SABBATH READINGS
FOR
THE HOME CIRCLE.
Moral 
and Religious Lessons.
^HAToursons may be as plants grown up in their youth 
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VOLUME III.
THE PACIFIC PRESS:
No, 1069 Castro Strait, Oakland, Cal. 
1878.
NOTE TO THE READER.
The two volumes that precede this are filled 
with moral and religious instruction for the 
home circle, embracing the entire family. The 
first is adapted to the wants of children and 
youth, the second to those of more mature years. 
The matter contained in this volume sets forth 
the defects and duties of persons of all ages’; 
therefore its design is well stated on the cover 
—“ For the Home Circle.” Volume four will 
be more especially devoted to setting forth the 
dangers and duties of parents.
The subject matter in this series of books has 
been selected with the greatest care. The com­
pilers have read hundreds of volumes, and pa­
pers almost without number, in search of well- 
written articles that defend a sound morality, 
and breathe a spirit of devotion, tenderness and 
true piety. They are impressed with the fact 
that the religious world have been greatly 
wronged in having had thrown upon the market 
a great number of books containing matter of 
little value, still held at high prices. Our Sun­
day-school and youths’ libraries are cursed with 
religious fiction. We have endeavored to avoid 
these errors, in giving to the public in this hum­
ble series, matter-of-fact lessons which appeal 
to the mind and heart relative to the every-day 
duties of life. May God crown the effort with 
his blessing. 
Publishers.
SABBATH READINGS.
FOR
THE HOME CIRCLE.
LYMAN DEAN’S TESTIMONIALS.
S
DO not believe two more worthy, excel­
lent people could be found than Gideon 
Randal and his wife. 
To lift the fallen, and 
minister to the destitute was their constant 
habit and delight, so that often they short­
ened their own comforts for the good of others. 
Mr. Randal’s friends urged him to reduce his 
charities, as such generous giving might mar 
his fortune and bring him to want; but his 
unfailing reply was:—
“ I think there’s enough left to carry 
Martha and me through life, and some over. 
What we give to the poor, we lend to the 
Lord, and if a dark day comes, He will 
provide.”
SABBATH READINGS.
A dark day did come, but it was not till 
after he had reached three score and ten years. 
As old age advanced, his little farm had be­
come less productive, and debts accumulated. 
Being forced to raise money, he had borrowed 
a thousand dollars of Eugene Harrington, 
giving him a mortgage on his house for secu­
rity. 
The interest was regularly paid, and 
with this Esquire Harrington was well satis­
fied ; but he died suddenly, and his son, a 
merciless, grasping man, wrote to Mr. Randal, 
demanding payment of the mortgage. 
The 
old man asked for an extension of the time, 
but he pressed the demand, and threatened if 
it was not settled within a given time, to 
deprive him of bis home. 
Mr. Randal was 
greatly distressed.
“Martha,” he said to his wife, “young Har­
rington is a hard man. 
He has me in his 
power now, and I fear he will not scruple to 
ruin me. 
I think I had better go and talk 
with him, and tell him how little I have. 
It may be he’ll pity two old people, and allow 
us better terms.”
“But, husband, you are not used to travel­
ing, and Harrowtown is a hundred miles 
away, and you are old and feeble, too.”
LYMAN DEAN’S TESTIMONIALS.
“ True, wife, but I can say to him a great 
deal more than I can write, and besides, Luke 
Conway lives there. 
I took an interest in 
him when he was a poor boy. 
Perhaps he’ll 
advise and help me, now that I’m in trouble.’
At last, seeing he felt that he must go, Mar­
tha reluctantly consented, and fitted him out 
with wifely care.
The next morning was warm and sunny for 
November, and Mr. Randal started for Har­
rowtown.
“Gideon,” called Mrs. Randal, as he walked 
slowly down the road, “ be sure and take tight 
hold of the railing whenfyou get in and out 
of the cars.”
“I’ll be careful. 
You take good care of 
yourself, Martha; ” and, with a parting look, 
the old man hastened on to take the stage 
which was to convey him to the railroad sta­
tion. 
But misfortune met him at the very 
outset of his journey. 
The stage was heavily 
loaded, and on’the way, one of the wheels 
broke down, which caused such a detention 
that Mr. Randal missed the morning train, 
and the next did not come for several hours.
It was afternoon when hetfinally started. 
He was anxious and weary from long wait­
7
6
SABBATH READINGS.
ing; and after three stations were passed, he 
began to ask questions.
“How long before we get to Harrowtown ?” 
he inquired, stopping the busy conductor.
“We get there at half-past eight.”
Another question was upon Mr. Randal’s 
lips, but the conductor had hurried on. 
He 
looked around as if to appeal to some one 
else, but turned back, 
talking to himself. 
“ Not get there till into the evening,” he said, 
“ and pitch dark, for there’s no moon now. 
I 
shan’t 
know where to go.” 
The poor old 
man was sorely troubled.
Presently the conductor came back, and as 
he passed his seat, he stopped him again.
“ Mr. Conductor, how shall I know when 
to get out i 
I’ve never been to Harrowtown, 
and I don’t want to get out at the wrong 
place.”
“ Give yourself no concern,” was the polite 
reply. 
“ I’ll tell you when we come to Har- 
rowtown. 
I won’t forget you.”
Soothed by this assurance, Mr. Randal’s 
mind grew tranquil, and he finally went to 
sleep.
In the seat behind him sat a tall, hand­
some boy. 
His name was Albert Gregory.
He was bright and intelligent, but his well- 
featured face was spoiled by a wicked-looking 
eye and a hard, cruel mouth.
• 
He saw the aged passenger fall asleep, and 
nudged his seat-fellow.
“Look there, John. 
By-and-by, I’ll play 
a joke on that old country greeny, and you’ll 
see fun.”
On rushed the swift express; mile after 
mile was passed; daylight faded, and the lamps 
were lit in the cars, and still the aged man 
slept, watched by his purposed tormentor, 
and the other boy who waited to “see fun.”
At length the speed of the train began to 
slacken, coming near a stopping-place. 
Al­
bert sprang up and shook Mr. Randal vio­
lently.
“Wake up! Wake up ! ” he called, sharply, 
putting his mouth close to his ear. 
“ This is 
Harrowtown. 
You must get off here.”
The old man, thus roughly roused, started 
from his seat and gazed around him, bewil­
dered. 
The change from day to night, the 
unaccustomed waking on a moving train, the 
glare of the lights, added tenfold to his confu­
sion.
“Wh—what did you say boy?” he asked, 
helplessly.
LYMAN DEAN’S TESTIMONIALS. 
9
8
10
SABBATH READINGS.
Ihis is Harrowtown. 
The place where 
you want to stop. 
You must get off. 
Be 
quick, or you’ll be carried by.”
The noise of the brakes, and the distracted ' 
attention of the passengers on reaching a new 
station, possibly ignorance of the real locality 
on the part of those near enough to have 
heard him, prevented any correction of the 
boy’s cruel falsehood. 
Mr. Randal knew 
it was not the conductor who had aroused 
him ; but, supposing Albert to be some em­
ployee of the road, he hurried to the car 
door with tottering steps. 
The name of the 
station was called at the other end, as un­
like as possible to the name of “Harrow- 
town,” but his dull ears did not notice it. 
He got off upon the platform, and before he 
could recover himself or knew his error, the 
train was in motion again.
Albert was in ecstasies over the success of 
his “joke,” and shook all over with laughter, 
in which, of course, his companion joined.
“ Oh dear ! that’s too good for anything ! ” he 
cried, “ aint it, John ) ”
John assented that it was very funny in­
deed.
Neither of the boys noticed that the seat
lately occupied by poor deceived Mr. Randal 
had just been taken by a fine-looking middle- 
aged man, wrapped in a heavy cloak, who 
appeared to be absorbed in his own thoughts, 
but really heard every word they said.
They kept up a brisk conversation, Albert 
speaking in quite a lond tone, for he was 
feeling very merry. •“ Ha,, ha, ha !—but I 
did think the old fool would hear the brake- 
man call the station, though. 
I did n’t sup­
pose I could get him any further than the 
door. 
To think of his clambering clear out 
on the platform, and getting left! 
He be­
lieved every word I told him. 
What a de­
licious old simpleton! ”
And having exhausted that edifying sub­
ject for the moment, he presently began to 
brag of his plans and prospects.
“ I do n’t believe you stand much of a 
chance there ; they say Luke Conway’s aw­
ful particular,” 
the middle-aged stranger 
heard John remark.
“ Pooh ! shut up ! ” cried Albert. 
“ Par­
ticular ! That’s just it, and makes my chance 
all the better. 
I’ve brought the kind of rec­
ommendation that a particular man wants, 
, you see.”
LYMAN DEAN'S TESTIMONIALS. 
11
12
•ABBATH READINGS,
But there 11 be lots of other fellows try­
ing for the place.”
“Don’t care if there’s fifty,” said Albert, 
* “rd come in ahead of ’em all. 
I’ve got 
testimonials of character and qualifications 
from Prof. Howe, Rev. Joseph Lee, Dr. 
Henshaw, and Esquire Jenks, the great rail­
road contractor. 
His name alone is enough 
to secure me the situation.”
At this juncture, the strange gentleman 
turned around and gave Albert a quick, 
searching glance. 
But the conceited boy was 
too much occupied with himself to notice the 
movement, and kept on talking. 
Now and 
then the thought of the victim whom he had 
fooled seemed to come back and tickle him 
amazingly. 
“ Wonder where the old man is 
now. 
Ha, ha! 
Do you suppose he has 
found out where Harrowtown is 1 
Oh, but 
wasn t it rich to see how scared he was 
when I waked him up ? And how he jumped 
and scrambled out of the car! 
’ Pon my 
word, I never saw anything so comical.”
Here the stranger turned again and shot 
another quick glance, this time from indig­
nant eyes, and his lips parted as if about to 
utter a stern reproof. 
But he did not speak. 
Some hidden motive withheld him.
LYMAN DEAN’S TESTIMONIALS.
13
We will now leave Albert and his fellow- 
travelers, and follow good Gideon Randal.
It was quite dark when he stepped from 
the cars, and he inquired of a man at the 
station, “ Can you tell me where I can find 
Mr. Aaron Harrington 1 ”
“ There’s no such man living here, to my 
knowledge,” was the reply.
“ What, isn’t this Harrowtown 1 ” asked 
Mr. Randal, in great consternation.
“ No, it is Whipple Village.”
“ Then I got out at the wrong station. 
What shall I do ? ” in a voice of deep dis­
tress.
“ Go right to the hotel and stay till the 
train goes in the morning,” said the man, 
pleasantly.
There was no alternative, 
Mr. Randal 
passed a restless night at the hotel, and at 
an early hour he was again at the station, 
waiting for the train. 
His face was pale, 
and his eye wild and anxious. 
“ The stage 
broke down, and I missed the first train,” 
thought he, “ and then that boy told me to 
get out here. 
I’ve made a bad beginning 
and I’m afraid this trip will have a bad end­
ing.”
14
SABBATH READINGS.
There were other passengers walking to 
and fro on the platform, waiting for the cars 
to come.
One was a plain-featured, honest-looking 
boy, who had been accompanied to the sta­
tion by his mother. 
Just before his mother 
bade him “ good-by,” she said, “ Lyman, look 
at that pale, sad, old man. 
I don’t believe 
he is used to traveling. 
Perhaps you can 
help him along.”
Soon a loud, prolonged whistle was heard. 
The cars were coming.
“ Allow me to assist you, sir,” said Lyman 
Dean to Mr. Randal, as the train stopped; 
and he took hold of his arm, and guided him 
into a car to a seat.
“Thank you, my boy. 
I’m getting old 
and clumsy, and a little help from a young 
hand comes timely. 
Where are you going, 
if I may ask 1 ”
“To Harrowtown, sir. 
I saw an adver­
tisement for a boy in a store, and I’m going 
to try and get the situation. 
My name is 
Lyman Dean.”
“ Ah 1 I’m sure I wish you success, Ly­
man, for I believe you’re a good boy. 
You 
are going to the same place I am. 
I want
to find Aaron Harrington, but I’ve had two 
mishaps. 
I don’t know what’s coming next.”
“ I’ll show you right where his office is. 
I’ve been in Harrowtown a good many 
times.”
Half an hour later, the brakeman shouted 
the name of the station where they must 
stop. 
Lyman assisted Mr. Randal off the 
train, and walked with him to the principal 
street. 
“ Here’s Mr. Harrington’s office,” 
said he.
“ Oh, yes, thank you kindly. 
And now 
could you tell me where Mr. Luke Conway’s 
place of business is 1 ”
“Why, that’s the very gentleman I’m 
going to see,” said Lyman. 
“His place is 
just round the corner, only two blocks off.” 
Mr. Randal looked deeply interested. 
He turned and shook the boy’s hand, warmly. 
“ Lyman,” he said, “ Mr. Conway knows me. 
I am coming to see him by and-by. 
I am 
really obliged to you for your politeness, and 
wish I could do something for you. 
I hope 
Mr. Conway will give you the situation, for 
you deserve it. 
If you apply before I get 
there, tell him Gideon Randal is your friend. 
Good-by.”
LYMAN DEAN’S TESTIMONIALS. 
15
16
SABBATH READINGS.
Fifteen minutes after found Lyman wait­
ing in the counting-room of Luke Conway’s 
store. 
Albert Gregory had just preceded 
him. 
The merchant was writing, and he 
had requested the boys to be seated a short 
time, till he was at leisure. 
Before he fin­
ished his work, a slow, feeble step was heard 
approaching, and an old man stood in the 
doorway.
“Luke, don’t you remember me?” 
The 
merchant looked up at the sound of the 
voice. 
Then he sprang up from his chair 
and grasped the old man’s hands in both his 
own. 
“ Mr. Randal! 
Welcome, a thousand 
times welcome, my benefactor! ” 
he ex-, 
claimed. 
And seating his guest on the office 
lounge beside him, Mr. Conway inquired 
after his health and comfort, and talked with 
him as tenderly as a loving Bon. 
It was 
evident to the quick perception of the mer­
chant that the good old man’s circumstances 
had changed, and he soon made it easy for 
him to unburden his mind.
“Yes, Luke, I am in trouble. 
Aaron 
Harrington owns a mortgage on my farm, 
and I can’t pay him, and he threatens to 
take my home,” said Mr. Randal, with a
quivering lip. 
“I went to his office, but 
didn’t find him, and I thought maybe you’d 
advise me what to do.”
“ Mr. Randal,” answered the merchant, 
laying his hand on the old man’s shoulder, 
“ almost thirty years ago when I was cold, 
and hungry, and friendless, you took me in 
and fed me. 
Your good wife—God bless 
her!—made me a suit of clothes with her 
own hands. 
You found me work, and you 
gave me money when I begun the world 
alone. 
Much if not all that I am in life 
I owe to your sympathy and help, my kind 
old friend. 
Now I am rich, and you must 
let me cancel my debt. 
I shall pay your 
mortgage to-day. 
You shall have your home 
free again.”
Mr. Randal wiped groat hot tears from 
his cheeks, and said, in a husky voice, “ It 
is just as I told Martha. 
