THE CHRISTIAN SUN,
IN ESSENTIALS, UNITY;
IN NON-ESSENTIALS, LIBERTY;
IN ALL THINGS, CHARITY.
Volume XXXI.
SUFFOLK, VA., FEIDAY DECEMBER 6, 1878.
Number 4-8.
TYPE AND ANTITYPE.
Britt? forth the paschal lamh,
A iMim pare and while;
Take from the fold, beside the dam, *
Th# meek and gentle type.
Now'drnw the vital flood,
And let the hyssop tell,
Pipped in the basin filled with blood,
And mark where Israel dwell.
Keep close within your door,
l e chosen ones of God,
And while rlis vengeance passes o’er,
Ye shall not feel the rod.
♦ * * * * *
The antitype appealed,
The heavenly Lamb came down ;
“Smite 1” said the Shepherd, “let him bleed
That only can atone !”
’Twas then that meekness bowed,
The patient Lamb was dumb,
Till in an agony he cried,
While on the cross he hung.
The fountain from his side
With richest merit flows,
Receive his mark, within him hide,
Secure from all your woes.
—American Messenger.
JleUduntg,
"AS A LITTLE CHILD.”
Louis Wise sat alone, wrapped in
sorrowful abstraction. The house
was still, for it was midnight, aud
the day was the Sabbath ; one full of
grief to him, for in their quiet cham
ber his young wife lay dying. All
day her cheek had burned with fever,
aud she had boked solemnly beauti
ful as sha lay thus iu unconsciousness,
her ruby lips parted, her brown eyes
bidden by their white fids, soon to
be unveiled amid the spieudor of the
King’s palace.
Louis had been sitting by her side
all day, wiping the cold death-dews
from her brow.
“She will soon be gone,” they
had said; and with a groan of an
gnish he had fi£& away, half wish
ing that he might “curse God, and
die.”
The strong, young heart rose up in
open revolt. Surely it was terrible ;
and as Louis cast his eyes for a mo
ment upon the tiny girl asleep in her
cradle beside him, so soon to be
motherless, he clenched his teeth iu
very anguish, and his muscles worked
hard. He turned his face away from
the cradle, quaffing bitter draughts
of the water of sorrowful reflection ;
and growing stronger for rebellion,
he murmuied to himself, “People
speak of a ‘just God!’ ‘A loving
Father.’ Impossible! Very just!
very loving, to take from me that
which alone could give me any
joy. Aud yet these Christians tell
me that ‘God is love.’ Heavens! De
liver me from this kind of love, so
greedy that it robs its own offspring.
‘Justice,’too; where is the justice, of
the act which removes from earth a
sweet, innocent beiug like her-1”
Here his heart failed him, aud he
wept bitterly, sheddiug tears of re
sentment and anger. Then he con
tinued : “She was a beiug who loved
every oue ; one of the few who kept
this miserable world from going to
destructiou. I cannot understand it.
1 will not understand it! It is too
cruel, loo cruel! If the Almighty
thinks to wiu my heart by torturing
it, he is mistaken. I will never”-;
“Mr. Wise, will you please step
in t I think she is dying,” said
a low voice; aud Louis stepped
softly in, sitting down at the bed
side.
Yes, she was dying surely. He
took the thin Augers in his own,
pressing them gently, and tho brown
eyes unclosed. He bent forward,
and kissing the buruiug lips, he
called her “his darling ; his life ; his
all. He could not let her go. No!
no.”
At this tho eyes swept upward a
secoud. She knew him uow ; knew
all 5 that she was going home—go
iug, through faith, willingly. Iu a
low voico she said, toying with her
fingers:
“O, Louis, the baby; bring the
baby, dear.” And the nurse brought,
her, rosy with sleep.
Louis took the child, and the fond
mother-heart made one last effort, as,
laying her quivering fingers upon the
silken hair, she whispered, brokenly :
“Lear Louis, teach her—tho Way—
the Truth, and—the Life; Jesus, Je
bus ouly. Stay the little feet upon
the Jiock of Ages—blessed Itock—
9 ‘other refuge have I none.’ Seek it,
dear Louis, O, seek it, love—and
come”- The brown eyes lost their
Jove-light: there was a fluttering
aigb, and, ‘ the spirit returned to
God, who gave it.”
