Sunday-school times

              • . ■* w
volume yl PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY AT ONE DOLLAR A YEAR-PHILADELPHIA, JANUARY 30, 1864.
THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL TltfES,
A Weekly Religious Proper.
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For the Sunday-School Times.
The Uneducated Sunday-School.
Bt thh Rbv. Alfred Taylor.
IT is not polite to call people dunces, either
when we address them, or when we speak
of thern behind their backs. Nor would the
name of dunce be exactly the name for the
collection of teachers and scholars in the
school into which we now peep. They do not
desire or intend to be dunces. They do not,
in some instances, even suspect that their
shortcomings in learning are.noticed. But,
so far as any actual gain in religious know¬
ledge is concerned, we might as well put a
company of professed grown-up dunces to the
work of teaching a lot of little dunces.
Here are teachers. Here are scholars. The
teachers have come nominally to instruct the
children in scriptural truth; the children have
come to receive the instruction. It is an
understood thing that the children are not
very learned. It is also an understood
thing that the teachers are sufficiently
yersed in scriptural knowledge, to convey
considerable information to those whom they
profess to teach. These are pleasant theories.
They do not work into practice. The scholars
are verily unlearned; but the teachers are
almost as ignorant as they. In the opening
exercises ofthe school all goes well; the sing¬
ing is done with enthusiasm, and the prayer
is decorously engaged iu. The library books
are rightly attended to, and the attendance is
carefully marked in the class books. It is
when the lesson commences that the trouble
comes. Teacher makes scholar read the verses
several times, and then begins to thrust great
printed questions at him. 'Fuc i-samm is mane
twenty-seventh chapter of Acts, the subject,
Paul's shipwreck. The question is asked, at
the 39th verse, " When day came, what did
they discover?" The child at whom this
question is poked, says that they discovered a
certain creek. " Good child," says the teacher,
and goes on to the next. That child, certainly,
knows all about the lesson. The next printed
question is, " Was this a welcome or an un¬
welcome sight?" Child answers, " Dunno."
Another child says, " Guess it was welcome."
The next says, " Why, no it wasn't; it was
unwelcome." In the diversity of opinions,
teacher is somewhat bothered, and, concluding
not to commit himself, pushes on to the next
question, namely, " What did they do ?" which
in its turn is followed by " What kind of ships
did they have in those days ?" The illiterate
teacher leaves his class as ignorant as when
they began. The dry asking of these ques¬
tions has accomplished nothing. Had the
children read the story of the shipwreck,
without being interrupted by these bony ques¬
tions, they might have been interested and
instructed. A smart teacher, who will take
the trouble to study his lesson and the things
connected with it, and also to study the art
of communicating to others what he knows,
might spend half an hour on these verses, and
awaken such an interest that on the next Sun¬
day, when the doings on the Island of Malta
are before the class, there will not be a vacant
seat or an unprepared lesson.
The world is a little smarter than the Sun¬
day-school in this respect. When teaching is
to be done, it must be done by those who
know something about what they profess to
teach. Let a teacher of music put out his
sign, and advertise to teach pupils. Let the
discovery be made that he knows nothing
about music, or that he has not the gift of
imparting what knowledge he has ; and few
people can be found so simple-minded as to
Bend their children to take lessons of him.
Let a lady apply to a board of school directors
for a situation to teach grammar, geography,
or geometry. If her acquaintance with those
sciences is found to be a3 slender as the ac¬
quaintance of these uneducated teachers with
the Bible, she is informed that the place is not
open to her. The good housekeeper is not
anxious to secure the services of the lady just
landed from the emigrant ship, who honestly
declares that, though she knows nothing
about cookery, she has no objection to taking
the place, and being "taiched."
The difficulty with the band of teachers
before us, is that they have never been taught
how to teach, or what to teach. " Will you
take a class, madam ?" " With a great deal
of pleasure, sir." That is too often the only
fitness, or examination as to fitness. The
teachers mean well. They have listened, all
their lives, to able sermons. But these ser¬
mons were all the religious instruction they
had, and they did not descend into the detail
ot how to teach. They know the leading doc¬
trines of Christianity; but they have not that
intimate knowledge of the Bible and the cir¬
cumstances connect d with Bible history,
which would make them good teachers. Nor
have they all the means of finding out what
to teach and how to teach it.    Their houses
do not abound with commentaries, Bible dic¬
tionaries, concordances, or other scriptural
helps. In many instances their only help,
beyond a reference Bible, is the question book.