I knew, if we lent 
our money to the Lord, when a dark day 
came, he would provide.”
The reader can imagine the different feel­
ings of the two boys, as they sat witnesses of 
the scene. 
The look of derision, that changed 
to an expression of sickly dismay, on Albert’s 
face, when the old man came in and was so
Sab. Read. Vol. III. 
2
LYMAN DEAN’S TESTIMONIALS. 
17
18
SABBATH 
READINGS.
warmly greeted by the merchant, was curi­
ously suggestive. 
But his usual assurance 
soon returned. 
He thought it unlikely that 
Mr. Randal would recognize him in the day­
light, and lie determined to put on a bold 
front.
For a minute the two men continued in 
conversation. 
Mr. Conway called up pleas­
ant reminiscences of “ Aunt Martha,” his 
boy-life on the farm, and the peace and still­
ness of the country town. 
He thought a 
railway ride of a hundred miles must be a 
hardship for a quiet old man. 
“ It was a 
long way for you,” he said, “ Hid you have 
a comfortable journey 1 ”
“ Well, I can’t quite say that. 
First, the 
stage broke down and delayed me. 
Then I 
slept in the cars, and a boy played a trick on 
me, and waked me up, and made me get out 
at the wrong station, so I had to stay over 
night in Whipple Village. 
To tell the 
truth I had a good deal of worriment with 
one thing and another, getting here \ but it s 
all bright now,” he added, with a radiant 
face.
“ You shall go with me to my house and 
rest, as soon as I have dismissed these boys,”
LYMAN 
DEAN’S TESTIMONIALS.
19
said Mr. Conway, earnestly j and turning to 
Albert and Lyman, who anxiously waited, 
he spoke to them about their errand.
“ I suppose you came because you saw my 
advertisement'? ”
li Yes, sir,” replied both, simultaneously.
“Very well. 
I believe you came in first. 
What is your name h ”
“ I am Albert Gregory, sir. 
I think I 
can suit you. 
I’ve brought testimonials of 
ability and character from some of the first 
men—Esquire Jenks, Rev. Joseph Lee, Dr. 
Henshaw, and others. 
Here are my letters 
of recommendation,” holding them out for 
Mr. Conway to take.
“ I don’t want to see them,” returned the 
merchant, coldly. 
“I have seen you before, 
I understand your character well enough for 
the present.”
He then addressed a few words to Lyman 
Dean.
“ ^ should be very glad of work,” said Ly­
man. 
‘ My mother is poor, and I want to 
earn my living, but I have n’t any testimo­
nials.”
“ Yes, you have.” said old Mr. Randal, 
who was waiting for an opportunity to say
20
SABBATH READINGS.
that very thing. 
And then he told the mer­
chant how polite and helpful Lyman had 
been to him.
Mr. Conway fixed his eyes severely upon 
the other boy. 
The contrast between him 
and young Dean was certainly worth a les­
son.
“ Albert Gregory,” said the merchant, “ I 
occupied the seat in the car in front of you 
last .evening. 
I heard you exultingly and 
wickedly boasting how you had deceived a 
distressed old man. 
Mr. Randal, is this the 
boy who lied to you, and caused you to get 
out at the wrong station 1 ”
Mr. Randal looked earnestly at Albert. 
“ I declare ! 
Row I remember him. 
It is ! 
I’m sure it is.”
It was useless for Albert to attempt any 
vindication of himself. 
His stammered ex­
cuses stuck in his throat, and he was glad to 
hide his mortification by an early escape. 
Crestfallen, he slunk away, taking all his 
“ testimonials ” with him.
“Lyman,” said Mr. Conway, kindly, “I 
shall be very glad to employ you in my store. 
You shall have good pay if you do well, and 
I am sure you will. 
You may begin work 
at once.”
Lyman’s eyes danced with joy as he left 
the counting-room to receive his instructions 
from the head clerk.
Mr. Conway paid to Mr. Harrington the 
money owed him by Mr. Randal, and a 
heavy load was lifted from the good old 
farmer’s heart. 
He remained a visitor two 
or three days in Mr. Conway’s house, where 
he was treated with the utmost deference and 
attention. 
Mr. Conway also purchased for 
him a suit of warm clothes, and an overcoat, 
and sent his confidential clerk with him on 
his return journey to see him safely home. 
Ror was good Mrs. Randal forgotten. 
She 
received a handsome present in money from 
Mr. Conway, and a message full of grateful 
affection. 
Rothing ever after occurred to 
disturb the lives of the aged and worthy pair.
Albert Gregory obtained an excellent sit­
uation in New York, but his false character, 
and his wanton disregard of others’ feelings 
and rights, made him as hateful to his em­
ployers as to all his associates, and he soon 
found it desirable to seek another place.
He has changed places many times since, 
and his career has been an unhappy one — 
another example of the penalty of frivolous 
habits and a heartless nature.
LYMAN DEAN’S TESTIMONIALS. 
21
22
SABBATH READINGS,
Lyman Dean is now a successful merchant, 
a partner of Mr. Conway, and occupies a 
high position in society, as an honorable, en­
terprising man.
LIVED IN VAIN.
Though we climb fame’s proudest hight,
Though we sit on hills afar,
Where the thrones of triumph are ;
Though all deepest mysteries be open to our sight,
If we win not by that power 
For the world another dower—
If this great Humanity share not in our gain,
We have lived our life in vain.
Though we revel in sweet dreams ;
Though with poet’s eye we look 
Full on Nature’s open book,
And our spirits wander, singing with the birds and the 
If we let no music in 
[streams >
To the world of grief and sin—
If we draw no spirit heavenward by the strain,
We have lived our life in vain.
Though our lot be calm and bright;
Though upon our brows we wear 
Youth, and grace, and beauty rare,
And the hours go swiftly, singing in their flight;
If we let no glory down 
Any darkened life to crown—
If our grace and joyance have no ministry for pain, 
We have lived our life in vain.
LIVED IN VAIN.
23
Though for weary years we toil;
Though we gather all the gold 
From the mines of wealth untold,
Though from farthest shores of ocean we have brought 
What at the last is won 
[the spoil;
If we hear not God’s “ Well done ? ”
If the world’s want and sorrow be not lessened by our 
We have lived our life in vain, 
[gain;
Though we be, in heart and hand,
Mighty with all foes to cope,
Rich in courage and in hope,
Fitted as strong laborers in the world to stand—
If with these we right no wrong 
What avails it to be strong ?
If we strengthen not the weak, raise not the bowed again, 
We have lived our life in vain.
To the giver shall be given—
If thou wouldst walk in the light 
Guide the erring to the right;
They shall deck a starry crown for thee in heaven.
For, in blessing we are blest 
And in labor find our rest.
If we bend not to ourjife work, heart, and hand and 
We have lived our life in vain. 
| brain.
“my HOUSE” AND “OUR HOUSE.”
ypHESE houses are opposite each other 
JuLs) in a beautiful suburban town. 
“My 
house ” is large and handsome, with a cupola, 
and has a rich lawn before it. 
It is sur­
rounded by a broad piazza, and graced and 
shaded by ancestral elms and huge button- 
wood trees. 
Its barns and stables are large 
and well-filled; its orchards are gorgeous with 
fruit, in the season, and the fields around it 
seem alive with golden grain that waves in 
the wind, 
Everything about the place tells 
of long continued prosperity. 
The rich old 
squire who lives there rides about with fine 
horses, and talks a great deal to his neigh­
bors about “ my house, my orchards, and my 
horses.”
His wife is evidently the lady of the re­
gion. 
She was a model housekeeper and 
dairywoman in the days when they worked 
the farm, and is now an oracle on many 
questions. 
She, too, talks of “ my house, 
my horses, and my estate.”
MY HOUSE AND OUll HOUSE.
25
These persons each brought property to 
the other, and the two interests had, unfor­
tunately, never flowed together and formed 
one estate as they should have done; so 
there were always two separate interests in 
the house.
Of course the property belonged, legally, 
to both ; but as each had a snug little fund 
laid away, the question was always to be 
settled, if repairs were to be made, or horses 
or furniture bought, who should pay for it.
It seemed but proper to the husband that 
carpets, and sofas, etc., should be bought by his 
wife; also the cows, as the lady was at the 
head of the house. 
But she said, “You 
walk on the carpets, sit on the sofas, and eat 
the cream and butter just as much as I do, 
and I see no reason why you should not, at 
least, help to pay for them.”
Such discussions often occurred, but, on 
the whole, each upholds the interest of the 
other against outsideis, and gets along with­
out open rupture. 
They ride about in bet­
ter dress than their neighbors, they receive 
and return visits, and are called the leading 
family in town.
But “ my house,” as some haye named the
26
SABBATH READINGS.
great square mansions, is nobody’s house but 
its owners’. 
No guest who could not return 
hospitality in equal style is asked to tarry 
for a night there. 
All ministers sojourning 
in the place are directed by them to the hum­
ble parsonage for entertainment. 
Every 
weary, homeless wanderer is pointed to the 
distant almshouse; and a neighbor’s horse 
or cow which has strayed from its own en­
closure, is at once put into pound by the 
squire’s man.
If an appeal is made for any benevolent 
object the squire says, “Go to my house 
and ask my wife to give you something.” 
She, in turn, points the applicant to the field 
or the orchard, and says, “ Go down there 
and ask my husband to give you something.” 
So one puts it on the other, and nothing is 
given ; and neither the town nor the world 
is the better for their living.
This is the way things are done at “ my 
house.”
Across the street, under the shadow of 
two wide-spreading elms, stands a very mod­
est cottage nestled in vines and flowers, with 
curtains drawn up to let in the light of God’s 
blessed sun, and an ever-open door with a
MY HOUSE AND OUR HOUSE.
27
great chair in full view, holding out its time­
worn arms, as if to invite and welcome in 
the weary passer-by. 
The birds are always 
remembered here in their times of scarcity, 
and so in token of their gratitude, they 
gather in the trees and carol out sweet and 
merry songs by way of paying their bills.
God’s peace, as well as his plenty, rests on 
this place, and while its owners call it, in 
their hearts, “ God’s house,” they speak of 
it to others, always as “ our house.”
Twenty-five years ago a sturdy, brave 
hearted young mechanic bought this one acre 
of land, and with his own hands dug and 
walled a cellar, at times when he had no 
work to do for others. 
When he had earned 
an additional hundred or two dollars he 
bought lumber and began to build a house. 
People asked him what he was going to do 
with it, and he replied that if he should live 
to finish it, he was going to live in it.
Well, in two years the house was finished, 
to the last nail and hook. 
Then he went 
away, as it was thought, for a wife. 
In a 
week he returned, bringing with him some 
neat household furniture, and three persons 
instead of only one.
28
SABBATH HEADINGS.
He did bring a wife—a briglit-eyed, merry- 
hearted young girl—and also two aged women 
“ our mothers,” as he called them.
The first night in the house they dedicated 
their humble home—“ our house ” to God, 
and in the name of the Lord they set up 
their banner, praying that ever after this his 
banner over them might be love.
Many a family moves into a new home 
and asks God to come in and prosper them, 
and take up his abode there; but they do 
nothing to draw him thither. 
They begin 
for self, and go on for self; and sometimes 
God leaves them to themselves.
But the young owners of “ our house ”— 
the children of “ our mothers ”—made their 
little home His home and the home of His 
poor and feeble ones. 
“ Our mothers ” now 
laid down the weapons of toil over which 
they had grown gray, and came out of the 
vale of honest poverty into the sunshine of 
plenty. 
Their hearts grew warm in this gift 
of double love. 
They renewed their youth.
In their first days at their children’s home, 
one of “ our mothers ” spoke of “ Henry’s 
new house,” when he checked her saying, 
“ Never call this my house again. 
I built it
MY HOUSE AND OUR HOUSE.
29
for God and for all of you, and I want it 
always called 1 our house.’ 
There is yet one 
thing I want done here before I shall feel 
that I have made my thank-offering to God 
for the health and strength and the work 
which have enabled me to build and pay 
for this house. 
I promised then that no 
stranger or wanderer should ever go hungry 
or weary from this door. 
You have made 
sure of a neat and sunny room for our friends. 
Now I -want a bed, a chair, and a table put 
in the shed-chamber for such strangers as 
we cannot ask into the house. 
I want also 
to fill the little store-closet under the back 
stair-way with provisions to give the needy. 
They will then not be our own; and if at 
any time we should be short of money, we 
will not be tempted to say, ‘ I have nothing 
to give.’ 
1 want to live for more than self, 
and I know you all share the feeling. 
I 
want to feel that God is here, and to live as 
if we saw him and were all under his actual 
guidance and care, and that he sees and 
approves our way in life.”
Thus was “ our house ” opened, and thus 
was it kept—a home sanctified to humanity 
and to God.
so
SABBATH READINGS.
The years rolled away not without changes, 
but peace and plenty still reign in the mod­
est home whose owners are looked up to by 
all the towns people—rich as well as poor— 
as friends and benefactors; for all men alike 
need human sympathy and comfort.
The young carpenter of twenty-five years 
ago, is now a prosperous builder in the great 
city near his home. 
He could afford to erect 
and occupy a house worth four times what 
the cottage cost. 
But he loves the place and 
cannot tear himself from it. 
He has added 
more than one L to it, and he has refur­
nished it, and brought into it many articles 
of taste and luxury.
When asked why he does not build a 
house more in accordance with his means, 
he replies:—
“No house could be built which would be 
like ‘ our house.’ 
I can never forget the 
night we and our mothers dedicated it to 
God in prayer and simple trust; and ever 
since that night I have felt as if we were 
dwelling in the secret of his tabernacle, 
under the shadow of the Almighty. 
We 
might have a larger and more fashionable 
house, but it would bring a weight of care
JIV HOUSE AND OUR HOUSE.
31
on its mistress, and steal the time she has 
made sacred to others. 
No other house 
could have the memories this one has; no 
other house be hallowed as this has been by 
the prayers of the holy and the blessings of 
the poor.”
And so the family still live on and are 
happy in “our house.” 
Still the pastor’s 
weary wife is relieved of church company, 
for, from force of habit, all ministers and 
others on errands of good, draw up their 
horses before the well-filled stable, and ring, 
for themselves, at this open door. 
Still the 
poor are fed from that store closet under the 
back stair-way; still the wanderer—though 
he be a wanderer in a double sense—rests 
his weary head in that shed-chamber.
The squire wonders at the builder, be­
cause he lives in such a modest way com­
pared with his means, and says, “ If I were 
he, I’d be ashamed of that cottage which 
was all well enough when he was a young 
journeyman.”
The builder wonders what the squire does 
with all that great house, and why, when 
half a dozen rooms are empty there, he 
doesn’t allow himself the pleasure of com-
32
SABBATH READINGS.
pany, and of sheltering strangers and getting 
the blessing they bring.
The squire’s wife peeps through her fine 
curtains, and says, “I wonder that pretty 
and intelligent woman hasn’t more taste. 
She might live like a lady if she pleased, and 
dress as I do; but she pokes on just as she 
began, and dresses no better than the minis­
ter’s wife, and has a rabble of poor, forlorn 
creatures whom I wouldn’t let into my house, 
nor into my wood-shed, running after her for 
food and clothing, and nobody knows what.”
