University of South Carolina Libraries
The Abbeville Press and Banner l BY HUGH WILSON. ABBEVILLE, s". C., WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 8, 1888. VOLUME XXXHL NO. 13. |tfj| The Husbandman. Joliu Smith is a neighbor of mint', but no relation. He is a good farmer, but?Well, I will let him tell his own story. He came to me the other day, and said: "I want you to advise me what to do. We are having awful times over at my house. The boys are falling into bad habits. The girls are gaddingabout all the time. My wife is as cross as a bear. She says it is all my fault that the children don't do Iwtter, and that I have nobody but myself to blame. But you know that I have always been a sober, hard-working man. I have made a good living for my family, and I can't see why things turn out so. What do you think I ought to do?" "Shall I tell you just what I think?' "Yes." "Well, John, my opinion is that if you had been as good a luisbandman indoors as you are out of doors, your family would be in as good condition as your farm is. You know that the Bible calls the farmer a husbandman, and we speak of farmiug as husbandry. And I take it, the idea is that a man ought to care for aud cultivate his landjustashe does his home. But I i f you had treated your farm as you have treated your home, it would be all over-grown with weeds and thistles." "What do you mean by cultivating my home? I understand about cultivating land. But that is a very different thing from cultivating people." "I am not so sure of that. Let us loook at the matter, Soon after you bought your farm you married your wife. In becoming a husband, you assumed in regard to her the duties of a husbandman. She expected you to study her capabilities and her wants as youstuddied your fields. Your idea when you loooked on your land was, How can I make it most productive, and yet keep it in good heart? If you saw the crops begining to grow light, you summer fallowed, or changed the seed. But did you study your wife in that way ? Did you ever think that she needed encouragement? Did you ever see how she was drooping from] the monotony of her daily toil and cares, and thy to give her a change? Did you ever say, 'Come, Sarah, we will take a journey to the mountains j or to the seashoie and rest awhile.'I I tell you, John, people need summer fallowing as well as laud. And if they | don't get it now and then, their spirits! grow worn and weary, and the crop of j comfort for them, and for those who are dependent on them, will be very light. Nay, in spite of themselves, J they will get to be irritable. You say that your wife is cross. Don't you see why? She loved you, and thought that you loved her. But after you , ' married her, how did you treat her? Did you cultivate her, or did you neglect her? Don't you act just as if she had nothing to expect of you but to keep the family supplied with provisions, and to eat your meals when she had prepared them? And didn't you sometimes grumble even when she wauted money for things necessary to the comfort of the family? And didn't you complain of her cooking, when she was doing the best she could to please you? Now just remember how much more careful you were of your land than of your wife! how much more time you spent in trying to mellow it and smooth it, and to find seeds adapted to it, than you spent in trying to make her happy, and you will see why you have such a harvest of thistles, when you might have had wheat and fruit and flowers! "And then about the children. You are the best man I know of to handle horses. I have often wondered at your patience with your colts. You never seem to get tired of petting and training them. You are so kind to tlipm nnd vet so firm with them, that by the time they are old enough to work, they will do anything you want them to. That pair of bay geldings that you drive is the finest in the country, and it is because you have takeu such p:\Ins in breaking them. Now if you had done as well by your children as you have by your colts, they would be just as nice boys and girls. But while you petted your colts, you repelled your children. I have seen little Johnny come to you while you were in a corral trying to gentle the horses, and you would order him away harshly and then turn and speak as softly and caressingly to the beast as a mother talkes to her babes. You know that if you had spoken to the horses as you spoke to Johnny, you would have spoiled them. Is it any wonder, then, that you have spoiled him ? ,4I tell you, John, your wife is right. You have nobody but yourself to blame. You have been a good land fanner, but a shiftless and careless * - < "\r? i i_ _ iiouse lariiier. 