And it is a sad fact that most of the question
books now published hinder as much as they
help.
What, then, shall we do for our "unedu¬
cated Sunday-school ?" We must educate it.
We must train it. We must show it how to
teach. We must buy it a good " Teachers'
Library," with all the books published for the
help of people who want to study the word of
God. The beginning of this library will cost
one hundred dollars. After that, spend fifty
dollars a year on it. The teachers must meet
together io study. Not only to read over the
verses, and ask each other the printed ques¬
tions in the question book, but to compare
help with help, idea with idea, Scripture with
Scripture. The pastor, or the superintendent,
or anybody who knows how, must preside,
and put the enterprise through. The study
meeting must be social and pleasant.
The blind cannot lead the blind. Both will
fall into the ditch* Uneducated teachers will
make ignorant scholars.
Bristol, Pa.
For the Sunday-School Times.
THE TEACHER'S LAMENT.
AT the funeral of a Sunday-school scholar
who died suddenly, a female present, not
a relative, was observed to give indications of
unusual sorrow. As sympathizing friends and
acquaintances gathered around the coffin, she
too came near. At the sight of the dear youth,
as he lay so still and pale in death, her grief
became uncontrollable. Her pastor endeavor¬
ing to assuage her anguish, she exclaimed in
tones of hopeless agony—" Oh! for one hour
to talk with that dear boy—he was a member
of my class in Sabbath-school, but oh! I
never warned him of his danger as a sinner,
or besought him to seek the Saviour. And
now he is gone !—so suddenly—and forever
gone !    Oh, for one hour to lead him to Jesus.'"
It was too late. The lost opportunity could
never be recalled. No voice or bitter lamenta¬
tion could awaken the lifeless form. Tbe lid
was closed, and the coffin was lowered to its
final resting place.
Teacher, is there one in your class, a dear
boy or girl, youth or maiden, whom you have
never besought tenderly, earnestly, to repent
and seek the Saviour ? One whom you have
neverwaTOeorto nee TromfBelvraTh tb'cbme?
Remember, the salvation of that soul is under
God, measurably committed to you. Will it,
must it, be lost by your neglect? Oh teacher,
be faithful, lest you mourn when bitter tears
will be unavailing, and the blood of souls be
required at your bands.
Father, mother, the glow of health is upon
the cheek of that boy to-day. Will it be there
to morrow? The merry laugh and gleeful
voice of that daughter cheers and makes glad
your heart to-day. Will the sweet notes
re-echo in your home to-morrow ? What if
the wail of the dying should fall upon your
ear ? Alas, while I write, how many parents
are standing heart-broken, agonizing by the
bedside of dying children I God alone can
fathom or heal their sorrow. Is it well with
your child ? Is that son or daughter safe in
Jesus ? Have you affectionately, with tears,
urged them to repentance and faith in Christ ?
Have you prayed with and for them ? If not,
that hour of keenest sorrow—of endless sepa¬
ration, may come to you!
Oh! there will be mourning
At the judgment seat of Christ.'
Parents and children there will part,
Will part to meet no more! Vt.
For the Sunday-School Tines
AN  INCIDENT.
From a Sunday-school Missionary's Diary.
Manitowoc, Wis.     ")
Wednesday Evening, Jan. 6, '64. /
•»■» /"^OLD continues—roads yet blockaded—
\J railroads said to be suspended.    Two
mornings here 32 degrees below zero."
