Sunday-school times

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VOLUME VI.
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY AT ONE DOLLAR A YEAR-PHILADELPHIA, JUNE 18, 1864.
NUMBER 25.
THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL TIMES,
A Weekly Religious Paper.
Price One Dollar a Year, in Advance.
I
4
Philadelphia subscribers who wish the Paper served
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Those who call at the office will receive it for One Dollar.
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Letters containing articles for publication, should be
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Editors Sun day-School Times,
Philadelphia, Penn'a.
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J. C. GARRIQTJES & Co.,
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Philadelphia, Penn'a.
Por the Snnday-School Times.
-    A SABBATH IN THE FIELDS.
Dedicated to Sabbath-School Boys.
COME listen, my dear young friends, and I
will tell you about it.
"Let us go," said my companion, a youth
like myself, " and walk; let us have a grand,
long, refreshing ramble in the green fields and
the glorious old woods. How pleasant the
sight of the soft new grass, with its vivid
emerald—the lovely, delicate flowers springing
forth in bewitching contrast, at once to glad¬
den and beautify, and the magnificent old
trees adorning themselves. for their summer
festival to rejoice and glorify this fair world
of ours. Come," seeing me hesitate, " there's
a delicious air abroad, what can we do better"?"
" I don't know," whispered conscience pretty
loudly, " perhaps we had better go to church."
I think it was loud enough for my comrade to
hear, but he appeared not to notice, and con¬
tinued much in the same strain. "Come, I
feel just like a saunter in the woods. We will
climb hills, penetrate ravines, and when we
are tired,'throw ourselves upon some grassy
hillock and let this pleasant breeze fan our
brows, or we will cool them in some straying
stream near at hand, and we'll chat andthink
and dream that'to-morrow will be even as this
day, and we'll forget for a time that we have
to gird ourselves for the ' Battle of Life'.'"
Let us go to church first, pleaded early habit,
and this time kud enough to reach my com¬
panion's ears. Now, you must know, boys,
that I had been reared to honor God's Sab¬
bath, I had been early instructed to "Temem-
ber the Sabbath day to keep it holy," had been
taught with great care that God required every
finite creature to worship him in his holy temple
publicly, and that he was particularly dis¬
pleased with -all who disregarded bis com¬
mands. My father died when I was a little
fellow; he took me in his arms, the strong man,
and wept and prayed over me. How well I
remember it; how long I felt the warm pres¬
sure about me; it thrills me now to think of
it. He tenderly loved me ; I was his delight
and pride—" be a good boy, my precious son,
and love and comfort your poor mother," he
gently said, and closed his eyes. God had
called him. Shall I tell you of my wild'grief—
how I clung to him, how I longed to go with
him, how I wandered about speechless, in my
woe? It were better not told, perhaps. I had
my mother still, broken-hearted and desolate,
yet tender and loving; do you like to hear?
It makes me feel better to talk of her; it is a
great comfort to feel that we loved each
other so well. I clung to her as the ivy to the
' oak, and weak and delicate as she was, truly
she was a tower of strength in her love for
me; most sweetly she soothed me; she
was always planning for my happiness in the
highest sense of the term. I wish I could feel
that I always appreciated her devotion and
self-denial. I am afraid I too often thought it
a matter of course.
One day, one cruel day it seemed to me,my
blessed mother left me, left me alone to buffet
with the world. My mother! could I live with¬
out her strong love ! Tbe beautiful earth seem¬
ed a dry and barren spot where no green thing
■grew. T was very wretched. I would not if
I could, tell you of the bitter anguish of my
•soul, nor tbe many terrible thoughts that
crowded upon my-sad heart. To feel that!
should never more hear her dear voice in
words of love, ia counsel, er prayer, seemed
more than I could bear. My mother had
taught me to pray She had laid her
sainted hands upon my head and prayed for
me; had given me much instruction, and had
earnestly striven to do all she could for the
best welfare of her orphan boy.
Do not imagine that I had no friends; I had
kind sympathizing friends and relatives who
loved me, who were anxious that I should
walk in the right way. I loved them too, but
they could not supply to me my mother; and
when I saw her lying so still and white, with such
a sweet pleasant laok, almost a smile, so calm,
so peaceful, as if in fact she rejoiced tbat her
warfare was ended, I longed to be with her;
the old yearning that I had when my father
went home, came over me with double power.