Louis laid the child down, and
throwing his arms about that quiet
form, he besought her piteously “not
to leave him ; O, not to leave him/
“O, my darling! my wife. How shall
I live without you! I cannot; I
shall die! God help me! pity me!
It is more than I can bear.” Here
his thoughts reverted to God himself,
and his heart hardened instantly.
He arose from her side, and went out
into the night, cherishing in his
breaking heart thoughts of bitter re
sentment ; aud it was not until day
break that he re-entered the bouse.
Two days later, and nil was over.
The voice of him who stauds between
the living and the dead had uttered
the airgust, solemn words, “Gust to
dust, ashes to ashes,” there to lie
in hope of a glorious resurrection.
Now the house was empty, and the
very silence spoke of her that had
gone forever. The babbling cf the
little one, the twining of her Ungers,
her snr.le, all were agonizing to him.
He must go away ; he would take his
child, aud go to his distant city home
to his mother.
Ah, the going forth, the last glance
around the darkened rooms; the
touch of old, familiar objects, objects
that seem now to hollow your hand by
contact; and written everywhere the
grand, awful words of the testtrrec
tion angel: “He is not here.”
Louis gazed arontid him until hard,
passionate thoughts crowded his
brain, and then looking backward, ho
said ouce more:
“Yes, if the Almighty thinks he
will win my heart by this means, he
will find that he will fail. I will
never, neveryield but as he adjust
ed the little one within his arms, the
words of her who now lay, with closed
lips, under the shadow of the old
church spire, came back to him:
“Teach her ‘the life, the truth, the
way.' Jesus; Jesus only. Stay the
little feet upon the blessed Kock of
Ages.” He gazed upou the child,
and with a rain of tears he cried : “O,
Mary! My darling, where shall I
look! What shall I dot Life is too
much for me. Out of the unknown
Somewhere, come to me, help me,
teach me. God knows I cannot teach
our child!” Here the baby laid her
soft baud upon his cheek, and wiping
away his tears, he passed down the
grass-bordered path, opened the gate
and was gone At dusk he took the
train in which he was to pass the
night, expectiug to reach the city in
the early morning.
Baby had been well fed, and was
now awake, in high glee, her pretty
face lull of dimples. Louis dreaded
the long night.journey, aud longed
for the morning. Night came on.
and when the lamps were lighted,
baby was all the more wild and joy
ous. Nothing escaped her. Louis
knew that a reaction was sure to suc
ceed ; these wild fits of glee were al
most invariably followed by long sea
sons of fretfuluess ere sleep came. It
grew late, and baby grew quiet; the
steady motion of the train seemed
like that of a mammoth cradle, and
Louis hoped that the blue eyes would
soon close, when suddenly the cars
stopped, nearing a station, and the
conductor informed them that they
had received orders to wait half an
hour. What confusion filled the air,
and amid all, baby Mariou opened
wide her blue eyes, aud sat up on her
father’s knee. Louis gave a sigh,
thiuking of the consequences. Like
Ishinnel, thinking of the scon “spent,”
and she grew cross, 'lhe poor child
had cried for her mother until she
was hoarse, aud now uttered a sharp,
disagreeable cry, growiug more aud
more vehemeut. Louis was in ut
ter despair, for the child uow shed
great tears, with nervous pain aud
iear.
The passengers began to bo au
noyed, and Louis looked out, but alas,
it was now raining, and be could not
take her out into the shed-station.
In vain he strove to quiet her,
and finally he, stfift, iu tones of
patient sorrow : “My dear, mother
less child, what shall l do with
you I”
His remarks were overheard by a
quiet lady in heavy mourning, who
sat in front of him, and beside her a
little girl. Lookiug around upon the
sad raced strauger, the lady said gen
tly :
“I beg your pardon, sir ; but will
yon trust the child to me ! Perhaps
I can help you.’