Sabbath night I was summoned from my
bed to see a very sick young lady, seven miles
distant. A severe test of principle and sym¬
pathy ; but I braved the cold, and only arrived
in time for one hour's interview before her
speech entirely failed. That hour, how pre¬
cious ! how memorable 1 Naturally amiable
and lovely, yet without Christ, she saw her
lost condition, and at the eleventh hour cried
for mercy. Her mother had spent a whole
night in agonizing prayer for her soul, and
now she seemed to find mercy. Said she, " I
feel that my sins are pardoned, and that all is
well. Jesus is my friend and Saviour; he is
with me. Though passing through the shadow
of death, I fear no evil." She delighted to
hear the Scriptures and listen to the voice of
prayer and praise. Then she admonished
all around her, and sent most affecting mes¬
sages to her young friends and associates.
" Tell them," said she, " that the pleasures
and amusements of the world are all vanity.
Religion is the one thing needful. Ol tell
them to serve God, and prepare to meet me in
heaven." A large concourse attended her
funeral this day, and I enforced her dying tes¬
timony and admonitions with marked effect.
I trust the Holy Spirit accompanied the truth,
and tbat it will prove the power of God unto
salvation. I was constrained to leave an ap¬
pointment for next Sabbath, when I hope to
find some fruit of my humble labors. So much
for a little self-sacrifice that terrible night. I
would give you full particulars, but enough.
M. H.
When you go to prayer, remember tou are
going to meet your best, yonr beloved Friend.
For the Sunday-School Times.
POOR CHARLEY.
" YTTELL, I don't like boys, I never did."
Y V Such was the remark of Mrs. L. to a
lady friend who had engaged to teach in a
school of boys. "I thought so, my deai,"
quietly remarked her husband, looking up
from his newspaper, with a peculiar glance fct
his wife. " You need not remind me of it,"
said she, with an impatient look and tone, as
if to say, " I don't mean to blame myself for
the feeling, nor allow conscience to trouble
me about it." j
It was thought best by the company gene¬
rally to change the subject of conversation,
but the train of thought, which it hap
awakened, though prevented audible expres¬
sion, could not be prevented from stretching,
on indefinitely in the minds of the listeners.
Poor Charley I thought I—for Charley was
Mrs. L.'s little boy, her only child—poor boy,
I know something of your trials. It is a hard
thing to have no sympathy from a mother.
But  this, strange  and  unnatural as it wafe,
seemed to be the child's case. V
Mrs. L. was not a hard, cross woman. Nq!
she was a very charming woman. Handsom^
witty, entertaining, she was the centre of the1
elegant circle in which she moved. Her chief
ambition was to be admired; and like mos^
who live for no higher end, she thought muctj
of her own comfort, and was unwilling to be,
crossed. Charley was not a healthy, nor a
handsome boy; but a thin, pale little fellow,!
who, it cannot be denied, was sometimes rathe?
fretful; but to any one who had sympathy fop
him in bis little troubles and bad feelings, and
would talk pleasantly with him, he was quite
an interesting child. According to Mrs. L.'s
own acknowledgment, Charley and she were
always in difficulty. If Charley wanted 'a
plaything which he could not reach, his mo¬
ther could never afford to get up and reach it
for him; and if he cried for it, there would
follow a scene which it would take much
longer to settle than to have got the plaything.
If Charley begged his mamma to go with him
at night when he went to bed, it was always,
" I cannot, my child, I'm too busy." Some¬
times Mr. L would say, "hadn't you better
go, my dear?" But no. The book or the wors¬
ted work would be too interesting, and Charley
would have to go alone, unless his papa went
out of pity,—not that his boy had to go alone,
but for the want which he felt must be in that
little heart of r~rno*hpv^-h:.i-sii-ii!a^- •*-«■s-HWi - js*-"-^1'*"
When Charley grew bigger and went to
school, he would come home at noon and play
about till dinner. Sometimes the dinner
would not come for a long time. Bridget had
been so busy that it must be delayed. Char¬
ley would look at the clock and begin to grow
anxious. " Mamma," he would say, " you
know I am trying to got through this term
without a tardy mark. Isn't dinner most
ready?" But mamma could not go out to see,
so Charley must wait till the bell rang, which
was only ten minutes before school. Charley
hurried through his dinner as most boys, and
even men would, under the circumstances, and
then holding out his plate said, " Mamma,
mayn't Bridget give me my pie now ? I want
to go to school." " Put down your plate, my
son I How many times have I told you to
wait till the rest are ready!" So Charley
would draw back his plate, but in doing so
would accidentally hit the tumbler with his
elbow, and over would go the water on the
clean cloth. This, Mrs. L. would think, put
the climax to her endurance; and by the time
the reprimand was administered, the school
bell would ring, and Charley would lose his
chance of reward for that term. At night,
when he would come home, his eyes would
be swollen and his head would ache, and his
mother would say she could not see what he
could find so much to cry about. She believed
that half of hi-j sickness came from crying.
