand also. Worn with the labor of more than a score of years in India, they have been permitted to return to their native land, and embrace the children, once given up, as was Isaac, wholly to the Lord. The Lord has provided for them " another sacrifice." And now, as they look back over the labor and the gain of their life of toil, and faith, and self-denial, — upon the 506 HOUSEHOLD READING. success of many efforts, — the unlocking for thousands of heathen the priceless riches of the New Testament, — the conversion of many, and the education of many more, perhaps no event of those twenty years brings a more peculiar thrill of pleasure in the recollection, than the wonderful change of Gunga, the " all-bad " ; and there may come to them no sweeter hope, when their labors are all finished, than that of meeting among the welcoming ransomed ones Gunga the " all-good." And then, as now, will they give all the praise " to Him who alone is able to prevent us from falling, and present us faultless before his presence, with exceeding joy." A HIDDEN CROSS. IT is to be feared that many are deceived in entering upon a religious life, and uniting with the Church of God. But no man shall ever be able to say that Christ has deceived him. He meets us at the threshold, and sets forth, in simplest and plainest terms, the conditions of discipleship. He does not promise riches, or respectability, or position, or influence, but a cross. " Then said Jesus unto his disciples. If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me." This is not to be resolved into a Roman proverb, which called the afflictions and sorrows common to man everywhere, crosses, in allusion to death by crucifixion, which was a very frequent occurrence among the Romans. Christ spoke the words to simple and unlettered Jews, who had hardly been outside the limits of Judaea, and cannot be supposed to have been acquainted with the proverb so familiar at Rome. Christ's words must have sounded strange in their ears ; taking a cross, and bearing it after him ! What could it A HIDDEN CROSS. 507 mean ? Nothing could possibly be further from their thoughts than that Christ should ever bear a cross, that most hideous and revolting of all the instruments of tor- ture and death. Still less was it to be believed that He, who was to establish a kingdom surpassing in glory and magnificence those of Solomon and the Csesars combined, was to hang in agony, like a Roman slave, and expire upon a frightful cross of wood ! Yet they must have come to feel gradually, as the same words, for substance, were often repeated by the Master, that there was a terri- ble meaning in them, so terrible, even, that they did not care to understand. It does not appear that they ever asked for an explanation, but rather declined to receive it, when Christ sought to unfold it to them, as the tragical events came hastening on which should make all plain forever. When they saw him actually " bearing his cross," and fainting under the burden, by reason of the weakness induced by the exceeding sorrows of his soul ; saw him fastened with nails to that cross ; saw him dead upon it, as if He had been the incarnation of all blackest human guilt, — with what amazement and terror must they have remembered those now fearful words, " Let him take up his cross and follow me." Some of those men followed Christ literally in the matter, and died as he had died, on a cross, and for his name. But all learned, by the teaching of the Spirit of God, and their own personal experience, that the ultimate meaning of Christ was not found in a wooden cross and a literal death, but, more difficult still, in a daily and life-long dying to the world and sin. So Paul says, " I am cruci- fied with Christ, nevertheless I live." And again, "I pro- test by your rejoicing, which I have in Christ Jesus our Lord, I die daily." And lest any should suppose that his case is peculiar, by reason of the special high service to which the Master has called him, he says of all the true dis- ciples, " They that are Christ's have crucified the flesh, with the affections and lusts." 508 HOUSEHOLD READING. It is only too plain what Christ meant by taking up the cross and following him. His language marks the sharp and irreconcilable hostility between the spirit of the world and the religion of Jesus Christ. To he a Christian is to bear a cross, and that not occasionally for a day, but constantly, every day, from the beginning to the end of the course. It is not poverty, nor sickness, nor pain, but the patient, per- sistent conflict with the strongest passions and most rooted habits of the soul ; passions and habits so cardinal that they constitute the man ; and so their subjugation is, with the utmost precision of terms, the man dying ; and the process of subjugation is so painful, and slow, and lingering, that Christ calls it a bearing of his own cross by a man to the place of his own crucifixion. Could anything possibly be plainer than, that, since every one has the same sinful nature to be subdued, whoever will be a disciple of Christ must pass through the same painful process of dying to the world and sin ? Is this the spirit which marks the piety of the present day ? Does each ne«v convert, as he enters the ranks of the Church, and names the name of Christ, resolutely take up