Ah ! I felt as I looked at her, that if I only had
her here again, I would never grieve her more ;
and yet you find me in a comparatively short
time hesitating whether or not to do lhat
which would nearly have broken her heart—to
disobey God's commands by spending his day
in unlawful pleasure—thus throwing away the
priceless promise freighted with its precious
argosy. I have often read it, boy3, haven't
you ? that " If thou turn away thy foot from the
Sabbath, from Coing thy pleasure on my holy
day, and call the Sabbath a delight, the holy
of the Lord, honorable ; and shalt honor him,
not  doing thine own pleasure nor speaking
thine own words;  then shalt thou delight
thyself in the Lord ; and I will cause thee to
ride upon the high places of the  earth, and
feed thee with the heritage of Jacob thy father."
Did you ever stop to think  about this, or ask
yourself what the heritage of Jacob was ?    I
don't believe I did at your age—but it were
well to do so.    What was the  great tempta¬
tion for which I was ready to disregard the
•well known wishes of my mother and my own
sense of right, dishonoring my God, casting
heedlessly away his offered gifts? For the sake
of a few hours of doubtful pleasure, the desire
of pleasing my companion, perhaps the fear of
his banter!    We were lads in the same store.
He was a frank, kind-hearted youth, a little
older than I was; he had an off-handed, agree¬
able way with him that quite won me; he
talked fast, and said a good many smart things
that I thought both witty and wise.  I thought
him a miracle of knowledge, so easily he talked
upon almost all subjects.    He had been well
educated, was a " medal sdholar," that distinc¬
tion so coveted by most boys. He told me con¬
fidentially that his father had indeed designed
him for one of the learned professions, but he
was in too great a hurry to be his own man to
plod or pore over books so long.    He had
acquired great influence  over me.    I  could
not bear to displease or disoblige him.  He was
not in the least'dictatorial, and was really kind
in the main, but he'had, I must confess, rather
loose ideas a3 regards religious duties, which
were not, as an example, at all to my advantage;
and he was the more to be dreaded because I
did not like to see-or think that there was any
evil in him. He had such a fascinating tongue!
He  did  not oppose   or laugh  at   you—tout
put the matter before you in such another
light, and was so brilliant and eloquent that I
often felt ashamed that I had   entertained
different notions.   This  dangerous power he
had acquired'gradually, and I felt that -he was
my very good friend, and I have no reason to
doubt his regard.   I think now he liked me
cordially, nor • do I wish to give you the im¬
pression that 'he meant to do me evil; per¬
haps he felt that he was performinga very
meritorious «ct in befriending or patronizing
the orphan boy.    He did not think there was
anything wrong in spending the Sabbath in
the fields—perhaps he had never been 'taught
differently.
Boys, doyou ever think how great a bless¬
ing it is to have parents who honor God's or¬
dinances? Do you ever think how much of
your happiness and usefulness in "the future
you oweto this blessing?
As I was telling you I faintly asked, "hadn't
we better go to church first ?"
"And lose," he quickly replied, ^'all the best
part of the day in this stifling, pent-upUtica, full
of city people and fashionable bonnets! Man
alive, as -you hope to be one of these days,
you willfind a fitter church in the green woods,
' God's own temple,' as the divines say, and the
grand old trees will preach a far finer sermon
than any of these city priests can <give us, be
they never so learned. We will find a hill for
a pulpit and take our seats at the foot among
the bushes, and listen with them like any con¬
gregation to the preaching; and for music, the
pretty warblers we shall find there will pour
forth a sweeter melody, a real free-will offer¬
ing, than any of your hired singers can afford
us, notwithstanding their artistic notes. Come,
come, we waste time!"