1 mi Iiavi' uevru u msirate husbandman, but a very indifferent husband and father. And you are reapingjust what you sowed. Now, my advice is to do just as you would if you had a field that bad been neglected until it was covered with underbrush and thistles. Clear the land and begin to cultivate it. Take an interest in your wife aud children, and it may not be too late for you to secure a happy home. Be kind to your boys and girls, and yet firm with them, as you are with your horses, and they will learn to love you and obey you." I write out the substance of this con veisation because I mil afraid that there are a good many such John Smiths in the world. Men who have homes ought to know how to husband them. Husband is defined by Webster, "To use in the manner best suited to the greatest effects." Every head of the family has a grand opportunity. What noble men and women have gone forth from the well-cultivated homes of Christendom to bless their country and the world! All our homes should be thenureries of plants of righteousness. But to have a good nursery one must devote time and thought and toil to it. It won't grow IlIJU 1IUU1IMI Ul USUI, uutaivu n.#?. Neither will a home.?Herald and Presbyter. In a little book 011 "Evangelistic Work," by Rev. Arthur T. Pierson, we find the author indulging in the most melancholy reflection in regard to the slow rate of conversion to Evangelical Christianity, both at home and abroad. The writer says :? Those who have made a study of the matter, taking a survey of the whole area of Protestant and Evangelical Christendom, and the average accessions by conversion for the half-century past, tell us that the increase is about seven converts yearly to every one hundred church members. If this be true?and it tallies with such conclusions as we have been able to make from a tolerably broad induction from facts,?we are making such slow progress toward the world's evangelization that we are gaining from the world only about four new converts a year for every hundred professional disciples. At such a rate, even had we unlimited time for the work, it would take half a millenium of years for the thirty millions of Protestant Christians to rcai'll l 111? Hill l Ul lilt) lauc UKjyy nil nout the gospel. The melancholy fact is that the population of tho world is more rapid in its increase and displacement than the church is in its evangelizing march. With all the progress made, after all the triumphs of the gospel, and notwithstanding all the open doors and multiplied facilities of communication and impression, the host of the unsaved is undoubtedly vaster to-day than it has been at any previous age of human history. These are not the only conditions that complicate the great problem. The Church ilsclf lacks picly, and therefore power. We have conceded that one-half the race is already evangelized ; but is this true ? There are millions nominally connected with Romish, Oreek, and Oriental, and Protestant, and Occidental communities, and even churches who are sunk and buried in ignorance, superstition, and virtual idolatry.* There are mil lions more wno navu *i lunii ui guunness, l>ut deny the power thereof; and yet millions more who, in the very blaze of gospel light, live in irreligion, immorality, and infidelity. Such, then, is the problem, and such some of the factors and elements which enter into and complicate it. The host of the unsaved is a vast multitude. Practical indifference as to the peril of lost souls is eating like dry rot at the very foundations of evangelistic effort; and who is sufficient for these things? ? . Putting Auiiy the Stove. When putting away a stove for the summer, first cleau it out well. Before taking it down, while there is a coal fire in it, throw in a handful of salt. When the fire is out and the stove cold, takeout the ashes, and with a coal chisel remove the clinkers, which will have been loosened by the salt. Place some large, heavy newspapers 011 the floor under the funnel, extending from the chimney hole to the hole in the stove where the piping fits 011, also around the stove to preveut any soot falling 011 the carpet. Move out the stove, keeping the piping on until the funnel is out of the chimney hole about two inches. Take the l'unuel