Such are a few of the many actual instances
which I witnessed, and I could not help say¬
ing to myself, •• Poor Charley 1" Of course
one so negligent of the temporal wants of her
child would not minister very faithfully to his
spiritual needs. But Mrs. L.'s conscience did
not seem to trouble her. She rather looked
upon herself with pity, that, seeing she " did
not like boys and never did," she must have
the trial.
. Poor woman! professed "disciple of Jesus
though she was, the one little lamb he had
given her to feed took too much time and
thought from herself and the world ; and so it
was left to want. Ah, how can the Master
say to such, " Well done, good and faithful
servant?"
And how can they who have neglected the
Master's precious trusts, whether parents or
teachers—give an account of their steward¬
ship when he calls for it? E.
none of them think as seriously as she does
about sacred things, but they avoid makiag a
jest of them when she is present, or saying or
doing anything to hurt her feelings. And
some day Mary hopes that what they now ab¬
stain from for her sake, will be abstained from
out of love for God, and for fear of grieving the
Iloly Spirit.
One day, upon Robert, the eldest brother,
declining to join a party of pleasure on the
following Sabbath, a friend observed.that he
had no idea he was so changed in his views,
and recalled to remembrance the time when
he had made a mock at religion.
" Yes," answered Robert, " but that was
before Mary taught me to love it."
His sister, who was present, burst into tears.
" I never taught you," said she; " I hare never
said a single word on the subject. God has
taught you."
" It is true that you have never said a word,
my sister; but your actions have spoken for
you, and for God."
" To him be all the glory," whispered Mary,
as she kissed him.
The brother and sister are now constantly
together; and Robert is, I think, likely to be¬
come a decided Christian. If it be so, he will
always say that he owes it, under God, to her
influence. And I firmly believe that there are
others in the family who will feel the same
ere very long. " To love and wait is excellent
home philosophy."
What a blessing it is when religion enters a
family! it may be in the youngest, or the
meanest in the house, and works, by God's
blessing, like the leaven hidden in the meal,
until the whole lump be leavened. *' Happy
families!" writes M'Cheyne ; " but, 0 1 how
few, where parents and children fear the Lord,
and speak often one to another, and the Lord
stands by hearkening, and writing down their
words in his " book of remembrance," wherein
he reckons up his jewels."—Selected.
For the Sunday-School Times.
TEACH ME TO PRAY.
■'* Ono of his disciples said unto him, Lord, teach us to
pray."   Luke 11: 1.
Lord, I would humbly como to thee,
For thou hast kindly said I may;
With pityiug eye thy suppliant see j
Teach me to pray.
Burdened with sin and anxious care,
Thy gracious call I would obey;
 JPyJJE, l<ei3ZW!-&*e 1 -fits' ili-flSfijir*- nacjti.": *S—
Teach me to pray.
I cannot ask without thy grace;
Thou art my only help and stay •
Help me in faith to seek thy face•
Teach me to pray.
When skies are clear and friends surround,
And pleasures tempt my feet to stray,
In earnest prayer let me be found;
Teach me to pray.
Whene'er by doubts and fears oppressed,
In Sorrow's cheerless, wintry day,
Still may I flee to thee for rest;
Teach me to pray.
And when with fainting heart I bend,
Yet know not what to think or say,
Saviour, thy quickening Spirit send;
Teach me to pray.
Where should a trembling sinner turn ?
Thou art the Life, the Truth, the Way ;
Of thee, my helpless soul would learn,—
Teach me to pray.