He looked up to her iu thankful
ness, aud laid the child upon her ont
j stfetcbed arms. “Hear little bir
| die,’’she said,pressing the li|jtle one’s
i face against her ch ek, “Hush, little
one, hush,” and in soft mother
tones she soothed the child, until
the shrill screams ceased, but died
away into a low, worrying cry,
and tlio loving effort seemed almost
vain.
The child at the lady’s side seemed
trying to quiet the little one too, for
casting a bright glanee into the face
above her, she exclaimed, softly: “O,
I know. Sing; Bing to her, mamma,
please.”
The modest lady glanced hastily
around the car. It was nearly empty
now; but could she sing J Dare she
try 1 Certainly anything were better
than this; she would try. Shestrove
to recall an air, but could not, and in
alow voice she said: “What shall I
sing, deart”
The little one whispered : “Please
sing dear papa’s hymn—if you can,
mnmnia,” she added.
A rush of memories swept over
that widowed heart; but pressiug
the restless little head close to the
soft pillow of her mother-bosom, she
answered : “I will try, darling,”
All was still save baby. Louis sot
with his head upon his hand gazing
at the child. There was a second’s
silence; then a silvery voice, that
was full of pathos and tears, sang
teude'ly the sweet old words of pray
ing saint and penitent sinner.:
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself iu thee.
The voice grew prayerful and
strong, yet tender in its pleading
now ; and the tiny voyager over a sea
of trouble felt the “Peace be still.”
The sobs grew fainter; the little
hands folded together like flowers at
evening; the silken curtains drooped
low over the bine eyes, and sweet,
motherless baby Marion fell asleep,
just as the last grand, solemn words
arose,
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let tue hide myself in Thee.
The voice ceased; there were uo
other words spoken, aud soon after
the train started. But, O, let ine tell
you of Louis Wise, this storm-tossed
mortal who had been “toiling all the
night long.” As the first lines of the
hymn fell upon his ear, he hearkened,
as he had never before done; to these
words, whether in glorious temple or
at the cradle side. Hot one escaped
him ; word by word he drank them
iu; why, be knew not, only for her
sake, whose dyiug words they had
been ; and when the sound of the last
line died away, he said, again aud
I again, to himself, “‘Hide myself in
Thee,’ in Thee.'' “Was he hidden?
and, if not, could be teach his child ?”
The Great Invisible pressed the ques
tion home. Great waves of feeling
swept over his soul; he forgot every
thing in the preseut; life, death and
eternity seemed compassed by those
next hours. How he struggled. Self
and Satan came up to battle with him
who is uot to be overcome, and the
conflict raged high ; but Christ was
there, and, as of old, to the deujiug
one, so now, iu sorrowful, reproving
love, he “turned and looked upon
him and in deep self-abasement
this man, too, “wept bitterly.” But,
bless God I the Comforter stood by.
It was but a repetition of the scene
enacted before him ; for what was he,
this worldly wise, rebelling man, but
a poor, homesick, sorrowful child,
whom the dear Father now cradled
iu his arms, comforting him “as one
whom his mother comforteth ?” Sure
ly uothiug more.
The little one slept peacefully on
the love-ottered mother-breast; aud
Louis, like the Patriarch of old, wres
tled with the Great Angel “till the
break of day.” Agaiu and again did
his trembling soul cry out,
Deck of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee.
Aud when along the waking east
the sunbeams pierced the sky, there
arose in the heart of Louis Wise—at
first in faint, pencilings, but finally
with slrong, broad rays—the glorious
“Sun of righteousness, with healings
in its wings.” The victory was his ;
and lifting up his head, he wiped the
tears of joy from his face.
The cars new stopped, and with a
smile his precious child awoke. Pres
sing a kiss upon the sweet face the
gentle woman delivered her charge in
silence, But the heart of Louis was
overflowing with gratitude. He
grasped her hand, aud exclaimed
with strong feeling: “Madam, God
alone can repay you for the blessing
you have beeu to me and mine. Last
uight I was a wanderer j this morn
ing, thank God! I am, I trust, ‘hid
den’ in that blessed ‘.Rock,’ and my
heart is filled with a new, deep peace.