carefully from the stove, and carry it into the yard, shake it into the ash barrel, and lay aside. Clean out of the stove as much of the soot around the drum and back as can be conveniently removed. With a brush broom brush out the inside, taking care to keep mouth and nose covered while doing it. If the liuing is adjustable, take out and do up each piece separately in newspaper, and you will not lie so likely to have it broken when wanted for use. Take oft' doors, feet, and whatever can be readily removed to lighten its weight, and have it carried to the place it is to occupy for the summer. Put on the l'eet, doors, etc., and it is ready for the final oiling or blacking, whichever is desired. The usual way is to go over the whole surface of the stove with kerosene, being careful that the oil goes into every crevice. This keeps the stove from rusting. Another and by far better way, is to cut up the quantity of polish wished, and instead of water, use warm melted lard. Rub the mixture thoroughly over every part of the stove and funnel. Tliis wsiv hils liPi'll liv ii frifiinl of ours with excellent succeess for some years. If the stove is to be put into :i closet, to be sure, the blacking cnu be done J?efore it is placed away. When the stove is blacked put in the inside on the grate the packages of lining, and in the lower part the wrench, and the funnel close by. lie sure that the place in which it is stored is perfectly dry, or will have cause you to regret ever taking it down. Do not on any account place it away in a damp cellar or a shed that is leaky ; rather let it remain up all summer, no matter how small the room may be. If a stove is put away in a dry place, and cleaned according to the directions given, when taken out in the fall it will be in excellent order to put up for the winter.?American Cultivator. Begin to give as soon as you begin to get, and this will prevent a growing selfishness. The Wonderful Lamp. A little ragged errand boy was busy one day in the city of London with a piece of chalk in his hand, trying to write on a wooden gate thisveres from the Bible: "Thy word is a lamp to my feet." He was so busy with his work that he did not notice a kindlooking old gentleman, who, after walking slowly past him twice, returned, and stood behind watching him. "My," said the little fellow, repeating the letters aloud, as he wrote them with the chalk ; f-double e-t, feet." "Well done, my little man, well done," said the old gentleman. "Where did you learn that ?" "At the ragged school, sir," said the boy, who was half frightened, thiuking perhaps the old gentleman would l-imul him over to the nolico for writ ing on the gate. "Don't be afraid, my boy. I'm not going to hurt you. So you learned that text in the ragged school? Do you know what it means?" "No, sir," said the boy. "What is a lamp?" "A lamp? Why, a lamp! It's a tbiug that gives light." "And what is the word here spoken of." "It's the Bible, sir." "That's right. Now how can the Bible be a lamp and give light?" "I dun' no," said the boy, "'cept you set it on fire." "There is a better way than that, my lad. Suppose you were going down some lonely lane on a dark night, with an unliglited lamp in your hand, and a box of matches in your pocket, what would you do?" "Why, light the lamp, sir," said the boy, surprised that any one should ask such a simple question. "What would you light it for?" "To show me the road, sir." "Very well. Now suppose you were walking belliud me one day, and snw mr> <lrnn ft sliillinc. what would you do?" "Pick it jup and give it to you, air." "But wouldn't you want to keep it yourself?" "Should want to ; but I wouldn't do it." "Why not?" "Because that would be stealing, and the Bible says we mustn't steal." "And is the Bible called a lamp because it shows us the right way to walk in ?" asked the boy. "That's just it, my lad. And now do you think it worth while to take this good old lamp, and let it light you right through life?" "Yes, sir." "Why?" "Because if I'm honest I shan't stand no chance of going to prison." "AnU what else V" The boy thought a moment, ami then said : "If I mind the Bible I shall go to heaven when I die." "Yes, that's the best reason for using this lamp. It will show you the right way to heaven. Good-by, my lad. Here's a shilling for you. Mind you use this lamp." "Sir," said the little fellow, clasping the shilling, and taking off his ragged cap, "I'll mind." One thing for which David used the