This rhetorical sophistry sounded'Tery fine,
and really quite pious, aided perhaps by his
enthusiastic manner and pleasant -face, and
alas ! my own secret inclination for the for¬
bidden fruit. I bad heard good men declare
we should worship God in his works. Were
not the hills and the valleys, the trees and the
flowers, all his handiwork ? What better place
to be sure, could I find to worship him? I felt
that he was right, and began almost to blush
for my puritanical notions; yet thoughts of
my darling mother would come much more
strongly perhaps than if she had been living;
andber injunction, " My son, next to your Bible,
rememberthe sanctity of your heaven'lyFather's
Sabbath." But this time the voice wasf&inter,
and I strove but too successfully not to heed
it. Just at that moment too, a bright, pleasant
girl who boarded in the house with his mother,
made her appearance, and on hearing myfriend
say something about a walk in the woods, ex¬
claimed with great animation, " Oh ! how de¬
lightful, do, do bring me some flowers, won't
you ?" appealing to me. This quite decided me,
put all further doubt entirely away. Even a
girl, and they are always supposed to be better
than boys, saw no harm in a tramp in the
woods Sunday—why should I? I not only de¬
cided to go, but almost felt that if my mother
could have beard the arguments of my friend,
flimsy as they really were, she would have view¬
ed the matterin another light; so I started off
in better spirits than might have been expected.
I bad other friends who, I well knew, would
not approve of the proceeding; but that did
not give me one moment's uneasiness. I had
felt for some time that as I had no parents to
direct me, I had the right to control my move¬
ments without consulting any one. I was all
wrong there, boys, in my conclusion.
It was an unusualtywarmdayfor the season,
being tbe last of May. We walked at a pretty
rapid rate; the roads were dusty, and we be¬
gan to feel somewhat tired before we reached
the much desired woods, but at length we
found ourselves there. The air wa3 warm and
sweet; we began to be exhilarated; we
Strolled about, laughed and chatted, told droll
stories, and called up the echoes of the hollows
in right jovial strain. I'm afraid we threw a
few stones to see who was the best marksman!
 in short, we had a pleasant time of it.    Is it
wonderful that we forgot all about the temple
we were to enter, the sermon to which we
were to listen, the instruction and improve¬
ment we were to receive, so superior to God's
appointed means of worship ? Our intentions
and wishes were simply to have a good time
and enjoy ourselves to the utmost.
You won't mistake me. Of course I think
just as you do, that there are few higher or
purer sources of pleasure than enjoyment of
nature in her green woods and glades, her
hills and vales; and the true heart can find
space for rapture and devotion in the contem¬
plation thereof; but we have no right to take
holy time for the indulgence of our tastes; and
even if we should do nothing but admire and
contemplate, the example is bad. Remember,
" If ye refrain from doing your own pleasure
upon my holy day," &c.
But although in our mirth and excitement
we had forgotton God, he had remembered us
in a startling and wholly unexpected manner.
After gathering shrubs and flowers, we had
thrown ourselves upon the grass to rest pre¬
vious to our return. A little stream flowed
silently on its beneficent errand. What drew
me to its borders ? What irresistible force
compelled me, as it were, to go out into the
deeper water upon some large stones that lay
half but, the remainder of them being imbed¬
ded in the bosom of the stream ? I know not; I
only know a secret power guided, nay forced
my footsteps; and as I looked down its clear,
quiet depths, why did I start? What did I
see that curdled my blood ? Was it my own
face looking up? My pulses thrill even now
when I recall the object that attracted and
fixed my gaze. It was the ghastly face Of a
dead man, stark and stiff, eyes distended and
wide open, looking at me with startling and
appalling earnestness; hands uplifted and
clasped as if imploring aid in his agony—a
thrilling spectacle! How came be 'here?
Was his death accidental, or did he plunge
beneath the flood unbidden? Ah I was he
spending his Sabbath in the fields? were
eager questions that forced themselves upon
my brain. These questions can never be
answered until times and seasons shall be no
more—nor does it matter to us—^-the lesson
the 'melancholy incident has taught is as
weighty without the knowledge. We hurried
sadly, silently and thoughtftilly to the nearest
place, a distance of about two miles, to in¬
form the proper authorities. And, boys, I am
older now as you probably "will judge. I have
seen much of life. I have passed through many
stormy scenes and exciting vicissitudes; but I
have never forgotten that distressed face,
dumb yet speaking, that 'looked up to me
through the water, or those rigid out-Stretched
hands that met my downward gaze-on that
Sunday.
•For since I would not -go to him,'God had
sent his sermon, you see, to me. *M. M.
For the Sunday-School Times.
PROFITABLE DELAY.