I cau say no more bat farewell, aud
may God keep yon forever.” A
strong hand-clasp, uud he was gone.
It was a strange scene, truly.
The widow dried her eyes, for the
little daughter said softly: “Don’t
cry, mamma. If God aud dear papa
are looking down, I’m sure they must
be very happy, musn’t theyt” Aud
the brave heart auswered, “Tea, mj
darling, they are glad, for be says,
‘There is joy in beaveu over one sin
ner that repenteth.’”
Louis stood with bis tiny daughter
pressed close to bis strong, peaceful
heart, and gazed a moment up into
the clear morniug sky—fit type for
his soul; and gazing thus, he said
slowly and solemnly: “O, my sainted
wife, my blessed darling, hear me. I
will teach our child Jesus; Jesus on
ly ; and by that ‘Life,’ that ‘Truth,’
that ‘Way,’ I will ‘come.’’’—Chris
tian at Work.
KATY FERGUSON.
BY BENSON J. LOSSINQ, LL. D.
How often mighty structure* have
arisen from apparently insignificant
beginnings! A mile basilica in a
market-place of old Christian Korae,
on the spot where a temple of peace
stood in Virgil’s time, became the
Church of St. Peter, which Gibbon
pronounced “the most glorious struc
ture that has ever beeu applied to
the use of religion.” Mighty moral
forifees have sometimes originated in
absolute obscurity*? the greatest pow
ers in nature hare an invisible pa
rentage.
Before me is a miniature, iu water
colors, of tbe undoubted founder of
the Sunday School System in tbe
city of New York. It is tbe likeness
of Katy Ferguson, whose works of
benevolence, considering the means
at her command, were marvelous.
Tbe picture was made by the writer,
about tweuty-five .years ago, from a
daguerreotype by Plum be, who was
one of the earliest American practi
tioners of the photographic art in
that form. The daguerreotype was
then iu the possession of the Rev.
Henry Ward Beecher, and was taken
from life for Arthur Tappan. tbe emi
nent merchant and philanthropist,
and fouuder of tbe American Anti
slavery Society.
Katy Ferguson was a colored wo
man of very dark hue, who was born
on shipboard during the passage of
her mother—a Virginia bond woman
—between Norfolk and New York.
Her mistress, the widow of a small
Virginia planter of Princess Anne
county, was then returning to her
friends in New York, with slender
menus, and this single feminine
slave.
At that time slavery had a legal
existence in New York. The neces
sities of the widow compelled, her to
sell the mother of Katy when the
latter was eight years of age. She
was taken to Virginia, and mother
and child never met again ou the
earth. The mistress was a kind
hearted Christian woman, and was
like a mother to the little orphan.
She often took Katy with her to the
house of prayer,—the church of Dr.
John Masou, the elder,—where, as
the child grew toward womanhood
ntid the truths of the Scripture be
came clear to her understanding, tbe
pijeaching of the good pastor made a
deep impression on her mind and
heart.
Katy never learned to read, but
her retentive memory became a
storehouse of Scripture texts and re
ligions truths. When she was about
sixteen years of age, her mind became
perplexed as she thought on the mys
tery of life and her own destiuy. In
much mental trouble and anxiety,she
ventured to call on Ur. Mason, one
evening, for advice and consolation.
Timidly she applied the knocker; aud
when she entered the good pastor’s
study she stood in silence, her face
wet with tears.
‘‘Well, Katy,” said the Doctor, in
his kindly voice, “Have you come to
talk about your soul t”
The question took a burden from
her spirit, and she left the presence
’of the good man satisfied aud full
of joy. Vague fears, born of un
certainty, were replaced by faitb,and
she longed to be an active Christian
woinau, like her mistress.
It was at about that time that a
benevoleut woman purchased Katy’s
freedom for two hundred dollars
One half of that amount was raised
by Divio Betbnne, the philanthropic
merchant, and father of the late Kev.
Dr. George W. Bethune,of Brooklyn.