Bible was?light.?JRich. Newton, D. D. How to Hill GrnxM niul Weed*. If the battle against the weeds is kept up until the end of the growing season, for a few years, the expenso will be very much lessened. It is a great mistake to give the weeds a chance to seed in the autumn. Many are careful to keep the weeds down the first of the season, but cease their efforts when they think it is no longer necessary to keep them down for the i _r- i.i._ L mu Deuent ui iut* present urup. iiic,y givt; the weeds a chance to seed and the grass time to increase and strengthen its roots for another year. How often we see farmers fight the battle with twitch grass, hoeing five or six times in May and June, and at the very time when they might kill it let it rest, and, by so doing, give it a chance in tneautumn to fill the ground with roots, so that the following year the battle must be fought over again, with no better success. Thus year after year the ground is filled with this troublesome grass, and the belief is entertaiucd that it can be killed only by digging out nil the roots; when the fact is, there are but few troublesome plants so easily killed, if properly understood. The time to kill it is not in the spring, but in the summer. No amount of spring hoeing will kill it, because the roots at that season will live without a top for many weeks; but during August, if the root is deprived of its top, it will die. Consequently, if the top is cutofF just below the surface of the ground at that time, it is very sure to die. To make sure work of it, it is best to hoe the ground over the last of July, and again a week or ten days later. A sharp hoe should be used and care should be taken not to leave the end of a single root above the ground, for, if not cut below the surface, it does not decay, but dries, and thus preserves life at the bottom ; but when cut below the surface the whole root will decay, if left undisturbed until warm until weather is over. On this point we speak with confidence, because we have given it a thorough trial.?Massachusetts Plowman. No Weeping-->To Reaping. There are few more inspiring chapters in the biographies of many of the bravest and the best than those which record their early struggles with poverty and stern adversities. Many a great artist mixed his first colors with tears. Heroic John Todd, of Pittslleld, when lie footed it to New Haven to enter college, was compelled to .sleep through a cold night night under si bush by the roadside from sheer lack of money to pay for his lodgings. If he had lost heart then, the New I England pulpit would have lost the t, sturdiest Puritan of these modern h days. Godly mothers also can bring their testimonies of the tears, the b prayers, the self-denials, and the faithful trainings of sons and daughters ii whose after careers have brought lion- t; or and joy to the parental heart. The love-tears soaked both the soil and the tl seed, or there had been no harvest. We pastors, too, have our experiences; t we have often known what it was to go forth weeping, bearing our load of a seed, and to cpme back singing, laden with the sheaves. God never makes i his choicest blessings too cheap. Let " every young minister who means to reach the highest usefulness lay his e a i- . l. i aCUUUIil LU WliU lllliJ? Ilia ?>?CftC3t * pleasures will be wrought out of his sharpest pains, ami hardships will r pioneer his richest harvests. I As this world is only a trainingschool for a better world, God's dia- I cipline commonly runs along these C same lines. The seeding in sorrow brings the reaping in song. Some of i my readers may be now treading the o furrows of affliction with moistened eyes and trembling steps. Good s friends, do not let your tears blind s your eyes, either to God's love or your own duty, When sorrow is allowed a to settled in the heart, it often turns P the heart into a stagnant fen of bitter 8 waters, in which sprout all manner of noxious reeds of murmuring and self- e ishness and unbelief. Turn that sor- fi row outward into a current of sym- t pathy with others, and it may drive many a wheel of benevolence. Tears b are often wonderful fertilizers of the v soul; they are the heart-water that J grows some sweet graces, just as the Irrinr??linw hrAnb-a in fnril hni<. 1 ren sand into a garden. Sow on, ye t suffering ones; you will be the better f< men and women for this severe school- n ing. If faith grows, and unselfish love grows, and patience grows, then t sorrow will end in song, and weeping rJ will bring the reaping.?The Iicv. T. u L. Cuyler. ' c Sunday-School Cooks Deteriorating. 