Sunday-school times

              ■'      ,
i  ■   :  ■
	
TIMES.
VOLUME VI.
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY AT ONE DOLLAR A YEAR--PHILADELPHIA, MAY 28, 1864.
NUMBER 22.
THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL TIMES,
A Weekly Religious Paper.
Price One Dollar a Tear, in Advance.
Philadelphia subscribers who wish the Paper served
»t their residences, will be charged 25 cents additional.
Those who call at the office will receive it for One Dollar.
The Postage is 20 cents a year, which mast be paid In
sdvance at the postK>fflce where the subscriber resides.
Letters containing articles for publication, should be
iddressed
Editors Sunday-School Times,
Philadelphia, Pbnn'a.
tetters containing   subscriptions   to   the Paper, or
Orders for books, should be addressed
J. C. GARRIGUES & Co.,
148 South Fourth Street,
  Philadelphia, Penn'a.
<   ~
For the Sunday-School Times.
jThe High Pressure Sunday-School.
By the Rev. Alfred Taylor.
ANYTHING for excitement. Furs, feathers,
brass buttons, drums and trumpets, com¬
pose the leading idea on which this enterprise
is urged onward. It goes as steamboats on the
Western rivers go when they are running
races. All the steam is raised that can be
crowded on. All available material is used
for fuel, even that which is sufficiently valu¬
able to be used for other purposes. As the
steamboat so pushed to a high degree of
speed sometimes distances all other com¬
peting boats, so does our Sunday-school get
ahead of the other schools in the neighbor¬
hood. As the boat boiler sometimes finishes its
career by exploding with an inglorious smash,
so is the High Pressure Sunday-school in
danger of collapsing, to the injury of its sche-
lars, and to the disgrace of the cause of reli¬
gion. The tremendou8 amount of energy
which is expended in getting up extra steam,
would be better spent in industriously carry¬
ing on God's work in a plainer way. *
The ordinary teaching exercises of the
school are allowed to be subordinate to the
interests of a speech day which occurs once a
month, and which is called the missionary
afternoon. Teaching and monthly speechify¬
ing are as nothing, compared with the gran¬
deur of the anniversary exercises, the crown¬
ing glory of the year, and the great event
which the children regard very much as chil¬
dren in the satin and bespangled walks of
fashionable life regard the biggest party or
ball which it may be their privilege- to attend
during the winter.
The missionary day would seem to suggest
some idea of an interest in the heathen. This,
however, is not an inevitable consequence of
the recurrence of that monthly festival. Messrs.
Tom, Dick and Harry, the noted Sunday-
school speakers, are present, having been
invited for the occasion, or having dropped
in, in case they should be asked to make a
few remarks. They are heard from, and
the "remarks" prove to be whatever was up¬
permost in the minds of those gentlemen;
perhaps a story of a child who fell into the fire,
perhaps the old narrative of the heathen mo¬
ther throwing her child into the widely opened
jaws of an able bodied crocodile ;—sometimes
an old yarn which has been spun over and
over again for twenty years, sometimes an
empty novelty which has been hashed up for
the occasion. Whatever it is, the risk is that
it is more entertaining than instructing; more
calculated to tickle the fancy of the children,
than to feed them with the truths of the gospel.
Some fine singing (from which the idea of
praise is sometimes omitted,) fills up the time;
a good collection is taken, a sort of fly-blister
stimulus having been applied to the liberality
of the children ; the children go home with a
confused idea that they have heard something,
and that they ought to be better for it—and
the missionary day comes no more for another
month.
The anniversary day is to the monthly ex¬
ercise, as the sun is to the moon. The children
and their friends are dazzled beyond measure
by the glittering bill of fare which is provided.
The school is trained in singing for this occa¬
sion, for four months, spending each Sunday
half an hour or more of the precious time
which ought to be spent in teaching. This
might not be so .bad in itself, if the young
singers were taught to praise God in the sing¬
ing ; but the object of the training is to make
the children sing so as to please the congrega¬
tion which shall be gathered to hear them. It
is as when fiddlers practice in order to fiddle
well at a concert, or when trained bears and
ponies are prepared for a circus exhibition.