Katy remained in the service o( hei
good mistress until she had refunded,
from her wages, one-half the pur
chase money. At the age of eighteen
she married, aud was ever afterward
known as Katy Ferguson. She had
two chllden, and lost them. Her
husband also died, aud Katy became
a professional cake maker, and was
soon famous as such. Older citi
zeus of New York who lived iu
the vicinity of the City Hall forty
years ago may remember this well
kuown cake-maker, whose services
were sought whenever a weddiug or
| it fashionable party was to occur
‘She was then, as I remember her, a
stout, elderly woman, with bright
eyes, a face foil of tokens of a benev
olent nature, a voice musical and win
ning, and ber ways ever motherly.
She lived in a one-story and a ball
frame honse, in Warreu street, near
Church street; and there might be
seen every Sunday a gathering ol
the poor and outcast children of her
neighborhood, white aud black.
Katy was too young to understand
the ful! significance of the parting
with her mother; but human nature
was severely wounded, and the mem
ory of the anguish of that moment
never faded. It implanted in her
bosom an irrepressible desire to help
the poor and distressed ; and when
she had bnried her children and her
husband she began the blessed work
of doing good to iioverty-stricken and
desolate children. She made no dis
tinction, saying, “They are all God’s
lambs.” In her humble dwelling,
wherever it might be, she gathered
them from her neighborhood every
Sunday and instructed them in reli
gious knowledge. Her demeanor was
so sweet, her piety so earnest, and
her cake (of which every attendant
was sure to have a piece) was so de
licious, that these poor waifs on the
snrface of society, all loved Katy
Fergusou,—“Aunt Katy,” as they af
fectionately called her, for they
regarded her as little less than an
angel.
Feeling her own weakness, Katy
often asked white people to assist her
in her blessed work ; and the sainted
Isabella Graham, the grandmother of
Dr. Bethune, who opened a school in
New York soon after the close of the
Revolution, frequently invited Katy
and her Sunday pupils to her house,
when she imparted to them religious
instruction and wholesome advice
concerning conduct in life. Mrs.
Graham walked daily among the poor
and benighted, and fully appreciated
the work iu which Katy was engaged,
aud at length, when the Rev. Dr.
Mason the younger, son of the good
pastor who was instrumental iu Katy’s
conversion, was ministering j» bis
new church in Murray street, she
called his attention to the labors
of the good woman. On the very
next Sunday, Rev. Dr. Mason called
oa Katy while her school was iu ses
sion.
“What are you about here, Katy T”
asked the pastor. “Keeping school
on the Sabbath t”
Katy was badly’ troubled, for she
thought the question implied re
proof.
“This must not be, Katy,” con
tinued Dr. Mason. “You must not
be allowed to do all of this work
alone.”
Then he invited her to transfer her
school to the basement of the Murray
Street Church. It was doue. As
sistants were provided for her, aud
the children of the cougrcgatiou
giadually eulaged the school uutil it
"became notable throughout the city.
Such was the humble origin of the
Murray Street Suuday School, and
it is believed that Katy Ferguson’s
was the first Suuday School ever
established in the city of New York.
The late Rev. Dr. Ferris, chancel
lor of the University of the city of
New York, told me, many years ago,
that his first extempore expositions
of the Scriptures, while he was yet a
theological student, were made iu
Katy’s Sunday School of the Murray
Street Church ; aud several men, af
terward distinguished in mercantile
and professional life, acknowledged
chat their first abiding religious in
struction was obtaiued from the lips
of Katy Ferguson.
Tbe labors of that good woman in
the field of practical benevolence
were not confined to Sunday School
instruction. That was really a com
paratively small part of her active
Christian work. For about forty
years she was in the habit of gather
ing, every Friday evening and Sun
day afternoon, the poor and outcast
children and adults of her neigh
borhood, white and black, into her
narrow dwelling, aud always secured
some good man to conduct the ser
vices of a prayer-meeting. There
{several persons, theological students
or callow pastors, perhaps, who after
ward became distinguished divines,
found an excellent training school in
exhortations. Katy’s good influence
was always palpable. Tract distribu
tors uniformly testified that wherever
Katy Fergnson was tbe neighborhood
improved. Her last and longest resi
dence was in Warren street, where
she kept up her religions meetings
and religious instruction until a short
time before her death.