1 "That Sunday-school books have a very generally lost their distinctively ? religious character," says a secular paper, "is a feature of the times." He then says: "That it is deemed suflicient that they have a moral ten dency, and they mostly consist of novels." Jti This witness is true. And many of the novels are poor trash. We could give the names of men and women whose stories are found in most of the Sunday-school libraries, ami who have made fortunes by, writting them, , where the fact that the books are not immoral is all that can be said in their favor. s The free use of the books found in ^ many Sunday-school libraries is pernicious to children. One of the prom- ^ inent members of a Methodist Episco- a pal church, to our knowledge, has ^ long refused to allow his children to j bring home books from the library, he preferring to select and purchase for J. them. A boy who was punished for reading a flimsy novel on Sunday astonished ? his mother on the following Sabbath j by bringing home the same book from the Sunday-school library. A few good works of fiction worthy the ,( name of moral will not injure such libraries?may, indeed, be an advantage to them?but when the majority are of that class, and when cheap wishy-washy stories that weaken the ^ miiul nnd instead of introducing the ? ? ? j ? O germs of manly virtue, perpetuate puerile /sentimentality, constitute the bulk of such libraries, their influence r becomes more than doubtful. ? The Richmond Religious Herald says : "The subject of 'Publications' was before the Presbyterian Synod in North Carolina, and a very sprightly speaker arose and spoke as follows: 'Some of our Sunday-school publica- ^ tions are of a questionable character. Not long ago I was glancing over one of these, when I happened to light upon an account of some matters in 11 Texas ; and pretty soon I found myself in the midst of a very graphic account 11 of a fight between a man and a bear. Presently I came to this sentence: "As this book is intended for Sunday reading, we must make this story of the bear-fight short." ' " R We commend greater care in the ^ choice of books and in appointment of a the committees who select the books. ... ii How to Reftch the Masses. v The selfish and luxurious tendency of Christians was, to go to their com- Sl fortablc places of worship, whereas n their first duty was to go and fetch the 11 people. It did not matter how they s, did it, where there was a will there , was a way, and if they could drive Christians into the open-air, they 11 would be sure to find a way. A wise tl word on this subject had bceu spoken f( by Mr. Moody at a convention held to . consider how to reach the lapsed masses. After all the learned Divines had e spoken at great length and with great b fluency and wisdom for about six tl hours, Moody, rose and said : "Well, brethren, the time litis come to close ' this convention. We have only three n minutes left, but I can tell you my g views. If you want to get at the v lapsed masses you must c/o and fetch them?JIuffh Price Hughes. It is better for our hopes to die now n 1 than for our souls to die hereafter. il A Railway Catechism. " < How many miles of railway in the I Jnited .States? One hundred and fif- f y thousand six hundred miles, about 1 lalf the mileage of the world. s How much have they cost? Nine t ill ion dollars. What is the average cost of- construct- i ng a inilo of railroud ? At present I ime about $30,000. s How many people are employed by { hem? More than 1,000,000. < Who built the first locomotive in he United States? Peter Cooper. How long does steel-rail last with i verage wear? About 18 years. < What is the cost -of a palace sleep- : ngcar? About $15,000, or $17,000 if I 'vestibuled." 