The juvenile dialogue and speech business
receives its share of patronage. Children
who had better listen to the wise discourse
of some good man, are stuffed (almost to
bursting) with a speech or speeches. The
exercises are prolonged, sometimes receiving
the addition of a tedious or bombastic Report,
until they are about three times as long as
they ought to have been, and when children,
parents, and admiring friends go home, it is
either with a sense of great weariness, or with
that feeling of mind which is akin to the feel¬
ing of. body caused by over-eating yourself at
a great dinner, or a tea-party.
The school is full. More than full, it is
crowded. Evidence of great prosperity, says
somebody. Very prosperous indeed is the
condition of the boat whose boiler is SO over¬
loaded with steam that it may explode at any
moment.
It is hardly necessary to speak of the style
of the teaching at this institution of learning.
Suffice it to say, it is meagre, poor, inefficient.
No  child learns a great deal.    Beyond the
mere routine of asking questions out of the
question book, not much is done. That is
empty and barren business. Seed may be
sown in that way, but the crop will be like
the straggling spires of grass which shoot up
between the stones of the street pavement ;—
sparse and weak; liable to be destroyed by
the first footstep.
Now comes along a grave somebody, who
shakes his head wisely, and says : " There, I
knew all that—that is just what all Sunday-
schools are—mischievous in their tendency •
ruinous in their results." Stop a moment,
good sir. This is only the uHigh Pressure"
Sunday-school. Admit that this kind of a
school is mischievous and dangerous, and
then, what? Admit that a steamboat boiler
does explode. What of it? Shall we reject
the whole steamboat system, and carry out
yet further our view of safety by refusing to
ride on the railroad because there is an occa¬
sional smash-up ? Walk, or go on horseback,
sir, as your forefathers did, (only take care
that you do not stumble, and that your horse
does not throw you,) but let us have all the
modern improvements in conveyance, if you
please. When the engine gets too hot, we
cool it off a little, and run it under less head
of steam. When our Sunday-school runs too
much into the jovial things of this world, and
neglects its high mission, we need not to abo¬
lish the school, but to turn its energy into a
proper direction. It can be done. It ha9 been
done. It needs to be done in many instances
where the Sunday-school is suffering from a
mere worldly prosperity, with an absence of
much of the real means of grace.
Brother of the High Pressure school I look
out for your boiler ! Tame the concern down
a little, or prepare for a smash.
Bristol, Pa.
For the Sunday-School Times.
Without Hope in the World.
I HAVE been reading an essay by a brilliant
writer, yet I lay it aside unsatisfied. He
delights in showing us life as it really is, with
its tasteless husks instead of the choice viands
we anticipated at our pleasant feasts. He de¬
lights to draw aside the thin gauze with which
we seek to hide our disappointments, and
shows the hundred arts by which we seek to
delude ourselves into believing that all is not
in reality " vanity and vexation of spirit." We
are compelled to feel that the revelation he
makes is all true. Our hopes are constant
failures from the cradle to the grave. The
joys we plan are never ours. . When the de¬
sire of our eyes is granted, we find it not the
tree of life we fondly hoped for. Even the
very day our hopes are realized there is such
an intermingling of some unlooked for ingre¬
dient in our cup that all the joy is taken away.
Though many drops of pure water will not
make pleasant a bitter potion, a single drop
of bitter may spoil the whole draught of pure
water.
All this the writer makes us feel, but he
leaves us here dissatisfied and discontented.
He shows us no panacea for these inevitable
ills. No " balm in Gilead" to heal ourwounded
spirits. Who loves to feel he is exposed to a
fearful malady for which there is no remedy ?
He does not open up before us the glorious
hope of the Christian, which turns these very
crosses into the " all things" which work to¬
gether both for our temporal and eternal
good. He does not point us to the love of the
Crucified as an abundant recompense for all
the toils and sorrows of this dusty highway.