Nor were purely religious meetings
and religious instructiou the ouly
field of Katy Ferguson’s benevolent
work. The recollections of her own
| orphanage kept her sympathies been
| ly alive to the distresses and perils of
uncared-for children. She remem
j bered, with the most profound grati
tude, the kinduess of her mistress,
which overshadowed her, and kept
her from temptations, when neither
father nor mother could protect her;
and she felt that she owed a debt to
humauity which she might never re
pay. Bnt she did what she could.
Though always laboring for her daily
bread at small remuneration, she
cheerfully divided her pittance with
others less favored. She always hud
one or two children under her care
and sustenance, which she had taken
from the almshouse on Chambers
street, or from dissolute parents ; and
during her life, she brought up to
young maubood or womanhood, or
kept uutil she could procure places
for them, no less than forty-eight des
titute children, Cventy.of whom were
white. Many years ago, one of the
latter, then a prosperous merchant,
owning ships at sea, and an exem
plary deacon in a Christian church,
told a friend of the writer that he
was snatched by Katy Ferguson from
dissolute parents, cared for by her
more than six years, and by her in
strumentality, under God, had his
feet placed in the pathway to earthly
prosperity and eterual salvation.
“Because of the care of that poor old
colored woman,” he said, “I am, to
day, what I am.” It is proper to say
that the last days of Katy Fergusou
were made happy, and without care
for temporal wants, through the
steady bouuty of this grateful mer
chant.
Katy Ferguson died of cholera iu
Jfew York, ou the llth of July, 18df,
when she was about seventy-five
years of age. Her last words were,
as she reviewed her past life, “All is
well!” Who may doubt it! Who
can estimate the amount of social
blessings which have flowed from
those labors of love of a poor, unedu
cated, colored woman, born a slave,
made au orphan when eight years
old, aud living and dispensing bouu
ties all her life through the daily
luiaistxaiious ol' the laborjof her own
bands f
“This poor widow,” said the Re
deemer, iu the presence of proud and
rich Pharisees at the contribution
box iu the synagogue—“this poor
widow hath cast in more than they
all; for they did cast In of their abun
dance, but she, of her penury, hath
cast iu all the Living that she had.”
Ought not the example of Kat.v Fer
guson to be a powerful sermon of re
proof to us, uttered, as it were, with
a tongue of fire, that should make our
cheeks tingle with the blush of shame,
because of our retnissness in duty t
The example of such a life ought not
to be lost. It is worthy to have its
record made iu letters of gold, or iu
living sunlight, for the beuefit of the
Christian world. Happy will it be
for each of us if, at the final earthly
reckoning, and in full view of the
balance sheet of life's transactions,
each of ns tnay be enabled to say,
with. Joy, as did Katy Ferguson,
the philanthropist ot the truest
stamp, “All is well 1”—Sunday School
Times.
God will have honest dealing. We
cannot sell brass for gold, Dor pewter
for silver in his market. We must
come down to the actual facts in ever;
case. No shames are accepted, no
deceptions countenanced, no hypocri
sies tolerated. He desires the truth
In the inward parts. If God cannot
make a man honest, he has no place
for him. Heaven is no home for
hypocrites. All guile and hypocrisy
must be laid aside, with all malice,
if we will be followers of him “who
did no sin, neither was any guile
found in his mouth,” and who de
sires to present us before the pres
ence of his father’s glory, “fault
less and with exceeding joy.”—The
Christian.
Truth is always consistent with
itself, and needs nothing to help it
out. It is always i^ear at hand, and
sits open our lips and is ready to drop
out before we are aware; whereas a
lie is troublesome, and sets a man’s
invention upcu the rack, and one
trick needs a great many more to
make it good.
“Our life is made up of little
things.” Our attention to them is
the true tudex of our character,
and ofteu the balance by which it is
weighed.
Wk must love our friends as true
amateurs love paintings; they have
their eyes perpetually fixed on the
good parts, and see no others. v
The richest persons are not those
who possess most, but those who
make most use of^cbat they possess.
SICK CHILDREN.