his cross, and patiently bear it after the Master ? Is the visible Church a noble company of cross-bearers, glorying in this badge of discipleship, broadly and evidently distinguished from the world ? • Alas ! the great religious problem of the age seems to be, how one can be a Christian on the easiest terms, — with the smallest amount of doctrine to be believed, and the smallest amount of experience to be passed through. Deep convic- tions of sin are not required, and are not found ; the " law- work," on which the fathers laid so much stress, is a thing of the past. The gate is not so very strait, or the way so very narrow. The cross, too, is altogether changed. It is a thing of art and ornament. It is fashioned with skill, and covered with gold, and points the spire of the proud Christian temple ; it is wreathed with flowers to win admiration among CHRISTIAN DOCTRINES. 509 the adornments of a festive occasion ; it is richly set with pearls and diamonds, and suspended on the neck of beauty. All its repulsiveness is gone. It suggests nothing of sacrifice, nothing of conflict with subtle foes, resistance to mighty forces of evil ; nothing of the lingering and painful death of strong passions having their seat at the very centre of the spiritual nature. Is there not pressing and mournful need of a new order of spiritual revival in the churches, — a revival in which the power of the Holy Ghost shall be not less manifest and con- spicuous than the agency of man, and which shall restore to its proper place in doctrinal belief and in the religious life a hidden cross ? CHRISTIAN DOCTRINJIS. SO essential to spiritual life is the faith which they cherish, that it is important for Christians to familiarize them- selves with lucid statements of the cardinal truths of our religion. It were well for the members of our churches habit- ually to study their creeds. And we would commend to our readers, for contemplative perusal, the following formula of Christian doctrine, which happily expresses those great prin- ciples of the faith once delivered to the saints which it has ever been the object of the " Congregationalist " to maintain and defend : — " We believe that there is but one God, the Creator, Pre- server, and Governor of the Universe ; a Being of perfect and adorable attributes. " That the Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments were given by inspiration of God, and are the only perfect and suf- ficient rule of faith and practice. " That the Godhead is revealed in the Scriptures as the 610 HOUSEHOLD BEADING. Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost; and that these three, equal in all divine attributes, are one God. " That God's eternal purposes respect all actual events ;. that in forming and executing them, he takes counsel only of himself, and that the principles and administration of his government are holy, just, and good. " That man was originally holy ; but that, by sinning against God, he fell from that state, and that, in consequence of the fall, all mankind are by nature entirely destitute of holiness, and disposed to sin. " That Jesus Christ, by his humiliation, sufferings, and death, has made an atonement sufficient for the redemption of all mankind ; and that pardon and eternal life are, through him, freely offered to all. " That repentance and faith in Christ are the only con- ditions on which any can avail themselves of the offers thus graciously made ; and that all, while left to themselves, do refuse to comply with these conditions. " That the Holy Spirit, by his regenerating energies, doth influence some to comply with these conditions ; and that those whom he renews are 'kept by the power of God, through faith unto salvation.' " "We believe in the resurrection of the dead, and in a day of judgment ; when all mankind are to receive a sentence of retribution, according to what they have done ; and that the righteous will then enter into life, and the wicked will go away into punishment, both of which will be without end. " Moreover, we believe that in this world the Lord Jesus Christ has a visible Church, the terms of admission to which are a public profession of faith in Christ, sustained by credible evidence. That Baptism and the Lord's Supper are ordi- nances to be observed in the Church to the end of the world ; that none but members of the visible Church, in regular standing, should partake of the Lord's Supper, and that only they and their households are proper subjects for the ordi- nance of Baptism." THE CONGREGATIONALIST AND BOSTON RECORDER. 