In every storm of life I meet,
Till called from earth to pass away,
Beneath thy sheltering "Mercy Seat,"
Teach me to pray. S. A.
The Sunbeam in the House,
SHE moved about the house like a sunbeam.
I heard her singing as »he passed to and
fro, and her mother heard her too, and said,
with a fond smile, " It is Mary. She is always
the same—always happy. I do not know what
I should do without her."
" I do not know what any of ns wonld do
without Mary," repeated her eldest daughter,
and the rest echoed her words.
Her youngest brother is of a violent temper,
and is always quarreling with somebody; but
he never quarrels with Mary, because she will
not quarrel with him, but strives to turn aside
his anger by gentle words. Even her presence
has an influence over him. So it has on all
her brothers; and to please her they hare left
off taking the Sunday newspaper, and go to
church or read good  books at home.    They
For the Sunday-School Times.
THE TDFT OF MOSS AND ITS MISSION.
WHO can read without being touched the
story of Mungo Park, away in those
African wilds, far from all aid and sympathy
of his fellow men; surrounded by savage
beasts " and still more savage men," needy
and suffering, with apparently every earthly
resource cut off? What was left for him, bnt
to lie down and leave his bones to bleach on
those desert sands? Yet, in this season of
despondency, what, think you, was the ap¬
pointed messenger to raise his spirit to look
upward, and see the overruling hand, which
had not forgotten him even there ? A little
tuft of moss, with its tiny spires laden with
microscopic blossoms! He examined it with
the deepest interest, from its tiny foothold in
the sand, to its delicate leaves and flowers,
and his soul drank in sweet consolation from
the view. "Can that Being," he thought,
" who planted, watered and brought to per¬
fection, in this obscure part of tbe world, a
thing which appears of so small importance,
look with unconcern on the situation and suf¬
ferings of creatures formed in his own image ?
Surely not." And with that assurance he
started up, disregarding his hunger and weari¬
ness, feeling confident that relief was at hand,
and he was no'.disappointed. God's resources
are as boundless as his universe, and even a
raven can be made to minister to the wants of
his servants.
Often, in onr darkest hours, a trifling thing
may bring ns a rich freight of consolation. A
ship's crew, away on some barbarous island,
were all greatly depressed, and fearful that
they should never see the bright shores of
their native land again, so many vicissitudes
must lie between them, at those ends of tbis
earth, and their sweet home. But in tbe
miserable hut where they took ft meal, they
found a half worn pewter spoon, with the
word " London" on it. What a thrill of plea¬
sure it gave to every heart. Others had been
there before them.    It was a link tbat helped
unite them to the great brotherhood of men
once more. From that seemingly trivial inci¬
dent their coujage revived, and they were soon
bounding over, the waves again, with their
hearts and faces homewards.
If the word of God dwells in us richly, we
shall have a more sure consolation always at
hand in every trouble of life, be it great or
small. There can be no depth of wo ite
lamp will not brighten. Oh, store your me¬
mory brim-full of these precious gems. They
will be a " light to your path" all through
life's journey. Lois.
NUMBER 5.
TIr
For the Sunday-School Timet
For the Sunday-School Time*.
RUTHERFORDIANA—No. 3.
Contest with Sin.—Alas ! how often play I
fast and loose with Christ! He bindeth, I
loose; he buildeth, I cast down ; he trimmeth
up a salvation for me, and I mar it. I fall out
with Christ, and he agreeth with me again
twenty times a day; I forfeit my kingdom and
heritage; I lose what I had, but Christ is at
my back, and following on to stoop and take
up what falleth from me. Were I in Heaven,
and had the crown on my bead, if Free-Will
were my tutor, I shoftldjose Heaven. Seeing
I lose myself, what wonder I should let go and
lose Jesus my Lord.
Dm Deeper.—I dare avouch the saints know
not the length and largeness of the sweet
earnest, and of the sweet green sheaves before
the harvest, that might be had on this side of
the water, if we would take more pains.
Inbred Sin.—I am every way in your case
as hard hearted and dead as any man, but yet
speak to Christ through my sleep. Sol. Song,
5: 2.