<C'TT7*E have family prayers on Sunday,"
" t said one»who lived on a farm to me
a few days ago, " but the-men must get off so
early to their work on week days, we do not
get time for them in the morning, and after
supper they are all too tired and sleepy."
Similar excuses you often hear among pro¬
fessing Christians for the neglect of this duty.
No doubt if the observance of family worship
would add a dollar every day to the income,
all obstacles would quickly disappear. When
will we learn to give to spiritual riches their
due valuation, when compared with the pe¬
rishing dust of earth ? But even in spiritual
things we shall always find,
" He makes no stop that heavenward speeds."
The blessing of the Lord is better than all the
revenues of earth, and his-protection a better
defence than thousands of armed guards.
At the time of the last terrible massacre by
the Indians, a friend and his wife were board¬
ing in the family of the missionary who-had
labored long for the benefit of these benighted
heathen. On the morning of the massacre, a
few friendly Indians came by stealth and
warnedthem of their danger, urging themto
flee at once. They were just sitting down to
family worship. The hymn had been given
out, and they would not fly before offering up
their morning sacrifice of praise and prayer.
The missionary commended tbem in fervent
supplication to the care of the All-powerful:
Arm, and did not hurry over tbe worship as a
mere form,though hostile aavageswere already
passing and repassing through tbe apartment.
Taking with them only a handful of needed
articles, they hastened to a place of conceal¬
ment on a little island in the river. A day or
two after the large party of some sixty persons
set out on their perilous journey along the
open country, with the enemy on all side3 of
them, sometimes even in sight. The flames of
burning homes might often be seen lighting
up the evening sky. Think you it was a mere
chance that they made that journey of a week
in safety? That notwithstanding the hard¬
ship and exposure, not one of the party suf¬
fered any illness in consequence? Though
the Indians were at their homes in two hours
after they left, pillaging and burnine, they
lost no time by honoring God in the way of
his appointment. It was a profitable delay.
No doubt if their eyes had been unsealed as
were those of the prophet's servant, they might
also have exclaimed tbat " those tbat be for us
are more than they that be against us."   L.
For the Sunday-School Times.
MAKING IT EASIER.
*   T)^WA-RE lest you make it easier for any
AJ soul to be lost."     These  impressive
words fell upon my ear as I listened a few
Sabbaths since to  a solemn sermon.   Dear
fellow-Christian, have we ever been guilty of
making it so ?   Most gladly would we answer
negatively, but   will   conscience   allow   it?
Think of the many years of our unconverted
lives.   What were we doing in all those years
but making it " easier for souls to be lost ?"
Who does not tremble when he thinks of the
number of those over whom he has exerted a
passing or continuous influence in the time
of his own impenitence?    But let us look,
again, at our professedly Christian lives, and
consider that every hour that we have spent
in the society of another has either helped or
hindered him in regard to his soul's salvation.
Can we not all recall many things which must
have been hindrances in the way of others?
In the presence of an unconverted friend, the
other day, we spoke harsh and bitter words of
a fellow-Christian.   What was their effect?
We left the house of God last Sabbath in com¬
pany with one whose heart God had that day
touched with his truth,  and a thoughtless,
trifling remark of ours dispelled all serious
impression from his heart.   And it may be he
was one for whom we had often prayed!    We
have spoken lightly, even jokingly, of vices
and sins which are ruin and eternal death to
all who indulge in thena, and by so doing have
removed restraints from those who are ready
enough to destroy themselves without our aid.
Others, who were in some measure under our
influence, have construed the silence—or it
may be the smile—with which we regarded
their deeds of sin, into approval, and thereby
have been led to walk with swifter steps in
the downward road.   Oh, must not each of us
acknowledge the bitter, fearful truth, that in
these and many other ways we have been
" making it easier for souls to be lost ?"   Can
we be too careful, too faithful, too watchful
and prayerful in the future ? Y. E. A.
the souls of ouTciN^eB; Wita a thousand
arts they are undermuungW^ efforts of tbe
teacher, and eating out the heaftS, and life of
the scholars. They stand in the veVy>^ate"
way of all good influences, with their flamiffgf ~
fiery stings. The gnawing worms and crawl¬
ing bugs of intemperance, Sabbath-breaking,
profanity, disobedience to parents, lewdness
and deception, if suffered to come upon our
children, will work their temporal and eternal
death.