511 THE CONGREGATIONALIST AND BOSTON RECORDER. THE Boston Recorder, which was established in January, 1816, and the Congregationalist, which was established in May, 1849, were consolidated under one proprietorship and editorship on the 24th of May, 1867. It has been a question much discussed whether the Re- corder was the earliest religious newspaper. The answer depends upon what is meant by the question. If by the term " religious newspaper " is intended simply a periodical containing religious news, it is clear that such periodicals had been in existence many years before the Recorder was issued. Thomas Prince's Christian History, published weekly in Boston during 1744 and 1745, was of that character ; although specially devoted to gathering up the results of the " Great Awakening." The United Brethren and the London Missionary Society sent forth sheets, at regular in- tervals, carrying the records of their work. The Religious Remembrancer, which was started at Philadelphia, 4th Sep- tember, 1813, and the Weekly Recorder, Chilicothe, Ohio, the Christian Monitor, Richmond, Va., and the Christian Visitant, Albany, N. Y., of about the same date, all seem to have been modifications, of a little different form and larger size, of the same idea which had been working itself out in the missionary periodicals to which we have referred. All of these appear to have been exclusively religious. The Boston Recorder, if we have rightly read all the voluminous testimony, was unquestionably the first peri- odical issued which engrafted the religious idea upon the common newspaper. It was edited from a Christian point of view, and yet it occupied its columns largely with the common news of the day ; being intended " to make the common newspaper, which circulates everywhere, carry 512 HOUSEHOLD READING. a knowledge of the operations in the religious world to every village in the land." It was, therefore, the pioneer and father of religious newspapers, in the sense in which that term is now used in the ordinary speech of men, — the first full super-royal weekly sheet, complete in all the departments of a newspaper, ever issued after the fashion of what is now intended by the term " religious newspaper." It was founded, as we have said, in January, 1816, by Deacon Nathaniel Willis, and Mr. Sydney E. Morse was its first editor. In 1817 Rev. Richard S. Storrs of Braintree took the place of Mr. Morse as editor. In 1825 Mr. Gerard Hallock took the place of Mr. Storrs, bringing with him the Telegraph (which had been published but a single year), and becoming equal proprietor with Mr. "Willis. In 1826 Mr. Hallock sold his half of the united paper to Rev. Asa Rand. In 1830 Mr. Rand disposed of his interest to Mr. Willis, who employed Professor Calvin E. Stowe as assistant editor. In about a year Mr. Stowe retired, and Mr. E. C. Tracy took his place, which he held until 1834, when Rev. Joseph Tracy assumed the editorship. In 1837 Mr, Tracy retired and Deacon Willis edited the paper, with the assistance of special contributors, prominent among whom was Rev. Parsons Cooke, D. D. In 1844 Deacon Willis sold the paper to Rev. Martin Moore, who received the assistance of Rev. Dr. Storrs, Rev. E. D. Moore, Rev. A. W. McClure, and J. F. Moore, Esq., in its management. In 1849 the New Englayid Puritan, which had been started in 1840 by Rev. Dr. Parsons Cooke, was united with the Recorder, under the name of the Puritan Recorder, the consolidated sheet being published by Moore, Woodbridge, & Co., under the joint editorship of Messrs. Cooke and Woodbridge. In 1853 Rev. S. H. Riddell purchased Mr. Woodbridge's interest and succeeded him as office editor. About this time the subscription list of the Hartford Oongregationalist was purchased, and its existence merged in that of the Puritan Recorder. In 1858 Mr. Riddell retired, and Rev. THE CONGKEGATIONALIST AND BOSTON RECORDER. 513 N. Munroe of Bradford took his place, tho paper reviving the old name and style of the Boston Recorder. In No- vember, 1862, Rev. E. P. Marvin, D. D,, purchased the interest of Dr. Cooke, and became associated with the management, and in the following May he became sole owner and editor ; which relation he sustained until the consolidation of the Recorder with its younger sister. The Congregationalist was started in May, 1849. Its first proprietors were Deacon Galen James and Deacon Edward W. Fay ; and its first editors. Rev. Edward Beecher, D. D., Rev. Joseph Haven, Jr., and Rev. I. N. Tarbox ; Rev. E. D. Moore being office editor, and bringing to it the subscription list of the Boston Reporter, owned by him. In December, 1850, Mr. Haven retired to accept a professorship at Amherst, and Rev. Dr. Storrs of Braintree took his place. In 1851 Rev. Mr. Tarbox became Secretary of the American Edu- cation Society, and Rev. H. M. Dexter took his place. In the same year the Christian Times was merged in the Con- gregationalist. In December, 1853, Dr. Beecher retired, and Rev. Dr. A. L. Stone became editor in his place. In Janu- ary, 1856, the old firm of Galen James & Co. was dissolved by the death of Deacon Fay, and Messrs. C. A. Richardson and W. L. Greene were admitted as junior partners. Mr. Richardson assumed the office editorship ; and. Dr. Storrs and Dr. Stone retiring, Mr. Dexter undertook the general editorship, in connection with his pastorate ; the paper being managed on the English plan, — a large number of pastors and others being relied upon for contributions to the editorial columns, under the constant oversight of the leading editor. This arrangement of editing and publishing continued unchanged for ten years, until the 1st January, 1866, when, in consequence of the pressure of parochial cares, Mr. Dexter retired, and the paper came under the general charge of Mr. Richardson, with the assistance of Mr. Samuel Burnham, and the co-operation of several clergymen. On the 1st of May, 1867, the firm of Galen James & Co. was 514 HOUSEHOLD READING. dissolved by the retirement of the senior partner, and the new pubhshing firm of W. L. Greene & Co. took its