So, you see, “ my house ” is literally “ my 
house,” and “ our house ” is God’s house.
TWO WAYS TO LIVE.
There are two ways to live on earth;
Two ways to judge, to act, to view;
For all things here have double birth,
A right and wrong—a false and true I
Give me the home that kindness seeks 
To make that sweet which seemed small; 
Where every lip in fondness speaks,
And every mind has care for all.
OUT OF THE WRONG POCKET.
TAGGARD frowned as he observed 
the pile of bills by his plate, placed 
there by his prudent, economical wife, not 
without an anxious flutter at the heart, in 
anticipation of the scene that invariably fol­
lowed. 
He actually groaned as he read the 
sum total.
“ There must be some mistake, Mary ” he 
said, pushing back his plate, with a desperate 
air; “ it is absolutely impossible for us to have 
used all these things in one month ! ”
“The bills are correct, John,” was the 
meek response; “I looked them over myself.” 
“ Then one thing is certain, provisions are 
either wasted, thrown out of the window, as 
it were, or stolen. 
Jane has relatives in the 
place, and I haven’t the least doubt but that 
she supports them out of what she steals.”
“ Mrs. Taggard’s temper was evidently ris- 
mg; there were two round crimson spots up­
on her cheeks, and she tapped her foot ner­
vously upon the floor.
Sab. Road. Vol. III.
3
u
SABBATH READINGS.
“ I am neither wasteful, nor extravagant, 
John. 
And as for Jane, I know her to be 
perfectly honest and trustworthy.”
“ It is evident that there is a leak some­
where, Mary; and it is your duty, as a wife, 
to find out where it is, and stop it. 
Our bills 
are perfectly enormous; and if this sort of 
thing goes on much longer, I shall be a bank­
rupt.”
Mrs. Taggard remained silent, trying to 
choke down the indignant feelings that strug­
gled for utterance.
“ You will have to order some coal,” she 
said, at last; “ we have hardly sufficient for 
the day.”
“ Is there anything more, Mrs. Taggard?” 
inquired her husband, ironically.
“ Yes; neither myself nor the children are 
decently or comfortably clothed; all need an 
entire new outfit.”
“ GrO on, madam. 
As I am a man of un­
limited means, if you have any other wants, 
I hope you won’t be at all backward about 
mentioning them.”
«I don’t intend to be,” was the quiet, but 
spirited reply. 
“I wouldn’t do for another 
what I do for you, for double my board and
OUT OF THE WRONG FOCKET.
35
clothing. 
Both the parlor and sitting-room 
need,re-furnishing; everything looks so faded 
and shabby, that 1 am ashamed to have any 
one call. 
And the stairs need re carpeting, 
the blinds and gate to be repaired, and the 
fence needs painting.”
“ That can’t be all, Mrs. Taggard. 
Are 
you sure that there isn’t something else ?”
“ I don’t think of anything else just now, 
Mr. Taggard; though if there should be a few 
dollars over and above what these will cost, 
they won’t come amiss. 
I should like to have 
a little change in my pocket, if only for the 
novelty of the thing. 
You needn’t fear its 
being wasted.”
Mr. Taggard was evidently not a little as­
tonished at this sudden outbreak in his usually 
quiet and patient wife, but who, like most 
woman of that stamp, had considerable spirit 
when it was aroused.
“ Now that you are through, Mrs. Taggard, 
perhaps you will let me say a word. 
Here 
is all the money I can spare you this month ; 
so you can make the most of it.”
Laying a roll of bills on the table, Mr. 
Taggard walked to the door; remarking,just 
before he closed it, that he should leave
36
SABBATH READINGS.
town on the next train, to be absent about a 
week.
The revery into which Mrs. Taggard fell, as 
she listened to the sound of his retreating 
steps, was far from being a pleasant one. 
Aside from her natural vexation, she felt 
grieved and saddened by the change that had 
come over her once kind, indulgent husband. 
His mind seemed to be entirely filled with the 
greed of gain, the desire to amass money—not 
for the sake of the good that it might enable 
him to enjoy, or confer, but for the mere 
pleasure of hoarding it. 
And this miserly 
feeling grew upon him daily, until he seemed 
to grudge his family the common comforts of 
life. 
And yet Mrs. Taggard knew that he 
was not only in receipt of a comfortable in­
come from his business, but had laid by a 
surplus, yearly, ever since their marriage.
She taxed her ingenuity to save in every 
possible way, but when the monthly bills 
were presented the same scene -was enacted, 
only it grew worse and worse.
And this penpriousness extended to him­
self. 
He grudged himself, as well as wife 
and children, clothing suitable to his means 
and station, and went about looking so rusty
OUT OF THE WRONG POCKET.
37
and shabby that Mrs. Taggard often felt 
ashamed of him, inwardly wondering if he 
could be the same man who had wooed and 
won her.
With a heavy sigh Mrs. Taggard took up 
the roll of bills upon the table, hoping to find 
enough to pay what was already due—she 
did not look for more.
An ejaculation of astonishment burst from 
her lips as she unrolled the paper in which it 
was folded. 
It contained $500 in bills, and 
a check for $500 more.
With a look of quiet determination in her 
eyes, Mrs. Taggard arose to her feet. 
“ The 
family should now have some of the comfoi'ts 
to which they were entitled, if they never did 
again,”
First, she settled every bill; a heavy weight 
being lifted from her . heart as she did so; be­
sides getting a fresh supply of fuel and other 
comforts. 
Her next move was to order new 
furniture for the sitting-room and parlor, 
have the hall re-carpeted and papered, the 
broken door step mended, and the fence and 
blinds repaired and painted. 
She then took 
the children out, and got them new garments 
from hats to shoes. 
She bought herself three
38
SABBATH READINGS.
new dresses; a neat gingham for morning wear, 
a delaine for afternoons, and something nicer 
for best. 
And before going home she took 
the children into a toy-shop; delighted the 
boy with the skates he had so often asked 
for, and giving the girl the chief wish of her 
heart, a doll and doll’s wardrobe—not forget­
ting some blocks for the baby. 
For like a 
wise, as well as kind mother, Mrs. Taggard 
desired to make their childhood a happy one; 
something to look back upon with pleasure 
through their whole life. 
Neither was John 
forgotten; by the aid of some old garments, 
for a pattern, she got him an entire new suit, 
together with stuff for dressing-gown and 
slippers.
The day on which Mrs. Taggard expected 
her husband’s return was a very busy one; 
but at last the carpets were down, the paper 
hung, and everything in the best of order.
He was expected on the five o’clock train, 
and Mrs. Taggard set the children, attired in 
their pretty new dresses, at the window to 
watch for papa, while she went below to 
assist Jane in preparing something extra for 
supper. 
She had just returned when Mr. 
Taggard was seen approaching the house.
It looked so different from what it did 
when he left, that he stared at it in amaze­
ment, and would have hesitated about enter­
ing, had it not been for the name on the 
newly burnished door-plate. 
But he was 
still more astonished when he entered.
“ Am I in my own house, or somebody’s 
else ] ” he ejaculated, as he looked around the 
bright and pleasant room.
“ It is the new furniture I have been buy­
ing,” said his wife, smiling. 
“ How do you 
like it?”
“ Have you been running me in debt, 
Mary 1 ”
“Not in the least, John, it was all bought 
with the money you so generously left me 
when you went away.”
Mr. Taggard clapped his hand into one of 
his pockets.
“ My goodness ! ” he exclaimed, in an agi­
tated tone and manner, “ I gave it to you out 
of the wrong pocket! ”
Mrs. Taggard did not look at all astonished 
or disturbed at this announcement; on the 
contrary, her countenance wore a very smil­
ing and tranquil aspect.
“You don’t mean to say that you’ve
OUT OF THE WRONG POCKET. 
39
40
SABBATH READINGS.
spent it V' inquired Mr. Taggard, desperately.
“Why, what else should I do with it, John? 
You told me to make the most of it; and I 
rather think I have.”
“ I am a ruined man !” groaned Mr. Tag­
gard.
“Not a bit of it, my dear husband,” said 
his wife, cheerfully; you wouldn’t be ruined 
if you had given me twice that amount. 
Be­
sides, I have saved enough for our housekeep­
ing expenses, for three months, at least. 
I 
think you had better give me an allowance 
for that purpose in future; it will save us 
both much annoyance.”
The children, who had been led to consider 
what their mother had bought them as “pres­
ents from papa,” now crowded eagerly around 
him.
Mr. Taggard loved his children, and it 
would be difficult for any one having the kind 
and tender heart that he really possessed, to 
turn away from the innocent smiles and ca­
resses that were lavished upon him.
It was a smiling group that 
gathered 
round the cheerful supper-table. 
And as Mr. 
Taggard glanced from the gleeful children to 
the smiling face of his wife, who certainly
OUT OF THE WRONG POCKET.
41
looked ten years younger, attired in her new 
and becoming dress, he came to the conclu­
sion that though it might cost something to 
make his family comfortable, on the whole, it 
paid.
We do not mean to say that Mr. Taggard 
was entirely cured ; a passion so strong is not 
so easily eradicated. 
But when the old 
miserly feeling came over him, and he began 
to dole out grudgingly the means with which 
to make his family comfortable, his wife 
would pleasantly say: “You are taking it 
out of the wrong pocket, John ! ”—words 
which seemed to have a magical effect upon 
both heart and purse-strings.
“ Let us not deprive ourselves of the com­
forts of life,” she would often say, “ nor grudge 
our children the innocent pleasures natural to 
youth, for the purpose of laying up for them 
the wealth that is, too often, a curse rather 
than a blessing.”
“to give is to live.”
Foreyek the sun is pouring his gold 
On a hundred worlds that beg and borrow; 
His warmth he squanders on summits cold,
His wealth on the homgs of want and sorrow. 
To withhold his largess of precious light 
Is to bury himself in eternal night;
To give 
Is to live.
The flower shines not for itself at all;
Its joy is the joy it freely diffuses ;
Of beauty and balm it is prodigal.
And it lives in the life it sweetly loses.
No choice for the rose but glory or doom - 
To exhale or smother, to wither or bloom.
To deny 
Is to die.
The seas lend silvery rain to the land,
The land its sapphire streams to the ocean ; 
The heart sends blood to the brain ef command, 
The brain to the heart its lightning motion ; 
And ever and ever we yield our breath,
Till the mirror is dry, and images death.
To live 
Is to give.
He is dead, whose hand is not open wide 
To help the need of a human brother ;
He doubles the length of his life-long ride,
TO GIVE IS TO LIVE.
43
Who gives his fortunate place to another;
And a thousand million lives are his,
Who carries the world in his sympathies.
To deny 
Is to die.
Throw gold to the far-dispersing wave,
And your ships sail home with tons of treasure 
Care not for comfort, all hardships brave,
And evening and age shall sup with pleasure; 
Fling health to the sunshine, wind, and rain,
And roses shall come to the cheek again.
To give 
Is to live.
What is our life ? Is it wealth and strength /
If we, for the Master’s sake, will lose it,
We shall find it a hundred-fold, at length,
While they shall forever lose, who refuse it; 
And nations that save their union and peace 
At the cost of right, their woes shall increase. 
They save 
A grave.
A LEGACY.
HEN Enoch Wilton died, people said 
tliat Daniel Nayl°v was sure to come 
into the possession of a handsome property, 
since Uncle Enoch was known to be rich, and 
Daniel was his favorite nephew.
But when the will came to be read, they 
changed their minds, for the only clause it 
contained relating to him read as follows : 
“And to Daniel Naylor my beloved 
nephew, I give and bequeath, the framed 
copy of the temperance pledge to which 
under Divine Providence, I owe salvation 
from a drunkard’s grave as well as all the 
material prosperity which has gladdened my 
latter years. 
And I recommend that he 
remove it from its frame, and affix his signa­
ture beneath mine, satisfied that he will find 
the pledge an unfailing source of wealth to 
him, as it has been to me.”
Daniel Naylor resented this, as he was a 
drinking man, and he indignantly stowed 
away his uncle’s bequest, among the old 
rubbish in the attic, assuring his wife that as
A LEGACY.
45
bis uncle had treated him so shabbily, he 
should not trouble himself farther about that 
piece of property anyway ; and there, for 
years, it slumbered utterly forgotten.
Meanwhile, Daniel Naylor’s affairs went 
from bad to worse, for his drinking habits had 
deepened their hold upon him. 
One day, 
about five years subsequent to his uncle’s 
death, he returned to his now squalid home, 
to tell his wife that the last cent of his little 
property had gone, and that “ Squire Grip,” 
the village lawyer, would, the next day, fore­
close the mortgage upon their little place, 
leaving them homeless.
“ Oh Daniel,” exclaimed the poor woman 
in a tone of despair, “ What shall we do 1 
Where can we go 1 ”
“ I do not know,” he responded moodily— 
“ to the poorhouse, perhaps.”
“Don’t say that, Daniel!” pleaded the 
wife, “you still have two hands left, and 
if—”
“I cannot get employment,” he interrupted. 
“I have been to all my employers, and 
they only shake their heads, and say they are 
sorry, but the times are so hard they cannot 
give me work. 
I shall have to give it up.”
46
SABBATH READINGS.
“ But you must not give it up, there must 
be employment somewhere.”
“ I am unable to find it.”
His wife paused a moment in deep reflection. 
“ If I wiH tell you how, you can find em­
ployment, will you promise to fulfill the con­
ditions necessary to obtain it 1 ” she asked at 
length, in a very solemn tone.
“ What are the conditions ! ”
“ Will you promise 1 ”
“ I would rather know the conditions first.” 
“ The conditions are, that you quit your 
habits of intoxication, and sign the temper­
ance pledge.”
Daniel Naylor started.
“ What! ” he cried in astonishment. 
“ Do 
you intend to say that my having an occa­
sional spree interferes with my obtaining 
work ? ”
“ It certainly does, Daniel,” was the sor­
rowful reply, “ for I have heard at least one 
of your old employers say as much.”
“ Who was it 1 ”
“ Mr. Field.”
“ What did he say 1 ”
“ You recollect the time about three weeks 
ago, when you were—were—”
“ Drunk.”
A LEGACY.
47
“Yes, when you were drunk. 
You were 
at work for him then, and when he came af­
ter you, and I told him you could not come, 
he guessed the truth, and I heard him say to 
his clerk who accompanied him, as he drove 
iff, 1 Well, this is the second time Dan Nay­
lor has failed me when I needed him most, 
but I shall be sure he does not do it again.’ 
And that, my husband, is the source of all 
our adversity, as I believe you, yourself, will 
admit when you think the matter over.”
It was Daniel Naylor’s turn to reflect now, 
and for a few moments he did vigorously.
“ Well, I believe you are right,” he said, at 
last. 
But what can I do now 1 Our home 
is gone, and I have lost the confidence of my 
employers, so signing the pledge cannot 
amount to much.”
“Yes, it would amount to a great deal,” 
his wife replied. 
It would restore your self- 
respect, and in a great measure you would be 
able to regain the confidence you have for­
feited.”
Here was another period of silence and 
then looking up he cried :—
“Bring me a paper, and I will sign it, and 
may God give me strength to keep it! ”
48
SABBATH READINGS.