It is the duty of pastors, parents, and teach¬
ers to destroy these dread visitants at once.
Their first appearance should be noticed and
met with prompt and efficient remedies. There
should be no parleying, no armistice, by which
they may gain a moment's time. A faithful
word or a reproving look may at the first do
the work, which, if neglected, may require the
future pruning and cutting down to the bare
stump, if perchance any life at all remains and
the child is saved. Begin early. Be prompt.
Nip evil in the bud. Give no quarter. De¬
stroy the bugs! H. B. L.
For the Sunday-School Times.
The Dog, Fannie/Forgiven.
BY   THE   REV.   JOHN   TODD, D.  D.
•-•   «_ New Series—No. 1G.
W1
Many are complaining of their weakness
wbo ought to be complaining of their worldli-
ness.
For the Sunday-School Times.
WHAT DOST THOU HERE?
IF God should come to as with this inquiry
as he did to Elijah, should we not often be
thrown into confusion, and know not what to
answer ? He does ask us this question by "the
still, small voice" of his Spirit, wherever we
aTe and m whatever employment we are en-
When we remove to a new place, it is well
for Us to ask our hearts the question, Have we
struck our tent without seeing the cloud rise
up and go before us~? If so, " "What doest
thou here?" God appoints all our changes
for us, and it is for us to read the indications
of his guiding hand. Those who keep near
to him by prayer and daily communion, are
seldomat a loss informing such decisions.
God asks this question Of his people in their
hours of recreation. Are the amusements we
engage in such as tend to promote our spiritual
as well as our physical health ?-or are they at
best very near that "outer linewhich separates
between Christianity and worldliness ?" Ah,
that is no place for Christ's disciple. The
Master was never found there. 'I-do not think
Jesus'Christ would "have taken any delight in
parlor theatricals, under whatever pleasant
name they might bare been called. His fol¬
lowers cannot be too careful of their influence.
The professor of religion who now and then
attends a play when in the city visiting with
gay friends, does a mischief that no after re¬
pentance can undo.
A company of young acquaintances sat near
me in a railway car a few days since, and were
discussing with much animation the prospec¬
tive enjoyment of a-week's stay'in the city.
" Shall you dare go to the theatre ?" asked
one.
"Why, everybody goe3 to the theatre," was
the reply. " Members of the church go to the
theatre.   My mother goes sometimes."
" Oh, then you dare go," was the quick an¬
swer, and that question was satisfactorily de¬
cided and conscience abundantly satisfied. If
that mother had but listened to the voice God
spoke in her heart, "What doest thou here?"
she would have hesitated before she-ventured
on such dangerous ground.
Wherever his servants are, Jesus asks them,
" What doest thou here, for me ?"
It was a sight of a suffering, bleeding Sa¬
viour, as it was portrayed by one of the old
^masters, that first arrested the attention of
-one who afterwards became a most faithful
•witness for Jesus; and that which riveted
his mind to the subject, bringing tears to his
eyes and deep (iistress to his heart, were these
two lines written beneath it:
"I did this fer thee,
Sinner, what&ast thou done for me ?"
Reader, what hast thou done fcr thy Saviour?
Lois.
[Published by Bequest.]
NOT IN VAIN.
" I have labored in vain," a teacher said,
And her brow was marked by care;
" I have labored in vain."   She bowed her head,
And bitter and sad were the tears she shed
In tbat moment of dark despair.
"I am weary and worn, and my hands are weak,
And my courage is well nigh gone;
For none give heed to the words I speak,
And in vain for a promise of fruit I seek,
Where the seed of the Word is sown."
And again with a sorrowful heart she wept,
For her spirit with grief was stirred;
Till the night grew dark, and at last she slept,
And a silent calm o'er her spirit crept,
And a whisper of " peace" was heard.
And she thought in her dreams that the sonl took flight
To a blessed and bright abode;
She saw a throne of dazzling light,
And harps were ringing, and robes were white,
Made white in a Saviour's blood.
And she saw such a countless throng around
As she never had seen before—
Their brows with jewels of light were crowned,
And sorrow and sighing no place had found,
For the troubles of time were o'er.