1 What is the cost of a high-class 1 ight-wheel passenger locomotive? < l hrrnt cq nnn 1 What is the longest American rail- I oad tunnel? Hoosac tunnel, on the I 'itchburg Railway, (4:}miles). What is the highest railroad in the Jnited States? Denver and Rio Jrande, Marshall Pass, 30,852 feet. What is the highest railroad bridge 11 the United States? Kinzua viaduct, n the Erie Road, 305 feet high. What is the longest railway bridge pan in the United States? Cantilever pan, in Pougkeepsie bridge, 548 feet. What is the longest mileage operated by a single system? Atchison, Toieka aud Santa Fe system, about ,000 miles. What line of railway extends farthst East and West? Canadian Paciic Railway, running from Quebec to he Pacilie ocean. What road carries the largest n"m>er of passengers? Manhattan Elected Railroad, New York, 525,000 a lay, or 191,625,000 yearly. What is the fastest time made by a rain? Ninety-two miles in ninetyhree minutes, one mile being made in arty-six seconds, on the Philadelphia ; Jul T?psi(limv "RflilfnArl What is the fastest time made be- < ween Jersey City and San Francisco ? i ?liree days seven hours thirty-nine ; uinutesand sixteen seconds. Spe- i ial theatrical train, 1876. What are the chances of fatal accid- i nts in railway travel? One killed in J 0,000,000. Statistics show that more re killed by falling out of windows I han in railway accidents. I ? * ' What the Dcacou was Good Tor. ! A. E. Dickinson, editor of the Rcli- s ions Herald, of Richmond, Va., was 1 filing the Philadelphia Baptist Asso- i iation the other day how necessary it i-as to enlist the active services of ev- 1 ry member of the congregation, when I ome one pertieutly asked : "What are ou going to do with a man that can't 1 lo anything?" ] "That's u mistake," returned the re- i erened journalist. Every man is ol' i ome use. If he can't do one thing he I an do another. The point is to find > ut just what he is fit for, and having s ound out put him at it. This recalls I n actual experience I once had in a I lackwoods congregation in Virginia. 1 t iwas my first visit among the people nd I was anxious to make it successul. It should be remembered that hurch ill the backwoods means a athering of all the people and a good i nany dogs. After the opening hymn ] called on old Deacon Blank to lead 1 is in prayer. ' '"Taint no use askin' me," he said; j "I can't do it." ] "Suppose you start the next hymn, , hen." ' "Can't sing, either." ] "How about taking up the collec- ' ion? I guess you can manage that!" ( "Xo, I'm a bad hand at getting | round. Better erefc some one else." i "Noticing that the old fellow car- i ied a stout walking-stick, an idea was i uprgested. i "Well, brother, do you think you're < ble to keep out the dogs?" s "You bet I air," he confidently re- ( lied. Then, taking a seat at the < oor, he battled with the brutes hrougliout the meeting, and, after < > was over, more than one of the con- ] rogation was followed home by yelp- < ug curs with broken limbs. ; Ivory man has his sphere of useful- i ess.?Philadelphia Bulletin. ( ] What Does Jolnniy Read ? i 2 "Oh, everything," says his father, j roudly. "Johnny is a perfect book- , orm, and we just have to drive him way from his books." , Sorry to hear it, master Johnny ; a . :ve boy has 110 business to be a bookr'orm. It is no more a sign of a smart oy to be a great reader than it is of a trong man to be a great eater. One lay read too much as well as oat too ( iiifli iiml thr? hriiin ji?s u'pll ns t.bn i tomach bo loaded with undigested )od that is only au injury to it. It is ot what you eat, but what you digest, bat makes you strong. It is not the >od in your stomach, but the food ike 11 up by the wonderful machiury of your body and made over into lood, and bone and nerve, and sinew, liat keeps up the daily growth of our body, aud builds you up into a lan. And just so the food which you ive your mind must be taken up and forked over, and become part of the liiul itself, or it is good for nothing, f it has no nutrition in it, nothing to lake new thoughts ami new ideas, if t cannot give something to the mind, i 31* awaken something in it, then it is jhaff, rubbish, poison, anything but food. Half a dozen lines of'the right sort, read in the right way, are worth volumes of trasb, or even of good sense carelessly read and then fcrgot;en. Don't throw away your books, Johnay, but learn to go through them as ;he miner goes through his panful of sand and quartz, watching for the jleam of gold and carefully picking )ut the precious bits. And we should like to say to Johnny's father and mother, do not rest satisfied while your boy "reads jverything." It i9 a direful day for >*ou have neglected to direct and culivate his taste until he has come to je a mere devourer of the stories of wild, improbable adventure and exiting fiction, which is poured out like a flood for the destruction of our ooys ; but even yet you can do somehiug to counteract the evil if you are ivilling to work for it?taking your ;liild with you into the field ot art, of listory, and of