“ Why not sign uncle Enoch’s pledge ! ” 
his wife inquired. 
“ I saw it lying up in the 
attic the other day, and if you wish I will 
bring it.”
“Certainly that will save writing an­
other.”
The pledge was soon brought, and Daniel 
Naylor received it from the frame, and 
placed it upon the table. 
As be did so, a 
roll of brown paper fell out of its back, and 
dropped unnoticed at his feet.
His name was speedily appended to the 
document, and then he turned to replace it 
in the frame.
In doing this his eye fell upon the small 
parcel of brown paper lying on the floor.
Stooping to pick it up, he uttered a sudden 
cry of astonishment, as he beheld the corner 
of a bank note protruding, and with fingers 
trembling with emotion, he undid the pack­
age to find seven one thousand dollar notes, 
and a scrap of paper on which was writ­
ten :—
“Is not the pledge a sure road to wealth !”
“ God bless good uncle Enoch ! ” he ex­
claimed fervently. 
“ I can now take up the 
mortgage, and as for the pledge I will keep
A 
LEGACY.
49
that sacred as long as I shall live, for my 
own sake as well as in gratitude for this 
timely assistance.”
And his wife responded with a fervent 
“Amen.”
MEMORY OF THE JUST.
As mid the ever rolling sea,
The Eternal Isles established be,
’Gainst which the billows of the main 
Fret, rage, and break themselves in vain ;
As in the Heavens, the urns divine 
Of golden light forever shine;
Though clouds may darken, sterms may rage, 
They still shine on from age to age.
So, through the ocean tide of years,
The memory of the just appears;
So, through the tempest aud the gloom,
The good man’s virtues light the tomb.
Sab. Read. Vol. III. 
4
ADOPTING AN ORPHAN.
*
NE dreary morning, while Mary Reed 
was making her customary visits among 
the poor, she.passed a little shanty close by 
the roadside, whence issued the sound of a 
child crying loudly, but apparently from grief 
rather than physical pain. 
Mary paused; 
suddenly the cries ceased for a moment, and 
a low, broken voice was heard, and then from 
the 
child 
again suppressed sobs. 
Mary 
knocked at the door; it was opened by a 
child of some seven years old. 
The traces of 
tears were visible on the child’s damp cheeks 
and swollen eyes; her long golden curls fell 
disordered about her shoulders, and her voice 
trembled so that she could scarcely speak.
“ What is the matter, dear child ] ” asked 
Mary.
“ Oh, my mother is going to die ! ” sobbed 
the child.
Mary entered a small bed-room, where lay 
a woman in the last stages of consumption. 
On her bed was a German Bible.
“ He keepeth them in perfect peace who
put their trust in Him,” said Mary in Ger­
man, taking, as she spoke, the invalid’s hand.
“ God has surely sent you here, as you can 
speak to me in my own tongue, before I die," 
said the woman.
“ Are you dying ? ” asked Mary.
“ Yes ; only a few days more remain for 
me on earth.”
“ Are you afraid to die ? ” inquired Mary.
“ No, not afraid. 
I trust in the Lamb of 
God ; but, oh, my faith is weak ! my poor 
little child, my Henrietta, penniless and 
friendless; where will she find a home ! ”
Mary soon gathered from the woman that 
she had come four years before to America. 
After remaining a year in New . York they 
came to Chicago, where her husband died 
shortly after. 
The widow had toiled bravely 
for herself and only child, but grief and hard 
labor had thrown her into a consumption, in 
which she had lingered five months. 
Her 
money had been spent, her clothing and fur­
niture pawned, and but for the kindness of 
a neighbor, a poor Irish washerwoman, she 
and her child might have starved. 
Mary, 
having learned these particulars, took her 
leave, promising to return in an hour or two,
ADOPTING AN ORPHAN. 
51
52
SABBATH READINGS.
and encouraging the little girl to hope for the 
best. 
She went to the benevolent washer, 
woman and made some inquiries. The wo­
man was loud in her eulogies of her afflicted 
neighbors, enlarging on their goodness and 
poverty, but modestly abstaining from men­
tioning her charities towards them. 
“ In­
deed, ” she said, in conclusion, "often, have 
I thought that I’d change places with the 
dear creature, sick as she is, for the sake of 
being such a good, holy woman—so well pre­
pared to die.”
Mary was not one of those who, having 
discovered a case of great necessity, go home 
and spend a day or two considering what 
course they had better take for relieving the 
miseiy they compassionate, leaving the suf­
ferers meanwhile to suffer or die of despair. 
Mary decided quickly, and was careful not 
to overstep what in any case might be the 
bounds of prudence. 
She now hastened to 
the market and procured a basket of provis­
ions and returned to the widow. 
Her busy 
hands soon made a fire and prepared some 
broth ready for the mother, and half-famished 
child. 
Mary was a most skillful nurse, and 
she arranged the sick woman’s bed in so corn-
ADOPTING AN ORPHAN.
53
fortable a way, that for the time a visible 
change for the better appeared. 
The pain 
that had racked the poor woman’s worn-out 
frame was alleviated for a few hours and she 
lay refreshed and strengthened, in whispered 
words thanking and blessing Mary. 
The 
little room now called for Mary’s attention. 
She restored it to unwonted order, and placed 
a little stand by the bed, the sole relic, be­
sides the Bible, of former and happier days, 
and upon it the Bible, a few flowers in a glass, 
and the oranges she had brought. 
It was 
the middle of the afternoon before Mary de­
parted, having promised to call the next day 
on her return from the mission school. 
She 
continued her visits to her new proteges for 
several days. 
The mother grew feebler, and 
it was evident she had not many days to live. 
Mary saw that the thoughts of leaving heir 
child alone and friendless in the world, were 
filling her last hours with grief. 
She said to 
her, “ Would you be willing to have me find 
a home for your little Henrietta 1 Can you 
trust me to find one, where she will be happy 
and under good influences 1 ”
“ Oh, my kind friend,” said the widow, “ if 
you will but promise to do this, I will die in
54
SABBATH READINGS.
peace. 
I can trust you with all I have— 
my child.”
Mary went to a friend of hers, Mrs Captain 
Carroll. 
“ Mrs. Carroll,” she said, “ I want 
you to adopt a little girl.”
“Oh, Mary Reed, are you crazy?” cried 
Mrs. Carroll, lifting up her hands.
“ Not at all, Mi’s. Carroll, but there is a 
little girl—a widow’s only child; the mother 
is dying, and I wish to make her last hours 
happy by finding another mother lor her lit­
tle girl.”
“ Oh, I can’t think of such a thing, Mary,” 
said Mrs. Carroll.
“ Why, madam, who has a better opportu­
nity? You are rich and childless. 
1 have 
never seen any one better fitted to train up 
a child for happiness and usefulness than you. 
I really think it is your duty to take a child 
to adopt, ” said Mary.
“Oh, what would the Captain say. 
I’m 
sure he would never consent. 
Then, grand­
father and grandmother, you know, I feel 
just as if they were my own parents, as I 
have always lived with them, and they would­
n’t fancy the idea at all. 
Really, Mary you 
must find some one else.”
ADOPTING AN ORPHAN.
55
Mary depa rted, but in a day or two called 
again. . “ Come, Mrs. Carroll,” she said, “ I 
am going to visit a sick friend, a poor person, 
and I wish you would come with me, and 
take one of your glasses of currant jelly for 
her.” 
Mrs. Carroll, who was very benevolent, 
at once consented. 
Have you found any one 
to adopt that child yet?” asked Mrs. Carroll.
“No; every one has some good excuse,” 
replied Mary.
“ Every one?” said Mrs. Carroll.
“ Every one except one lady, Mrs. Captain 
Carroll, ” answered Mary smiling. 
“ Oh, 
you are too bad to say that,” said her friend.
Mary walked on silently until her compan­
ion resumed, “ Well, Mary, what are you 
thinking about now ? You have been in a 
brown study for ten minutes.”
“ I was thinking of this, ‘ Inasmuch as ye 
have done it unto one of the least of these, 
ye have done it unto me.’ 
If we feed, clothe, 
love, and shelter one poor child, Christ gra­
ciously receives it as done unto Himself.” 
Before Mrs. Carroll could reply, they entered 
the German widow’s little dwelling. 
Mrs. 
Carroll was so absorbed in thoughts, called 
up by Mary’s last remark, that she did not
56
SABBATH READINGS.
think of its being the house of the child she 
desired her to take. 
After a while she be­
gan to notice the extreme beauty of little 
Henrietta, and the refinement and Christian 
humility, and patience under suffering, of the 
mother. 
She was finally startled by hearing 
the woman say, “And does the lady you 
spoke of still refuse to take my little girl 1 ”
“ Yes, she thinks shecannot,” replied Mary.
“ And have you found any other place 1 ” 
she inquired.
“ None; I have done my best,” replied 
Mary.
“ Oh, this is very hard ! God help me to 
bear it. 
I have only a few days or hours to 
live, and I had hoped to see my little one 
provided for. 
God help thee, poor little 
Henrietta ! ” and as she said this, she turned 
away her face to hide her grief from those 
about her. 
Mrs. Carroll could no longer re­
fuse ; coming up to the bed, she said, “ Take 
courage; I will help you. 
I am the lady 
asked to adopt your child; I cannot refuse 
it now. 
I will take her for my own, and 
love her as my own.”
The woman clasped her thin hands, and 
whispered a prayer before she spoke, “ With
adopting an orphan.
57
all my heart; I thank you, let the blessings 
of a dying mother follow you. 
Oh, you have 
made me happy indeed! Come here, my 
Henrietta, see how good God is. 
He is tak­
ing me from you, but He gives you another 
mother in this good lady. 
Love her, Hen­
rietta, and obey her, and try all your life to 
be a blessing to her.”
Mrs. Carroll took the child in her arms. 
The little creature bent over and kissed her 
mother, and then overcome by her excited 
feelings, turned away and hid her face on 
Mrs. Carroll’s shouldei’.
A few days after, the sick mother died, 
and Henrietta was taken from the grave to 
her new mothei’’s home.
Live for something! All created 
Nature doth reciprocate 
Her kindness. Should the animated 
This great law invalidate?
Rather show thy grateful praises 
To thy God who reigns above,
In acts that Sorrow’s soul releases—
“ Words of kindness 
“ deeds of love.”
THE MERCHANT’S WIFE.
R. ROSE, a merchant, now residing in 
Philadelphia, who formerly lived in 
rather an extravagant style, was in the habit, 
every Monday morning, of giving his wife a 
certain sum of money for table and other 
household expenses of the week.
He never mentioned his business to his 
wife, and she, deeming him sufficiently capa­
ble of attending to his own affairs, never in­
quired into them. 
About fifteen years after 
their marriage, through some slight mis-man­
agement and the rascality of his confidential 
clerk, Mr. Rose suddenly broke, and his fall 
was mentioned sympathizingly on ’Change, 
and—like all such matters—there sympathy 
ended.
The merchant kept the affair secret, and 
the first intimation his lady had of it was by 
a paragraph in a paper. 
Shortly after din­
ner was over, on the day of the discovery of 
the startling facts, Mrs. Rose desired her 
husband to remain in the parlor a few mo­
ments, as she had something to say to him.
THE MERCHANTS WIFE.
59
She then left the room and hurried up stairs 
and shortly afterwards returned with a splen­
didly bound Bible in her hand. 
Handing it 
to her husband, she said 
-
“ George, the day following our marriage 
you gave me this precious book, as a token 
of your love, and as a rich fountain to look 
to in the day of trouble. 
Its pages have 
been precious to me, and, as your brow looks 
sad to-day, I now return it to you, that you 
may glean from it some consolation in the 
hour of gloom.”
She then left the room.
The merchant opened the book carelessly, 
and a bank bill fell out of it. 
He picked it 
up and glanced at its face—it was a $10 bill. 
He opened it at the first page and continued 
to find an X between every two leaves till 
he arrived at the commencement erf the Book 
of Revelation. 
He was saved—could again 
commence business, and that, too, with a 
capital of $9,000.
He rang the bell 
A servant appeared. 
“ Request your mistress to come to me im­
mediately,” said the merchant.
The lady obeyed, entering the room with 
something between a tear and a smile.
60
SABBATH 
READINGS.
“Kate ! Kate! where did you procure all 
this money
“ ’Tis the weekly savings of our household 
expenses for the last fifteen years,” was the 
modest reply. 
“ Every week I put ten out 
of twenty dollars which you gave me into 
our Bible bank, that when a day of trouble 
came upon us, we should have something to 
save us from the wolf.”
“ But why put it in the Bible, Kate? ”
“ Because it is a good bank, and one which 
will not suddenly break,” replied the lady. 
“It is a consolation in weal or woe, the 
friend to which we can always come and find 
comfort in distress; and it was a fancy of 
mine to place my savings in this book of 
richer treasures, and to present it to you, 
that in looking for spiritual consolation, you 
might also find the means for your temporal 
relief.”
AFFECTING SCENE IN A SALOON.
JT�E afternoon in the month of June, 
1870, a lady in deep mourning, fol­
lowed by a little child, entered one of the
fashionable saloons in the city of N------.
The writer happened to be passing at the 
time, and prompted by curiosity, followed her 
in to see what would ensue. 
Stepping up to 
the bar, and addressing the proprietor, she 
said:—
“ Sir, can you assist me 1 
I have no home, 
no friends, and am not able to work.”
He glanced at her and then at the child, 
with a mingled look of curiosity and pity. 
Evidently he was much surprised to see a 
woman in such a place, begging, but, without 
asking any questions, gave her some change, 
and turning to those present, he said :— 
“Gentlemen, here is a lady in distress. 
Can’t some of you help her a little.”
They cheerfully acceded to the request, and 
soon a purse of two dollars was made up and 
put into her hand.
“ Madam,” said the gentleman who gave
62
SABBATH READINGS.
her the money, “ why do you come to a sa­
loon1? It isn’t a proper place for a lady, and 
why are you driven to such a step ? ”
“ Sir,” said the lady, “ I know it is n’t a 
proper place for a lady to be in, and you ask 
me why I am driven to such a step. 
I will 
tell you, in one short word,” pointing to a bot­
tle behind the counter labelled “ whisky,”— 
“ that is what brought me here—whisky. 
I 
was once happy, and surrounded with all the 
luxuries wealth could produce, with a fond, 
indulgent husband. 
But in an evil hour he 
was tempted, and not possessing the will to 
resist the temptation, fell, and in one short 
year my dream of happiness was over, my 
home was forever desolate, and the kind hus­
band, and the wealth that some called mine, 
lost—lost, never to return; and all by the 
accursed wine cup. 
You see before you only 
the wreck of my former self, homeless and 
friendless, with nothing left me in this world 
but this little child ; ” and weeping bitterly, 
she affectionately caressed the golden curls 
that shaded a face of exquisite loveliness. 
Regaining her composure, and turning to the 
proprietor of the saloon, she continued :—
“ Sir, the reason why I oeeasionally enter
AFFECTING SCENE IN A SALOON.
63
a place like this is to implore those who deal 
in this deadly poison to desist, to stop a bus­
iness that spreads desolation, ruin, poverty 
and starvation. 
Think one moment of your 
own loved ones, and then imagine them in 
the situation I am in. 