Christ our Helper.—I do persuade myself
that ye know that the weightiest end of the
cross of Christ which is laid upon you, lieth
upon your strong Saviour. Courage! Up your
heart I When ye do tire, he will bear both
you and your burden!
God's Right to His Own.—Ye can no more
justly quarrel with your great Superior for
taking his own at his just term-day, than a
poor farmer can complain, that his master
taketh a portion of his own land to himself
when the lease i3 expired. Indeed, that long
loan of such a good daughter, an heir of grace,
a member of Christ, deserveth more thanks
at your creditor's hands than that ye should
gloom and murmur when he craveth but his
own. W. P. B.
THBT FOWER AND THE TfHILD.
A SOWER went through a field sowing
grain. The wind blew roughly after
him, and he thought it bore the seed away
upon its wings. The rain came dropping,
then pouring down, and he feared lest the
tender germs should be drowned; and a3 he
went on sowing, he sighed, " It is all in vain !"
But he might neither pause nor go back, for
a voice called ever after him, " Go and sow in
other fields."
By the sower's side ran a child, scattering
flower seeds along tho borders of the field. A
frost fell upon the ground, stiffening the
child's hands, and bleaching out the roses
that budded among the dimples on his face;
and the sower looked on with moist eyes, and
sighed, " It is all in vain!" But the child
returned his sad glance with a smile, and
went on scattering his little store, till a sud¬
den mist concealed him from sight.
The rain watered the soil without drowning
the seed; the wind waved tbe grain into a
fresher ripeness; and after the frost came a
still, warm dew, and the flowers sprang up
and brightened the borders ofthe field.
And when the harvest sun was shining, an
angel came and bound the ripe sheaves, and
gathered the flowers, and carried them away
together.
Ere long the mist disappeared, and the
sower and the child, having finished their
labor, walked, hand in hand, through a grove,
among whose spicy odors and rare fruitage
they sat down to rest. And the angel came
and opened the sower's eyes, and he saw that
the grain which he had sowed with weeping,
had been garnered in heaven, and changed to
sheaves of sunbeams, which fed a thousand
hearts with life and light, both in earthly
task fields and in the bowers of the angels.
And the child brought a wreath of his
flowers, which sprang up and were gathered
with the grain, but had now brightened into
stars in the shadowy places of Eden, and
twined them around the sower's brow, who
said, softly, " Now I know that good seed can
never be sown in vain."
THE INEXHAUSTIBLE MINE.
LORD, this morning I read a chapter in the
Bible, and therein observed a memorable
passage, whereof I never took notice before.
Why now, and no sooner, did I See it? For¬
merly my eyes were as open, and the letters
as legible. Is there not a thin veil laid over
thy Word, which is more rarified by reading,
and at last worn wholly away? Or was it
because I came with more appetite than be¬
fore ? The milk was always there in the breast,
but the child was not hungry enough, until
now, to find out the teat. I see the oil of thy
Word will never leave increasing whilst any
bring an empty barrel. The Old Testament
will still be a New Testament to him who
comes with a fresh desire of information.—
Thomas Fuller.
BY  THi
\e Young Hemlock Tree.
THERE «$   REV. JOHN   TODD, D. Dv
the  gri No. 49.
beeches, bir\ beautiful fore8t of treea coverimg
have been cfcat partridge_hill. In it are the
heads up towaLheSj elmg> and aBhe8> which
are the small linturieB ia shooting their tall
shades, as if afrLdg the skVj Among them, too,
company. But ftine8 and hemlocks in tbe deep
towering hemlo*Lid to be seen iQ such grand
around her, over *tar ia the woodg was one> ^
to make shade, aniW with many little one*
watch with great Vyhom she held out her arm*
young hemlocks wato over whom she seemed to
Its form was gracefultendemes3. Among theae
was of the deepest g*. 0ne peculiarly beautifnL
beautiful gloss, makii% and perfect, its clothing
quisitely handsome,
at her mother, and sht^
excitement, I imagined
claim :
at shall I ever be-
dear?"
born here in the
k shade, where I
Liine falls on me,
as the wind
and over all  waa ft
g the feathery tufts ex-
he little tree looked np
king every limb with
"0, mother, mother, w.*\i could  hear  it  ex-
come ?"