Then a white-robed maiden came forth and said,
"Joy! joy! for tby trials are past!
I am one that thy gentle words have led
In the narrow pathway of life to tread—
I -welcome thee home at last 1"
And the teacher gazed on the maiden's face;
She had seen that face on earth,
When with anxious heart, in her wonted place,
She had told her charge of a Saviour's grace,
And their need of a second brrth.
Then the teacher smiled, and an angel said,
"Go forth to thy work again;
It is not in vain that the seed is shed;
If only one soul to the crosses led,
Thy labor is not in vaini"    .
And at last she woke, and her knee she bent
In grateful, child-like prayer—
And she prayed till an answer of peace was sent,
"And Faith and Hope as a rainbow blent,
O'er the clouds of her earthly care.
'And she rose in joy, and her eye was bright,
Her sorrow and grief had fled—
'And her soul was calm, and her heart was light,
For herhanda were strong in her Saviour's might,
As forth to her work-She sped.
Then rise, fellow-teacher, to labor go!
Wide scatter the precious grain-
Though the fruit may never be seen below,
Be sure that the seed of the Word shall grow;
Toil on in faith, and thou soon shalt know
" Thy labor is not in vain!"—Sunday-School World.
For the Snnday-School Times.*
DESTROY THE BUGS.
MANY a promising garden has been de¬
stroyed by neglecting to remove the
bugs and worms that prey upon the tender
plants just springing into life. Every careful
gardener will watch and protect his young
plants and trees from the ravages of these de¬
structive agents. They begin their .work by
drawing the sap and eating the stem, and it is
finished in the early destruction of all the
beauty and fragrance and delight that were to
repay the gardener's toil.
So we find it in the Sunday-school garden.
Destroying agents are diligently at work with
LUTHER'S  FAITH.
IT i3 faith which gives Luther this clear¬
ness of vision. " I have lately seen two
miracles," he says, ".the first, as I was looking
out of my window and saw the stars in heaven
and all that beautiful vaulted roof of God,
and yet saw no pillars on which the Master
builder had fixedthis vault; yet the heaven
fell not, but all that grand arch stood firm.
Now there are some who search for such pil¬
lars and want to touch and grasp them, and
since they cannot they wonder and tremble as
if the heaven must certainly fall, for no other
reason but because they cannot touch and
grasp its pillars. If they could lay hold on
those, think they, then the heaven would stand
firm! The second miracle was,—I saw. great
clouds rolling over us, with such a ponderous
weight that they might be compared to a great
ocean, and yet I saw no foundation on which
they rested or were based, nor any shore which
kept them back; yet they fell not on us, but
frowaed on us with a stern countenance and
fled. But when they had passed by, then shone
forth''both their foundation and our roof which
had kept them back—the rainbow! Yet that
was indeed a weak, thin, slight foundation and
roof, which soon melted away into the clouds,
and was more like a shadowy prism, such as
we see through colored glass, than a strong
and firm foundation ; so that we might well
distrust that feeble dyke wkich kept back that
terrible weight of waters. Yet we found, in
fact, that this unsubstantial prism could bear
up the weight of waters, and that it guards us
safely. But there are some who look rather
at the thickness and massy weight of the
waters and clouds, than at this thin, slight,
narrow bow of promise. They would like to
feel the strength of tbat shadowy, evanescent
arch, and because they cannot do this, they
are ever fearing that the clouds will bring back
the deluge."—The Schonberg-Coita Family.
HEN an*°>n*ma^ *s Jovou3» or TrneQ ^e *8
„ „ '"^Tvn he is ashamed, are his
_ y, or wht.v,n '•
emotions like ours, when;^e have these feeI"
ings ? We read of a fox whi^ a gentleman
saw kill his goose, and then h£lki^buried
under the leaves. The fox then wen^'°>ff'_as
the secreted gentleman presumed, to in.7lt?
others to the feast. He went and uncovered
and removed the goose, and again watched to
see the result. Soon Reynard came back with
his friends, and then with a proud look went
to the spot and uncovered, and lo ! no goose
was there! Never could shame be expressed,
if it was not by the poor fox! Did he not
really feel shame ? Perhaps he had been
boasting what a feat he had performed, and
what a feast he had provided!
