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.

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