" What do you mean, my
"Why, I mean that I am
deep forest, and in the thic
cannot grow, where no suns!
and where nobody sees me."
The poor old   tree  groane
struck her uplifted head.
"Alas ! my child ! I have see
this ever since you were born,
so that I am taller than the foreiYBU this and felt
look out and see the hills, and my hd n have grown.
the early sunbeams, and the last e^&jt and I can
of light. And sometimes I hear men^<Vead catches
me, and tell what a noble tree I ar^ening rayfl
tempted indeed to be proud, but ray A talk about
of you check me. My poor little onrTm. I am
seem to be created for nothing, and t^_jithought»
no use !" <e 1    You
Just then I heard a wagon, and short   Vj be o
Hunt appeared with an axe on his sho,
He seemed to be looking for something f
the moment he set his eyes on the little
he went straight to it.    In a moment his
was in it.
" 0, dear, dear, what does it mean I" crifoXaxe
the little tree.    It shook and trembled in evei   ^
limb ; its little head waned and sank toward,
the earth; its tears ooaed out at every strokn
ofthe najTrOTWi a* it bowed its bead it groaned
aloud!
" 0, my child, my child 1" groaned tbe poor
old mother Hemlock. "And so my poor child
is no more—its life lost—its being useless."
Joe put the little tree in the wagon and
drove off.
A few evenings after this, I was invited Us
attend a meeting of a mission Sabbath-school
in the great white school-house. It was a
sort of jubilee, and I was told that all the
children and teachers would be theret and ,se
in a cold snow-storm, I rode up several miles!
to honor the occasion. When I went in, srire
enough, there was a great multitude of chil¬
dren, from the little baby-boy, who had not
yet arrived at the dignity of trowsers, to the
young men's classes. There were the teach¬
ers, with faces illuminated with gladness, and
there were the bright eyes, and happy faces of
the children, and their parents. How they
sang out of their little books, and how their
very hands danced in sympathy! Then there
was the long table spread, covered with bis¬
cuit, and cakes, and nuts, and fruit, and every¬
thing so nice. And how they did eat! And
now they were through, and the door opens
into another great room, and there it stands 1
the same beautiful little hemlock ! There it
stands! On its branches are little colored can¬
dles, and all lighted 1 Every leaf shines and
glistens in the light! And on its bending
branches hang dolls, and mittens, and scarfs,
and collars, and pictures, and books, and bags
of candy, a gift* for every scholar, and every
teacher, with his name on it t How gracefully
and beautifully the tree looked I Everybody
admired it and praised it, till I feared it would
drop its load of precious fruit for very joy I
What shouts, and clapping of hands, and eager
faces, and please! looks, as the fruit was
taken from the tree and the names called over 1
I never saw a company so happy, and an oc¬
casion so joyous. The little tree thought her
mother would almost have died for joy, could
she only have looked in I But the mother
tree was left out ia the cold forest, and saw
nothing of the glory of her child !
And so, is there not many a sweet child
removed from earth, and the poor mother
weeps over it, and feels that it is lost, when ia
fact it has only been removed to a place that
is full of light, where glad and blessed spirits
surround it and sing in their blessedness,
while on it grow the fruits of peace, and love,
and joy, and where it is to stand—not like tho
tree in the school-honse, for one evening, bnt
even forever and ever ? Mourning mother, dry
your tears 1    Your little one is safe!
Evert billow on the ocean of the Chris¬
tian's life, is gilded with the light of love.—
Bunting.
Thb Bible in a family is like an arsenal filled
with arms, which keeps it in perfect safety.
TRIFLES.
The massive gates of circumstance
Are turned upon the smallest hinge,
And thus some seeming pettiest chance .
Oft gives our life its after tinge.
The trifles of our daily lives,
The common things scarce worth recall,
Whereof no visible trace survives,
These are the mainsprings, after all.
Rbfinino Firs.—Christ i3 a refiner's fire.
We would like well enough to •ome and warm
ourselves at his fire; but the business depends
npon being thrown into it.—Adam.