What matter though he takes from us all
things which we covet here, so he only gives
us himself instead ? None but those who have
tasted these spiritual joys can i ealize how in¬
finitely they surpass the highest joys of earth,
how fully they compensate for every earthly
cross and sorrow. What matter though the
world's food is only husks, here we find sub¬
stantial, never failing stores. There is no de¬
lusion here, we are never mocked by delusive
hopes, and our highest anticipations can never
equal the reality of those joys which God has
prepared for them that love him, beyond this
little bound of time. What a dreary black
life must be without the gospel of Jesus, in
which " life and immortality are brought to
light." J. E. L.
OFFENDING THE LITTLE ONES.
THE attendance at the Sabbath-school con¬
cert was large, and the meeting full of in¬
terest. We felt sure that good impressions
must have been fastened on many a young
heart.
" Jamie," said a father to his little boy of
six or seven years, " what did you hear at the
concert to-night?" After a moment's pause,
the little boy replied :
" Mr. Earnest said he hoped all the little
children would give their hearts to the Saviour
and be Christians."
" Yes," said the father ; pleased that such a
thought should have made an impression;
" and what else did you hear ?"
" Mr. Rashly said that Mr. Earnest talked
'like a steam engine.' "
Now Mr. R., who too often wounds the feel¬
ings of the brethren by irreverence of manners
and of speech, is a member of the church, and
sometimes himself addresses the children on
similar occasions.
" What ?" said the father. « Whom did he
say it to ?"
" To his wife."
" How could you hear it ? You did not sit
near him."
«I sat in the next seat, and he spoke so
loud that it was heard all around."-
" How do you know any one else heard it ?"
" Because I saw them laugh at it."
The father dropped his questioning at this
point, and gave way to serious reflections
upon the injunction of our Saviour: " Take
heed that ye offend not one of these little
ones."—Congregationalist.
Por the Sunday-School Times.
THE CROW'S NEST.
SOME vessels are furnished with a look-out
at the masthead, to which seamen give the
name of the crow's nest. It is a frame work;
of wooden laths, covered all around with stoui
canvas, to furnish protection against the coif
to those who are obliged to occupy this ex¬
posed position. V
The Christian's closet may be compared to
this look-out. First, it is an elevated place!
The look-out at masthead is far above the
din and bustle of the ship's deck. This ele¬
vated position has its own peculiar advantages.
The mind of him who occupies it is not di¬
verted, nor his attention distracted from the
proper business of the hour by what is passing
beneath him. So it is with the Christian's
closet, when it is indeed a consecrated place
into which the world is not permitted to enter.
When the Christian enters such a closet, he is
for the time elevated far above the daily la¬
bors, cares, and anxieties which too often
burden and disturb the mind.
The look-out is an excellent place for taking
observations. This is indeed the special pur¬
pose for which it is constructed. Here objects
may be clearly discerned, which are but dimly
seen, or quite invisible from the deck of the
ship. So it is with the Christian's closet.
Here objects become distinct to the mental
and moral vision, which are but dimly seen,'
or not seen at all, amid the labors, cares, and
excitements of daily life.
In time of danger,the look-out at masthead,
if not constantly occupied, is frequently visited.
The safety of the ship often requires that some
one should keep a close watch from this post
of observation. In seas which are encum¬
bered with ice, it is necessary for the captain,
or some other officer of the ship, to keep this
station for hours, to pilot the vessel through
packs of drift ice. Dangers which are unseen
on the ship's deck are here discovered and
guarded against.
So it is with the Christian's closet. Dangers
which escape the observation of the Christian
whUe pursuing the daily routine of life, are
here discovered, and the soul is put on its
guard against them.    •      -- '—•~"^'"
The closet should be often visited in times
of danger. Times of special prosperity are
times of danger. Then the look-out should
be often visited; for the ship is sailing in seas
where the drift-ice of coldness, worldliness,
and hardness of heart abounds. Times of ad¬
versity are times of danger. Then should the
Christian betake himself to his look-out; for
the dangerous rocks of unbelief, distrust, and
repining are near at hand. Here is the best
place for comparing the course of the ship
with the chart where these ice-obstructed seas
and these dangerous rocks and headlands are
all mapped out. The look-out and the closet,
or, in other words, the closet and the Bible,
are the two great safeguards of the Christian
in his life-voyage. It is through the diligent
use of these means of grace that the Captain
of his salvation will guide him safely to the
harbor of eternal rest.    • Mayflower.