place, the four partners being W. L. Greene, C. A. Richardson, Rev. H. M. Dexter, and Rev. Horace James. On the 24th of May the two papers were consolidated under the name of T/ie Congregationalist and Boston Recorder, under the proprietorship of Messrs. W. L. Greene & Co., the former owners of the Congregationalist ; the Rev. Dr. Marvin becoming an associate editor of the new journal. It will thus be seen that The Congregationalist and Boston Recorder is the present representative and residuary legatee of the Boston Recorder and Telegraph, of' the New England Puritan, Puritan Recorder, and Hartford Congregationalist, and of the Boston Reporter, Christian Times, and Congrega- tionalist, not to mention the 3Iaine Evangelist, the New Hampshire Congregational Journal and Christian Reporter, and the Illinois Western Indepeiident, whose lists have been absorbed by the Congregationalist at some period of its life. Standing thus as the lineal representative of the oldest religious journal in the world, and of several younger ones which have left a good name behind them ; while enjoying still the strength and enthusiasm of the freshness of youth ; managed on a basis of utmost fairness to all " schools " ; and aiming to supply thoroughly and generously all which the churches need and look for in such a journal, The Congregationalist and Boston Recorder enters upon its future with a circulation of nearly thirty thousand subscribers, and the determination, by the grace of God, to merit — and there- fore the hope to receive — the confidence and love of the denomination from which it speaks, and for which espe- cially it works, and the respect of all, as " a workman that needeth not to be ashamed." Cambridge : Stereotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. I The Congregatioiialist and Boston Recorder. A RELIGIOUS JOURNAL FOR THE FAMILY. Quarto. Price, $ 3.00 per annum, in advance. This Newspaper has been enlarged to the eight-page form, and being the consolidation of the two leading Congregational Journals of New England, it now offers itself as peculiarly- adapted to the wants of Orthodox Congregational families and others, not only who are resident near the home of the Pilgrims, but who, emigrants to the newer portions of the nation, desire to remain in contact still with the spirit of their Fathers. As representing the Boston Recorder, it is the oldest religious newspaper in the world, and it aims to maintain the sound conservatism in doctrine and duty which found exposition for so many years in the columns of that sheet. As representing the Conyregationalist, it seeks still to press all those urgent motives of a practical theology and a safe and Scriptural reform, which good men need to stimulate them to carry the Gospel to every creature, and to make the Gospel to every creature the power of God unto salvation. As the Congregationalist and Recorder, while neither " old school " nor " new school " as such, it is " Orthodox " in doctrine, and " Con- gregational " in polity ; accepting and rejoicing in that broad and catholic temper, which " exalts what is more above that which is less important," declaring its " adherence to the faith and order of the Apostolic and Primitive churches held by our fathers, and substantially as embodied in the Confessions and Platforms which the Synods of 1618 and 1680 set forth and confirmed," and en- deavoring, in a fair and lionorable spirit, to meet all the reasonable wants and supply all the natural demands of our denomination, in that more unified and homogeneous state to which the late National Council has introduced it. It is the partisan neither of Andover nor of New Haven nor of Hartford ; but it seeks to make itself both acceptable and indispensable to each and to all. In this aim it is intended that its Editorial staff shall permanently embody members amply representing those various views which find congenial home in, and which now harmoniously compose, the true Congregationalism of the land. With a circulation which now places it in the very front rank of the religious press of the coun try, — a position shared by not more than a brace of competitors, — the Congreijationalist and Boston Recorder is able to spend upon its weekly composition an amount of money adequate to secure its steady advance even upon that high position of general merit which, in the public con- cession, it has already reached ; and its resources will be unsparingly used, according to the best judgment of its management, to secure for it the ablest discussions of matters of current interest in the State and Commonwealth, the soundest doctrinal essays, the freshest news from the Churches, and the various movements of the cause of Christ, the wisest judgments on our cur- rent literature, the most discreet writing for the little ones, and, in general, whatever is needful to make it as nearly a perfect Religious Family Newspaper as it is possible for its conductors to make it W. L. GREENE & CO., Publishers, 15 Coruhill, Boston, Mass. W. L. Greene, C. A. Richardson, H. M. Dexter, Horace James. in?" Every Subscriber who in sending $3.00 for one year, strictly in advance, for his own copy of the paper, sends also $ 3.00 for advance payment of a new Subscriber, is entitled to the gift of a copy of Household Reading, as a premium. vi