science, which may je made as charming to the unfolding nind as the regions of romance. One day a modest, gentle pilgrim )ver eighty years of age, was looking )n Fulton street for a hardware store )uce known to her. Not being able to ;iud it, and from feebleness becoming more confused, she entered another store to make inquiries. Having been rightly directed, she pursued her juest. A young man standing at the coun:er had been much interested in her inluiries, and by her winning face and iiKniiisr. He asked the proprietor if ne could tell him who she was, for he felt like sending her a Thanksgiving present. It was so ordered by provi tlence that her name and address were an the books of the establishment, as she supplies them at times with little Articles of her own make ; therefore it was given to the boy who gladly start2d of!'. He told his story to a few schoolmates and his teacher, the result being a barrel of provisions, unough to last the old lady nearly all winter?potatoes, cabbages, tea, sugar, ipples, etc., capped off by a large home-made mince pie! When sent to her tenement, she refused to take it, certain it was a mistake ; but thecartman would leave it; ind the old lady was dumb with joy ind astonishment. She said to me: "Why, I never had such a thing to happen to me in all my life before. I can only keep saying, 'Great are thy tender mercies, 0 Lord ! Thou openest thy hand and satisfiest the desire of every living thing.' " How many boys and girls could lighten up the dwellings and hearts of [)oor, aged people during the holidays, if they would but seek out me truly needy and deserving, who are never found clamoring at the door of public ind private charities ? A very small jiim from each one of half a dozen will [ill a barrel with wholesome food, and fill a lonely dwelling with gladness.? Christian at Work. True Liberty. How false is the conception, how frantic the pursuit, of that treacherous phantom which men call liberty! f here is 110 .such thing in the universe. There never can be. The stars have it not; the earth has it not; all men liave the mockery and semblance of it >nly for their heaviest punishment. The enthusiastic would reply that by l!l r. UKartw Liuerbjf lit* muitiJi mo ia?v \ji uuviiji Then why use the single and misunlerstood word? If by liberty you mean Llie chastisement of the passions, discipline of the intellect, subjection of ;he will; if you mean the fear of inlictiug, the shame of committing, a >vrong; if you mean respect for all who are in authority, and consideration for all who are in depeulency; veneration for the good, mer y to the evil, sympathy for the weak -if you mean, in a word, that service which is defined in the liturgy of the English Church to be "perfect freeiom," why do you name this by the same word by which the luxurious Mean license, and the reckless mean hange?by which the rogue means rapine, and the fool equality; by which ;he proud mean anarchy, and the malignant mean violence? Call it by my name rather than by this, but its jest and truest test is obedience.?Jtunt in. For, brethren, ye have been called into liberty; only use not liberty for ... 4\~.U />??,/ I Li OCUUMUll IU H1C nvaiJ,?-L Km. A Poiut iu Maimers. Learn to be a man of your word. Jue of the most disheartening of all lungs is to be associated iu an underaking with a person whose word is i lot to be depended upon?and there ire plenty of them in this wide world, people whose promise is as slender a iie as a spider's web. Let your given ,vord be as a hempen cord a ehain of ; wrought steel, that will bear theheavest sort of strain. It will go far in , naking a man of you; and a real man , s the noblest work of CJod; not a ump of moist putty, moulded and ! ihaped by the last influence met with , ;hat was calculated to make an imjression ; but a man of forceful, energized, self-reliant and reliable charcter, 1 i positive quantity that can be calcu- j ated upon.?Christian Standard. i Jesus does not say, "Lo, T wilt be i ,vith you," but "Lo, I am with you." J ' Wk Day By Day. ? Looking upward every day, Sunshine on our feces: ? ?%?$ Pressing onward every day Toward the heavenly places. Growing every day in awe, For Thy name is holy; Learning every day to love With a love more lowly. ?' , -Q Walking every day more close - * To our Elder Brother; Growing every day more true Untoone another. N yEs Leaving every day behind / '' Something which might hinder; Running swifter every day, Growing pnrer, kinder. Lord, so pray we every day, Hear us in Thy pity, . i That we enter in at last To the holy city. The following beautiful illustration of the simplicity and the power of ^ truth is from the pen of S. H. Ham- ' mond. formerly editor of the Albany Mate Register. He was an eye-wit- - - r xi 1 _ + it L?