Por the Sunday-School Times.
" HE BEGAN TO BE IN WANT."
THAT was what gave him thoughts of his
father's house again. In his prosperity he
had wandered far away from it; but now that
his treasures were all gone, he began to think
of that far-off home, and of the kind father
whose heart of love had gone out after him in
all his wanderings. And he thought, too, how
much better off were even his father's hum¬
blest servants than he. He would go back
again and ask for a place among the lowliest.
And so our ungrateful hearts take the
good things of our father's hand, and then
wander far from the green pastures of his love.
But when in mercy these loved possessions
are removed and we begin to be in want, oh,
with what longing do our aching hearts turn
toward3 our heavenly home again. Did you
ever thank God for putting this parable into
his Holy Word ? How ehould we dare to come
back after our sinful wanderings, if he had not
given in this sweet story such precious assu¬
rance of our acceptance ?
No matter what our want is, in our Father's
house all fullness dwells. Hij arms are even
open to receive us. He even sends his Spirit
to invite and gently draw us back again. While
we are yet a great way off he comes to meet
us, and folds us to his infinite heart of love.
Oh blessed want that drives us back to such
a home, to such a father. Well may we
"glory in tribulation" that works out for us
such " peaceable fruits of righteousness."
God is coming very near to many of us now.
The great cry of our souls is for that vanished
face we shall see no more until that day when
the sea shall give up her dead.
"There's a, nameless grave on the battle¬
field?' or deep in the caverns of coral and sea¬
weed, to which our hearts are ever turning
with such pain as we never knew above the
kindred sleepers in the grassy grave-yard.
Yet even this great aching void in your breast
the love of Christ can fill. " A father to the fa¬
therless" and a " God of the widow," and an
"elder brother." All, all you have lost he
can supply.
"Earth hath no sorrow
That Heaven cannot heal."
Lois.
Selected for the Sunday-School TimesT"-
THE BLESSING AFTER SERVICE.
I was within a house of prayer,
And many a wounded heart was there;
And many an aching head was bowed
Humbly amidst the kneeling crowd.
No marvel where earth's children press,
There muat be thought of bitterness.
Oh, in the change of human life,
The anxious wish, the toil, the strife,
How much we know of grief and pain,
Ere one short week comes round again!
Bend every knee, lift every heart,
We need God's blessing ere we part!
Then sweetly through the hallowed bound,
Woke the calm voice of solemn sound,
While gladly many a listening ear
Watched that pure tone of love to hear;
And on each humbled heart and true,
God's holy blessing fell like dew.
Oh! to how many a varied sigh
Did that sweet benison reply—
" The peace that God bestows,
Through him who died and rose,
The peace the Father giveth through the Son,
Be known in every mind,
The broken heart to bind,
And bless ye, travelers, as ye journey on.
" Ere this week's strife begin,
The war without, within,
The Triune God with spirit and with power,
Now on each bended head
His wondrous blessing shed,
And keep ye all through every troubled hour."
And then within that holy place,
Was silence for a moment's space,
Such silence that you seemed to hear
The Holy Dove's wings hovering near;
And the still blessing, far and wide,
Fell like the dew at eventide ;
And ere we left the house of prayer
We knew that peace descended there j
And through the week of strife and din,
We bore its wondrous seal within.
THE BROOK AND THE POND.
An Allegory for the Benevolent.
By Rev. A. A. Willits.
IN the cool and shadowy clough of a distant
mountain, hard by a mossy spring, a little
brooklet had its birth; and with a pure heart,
a generous nature, and a lively and cheerful
spirit, it started upon its course through the
world, bent on a life of activity and usefulness.
, One day after it had reached the plain, and
was hurrying oh with tinkling Teet to Bear its
tribute to the river, it chanced to pass near
by a stagnant pond.   The pond hailed it.