I appeal to your bet­
ter nature, I appeal to your heart, for I know 
you possess a kind one, to retire from a busi­
ness so ruinous to your patrons.
“ Do you know the money you take across 
the bar is the same as taking the bread out 
of the mouths of the famishing ? That it 
strips the clothing from their backs, deprives 
them of all the comforts of this life, and 
throws unhappiness, misery, crime and deso­
lation into their once happy homes 1 0 ! sir, 
1 implore, beseech and pray you to retire from 
a business you blush to own you are engaged 
in before your fellow men, and enter one that 
will not only be profitable to yourself, but to 
your fellow-creatures also. 
You will excuse 
me if I have spoken too plainly, but I could 
not help it when I thought of the misery, the 
unhappiness and the suffering it has caused 
me.”
“ Madam, I am not offended,” he answered, 
in a voice husky with emotion, “ but I thank
64
SABBATH READINGS.
you from the bottom of my heart for what 
you have said.”
“ Mamma,” said the little girl—who, mean­
time, had been spoken to by some of the gen­
tlemen present—taking hold of her mother’s 
hand, “ these gentlemen want me to sing 
* Little Bessie’ for them. 
Shall I do so ?” 
They all joined in the request, and placing 
her in the chair, she sung, in a sweet, childish 
voice, the following beautiful song :—
Out in the gloomy night, sadly I roam ;
I have no mother dear, no pleasant home ;
No one cares for me, no one would cry 
Even if poor little Bessie should die.
Weary and tired I’ve been wandering all day, 
Asking for work, but I’m too small, they say ;
On the damp ground I must now lay my head ; 
Father’s a drunkard, and mother is dead.
We were so happy till father drank rum,
Then all our sorrow and trouble begun ;
Mother grew pale, and wept every day ;
Baby and I were too hungry to play.
Slowly they faded, till one summer night 
Found their dead faces all silent and white ; 
Then with big tears slowly dropping, I said,
“ Father’s a drunkard, and mother is dead.”
Oh ! if the temperance men could only find 
Poor, wretched father, and talk very kind ;
If they would stop him from drinking, then 
I should he very happy again.
Is it too late, temperance men ! Please try,
AFFECTING SCENE IN A SALOON.
65
Or poor little Bessie must soon starve and die.
All the day long I’ve been begging for bread;
Father’s a drunkard, and mother is dead.
The game of billiards was left unfinished, 
the cards thrown aside, and the unemptied 
glass remained on the counter; all had pressed 
near, some with pity-beaming eyes, entranced 
with the musical voice and beauty of the child, 
who seemed better fitted to be with angels 
above than in such a place.
The scene I shall never forget to my dying 
day, and the sweet cadence of her musical 
voice still rings in my ears, and from her lips 
sunk deep into the hearts of those gathered 
around her.
With her golden hair falling carelessly 
around her shoulders, and looking so trust­
ingly and confidingly upon the gentlemen 
around her, the beautiful eyes illuminated 
with a light that seemed not of this earth, she 
formed a picture of purity and innocence 
worthy the genius of a poet or painter.
At the close of the song many were weep­
ing ; men who had not shed a tear for years 
wept like children. 
One young man who had 
resisted with scorn the pleadings of a loving 
mother, and entreaties of friends to strive ard 
Sab. Read. Vol. III. 
8 
*
66
SABBATH READINGS.
lead a better life, to desist from a course that 
was wasting his fortune and ruining his health, 
now approached the child, and taking both 
hands in his, while tears streamed down his 
cheeks, exclaimed, in deep emotion :—
“ God bless you, my little angel. You have 
saved me from ruin and disgrace, from pov­
erty and a drunkard’s grave. 
If there are 
angels on earth, you are one ! God bless you ! 
God bless you ! ” and putting a note into the 
hand of the mother, said :—
“ Please accept this trifle as a token of my 
regard and esteem, for your little girl has 
done me a kindness I can never repay) and 
remember, whenever you are in want, you 
will find me a true friend;” at the same time 
giving her his name and address.
Taking her child by the hand she turned 
to go, but, pausing at the door, said :—
“ God bless you, gentlemen ! Accept the 
heartfelt thanks of a poor, friendless woman 
for the kindness and courtesy you have shown 
her.” 
Before any one could reply she was 
gone.
A silence of several minutes ensued, which 
was broken by the proprietor, who exclaimed : 
“ Gentlemen, that lady was right, and I
have sold my last glass of whisky ; if any one 
of you want any more you will have to go 
elsewhere.”
“ And I have drunk ray last glass of 
whisky,” said a young man who had long 
been given up as sunk too low ever to reform, 
and as utterly beyond the reach of those who 
had a deep interest in his welfare.
AFFECTING SCENE IN A SALOON. 
67
THE GOLDEN MOMENT.
The golden sun shone brightly down the world, 
Soft shadows gathered on the twilight track; 
The day is gone; with all our sighs and tears 
We cannot call one little moment back.
Ah, soul, what loss is thine ! awaken now !
Let not the moments slip unheeded by;
For just such moments make the golden hours 
That bring us nearer to eternity.
EVERY HEART HAS ITS OWN
SORROW.
S
VERY heart has its own sorrow.” 
There was a sad smile upon the lips 
that said it, and the eyes of the speaker were 
full of unshed tears, as if the heart rebelled 
a little, while a sigh stole up and was breathed 
out wearily. 
She sat in the full glow of the 
fire light, a patient, gentle woman, and on a 
low cushion at her feet was a young girl with 
her face hidden in her hands and sobbing pas­
sionately.
“Don’t think so much about it, Maggie; 
it is all for the best. 
It seems strange and 
dark now, but the time will come when you 
will see that it was all right,” all the time she 
smoothed softly the golden curls that fell 
over the flushed forehead:—the* head was 
lifted at length, and a fair face looked up, 
stained and swollen with weeping.
“ I can’t see how you can say this, Miss 
Levick. 
The time will never come when I 
shall see that it was all right.”
The young face was hidden again, and
tears dropped like rain through the small, 
white fingers. 
By and by they cesaed flow­
ing, and the head was laid with a long, tired 
sob upon the lap where it had rested before. 
The hours went by in silence, while the fire 
light shone clear and steadily in the room, 
sometimes bathing the watchers in its radi­
ance, then flickering and going out like the 
hopes they had cherished.
Maggie Harlan had cause to weep. 
Six 
years before her mother died, just as the 
sensitive, high-spirited child was learning to 
feel her need of a tender counselor, whose 
love was even greater than the many faults 
that tried it sorely. 
Her oldest brother 
graduated, and with impaired health went to 
Cuba for the winter. 
He never returned, 
so Maggie had only her father to cling to. 
Mr. Harlan almost idolized her, but he was 
an invalid, and felt that his child needed 
some influence besides his own in molding 
aright a character that already showed strong 
points, that might be shaped for good or evil.
Bidding farewell to the old home they 
removed to a quiet country village, where 
there was a long established female seminary, 
and here Maggie had been to school, advised,
EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 
69
aided, and benefited by Mrs. Champlan, the 
head of the school, as also the mother of 
daughters, causing her to take a warmer 
interest perhaps in the motherless girl, who 
not only proved an amiable pupil, but a 
brilliant scholar.
Mrs. Champlan employed numerous teach­
ers, and it is with one we find Maggie. 
Miss 
Levick had been there only six months. 
She 
was not one of those brilliant characters that 
dazzle at first acquaintance; but she pos­
sessed a quiet, unobtrusive loveliness that won 
surely upon the affections of those who knew 
her. 
She had learned many lessons in the 
school of life; adversity and sorrow had been 
her teachers, and if they had made darkness 
in her heart, it was in this she had learned 
patience, and lip and eye told by their chas­
tened beauty of a peace, storms could not 
disturb.
Maggie Harlan knew nothing of her his­
tory ; she had come a stranger to Dalton. 
Well educated, a skillful musician, and 
speaking the languages with fluency, Mrs. 
Champlan was glad to employ her; and to 
Maggie especially had she proved a most 
devoted friend.
70 
SABBATH READINGS.
Mr. Harlan’s health had been slowly but 
Burely failing since the death of his wife, but 
his friends were so accustomed to his pale 
face and wasted figure that they little real­
ized how near his feet were to the dark river. 
Hopeful and cheerful, he seldom spoke of 
bodily infirmities.
Three months ago he left home partly to 
attend to business in a distant city, and 
partly from the hope that travel might be of 
service to him. He only reached the place 
of his destination, was seized with severe 
hemorrhage, and died in a few hours. 
Only 
strangers were with him, strangers ministered 
to his last wants, and strangers sent back to 
his home the news of the desolation that had 
come to it.
It was a terrible blow to Maggie; all the 
more terrible for falling so suddenly. 
She 
moved about in a kind of stupor for several 
days, till the funeral was over, and she was 
left alone with no other friend than Miss 
Levick.
It was uncertain with regard to Mr Har­
lan’s property. He had always passed for a 
man of wealth, lived handsomely, and enjoyed 
all that money could bring. 
But Maggie
EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 
71
72
SABBATH READINGS.
remembered 
that he had often spoken 
anxiously with regard to the future, and 
it was with some misgivings 
that she 
waited the investigation of his affairs. 
I' 
proved as she feared. 
There was very little 
property beyond what would pay outstanding 
debts, and a very heavy mortgage' was held 
upon the place where they lived. 
It was 
arranged that Maggie should go to Mrs. 
Champlan, graduate with the close of the 
present term, and then become a teacher.
This is the last night in the dear old home; 
all day has Maggie borne up bravely—now 
utterly overcome.
“ It is a hard lesson to learn, darling, but 
some hearts have learned it, and when the 
agony was passed have blessed God for so 
teaching them. 
Sorrow sooner or later 
comes to all, and it works in the heart of 
each patience or despair. 
It all depends 
upon the way and manner in which they 
receive it.”
“ Perhaps you have the power to choose,” 
said Maggie, “ but I have not. 
It is not so 
much for you to be patient; it is your nature, 
and then you can’t have so great cause for 
grief.”
How Miss Levick’s heart went backward 
on the words of this weeping child, while she 
repeated to herself many a precious promise, 
as if fearful her struggling fears would let its 
anchor go and sink into the deep waters that 
were surging about it!
Hour after hour they sat there; the sun had 
gone down, and the purple twilight shrouded 
the outer world; while Maggie’s thoughts 
were busy with memories of the beautiful 
past, that was gone from her forever—shrink­
ing from the future that looked so blank and 
cheerless, and keen agony as the present sor­
row rose up in all its intensity 
a radiant 
cup of joy dashed from her lips just as she 
was beginning to taste its sweetness, and her 
heart was full of murmuring and despair.
Miss Levick’s words irritated instead of 
soothing her, and she could not help feeling 
there was not so much sympathy as she had 
a right to expect.
The teacher felt all this, and her tears 
dropped silently as she thought over Maggie’s 
words.
“ You have not so great cause for grief.” 
There was a lesson in her past life that her 
heart prompted her to unvail for the instruc-
EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 
73
74
SABBATH READINGS.
tion of the young mourner, and though she 
shrank from the task she determined it 
should be done.
“Maggie,” she began in alow voice, “I 
have no home, Maggie. 
There are times 
when my path looks dreary to me. 
Once 
loving hands clasped mine, but one by one 
they have all lost their hold upon me and 
crumbled away into dust, while I am left to 
walk alone. 
I do not murmur at this, though 
there have been times when my heart has 
said, ‘ The Almighty hath dealt very bitterly 
with me.’ 
And if you will listen I will tell 
you how a heart more impulsive and passion­
ate than yours was brought to rest quietly 
in the hands of One who doeth all things 
well.
“1 was bom in New England, and amid 
its wild, picturesque scenery I grew to love 
nature most devoutly—not calm, serene, 
quiet; I gloried in the war of elements, the 
play of the winds, the lightning, the thunder. 
When very young it was one of my pastimes 
to be out in the rain-storms; there was some­
thing in this akin to my own passionate 
nature. 
I did not like anything tame and 
restrained. 
My mother was a warm-hearted,
loving woman, but so given to the world, so 
immersed in the whirl of society that she 
could not spend much time with her children. 
She saw that we were well fed, well dressed, 
well behaved, and her duty was done. 
I 
remember so well how prettily she looked 
the dainty cap and collar, and when I used 
to put my arms about her neck and tell her 
how pretty she was, she would put me aside 
for fear I should spoil her toilet.
“My father was a proud-spirited man, 
who dearly loved my wild, uncontrolled ways; 
there was no danger of mussing him, and 
rare sport we used to have during his hours 
of leisure. I loved my father fondly, and 
people said that I had more influence over 
him than any other human being. 
Wealthy, 
and possessed of a social disposition, our 
house was a rendezvous for all. 
An English­
man by birth, my father was accustomed to 
seeing his sideboard well filled, and by de­
grees he grew to frequent it too often.
“ When I was about twelve years old my 
mother died, and after four years spent in 
school I returned to find a great change in 
my father. 
He would at times be gloomy 
and morose for days together, keeping the
EVERY HEART'HAS ITS SORROW. 
75
76
SABBATH READINGS,
whole house in a state of fear and discomfort 
by his sudden caprice and unreasonable 
exactions. 
Tiiis would pass away and he 
would appear as usual. 
These attacks grew 
to be more frequent, and at last came to be 
his habitual frame, and his frequent absence 
from home, which at first was a great sorrow 
to me, came to be looked for as a great relief.
“ Months passed on, and at last I woke 
up to know what others had known for a 
long time, that my father was drinking 
deeply and losing constantly at play. 
0, 
Maggie, I can never tell you the terrible 
suffering through which I passed. 
I left 
society and shut myself up at home, deter­
mined, if it was possible, to save him. 
I 
had influence with him; but how could I 
appeal to him—how let him know that I 
knew the places he frequented and the com­
pany he kept!
“Then change came. 
I grew indignant 
that he should bring all this misery upon me 
—the poverty and disgrace that I felt sure 
must follow such a course. Then in a mo­
ment of tenderness I would plead and expos­
tulate with him, begging him with tears to 
leave his habits of dissipation for my sake,
for his own sake, for the sake of my dead 
mother; while he would talk and weep, 
telling me that he could not break away; 
there was something continually drawing 
him to the gaming house—he knew it was 
ruining him, but he must go, while the bit­
ter, burning tears would roll over his face. 
Little by little every available article of 
property was disposed of and poverty stared 
us in the face.
“ At length my father’s constitution failed 
under the wear of constant excitement, and 
he was forced to leave his customary resort 
and confine himself to the house, and not 
unfrequently to his bed. 
Remorse preyed 
upon him, and his sufferings at times were 
terrible. 
With all this I was not impatient, 
neither did I leave him, for it was a part of 
my being, the love I had for him; and 
though at times a flood of bitterness possessed 
my soul—wretched, helpless, tortured with 
distress of mind and body, I sought to com­
fort and console him.
“ He lingered for two years a pitiable wreck 
of what he had once been, and died, I trust, 
repentant, leaving me alone and utterly 
destitute.
EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 
77
78
SABBATH READINGS.