Sickueas and illness may males a
child fretfnl and selfish, and the peo
! pie about a sick child may spoil it by
giving up everything to it, and en
j con raging it to ask for everything.—
. lint it may also teach a child to be
; patient and considerate, and grateful
| for all the care it gets ; and then, in
stead of being a source of sorrov and
| vexation in the bonsehold, it becomes
: a source of instruction and coinfoit to
all. .
There were two boys of Scotland,
and both became famons in after life,
andanany of you have heard of their
names. One was Lord Byron (Lord
Byron’s mother was a Scotch heiress,
but he was born in London,) the oth
er was Sir Walter Scott. Well, both
these boys had the same misfortune.
Both Lord Byron and Walter Sent,
from their earliest years, were lame.
Bach of them had what is called a
club foot, or something very like it.
Bnt now what was the different ef
fect produced by this lame foot on
the two boys t Lord Byron, wbo was
a perverse, selfish boy, was made by
his club-foot discontented and angry
with every one about him. It went
like iron into his soul. It poisoned
his heart. It set him against all man
kind, and injured his whole charac
ter. He had a splendid genius, bnt
amid many fine qualities it was a ge
nius blackened and discolored by ha
tred, malice, uueharitableness, and
tbe deepest gloom. Walter Scott, on
the other hand, never lost his cheer
fulness. His lame foot made him
turn to the reading of good old books
and to tbe enjoyment of the beauti
ful sights and sounds about him, aud
he. too, grew to be a great poet aud
writer of stories which will live in
every age aud in every country. Bnt
in him tiie lameness, which he had
borne patiently aud cheerfully in
childhood, never interfered with his
kindness uud bis good humor to
those about him. He was a delight
to all who came across him, and even
when he was at last overtaken by
heavier misfortunes be never lost his
loving, generous disposition.
a~i.*1 . —T T
would wish to teach M) all child reu
who are sickly and suffering", or who
may become sickly and suffering ; Do
uot think that yon cannot be useful,
do not think that everything has
gone against yon. No. It is well with
you ; you can be most useful—you
can be tbe useful child; and when
you grow up you can be the useful
man or woman in the home. Tou.
can arrange plans of amusement for
the others who are too busy to ar
range them for themselves. You can
show by your constant cheerfulness
that happiness does nut depend on
the good things which you eat, or on
the active games which yon play, but
on a contented, joyfal heart. You
can make them feel that there is
a better world above, where yon have
hope to be. And you cbildreu wbo
are strong and healthy, remember
that to you this little sick sister is a
blessing that God has given yon. It
is well for you to have them. They
may not be able to share in your
games; yon will often be obliged to
be quiet in their sick-room, or when
they come among you. But that is
good for yon, because it makes you
see very early the joy, the happiness,
the usefulness, of having some one
weaker than yourselves when you
are put ont—some one in pain or suf
fering to whom you can minister like
a ministering angel. Do uot be has
ty or augry with a deaf brother or,
I may say a deaf mother or auut, be
cause they cannot hear you; or a
bliud sister or, I may say a blind fa
ther or ancle, because they cannot
see you; or with a lame or deformed
brother or coasin or companion, be
cause they cannot take an active part
in your amusements. No. They can
not do tliis ; but they can do ranch
better than this for you, because they
make you feel fbr deafness and blind
ness and lameness, everywhere.—
When you have seen it in those you
love, you will be remiuded of it iu
those you do uot love.
Leant to be tender to your suffer
ing brothers or sisters. Ycu who are
sick or weakly, always keep up that
fellow-feeling. It will make your
weakness or illness a blessing aud
not a enrse. Yon who are well aujl^
have sick friends, you, also, try to
keep up that fellow-feeling.—From a
Sermon to Children by Dean Stanley.
Beeb is uot a good driuk. Why
uot? Because it contains alcohol,the
poison which makes people drunk.
It is the alcohol which gives the
sharp taste to it which people like.
But for that it would be no better
than dirty water, and no one would
wish to drink it. And thisit is which
causes all the mischief that comes
from drinking it. Oh, how much bet
ter it would be for every one to let it
alone.