Pond. "Whither away, master streamlet?"
Brook. " I am bearing to the river this' cup
of cold water,' which God has given to me."
Pond. " You are very foolish to do that;
you will need it yourself before the summer
is over; we have had a very backward spring,
and we shall have a hot summer to pay for it,
and then you will dry up."
Brook. " Well, if there is danger of my
dying so soon, I had better work while the
day lasts; and if I am likely to lose this water
from the heat, I had better do good with it
while I have it."
So on it went, singing and sparkling upon
its useful way.
The pond smiled contemptuously upon the
folly of the " babbler," as it styled the brook,
and settled down very complacently into the
conviction of the superior wisdom of its own
covetousness; and so husbanding all its re¬
sources against the imagined day of need, it
suffered not a single drop to leak away.
Soon the midsummer days came round, and
very hot days they were indeed. But what
was the effect of the heat ? Did the little
brook dry up ? Nothing of the kind. Why,
how did it escape ? Well, the trees crowded
to its brink, and threw their sheltering
branches over it, for it had brought life and
refreshment to them; and the sun, peeping
through the branches, only smiled pleasantly
upon its dimpled face, as if it said, " Who
would harm you, pure and beautiful brooklet?"
Indeed all things seemed inspired by a similar
sentiment towards it. The birds of the air,
after sipping its sweet water and laving their
wings in its silver tide, sang its praises in the
overhanging branches. The flowers sprang
up along its border, and reflected their bright¬
est tints from its mirror-like surface and
breathed their sweetest fragrance upon its
bosom. The poet came to hear the music of
its warbling voice, and the artist to behold
the beauty of its winding way. The husband¬
man's eye always sparkled with joy, as he
looked upon the line of verdant beauty that so
plainly marked its course through his fields
and meadows. Even the beasts of the field
loved to linger by its banks, or to stand and
drink the pure water from its quiet eddies.
And so on it went, blessing and blessed of all.
But giving so freely and so constantly, did
it not exhaust its resources, did it not run
dry? Not at all; God saw to that. It car¬
ried its full cup to the river, and emptied it
freely in ; tbe river bore it on to the sea, and
the sea welcomed it with uplifted hands ; the
sun smiled warmly upon the sea, and the sea
sent up it3 vapory incense to greet the sun;
the clouds, like great censer cups, caught the
tribute in their capacious bosoms, and the
winds, like waiting angels of God, took the
clouds in their strong arms and bore them
swiftly away—away to the very mountain that
gave the little brooklet birth, and there, over
that cool ravine, they tipped the brimming cup,
and poured it all back again; and so God saw
to it that the little brook, so active, so gener¬
ous, so useful, should never run dry.
But how fared the pond?   Ah, very differ¬
ent indeed was its fate. In its mistaken pru¬
dence and selfish idleness, it grew sickly in
itself, and pestilential in'its influence, so that
all beheld it but to dislike it. The farmer
sighed and shook his head whenever he looked
upon it. The citizen who came to seek a
country-seat, declined to purchase as soon as
he discovered it. The artist and the poet saw
no charm in it, and hastened past it. The beasts
of the field put their lips to it, but withdrew
without drinking, and turned away towards
the brook. The evening zephyr stooped and
kissed it—in the twilight, by mistake—and
caught its malarious breath, and carried it
unconsciously into all the homes around. The
people of the region soon grew sad and sallow,
and began to shake with ague and to burn
with fever; and at last, with constitutions
well nigh shattered, they were compelled to
move away from its neighborhood. And
finally heaven, in mercy to man and to nature,
smote it with the hottest breath of the sun and
dried it up forever:
And the wise pondered the history of the
pond and the brook, and saw how the book of
nature confirmed and illustrated the book of
revelation, and how true a saying of the latter
it was : " There is that scattereth, and yet in-
creaseth: and there is that withholdeth more
than is meet, but it tendeth to poverty. The
liberal soul shall be made fat, and he that
watereth shall be watered also himself." Prov.