I was once on the beautiful " Seventh Lake,"
when our hunter wa3 greatly anxiou3 to pro¬
cure a deer.    Our larder was very low.    So
he planned that he would take his dog, Fan¬
nie, and go out on the mountain, a mile or
more distant, and start a deer, with the hope
that the dog would run it in the lake.    But
when he got out on the mountain, for some
reason or other, Fannie refused to hunt!    She
.would go off a few rods and return again.  He
put her on the track, and she would run a
little way and then come back.    Getting out
of patience, he cut him a tough  stick and
whipped the animal almost without mercy.
The consequence was that she took to her legs
and went howling off over the mountain.   He
came back to us disappointed, chagrined, and
sad: disappointed, because we should have
no venison; chagrined, because he did not
command his temper; and sad,  because he
feared he had driven off the dog forever.   For
three   days we   neither   saw nor  heard of
her.   Then a deer came into the lake close to
us.    Where it came from, or what drove it in,
we knew not, as we heard no cry of any dog.
But as we were on the sandy beach, about
two hours after this, what should we see but
poor Fan creeping towards her master, fairly
dragging herself on the sand, and uttering a
low, plaintive whine.    Her master stood still,.
and slower and slower the poor thing creeped
and crouched towards him.   Would she be
beaten again?  I never saw an eye more timid,
or meekness and contrition more plainly ex¬
pressed.   It was painful.    When within about
three rod3, and while trying to read his face,
her master snapped his finger, and in a mild,
forgiving, cheerful voice, simply said, " Fan¬
nie 1"   In an instant she leaped up, bounded
towards him, fairly screaming with joy.    The
expression of her face   and the tones of her
voice were entirely changed.    She bounded,
and leaped, and barked, and tried to shout for
joy!    She was forgiven!   She was pardoned!
She was received back to the good will, and
restored to the confidence of her master! The
loudest words, could she have talked, could
not have been more expressive.   She felt for¬
giveness !
And this was the joy of forgiveness ! Many
a child has felt it when he has done wrong
and offended his father. The poor animal
knew that she could not be happy alone in the
woods, day after day, shut away from her
master. She felt that she had done wrong,
and there was no way but to throw herself on
the mercy of her offended friend. The child
must do just so. So David did when he had
sinned and God had turned away his face from
him. So Peter did when he had denied his
blessed Redeemer. So the Prodigal Son did
when he returned and fell on his knees before
his father and cried, " Father, I have sinned."
Fannie did not, and could not feel sure that
her master would forgive her and receive her
into favor ; but it was her duty and her wis¬
dom to go to him and sue for mercy. Perhaps
it was the first time in her life when she felt
what forgiveness was. She did not know the
name of the feeling, but she felt its joy!
I think I have seen very many cases when
the human heart has had this feeling, even in
a far higher degree. I have seen the strong
man come to my study, pale and trembling,
not because he had done wrong to me, or had
any forgiveness to ask from me, but because
he had sinned against heaven, and felt that he
was a poor, condemned sinner. And I have
seen such fall on the knees, sobbing with
emotion; and then, when mercy came in the
name of Christ, and poured forgiveness upon
the soul, it was " the garment of praise for the
spirit of heaviness," and the eyes have sparkled,
and the face glowed, and the tongue broken
out in songs of gladness. The joy of poor Fan
brought to my memory many such cases, when
the forgiven one wanted to follow Christ,
shouting, leaping, and praising God, and ter¬
ror, and darkness, and fear were cast out of
the heart by that love which will always cast
them out.
Ofteh the wicked are better accommodated
than the godly. The chief priests and Phari¬
sees went away every one to his own house,
but the blessed Jesus, who had nowhere to lay
his head, retired to the Mount of Olives.—-
Wardrop.
Matthew vii. 26, 27.—Everything besides
Christ is sand. Some build their hopes upon
their worldly prosperity, as if that were a
sure token of God's favor; others, upon their
external profession of religion—they were
baptized, they are called Christians, they go
to church, they hear Christ's word, they say
their prayers, and do nobody any harm, and
if at last they perish, whit will become of a
vast many! Ab, these externals are that
which with a great deal of assurance many
venture upon, but they are all sand, too weak to
bear such a fabric as our hopes of heaven.—
M. Henry.