“ I had relatives in Baltimore, said to be 
wealthy, and for a few weeks I trusted in 
their kindness; but there was no notice of 
my letters for a long time, and then one came 
couched so blandly, sympathizing with me 
in my loss, hoping I was well, but saying 
not a word of the future, or manifesting the 
least care or concern for what might become 
of me. 
Bitter were the tears, but it roused 
me. 
I determined to rely upon myself. 
My 
father had been a thorough scholar, and I 
was educated according to his system. 
There 
was nothing superficial, and the extent of 
my reading, both in English and the classics, 
was far more than the course usually pre­
scribed for ladies. 
I also inherited a talent 
for music which had been carefully cultivated, 
so that I was well able to teach any branch 
that might be desired. 
Through the kind­
ness of our family physician I obtained a 
situation in a seminary at some distance from 
my home, as music-teacher. 
My deep mourn­
ing, together with my extreme youth, pro­
cured sympathy and kindness from many; 
but I rejected all the overtures and led a life 
of perfect isolation, as much alone as if in a 
wilderness. 
I aimed to be kind and cour­
teous in my demeanor to all, but no one was 
admitted in the least degree into my confi­
dence, and every emotion was carefully con­
cealed from observation. 
Satisfied with my 
books and my music, learning language after 
language, not that I liked study so passion­
ately, but it made me forget, I felt that I 
could never be again what I had been. 
My 
chief solace, when not studying, was at the 
instrument; and here with my pupils did I 
spend hour after hour, reveling not alone in 
the written music, but improvising according 
to my will. These pieces pleased me best, 
for here I could pour out my anguished feel­
ings, the mournful, withering wail of my de­
spair.
“ How long this might have lasted I can­
not say; but my heavenly Father, against 
whom my heart, without knowing it, rebelled 
so grievously, was pleased to deal mercifully 
with me, and sent me in my withering, dead­
ening grief a great and precious gift. 
You 
have often asked me about this miniature, 
Maggie,” and she unclasped a bracelet from 
her arm. It was richly chased, and con­
tained the likeness of a noble looking man in 
the prime of manhood.
EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 
79
80
SABBATH READINGS.
“It was my husband, my noble, generous 
husband,” and she pressed her lips to the 
dumb semblance.
“ Harris Levick was an inmate of the same 
. boarding-house with me, but for a long time 
we were as perfect strangers. 
He pitied me 
at first; and not repulsed by the manner in 
which his advances were met, he persevered 
until my heart gave way, and I learned first 
to regard him as a friend, a brother, and 
after that to love him with all the devotion 
of one whose love flowed in but one channel 
to one object. 
Once more I entered society 
because he wished it, and again sunshine 
rested in my heart and on my life.
“ Months passed; we were married, and I 
left my labors at the seminary to preside 
over a home simple in all its furnishing, for 
Harris was not wealthy, but oh, what a par­
adise it was to me ! We had books, flowers, 
and music. 
We had young hearts full of 
love for each other and hope for the future, 
and for one short year I forgot all the bitter­
ness of the past; and when love’s signet ring 
was clasped with one sweet pearl I felt that 
God was good to me, and thought I was 
grateful for his blessings. 
Four years with
rare delight swept over me, and when God 
touched my treasures I found that my heart 
was as proud and as bitter as ever.
“Harris was a lawyer, with fine talent 
and a steadily increasing practice. 
For a 
young man he was said to excel, and all 
looked forward to a brilliant future for him. 
How many times we talked over the home 
we should possess in a few years, planning 
its surroundings and its adornments with 
almost satisfaction, hardly thinking that 
change might mar the programme; and still 
would Harris often close this dreaming by,
‘ If God wills,’ and seated by his side with no 
wish for anything beyond his love, I too 
could respond, ‘If God wills.’ 
Yes, it was 
easy to say, ‘Thy will be done,’ when that 
will only brought me what I craved.
“ We had been married four years. 
Wil­
lie, my precious baby, was three years old, 
the joy of our home, the dearest, most affec­
tionate little heart. 
There was a particular 
case on the docket. 
My husband had need 
of all his skill and ability, besides it was 
necessary that he should meet personally 
with several connected with it, and on whom 
much depended. 
This rendered a journey to
Sab. Read. Vol. III. 
6
EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 
81
82
SABBATH READINGS.
Chicago necessary. 
How I remember the 
morning he left me; bright and beautiful as 
it was, I could not help the tears that would 
come. True, it was comparatively a short 
journey, still I could not keep down the sobs.
“ ‘ I shall be gone only a week, darling, it 
will soon pass. 
Cheer up, here is Willie, 
bright as a sunbeam, and I will write if 
possible every day.’
“ Try as I would I could not restrain my­
self.
“ ‘ Why, Allie, had I thought you would 
have felt so badly I would not have gone.’
“ ‘ It is very foolish I know, Harris, but 
it seems to me that I shall never see you 
again,’ and I wept convulsively.
“ ‘ Cod bless and keep my treasures,’ said 
Harris.
“I kissed him passionately again and 
again, and then saw the door close after him.
“ It was two days before I heard from my 
husband; he was well, business prospering, 
would be home in the time specified, and I 
was sorry that I had been so foolish; the 
days were pleasant, and he needed change; 
he might have made a pleasant excursion of 
it if I had not been so babyish; and I told
EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 
88
Willie of all my weakness, and I promised 
I would never give way again. 
I knew my 
husband was never so happy as when at 
home; he was ambitious in his profession, 
a stirring business man; it would be neces­
sary for him to go away often, and his leav­
ing should never be clouded again. 
Thus I 
resolved. 
Willie, putting his dimpled arms 
about my neck would say to me, ‘ good, pretty 
ma, don’t cry any more when pa goes away.’
“ The week was nearly passed, Harris had 
(dosed his business and would leave in the 
morning. 
How my heart thrilled as at 
night I dressed myself carefully, and put the 
little suit his father liked best on Willie! 
Then seating myself and taking my baby on 
my lap I rocked him and told him stories to 
while the time away till I heard the tramp 
of the iron horse.
“Nine o’clock rung out from the little 
French clock on the mantel. 
A moment 
and the rumbling of the cars was heard, 
while the whistle screeched out its warning, 
and Willie bounded from my arms, ‘ Pa 
come, pa come ! ’
“ ‘ Not yet, darling,’ and 1 whiled him back 
to wait patiently. 
It was far past his usual
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SABBATH READINGS.
bed-time, but bis eyes were never brighter. 
This was an unusual occasion, and he could 
sleep later in the morning. 
An hour passed, 
it seemed to me an age; again and again I 
went to the door to listen. 
By and by there 
was a carriage at the gate, and footsteps 
coming up the graveled walk.
“ ‘ There is more than one; my husband 
must have brought company, that is what 
has kept him so long at the depot.’ 
And I 
took Willie by the hand and opened the 
door. 
Four gentlemen stood on the steps, 
but my husband was not among them. 
I 
staggered back, and should have fallen but 
for the kindly care of one.
“ ‘ Tell me all; I can bear it; my husband 
is dead.’
“I did not need the words, I knew it. 
But when they told me of the accident, the 
terrible collision, the fearful death of so 
many, and my husband among the number, 
I felt the good slipping away from me. 
My 
grief was too bitter, my eyes were dry, and 
my brain like bursting. 
Why should God 
take one and not the other ] And I clasped 
my child to my heart; and if I ever prayed 
earnestly it was that we might both go.
“ ‘ We thought it would be a comfort to 
you to see your husband; the body will soon 
be here.’
“And the humane man began making 
preparations to receive it. 
All the while I 
sat mechanically clasping my child tightly and 
passionately, asking to be taken out of a life 
so wretched as mine would be without his 
presence.
“ The door opened, and a litter borne by 
four men was placed in the middle of the 
room. 
Gently they arranged everything, 
and with the delicacy of those who know 
what sorrow is, left me alone with my dead.
“ There lay my husband dressed just as 
when he left Chicago—his face calm and 
serene, while the blood still oozed from a 
wound in the temple, and his breast was 
mangled and bleeding ; still I could not make 
it real, while Willie begged so hard for ‘ pa 
to wake up.’ 
Poor child! he could not 
realize his misery ; he did not know what it 
was to be fatherless.
“ Days passed. 
They put my dead from 
me. 
How was I to live without him 1 
Alas! had I read the lesson rightly I should 
perhaps have been spared another. 
Hardly
EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 
85
86
SABBATH READINGS.
three months had passed when scarlet fever 
broke out in the village, and Willie sickened 
and died.
“ My cup was full; the waves of bitter­
ness rolled over me; I was ready to curse 
God who had dealt so severely with me ; and 
no words can describe the darkness, like the 
shadow of death, that settled over my soul. 
I neither wept nor prayed. 
I thought of 
God only as an enemy whose hand was 
relentlessly against me, and every power of 
my body and mind seemed locked up by a 
stony despair. 
I followed my baby to the 
grave, but it was as one who neither saw nor 
heard. 
I went back to my lonely home and 
brooded silently over my hard fate.
“ The autumn days hung their beauty all 
around me, but I had no eye to see, no ear 
to catch the joyfulness floating around me. 
Christmas came, a bright, beautiful winter 
morning, and I stood by the window watch­
ing passers by. 
There were no friends, no 
Christmas cheer for me. 
Why was my fate 
so pitiless 1 As I stood by the window, mv 
heart making bitter responses to every peal 
of the bell, our clergyman passed, a kind, 
benevolent hearted man ; he bowed kindly, 
and then entered.
EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW.
87
“‘Are you not going out this morning, 
Mrs. Levick 1 ’
“‘No, sir. 
I have nothing to rejoice 
over, unless it be that every drop in my cup 
is turned to bitterness.’
“ He did not answer me at once, but tak­
ing both my hands, and looking earnestly 
into my face said, * Almost every house was 
smitten; we lost two of our darlings.’
“ He passed on to the church, and presently 
I heard the swelling notes of the organ, and 
the voice of the people. 
Every note came 
directly to my ear, for the door was being 
opened and closed continually.
“ ‘ Ah !’ thought I, ‘ they can sing, they 
can observe Christmas ; they have lost only 
children, I have lost all.’
“ When the service was over I watched to 
see the people go back to their homes. 
My 
heart smote me not a little as I saw that not 
less than one-half the congregation wore the 
badge of bereavement. 
There was a widow 
with her fatherless children; feeble age 
tottered on missing the strong arm of man­
hood on which it had been accustomed to 
lean; little children, motherless, walked 
with demure steps by their father’s side; and
88
SABBATH READINGS.
there a lonely couple thinking of the little 
ones that used to follow them with dancing 
steps.
“1 What a wretched, suffering world it is ! * 
and I bowed my head upon my hands and 
wept, the first tears I had shed since they 
took my baby from my arms. 
Just then 
baby’s old nurse came in—the dear old 
motherly heart—the sight of my grief 
touched her.
“ ‘ He knoweth what is best; each heart 
has its own sorrow,’ and she held me in her 
arms just as she used to hold Willie. 
Then 
she talked to me a long time of God’s goodness 
and love; that he knew and pitied our 
anguish; that this life was not all, there was 
a future, and that it would not be long till 
we should stand on the farther shore.
“ Somehow her simple words went directly 
to my heart; and although I wept till I was 
nearly exhausted it did me good, and that 
night I slept like a child.
“ I awoke next morning with a strange 
feeling of weakness in every limb, and a 
sense of bewilderment and confusion that I 
tried in vain to shake off. 
Past events, even 
my recent bereavement, would rise up for an
instant before me, and then float away into 
dim distance. 
I was prostrate with high 
fever, through which I was tenderly watched 
by Mrs. Bryan, aided by friends whose 
approach I did not now repel.
“ After long delirium and unconsciousness 
I awoke at last to reason, and for several 
days bore reluctantly with what I fancied 
was Mrs. Bryan’s needless caution in keep­
ing the room so dark. 
At length I could 
bear it no longer, I wanted to see the sun­
light once more, and insisted that the win­
dow should be opened. 
Poor Mrs. Bryan 
put me off till to-morrow , then the curtains 
were rolled up, and the blinds thrown open; 
I knew it, for I felt the pure air on my cheek. 
But, alas ! I could dimly see the sun shining 
through the rose tree, and the white spire of 
the village church; all was dim and faint as 
before.
“ It was not that my room was darkened; 
the light had gone out of my eyes, I was 
almost blind; I should never see the sun­
shine nor the flowers again; all my life I 
must be a helpless, dependent creature, a 
burden to myself and to others.
“ I remembered then my ingratitude, the
EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 
89
90
SABBATH READINGS.
hardness of my heart, because He had taken 
my idols, and I felt the Lord had justly 
smitten me. Day after day I could see less 
of the flickering sunlight, and at length it was 
gone to me entirely.
“ Oh how beautiful now seemed to me the 
broad green earth ! 
How I longed to look 
upon the sweet flowers ! 
Once I would not 
look at them because they reminded me of 
those his hand had so often gathered for me. 
Now I longed but to look at them, while the 
song of the birds filled me with pleasant 
music. 
For hours did I sit and listen to the 
robins as they crooned out their love songs 
in the old elm tree, when suddenly a thought 
struck me : ‘ These winged creatures warble 
and bask in the sunlight, answering the pur­
pose of their existence, while I, a rational 
creature, am gloomy and sad of heart, and 
full of complainings. 
I am of more conse­
quence in His sight than a bird. 
These 
reflections brought tears, and I found myself 
offering up a prayer that I too might become 
as happy in the purpose of my life. 
This 
prayer was the earnest wish of my heart, 
and it was not long till I found the Saviour, 
and, leaning upon him, I felt happier in my
every heart has its sorrow.
91
blindness than when I walked alone with my 
wicked heart.
“ My chastening was severe, but the Lord 
raised up friends in my necessity. 
After 
three months of total blindness, the result of 
long-continued nervous excitement, my sight 
was gradually restored. 
In the mean time I 
had made the acquaintance of a family from 
the South, who pressed me so kindly to re­
turn with them to their own home that I 
could not refuse.
“This home was in the suburbs of New 
Orleans, where the mild air and sweet per­
fume of orange groves did much toward 
establishing permanent health. 
Alas, that 
blight, war and desolation should sweep 
over such a home! 
How I left I hardly 
know, nor in what way I found myself in 
camp and hospital. 
The lengthened watch 
that knew no variation in the long wards, 
the terrible suffering of the brave men who 
had periled their all for the Union, and in 
ministering to their wants, aiding them to 
bear suffering patiently, binding up their 
wounds, above all, pointing them to Him 
whose precious love had brought him to do 
more for them than they had done for others
92
SABBATH READINGS.
—sad as it was, it was no doubt the very 
thing for me; I forgot my own griefs, per­
sonal sorrow was unthought of. 
I felt 
thankful for the benefits I had received, 
leaning more and more upon his protecting 
care, and looking forward, not blindly and 
with mute despair, but with hope of a joyful 
reunion on the other shore. 
For me I can 
say, ‘It is good that I have been afflicted.’ 
I feel a firm confidence in the goodness and 
mercy that will not leave me nor forsake 
me.”
The hands of the clock were slowly creep­
ing past the midnight hour; the leaping 
flames were gone; in their place were only 
embers glowing redly under the white ashes, 
even as hope will live and glow in a strong 
heat under all the smoldering ashes of dis­
appointment.
Maggie rose from her seat and folded her 
arms about her teacher’s neck.