11: 24, 25.—N. Y. City Mission and Tract So¬
ciety Journal.
BY
Por the Snnday-School Times.
The Old Eagle's Experience.
THE   REV.   JOHN   TODD, D. D.
New Series—No. 13.
For the Sunday-School Times.
SUDDENLY CUT OFF IN HIS SINS.
THE deaths of the wicked, as well as the
deaths of the righteous, furnish "a com¬
mentary on God's precious Word. " He that,
being often reproved, hardeneth his neck,
shall suddenly be destroyed, and that without
remedy." This is a fearful Scripture, and I do
not doubt that the threatening it contains has
been fulfilled in the recent death of a wicked
man of my acquaintance. He was suddenly
cut off in his sins. His influence all his life
had been upon the side of evil. He was
dreadfully hardened in iniquity. He was an
open Sabbath breaker. It has been remarked
of him that he frequently did more work on
the Sabbath than during all the rest of the
week. It seemed to be a great gratification
to him to be working on the Lord's day
where God's people could see him as they
passed his dwelling on their way to Jthejr
places oF worship. "He taught his children to
follow in his footsteps. On the morning of the
Sabbath on which he died, as I rode past his
house on my way to church, I saw his boys
starting off to the woods for a ramble. A few
days before, as I rode by in the evening, I saw
his children playing cards at the window. His
oldest son, going home to look upon his father's*
corpse, went from the bar-room and from the
card-table. The man died in his stable, where
he had been working, making some repairs or
improvements, a considerable part of the day.
He was struck dead instantly while thus dese¬
crating the holy day of God. He had been
often reproved, but he hardened his neck more
and more, and went boldly on in sin. The
day of God's vengeance came at length, though
mercy delayed it long. At last the sinner was
destroyed in a moment, and that without
remedy. God's judgments are in all the earth.
Oh that the wicked would learn righteousness!
J. F. H.
For the Sunday-School Times.
RUTHERFOBDIANA—No. 19.
Forbid Them Not.—Send me word about
your daughter whom I remember in Christ ;
and desire herN to cast herself into his arms,
who' was born of a woman, and, being the
Ancient of days, was made a creeping child.
It was not for nothing that our Brother Jesus
was an infant. It was that he might pity in¬
fant believers who were to come into the
world.
Cling Together.—It is time now that the
lambs of Jesus should all run together when
the wolf is barking at them.
Love.—Love hath broad shoulders, and will
bear many things and yet neither sweat nor
faint nor fall under the burden.
His Will Be Done.—Faith will teach you
to kiss a striking Lord, and thus to acknowledge
the sovereignty of God in the death of a child
to be above the power of us mortal men, who
may pluck up a flower in the bud and not be
blamed by him for it.
Repining Useless.—It is easier to complain
of the decree than to change it.
Pruning.—Your Husbandman and Lord
hath lopped off some branches already; the
tree itself is to be transplanted to the high
garden. In a good time be it. All these
crosses are to make you white and ripe for the
Lord's harvest hook.
A Frowning World.—This world never
looked like a friend upon you. Ye owe it
little love. It looked ever sour-like upon you:
howbeit ye should woo it; it will not match
with you ; and therefore never seek warm fire
under cold ice. This is not a field where
your happiness groweth.   It is up above.
Come Quickly !—The Son of God wilj come
with a start upon his weeping bairns, and
take them on his knee and lay their heads in
his bosom and dry their watery eyes. And this
day is fast coming.
Tell Jesus.—I know that your heart is cast
down, but send a heavy heart up to Christ—
it will be welcome. W. P. B.
Concession.—To yield a little is often wise.
You may thereby avoid serious losses and
griefs, and hold on to profitable friendships.
IN the very centre of the great swamp, there
stood a tall, dead, and dry pine. The top was
broken off, the bark was all gone, the limbs
mostly gone, and the poor old tree had evi¬
dently been battling with time and storms for
at least an hundred years. On the very top,
where it was broken off, was a huge eagle's
nest. At a distance, it looked like a great
corn-basket. • It had been there many years.