_i T"i TIB ness 01 me scene in one 01 me nigner courts: -V A little girl, nine years of age, was ? offered as a witness against a prisoner who was on trial for a felony commit- -. 3 ted in her father's house. "Now Emily," said the counsel for the prisoner, upon he being offered as a witness, "I desire to know if you f understand the nature of an oath?", " I don't know what you mean," | was the simple answer. ' "There your honor," said the coun- ' sel, addressing the court, "is anything ' further necessary to demonstrate the i validity of my objection? This witness should be rejected. She does not ^ understand the nature of an oath." "Let us see," said the judge, "come here my daughter." Assured by the kiud tone and man- v ner of the judge, the child stepped towards him, and looked confidingly up in his face, with a calm, clear eye, and in a manner so artless and frank, that it went straight to the heart. "Did you ever take an oath ?" inquired the judge. The little girl step- jig ped back with a look of horror, and the red blood mantled in a blush all - 'Is over her face and neck as she answercd! "iNo sir." She thought he intended to inquire if. she had ever blasphemed. 'ii "I do not mean that," said the judge who saw her mistake. "I mean were : you ever a witness before?" "No, sir; I never was in court be- . fore," was the answer. He handed her the Bible open. "Do you know that book, my daugh- i ter?" She looked at it and answered, "Yes sir; it is the Bible." "Do you ever read?" he asked. "Yes, sir; every evening." "Can you tell me what the Biblels?" inquired the judge. "It is the Word of the great God," she answered. "Well place your hand upon this " '-p Bible, and listen to what I say," and he repeated slowly and solemnly the oath usuallv administered to witness. "Now," said the judge, "you have sworn as a witness, will you tell me : what will befall you if you do not tell * the truth?" ^ *111 "I shall he shut up in the State prison," answered the child. "Anything else?" asked the judge. "I shall never go to heaven," she replied. "How do you know this?" asked the judge. "Yes, sir," she replied. "My mother heard they wanted me to be a witness, and last night she called me to her room, and asked me to tell her the Ten Commandments; and then we "V kneeled down together, and she prayed that I might understand how wicked it was to bear false witness against my neighber, and that God would help me, a little child, to tell the truth :is it was, before Him. And when I came here with father, she kissed me, . and told me to remember the Ninth Commandment, and that God would hear every word that I said." "Do you believe this ?" asked the judge, while a tear glistend iu his eye, and his lip quivered with emotion. "Yes, sir," said the child with a voice and manner that showed her conviction of its truth was perfect. "God bless you, my child!" said the judge; "you have a good mother. This witness is competent," he continued. "Were I on trial for my life, and innocent of the charge against me, I would pray God for such witnesses. Let her be examiued. She told her story with the simplicity of a child as she was, but there was a directness about it which carried conviction of its truth to every heart. She was rigidly cross-examiued. The counsel plied her with infinite and ingenious questioning, but she varied from her first statement in nothing. The truth, as spoken by that little child, was sublime. Falsehood and perjury had preceded her testimony. The prisoner had intrenched himself in lies, which he deemed impregnable. Witnesses had falsi ? I.!. i - J ..tl I _ I nuu luuia in ins lavui t auu viimiuj had manufactured for him a sham defence. But before her testimony, falsehood was scattered like chaff. The little child for whom a mother had prayed for strength to be given her to speak the truth as it was before God, broke the cunning devices of matured villainy to pieces like a pottor's vessel. The strength that her mother prayed for was given her, and the sublime and terrible simplicity? terrible I mean to the prisoner and his associates?with which she spoke, was like a revelation from God himself. : v v* >... - Hi*