“ I pray God to teach me the sweet lesson 
you have learned. 
I am so sorry that I said 
‘ you had not so much cause for grief as I.’ 
But why do they cal] you Miss Levick ? ”
“ Your question is very natural. 
It was 
simply a mistake on the part of Mrs. Champ-
lan, and I had not energy enough at the 
time to correct it. 
After that I felt it was 
just as well, I should escape questioning.” 
They went forth in a few hours, each to 
her appointed lot, and the angels looked 
down upon them both.
EVERY HEART HAS ITS SORROW. 
93
SILVER LINING TO EVERY CLOUD.
The poet or priest who told us this 
Served mankind in the holiest way;
For it lit up the earth with the star of bliss 
That beacons the soul with cheerful ray. '
Too often we wander despairing and blind,
Breathing our useless murmurs aloud;
But 'tis kinder to bid us seek and find 
“A silver lining to every oloud.”
May we not walk in the dingle ground 
Where nothing but Autumn’s dead leaves are seen;
But search beneath them, and peeping around 
Are the young spring tufts of blue and green.
’Tis a beautiful eye that ever perceives 
The presence of God in Mortality’s crowd,
’Tis a saving creed that thinks and believes 
“ There’s a silvery lining to every cloud.”
Let us look closely before we condemn 
Bushes that bear no bloom nor fruit,
There may not be beauty in leaves or stem,
But virtue may dwell far down at the root
94
SABBATH READINGS.
And let us beware how we utterly spurn 
Brothers that seem all cold and proud,
If their bosoms were open’d, perchance we might learn 
“ There’s a silver lining to every cloud.”
Let us not cast out Mercy and Truth,
When guilt is before us in chains and shame,
When passion and vice have cankered youth,
And Age lives on with a branded name;
Something of good may still be there,
Though its voice may never be heard aloud,
For, while black with the vapors of pestilent air,
“ There’s a silver lining to every cloud.”
Sad are the sorrows that oftentimes come,
Heavy, and dull, and blighting and chill,
Shutting the light from our heart and our home, 
Marring our hopes and defying our will;
But let us not sink beneath the woe,
’Tis well perchance we are tried and bowed,
For be sure, though we may not oft see it below,
“ There’s a silver lining to every cloud.”
And when stern Death, with skeleton hand,
Has snatched the flower that grew in our breast,
Do we not think of a fairer land,
Where the lost are found, and the weary at rest?
Oh the hope of the unknown future springs,
In its purest strength o’er the coffin and shroud.
The shadow is dense, but Faith’s spirit-voice sings 
“ There’s a silver lining to every cloud.”
RUINED AT HOME.
S
T is at home that the ruin of a soul be­
gins.”
“At home!” We hear the response in 
tones of pained surprise or indignant denial 
from many voices. 
“ It is a hard saying and 
cruel.”
“ It may hurt like a blow many sad hearts; 
but if it be true—what then 1 ”
“It is not true ! 
I can point to you a 
dozen cases within my own range of observa­
tion to disprove the assertion—to young men 
who have gone astray in spite of the careful 
training and good example of religious homes 
—in spite of all the best of mothers and the 
wisest of fathers could do.”
Yes, we hear such things said every day ; 
but feel certain there is an error somewhere 
a defect in your observation. 
Were you in 
the homes of these young men from the begin­
ning t Did you observe the personal bearing 
of their parents toward them—know their 
walk and conversation 1 
If nay, then you are 
not competent, with your instances, to dis­
prove our assertion.
•96
SABBATH READINGS.
A small error at the beginning of a series 
of calculations in applied mechanics may lead 
to a great disaster; the slightest variation 
from a right line at the beginning will throw 
a projectile hundreds of yards away from its 
object. 
It is in the little things at home, the 
almost unnoticed departures from order and 
good government, the neglects arising from 
parental self-indulgence, the weakness of love 
that fails to nip a fault in the bud; and many 
other things that might be instanced, which 
turn the young feet into ways of life that, as 
the years go by, lead farther and farther from 
safety and happiness.
The Bible, experience, and reason all de­
clare that the future of a child depends upon 
his early training. 
If this is bad, the chances 
are nearly all against him.
“ But,” we hear it said, “ children raised 
under the worst influences often make good 
and useful men.”
The cases are exceptional, and stand out in 
strong contrast to the general rule. 
And so 
we go back to what was declared in the be­
ginning, that the ruin of a soul begins at 
home. 
How many instances crowd upon the 
memory ! 
Let us take a few at this time for 
their lesson and their warning.
RUINED AT HOME.
97"
Not long ago, in one of our principal cities, 
an almost broken-hearted mother parted from 
her son in the court-house, and was taken 
fainting to her home, while he was thrust 
into a van and conveyed to prison. 
His crime 
was stealing. 
Society held up its hands in 
pity and amazement, for the young man’s 
father and mother were highly respectable 
people, and good church members, as the say­
ing is. 
The father’s business reputation stood 
high. 
People said of him : “ His word is as 
good as his bond.” 
And yet his son was a 
condemned thief. 
He had stolen from his 
employer.
Did the ruin in this case begin at home 1 
Yes ! 
It was at home the son learned to be 
dishonest, and he learned it from his mother ! 
Let us rehearse a few of the lessons, in pre­
cept and example, that were given to the boy. 
We begin when he was just five years of age. 
The boy, Karl, was standing near his mother^ 
Mrs. Omdorff, one day, when he heard her 
say to his aunt: “ Barker has cheated him­
self. 
Here are four yards of ribbon, instead 
of three. 
I asked for three yards, and only 
paid for three; but this measures full four 
yards.”
Sab. Read. Vol. III.
7
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SABBATH READINGS.
The boy listened and waited for what was 
to come next. 
He loved his mother, and 
trusted in her.
“ What are you going to do about it 1” in­
quired the aunt.
“ Keep it, of course,” answered Mrs. Om- 
dorff; “Barker will never be the wiser. 
He 
makes enough out of us, dear knows.” 
And 
she rolled the ribbon about her fingers.
Karl was a little surprised. 
It did not 
seem like his mother, nor in accordance with 
what she had often said to him about truth 
and honesty, but he had faith in her, and was 
sure that she could do nothing wrong. 
His 
aunt Ruth, of whom he was very fond, and 
who had great influence over him, was a weak 
woman in some respects, and much more in­
clined to take the current of other’s opinions 
than to give herself the trouble of opposition. 
Her innate sense of honor was a little dis­
turbed at her sister’s views of the case; but 
she failed to say the right words which were 
in her thoughts, and which, if spoken, might 
have helped the boy to see what was just and 
right.
A day or two afterward, Karl heard his 
mother say : “ I saved a car ticket this morn­
ing.”
RUINED AT HOME.
99
“ How 1” inquired her sister.
“ The conductor forgot to ask for it.”
“ Why didn’t you give it to him, mamma ?” 
asked Karl.
“ It was his business to look after his pas­
sengers,” replied Mrs. Omdorff, who felt 
rather uncomfortable at this question from 
her little boy. 
“ It will teach him a lesson.”
Karl thought a moment, and then said : 
“ But he won’t know anything about it.”
“ Oh, you’re too sharp !” exclaimed his 
mother, with a laugh. 
“ I wasn’t talking to 
you, anyhow.”
“ Little pitchers have big ears,” said aunt 
Ruth, echoing her sister’s laugh.
And so the matter was pushed aside, neither 
mother nor aunt imagining that the bright 
and beautiful boy they both loved so tenderly 
had received a lesson in dishonesty not soon 
to be forgotten.
“ I do believe,” said Mrs. Omdorff, not 
long afterward, as she sat counting over some 
money, “ that Poole has given me the wrong 
change.”
Karl was in the room and heard her re­
mark.
“ Let me see,” she added, going over the
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SABBATH READINGS.
money again. 
“ Two and a half, three, four 
and three-quarters. 
It’s a fact; I gave him 
a ten dollar bill, and here are four and three- 
quarters change.”
“What did the goods amount to1?” asked 
her sister.
“There were eleven yards of muslin at 
eighteen; that’s a dollar and ninety-eight 
cents. Two yards of silk at a dollar and a half, 
and an eighth of a yard of velvet one dollar— 
making just five dollars and ninety-eight 
cents. 
If it had come to six dollars my right 
change would have been four; but he has 
given me four and three-quarters.”
Then, in a tone of satisfaction, she added : 
“ I’m that much richer, you see, Ruth.”
Her sister smiled, but did not utter the 
disapproval that was in her heart. 
Karl list­
ened and took all in. 
A little while after­
ward Mrs. Omdorff got up and rang the 
bell, saying, as she did so, with a short gur­
gling laugh, that seemed ashamed of itself: 
“ I guess we’ll have a little ice cream—at 
Poole’s expense.”
Aunt Ruth shook her finger, and said 
feebly: “ Oh, that’s too bad ! ” 
But Karl 
was not able to see whether she approved or
RUINED AT HOME.
101
disapproved. 
The ice cream was sent for, 
and enjoyed by the child. 
While the sweet 
taste was yet on his tongue, he heard his 
mother sav: “I’m very much obliged to 
Poole for his treat—it’s delicious.”
Is it strange that the boy’s perception of 
right and wrong should be obscured 1 or that, 
in a day or two afterward, he should come in 
from the street with an orange in his hand, 
and, on being questioned about it, reply : “ A 
woman let it drop from her basket, and I 
picked it up. She didn’t see it drop, mamma.” 
“ But why didn’t you call after her 1” 
asked aunt Ruth.
“’Cause I didn’t want to,” answered the 
child. “She dropped it. I didn’t knock it off.” 
Mrs. Omdorff was not satisfied with the 
conduct of her child; and yet she was amused 
at what she called his cuteness, and laughed 
instead of reproving him for an act that was 
in spirit a theft.
So the child’s education for crime was be 
gun—his ruin initiated. 
The low moral 
sense of his mother was perpetually showing 
itself in some disregard for others’ rights. A 
mistake made in her favor was never volun­
tarily corrected, and her pleasure at any gain
102
SABBATH READINGS.
of this kind was rarely concealed. 
“ He 
cheated himself,” was a favorite saying, heard 
by Karl almost every week; and as he grew 
older he understood its meaning more clearly.
Mr. Omdorff was a man of higher integrity 
than his wife, and just in dealing to the 
smallest fraction. 
“ Foolish about little 
things—more nice than wise,” as she often 
said, when he disapproved of her way of doing 
things, as was sometimes the case. 
Mrs. Om­
dorff had learned to be guarded in her speech 
when he was at home; and so he remained in 
ignorance of the fatal perversions going on in 
the mind of his child.
As the boy grew up his father’s supervis­
ion became more direct. 
He was careful 
about his associates, and never permitted him 
to be away from home without knowing where 
and with whom he was. 
He knew but too 
well the danger of evil association; and 
guarded his boy with jealous solicitude.
Alas ! he dreamed not of the evil influences 
at home; never imagined that the mother 
was destroying in her son that nice sense of 
honor without which no one is safe; nor that 
she had taught him to disregard the rights of 
others, to take mean advantages, and to ap­
RUINED AT HOME.
103
propriate what did not belong to him when­
ever it could be done with absolute certainty 
of concealment.
We do not mean to say that such were the 
direct and purpesed teachings of his mother. 
She would have been horror stricken at the 
mere suggestion. 
But she had so taught him 
by example. In heart she was not honest, 
and in many of her transactions she was as 
much a thief as if she had robbed a till. 
Re­
taining what belongs to another, simply 
because it has come into our hands by mistake, 
is as muclfla theft in its spirit as purposed steal­
ing ; and the fine lady who keeps the change 
to which she is not entitled, or the yard of 
ribbon measured to her in error, is just as 
criminal as the sneak thief who gets into her 
hall through a neglected door and steals her 
husband’s overcoat. 
The real quality of an 
act lies in the intent.
Is it any wonder that amid such home in­
fluences the boy did not show, as he advanced 
toward maturity, a high sense of honor? 
That he should be mean and selfish and dis­
honest in little things? 
“As the twig is 
bent the tree is inclined.” 
Evil seed will 
produce evil fruit.
104
SABBATH READINGS.
Society punished and execrated the un­
happy young man, and pitied his wretched 
mother, little dreaming that by her hand his 
prison doors had been opened.
Another instance of the baneful influence 
that may exist at home is to be found in the 
ruin of a young man who recently died in 
one of the lowest and vilest haunts of the 
city. 
He had been well educated, and grew 
to manhood with a fine sense of honor. 
His 
mother was a woman of rare culture, and 
beloved by every one in the circle where she 
moved. 
All the moral sentiments of her 
son had been carefully fostered and devel­
oped, and when he reached manhood no one 
showed a fairer promise.
But it was not long before a shadow fell 
across his life. 
He had learned one thing at 
home that was destined to work his ruin—he 
had learned to love the taste of wine.
His father belonged to a class of men who 
considered wine drinking a mark of good 
breeding. 
He knew all about wines, and had 
a weak vanity in being thought a connoisseur. 
If he had a friend to dinner, he would bring 
out two or three kinds, and discuss them 
through half the meal. 
He called the men
RUINED AT HOME.
105
who were ranging themselves against the 
terrible evil of intemperance, and seeking to 
stay its baleful course, “ poor fanatics.” 
He 
talked of pure wines and liquors as harmless, 
and gave them to his son at suitable times 
and occasions, moderately ; only guarding him 
by warnings against excess.
But these warnings went for nothing as 
appetite increased. 
At twelve years of age 
the boy was content with a single glass of 
light wine at his dinner; at eighteen he 
wanted two glasses, and at twenty-one three. 
By this time he had acquired convivial hab­
its, and often drank freely with other young 
men of his age. 
His mother was the first to 
take the alarm ; but his father was slow to 
believe that his son was in danger. 
The sad 
truth broke upon him at last in a painful 
humiliation. 
At a large party in his own 
house the young man became so badly intox­
icated that he had to be removed from the 
company.
From that unhappy period wine was ban­
ished from the father’s table. 
But it was 
too late ! The work of ruin had progressed 
too far. At twenty-seven the wretched young 
man died, as we have said, in one of the low­
est and vilest dens of the city.
106
SABBATH READINGS.
We could give many instances like this. 
Here, at home, is the chief source of that 
wide spread ruin by intemperance, that is 
every year robbing society of thousands of 
young men, who, by education, culture, and 
social standing are fitted for useful and hon­
orable positions. 
They are ruined at home. 
Not in one case in ten does a young man 
acquire the taste for drink in a saloon or 
tavern, but at home—if not in his own 
home, in that of some friend. 
We fear that 
the drinking saloons men set up in their 
drawing rooms, and to which they invite the 
young and old of both sexes, do more to de­
prave the taste and lead to intemperance than 
all the licensed taverns in the land. 
It is 
here that the appetite is formed and fos­
tered—here that the apprenticeship to drunk­
enness is served. 
Year by year the sons of 
our wealthiest and most intelligent and influ­
ential citizens are tempted and led astray by 
the drinking customs of society—ruined at 
home. 
How few of the sons of successful 
men rise to the level their fathers have 
gained. 
How many, alas ! sink so far below 
this level that the eyes ache to look down 
upon them!
FARMER PENNIMAN’S DREAM.