On the return of spring, the same eagles, appa¬
rently, came back, repaired and refitted the
nest, and in it raised a new family.
One bright day the old eagle, the father of
all, stood on the tree near his eyrie, now look¬
ing into the eyes of his young family, and now
picking and pluming his dress, and ever and
anon casting out his glances to see if any
enemy was coming, or, what was more likely,
if any moving thing was in sight, out of
which he could find a supper. Was that a
rabbit just skipping in the edge of the woods?
Was that a young fawn near the deer in yon¬
der grass, or was it a red bush ? The mother
eagle had gone off hunting for her family, and
he was to watch till she returned.
" Father, are you there ?" cried a sleepy
eaglet.
"Yes, I am here, my child; what would
you have ?"
"Ain't it very high where you stand ? Ain't
you afraid of falling ?"
"No, it don't seem high to me, and I have
no fear of falling."
" Why ! I once looked over the nest, and it
seemed very high to me. It made me afraid
to look over."
" Very likely. But if you live to be as old
as I am, there will be nothing high and no¬
thing great."
"What do you mean, sire?"
The old eagle was silent a few moments,
and then said—
" When I was a young eagle, just leaving
my home on the side of Blue Mountain, every
thing wa3 great, and bright, and beautiful.
The trees seemed very tall. The lake near by
seemed as large as an ocean. I wondered if
anybody ever went to the other side of it.
Yonder mountain seemed at a vast distance.
I wondered if any body ever got nearer to it.
The little brook seemed a river. T flew to the
next eagle-tree, and it seemed as if I must be
lost before I got back again. The little
meadow seemed a wide prairie. I attended a
gathering of eagles. What old eagles they were!
How wisely they talked! I felt that I was
nothing among them! But all this is changed
now! There are no more tall trees. I have
flown over them all. There are no great lakes
now; I have passed over them so often that it
seems to take no time to cross one now. That
mountain is close by. I have hunted twenty
miles beyond that. The river seems like a
little brook now. The snn is not so bright as
it used to be. The stars are much fewer. The
days and the years are shorter. The fish and
the rabbits are very inferior to what they used
to be. I shall never again see such eating as
I once did. And I often wonder what has
become of all the old, wise, and great eagles I
once knew 1 There are none such in these
days. Families are not trained as well.
There's nothing as good or as great as when
I was young. Alas 1 how the world degene¬
rates ! I shall never again see anything great
or good.    Alas I alas!"
"But, dear father, may not the change be
in you, and not in the things around you ?"
" In me! child; what are you thinking
of! In me! To be sure not! It is possible
that I can't fly quite as far as I once did;
and it is possible that my eye may not be
quite as keen ; but my judgment—and that is
what weighs all these things—my judgment is
as good as it ever was! Nay, better. If I was
a physician, I could now give medicine better
than ever before. If I were a preacher, I could
preach better; if a lawyer, I could gain more
cases ; if a general, I could gain more victo¬
ries ; and if a lady, could have more admirers."
" But, father, don't you find it harder to
hunt, and to get our food, than you once did?"
" That's because game is scarcer, and, as I
tell you, the rabbits and fish and the fawn
have grown smaller I Why, they degenerate
every day 1 If they keep on, in a few years
they will not be bigger than mice—and no
wonder one can't find them. Alas! that I
should live to see everything so changed! Bnt
I myself am as strong as ever !"
Just then the poor old eagle shut his eyes,
and drooped, and fell dead—dead to the>
ground—self-deceived to the last moment.
THERE is scarcely a more dangerous prin¬
ciple than that which leads a person to
conclude that because a plan succeeds, there¬
fore it is right; because the object which he
had in view is attained, therefore it is good;
and becaase he has been able to gratify his
wishes to the \full, therefore it is an evidence
of the Divine approbation and favor.
THE SABBATH.
Sabbath holy, to the lowly
Still art thou a welcome day j
When thou comest,
Earth and ocean,
Shade and brightness,
Rest and motion,
Help the poor man's heart to pray.
Nature's spinning must be unravelled be¬
fore Christ's righteousness can be put on.