-fppHERE’S no need of a donation for Mr.
Goodman,” growled out Mr. Penniman, 
on his way home from church, after the notice 
of a proposed donation visit had been given; 
“ he has salary enough without—six hundred 
dollars a year and a parsonage and garden 
spot—that’s enough for any family to live 
on; why, it doesn’t cost us near that, and 
we have six children, and they have only 
four. 
’Twas real mean for Mr. Goodman to 
exchange, and get that man to give out the 
notice.” 
And Mr. Penniman fretted away in 
the ear of his silent wife till they had nearly 
reached home, quite unmindful of the four 
children who, with wide open ears, were 
eagerly listening to every word.
Rev. Mr. Goodman was pastor of a little 
church in a small village of Manisuch, a 
Home Missionary church composed of farm­
ers, with a few members in the village where 
two other churches of different denominations 
were also endeavoring to live and thrive.
Four hundred dollars was the nominal
108
SABBATH READINGS.
salary of Mr. Goodman from the Home Mis­
sionary Society. 
Of the four hundred Mr. 
Penniman gave twenty-five dollars, usually 
in advance, “ to get it off his mind ” he said 
—if all the subscribers had followed his ex­
ample it would have been better for the min­
ister. 
But the last year’s subscription was 
two hundred dollars in arrears. 
And the 
Home Missionary Treasury was empty.
It was mid-winter; the minister’s credit 
and provisions were well nigh exhausted, 
and nothing had been said of the accustomed 
donation visit.
Driven almost to desperation, Mr. Good­
man rode over to a neighboring city, where 
one of his classmates was preaching to a 
large, prosperous church, and laid the case 
before him.
“ Let’s exchange,” said the sympathizing 
listener, when the story was told. 
“I’ll 
give notice of a donation visit on my own 
responsibility.” The exchange was made; 
and the notice was given to the astonishment 
of every one, Mrs. Goodman included.
Mr. Penniman’s family went into their 
large, warm kitchen, laid aside their wrap­
pings, and sat down to a bountiful dinner,
prepared by the eldest daughter during their 
absence; and with the appearance of the 
hot mince pies began the discussion of the 
coming donation visit.
“ Mother, may I go 1 ” from a chorus of 
little voices, and comments from the elder 
members of the family according to their 
moods.
“ Well, I paid the whole of my subscrip­
tion long ago,” said Mr. Penniman, with a 
satisfied air, “ and if the rest had done the 
same, there would be no excuse for having a 
donation visit.”
“I don’t believe Mr. Jones has paid a 
cent, and he’s rich, too,” said Clara, a bright 
little girl of eleven.
“No, nor Mr. White, nor Mr. Cook, nor 
even Deacon Slocum,” added George, a stout 
lad of sixteen, who knew more, in. his own 
estimation, than any man in the neighbor­
hood. 
Mrs. Penniman and the eldest daugh­
ter, Mabel, said nothing.
“Mother, I heard my teacher tell the 
superintendent that if people would only 
give tithes now, as the Jews did, there 
would be no need of donation parties. 
What 
are tithes 1 ” said Robert, the nine year old
FARMER FENNIMAN’S DREAM. 
109
son.
110
SABBATH READINGS.
“ I will tell you all about it this afternoon. 
Finish your dinner, now,” was the reply.
An hour later, according to promise, the 
mother sat, Bible in hand, explaining to her 
younger children the Jewish law of benevo­
lence. 
Clara and Bobert were finding the 
references, and James and Minnie were ask­
ing numberless questions. 
Jacob’s vision 
interested them greatly. 
Robert read the 
dreamer’s morning vow, “ Of all that thou 
shalt give me, I will surely give the tenth 
unto thee.”
“ Then tithes mean tenths. 
Does it mean 
a tenth of everything ? ” asked Robert.
“ Turn to Leviticus, 27th chapter and 30th, 
31st, and 32d verses,” was the mother’s reply.
“Why, mother, it says cattle, too,” ex­
claimed Robert in astonishment, “and a 
tenth of all their grain and their fruit! 
Sure! I guess my teacher was right; but 
does anybody do that now-a-days ? ”
“ Yes,” replied Mrs. Penniman, “ I have 
known several men in the city who consci­
entiously gave to the Lord one-tenth of their 
income, and some of them were far from 
rich.”
“ Why can’t farmers do the same 1 ” asked 
Clara.
“ I suppose they might,” 
replied the 
mother with a sigh. 
“ Now turn to Mala- 
chi 3 : 8, 10.”
“ Let me read that,” said Clara, and while 
she read her father said to himself, “ That’s 
all right, I am glad my wife is so faithful in 
teaching the children, especially in teaching 
them benevolence. 
I guess I have paid my 
tithes this year; twenty-five dollars for the 
minister, and as good as twenty-five for Chi­
cago, fifty dollars, that’s a tenth and more 
too, but I don’t begrudge it, not a bit,” and 
with a self-satisfied smile he fell asleep, and 
dreamed.
Half an hour passed, and the sleeper 
awoke with a groan and a start. 
Rousing 
himself, he said to the children, “ Run away 
now and crack some nuts; I want to talk to 
your mother awhile.” 
The children obeyed, 
and the mother sat with folded hands, try­
ing to prepare herself to listen patiently to 
more fault-finding.
“ I have had such a fearful dream, Jennie,” 
said Mr. Penniman, in a low, troubled voice; 
a warning from God, I do believe. 
You are 
a better Christian than I am, let me tell you 
my dream, and I know you will help me do 
my duty.”
FARMER PENNIMAN’s DREAM. 
Ill
112
SABBATH READINGS.
Then, in words often choked with emo­
tion, he told his dream, while tears rolled 
down his wife’s cheeks.
The profound silence which followed was 
broken by the husband’s voice solemnly re­
peating the vow of Jacob, henceforth to be 
his own vow: 
“Of all that thou shalt give 
me I will surely give the tenth unto thee.”
“Amen!” was the wife’s joyful response.
“Isn’t it Sabbath work to look over the 
books! 
It seems to me I shall feel better to 
have this matter all arranged to-day,” said 
Mr. Penniman, after a few moment’s thought.
Mrs. Penniman brought the books, in 
which her husband kept a full record of all 
the farm products.
“Now, Jennie,” said he, “take a piece of 
paper, and as I call off the yield you take 
out the tenths, and we will estimate the 
value and see how much we fall short.”
200 bu. Wheat—tithes 20 bu. @ SI.00 per bu...............§20.00
150 “ 
Potatoes 
“ 
15 “ 
@ 0.60 
“ 
 
 
9.00
300 “ 
Oats 
“ 
30 “ 
@ 0.30 
“ 
 
 
9.00
600 
“ 
Com “ 
60 “ 
@ 0.28 
“ 
 
 
16.80
200 
“ 
Apples “ 
20 “ 
@ 0.50 
“ 
 
 
10.00
10 
“ 
Beans “ 
1 “ 
@ 1.50 
“ 
 
 
1.50
30 
“ 
Turnips “ 3 “ 
@ 0.25 
“ 
 
75
10 bbls. Beef 
“ 
1 bbl. @ 10.00 
“ 
............. 10.00
20 tons Hay 
“ 
2 t’n @ 10.00 
“ 
............. 20.00
The amount of Tithes is...................................................§97.05
said Mrs. Penniman, and
FARMER PENNIMAN’S DREAM. 
113
Deducting the...................................................................50.00
already paid here and for Chicago,
Leaves................................................................................$47.05
“ Yes, that is correct,” remarked Mr. Pen­
niman, looking over the figures; “ now, how 
shall we arrange the rest 1 
Let us see. 
We
will give the minister
One barrel of beef.................................................... 
$10.00
and the tithes of turnips, beans and 
potatoes, which will
Amount to.............................................................................11.25
$21.25
This sum deducted from the...........................................$47.05
Leaves..................................................................................$25.80
a little more than the price of two tons of 
hay, as we valued it. 
But we have not 
tithed our cattle yet; we have ten cows, you 
know—shall they ‘ pass under the rod 1 ’ ” 
asked the husband, with a meaning smile.
“ Yes, certainly,” was the earnest reply.
“Well, then, one cow—you shall say 
which one—and two tons of hay to feed her 
on. 
There are a good many things we can­
not tithe this year, so I will take a good 
large grist, and you may take what you like 
from the house, and next year we will be 
more exact,” said Mr. Penniman in a tone of 
great satisfaction.
Sub. Read. Vol. HI.
8
114
SABBATH READINGS.
“A good deal to give away,” said Mrs. 
Penniman, doubtingly, for in her heart she 
feared her husband would repent his liber­
ality when the excitement of his dream had 
passed away.
“ Why, Jennie, you are not sorry the 
Lord made the tenths so large, are you 1 ” he 
said, half reproachfully. 
“Nine-tenths are 
left for us to use without doubt or reproach. 
How blind I have been all my life,” he 
added, with a sigh.
“ Father, George says it is milking time,” 
called out little Clara, looking in at the door.
“Yes, I’ll come,” answered the father, 
rising. 
“Jennie, which cow shall I give,’’ 
he asked, turning to his wife.
“ Give the best to the Lord,” was her 
reply.
“ Mabel, come here a few minutes,” said 
Mrs. Penniman to her eldest daughter, a 
young lady of nineteen, when the door had 
closed on the father and the two boys. 
In a 
few words the mother related what had 
transpired within the last hour; and the 
daughter listened with clasped hands and 
glistening eyes.
“ Oh, mother, I am *o glad! ” she ex­
claimed. 
Giving a tenth has always seemed 
right since I read God’s own law to the Jews. 
He must know best. 
If the J ews were com­
manded to give tithes, surely, with our 
greater blessings, a tenth of our income is 
the very least we ought to think of presenting 
to the Lord as a thank offering. 
It seems 
a great deal because God gives us so much.” 
“ Well, my dear, you and I must look up 
our tithes, to-morrow,” said Mrs. Penniman 
with a smile.
The day of the donation visit came at last. 
“ George, I guess we will take over our 
loads this morning,” said Mr. Penniman while 
they were doing the chores at the barn. 
“You may fasten Brindle’s rope to the back 
of that load of hay, and let her eat while you 
help me load up the other sleigh ; then you 
may harness the old horses, I will take the 
colts, and we will go over together.”
“Why, father, what are you going to do 
with old Brindie 1” asked the astonished boy.
“Give her to the minister; we have nine 
cows left,” was the reply.
The two went to the house and proceeded 
to load up the “ big sleigh ” which stood be­
fore the door. 
A barrel of beef, potatoes,
FARMER PENNIMAN’s DREAM. 
115
116
SABBATH READINGS.
turnips, beans, and a “ monstrous grist,” the 
children said, and away the two drove to the 
parsonage.
“Why, Mr. Penniman, haven’t you made 
a mistake. 
What does all this mean ? ” ex­
claimed Mr. Goodman running out of the 
house without his hat, as they drove through 
the great gate. 
“ What does it all mean 1 ”
“ Only the tithes,” replied Mr. Penniman, 
laughing.
“ Here’s your hat, father,” said little 
Henry Goodman, holding up the missing arti­
cle. 
“ Thank you, my son, now run into the 
house.”
“ W here shall I put your cow 1 ” asked Mr. 
Penniman.
“ My cow ! why Mr. Penniman, you can’t 
afford—”
“ Got nine left,” interrupted Mr. Penni­
man. 
“ Drive on, George, we’ll find a place.”
The little barn was a rickety old affair, but 
Brindle was soon tied in one corner of the 
stable, and Mr. Penniman and his son stowed 
away the hay as best they could in the bay 
and shaky loft. 
The boards on the sides 
were some of them hanging by one nail, but 
George said that the roof looked as if it
would not leak, and he would drive a few 
nails in those boards before night.
Then came the unloading of the second 
sleigh, amid exclamations of wonder and de­
light from Mr. and Mrs. Goodman and the 
children, and such a time as they all had pre­
paring the little almost unused cellar for such 
an unexpected supply of vegetables.
Two empty barrels were filled to overflow­
ing with the best of flour, the bran and 
shorts for the cow found a place in some old 
barrels in the woodshed, and Mr. Penniman 
and George drove home delighted.
“ What has happened to Mr. Penniman 1 ” 
asked Mrs. Goodman after they had gone. 
“ Is he going crazy 1 ”
“ I asked him what it a^ meant, and he 
said he had a di'eam last Sabbath which he 
would tell me sometime,” replied her hus­
band.
“ The result of his dreaming will bless us 
all the year,” said Mrs. Goodman gratefully.
“ Mother, is that cow to be our very own, 
always 1 ” asked one of the children.
“Yes. 
We all thank Mr. Penniman very 
much, and I am sure none of us will for­
get to thank Him who put the thought of
FARMER PENNIMAN’s DREAM. 
117
118
SABBATH READINGS.
this great kindness into Mr. Penniman’s 
heart.”
The afternoon and evening passed off as 
usual on such occasions, with one exception. 
The Penniman children had all faithfully 
tithed their nuts, pop-corn, and the money 
in their savings banks, and brought their 
gifts to the children at the parsonage, and 
child-like, Robert told the story to a group 
of listening children, and some of larger 
growth.
“We are all tithed,” said he, “George 
gave his tithes in money—mother and Mabel 
brought butter and eggs and dried apples, 
and every so many cans of fruit, and father 
tithed everything in the cellar, and even 
tithed old Brindle, too.”
“What is tithing 1 
I don’t know what 
you are talking about,” said Willie Greene, 
the merchant’s son.
“ Why the Bible says folks must give to 
the Lord one-tenth of all they can raise on 
the farm,” replied Robert. 
“ Clara and I 
read it there last Sabbath, and that is just 
what we have been doing at our house. 
We 
have just begun, but we mean to keep on 
doing so all the time. 
I tell you, Henry
Goodman, you’ll get lots of eggs and chick­
ens before summer is out, and I should n’t 
wonder if you should get, now and then, a 
harvest apple. I have one tree that’s all my 
own.”
“ That boy of yours has been telling quite 
a long story to the children about the tithing 
done at your house,” remarked Mr. Stevens 
to Mr. Penniman when they went out after 
supper to attend to their teams. 
“ Haven’t 
you changed your mind lately 1 ” he asked.
“Yes, I have most essentially,” replied 
Mr. Penniman, “but it is a long story; 
come to prayer-meeting to-morrow evening, 
and you shall hear all about it.”
Twenty minutes later everybody in the 
house knew that Mr. Penniman would ex­
plain the reason for the change in his feelings 
and practice at the next prayer-meeting, and 
every one had resolved to go to-morrow even­
ing—not long to wait.
“Are you going to prayer-meeting to-night 
to hear Penniman tell his dream 1” asked 
Mr. Greene, the merchant, of the first cus­
tomer who made his appearance the next 
morning.
“ Yes. 
I want to hear what he will say;
FARMER PENNIMAN’S DREAM. 
119
120
SABBATH READINGS.
it seems silly, though, to talk about a dream 
doing such wonders, for his donation was 
large for any one, and certainly wonderful 
for him.”
“ A dream ! ” sneered Mr. Greene, brush­
ing his coat-sleeve; “conscience, more likely.” 
“I don’t know about that,” was the reply; 
“ Mr. Penniman is close, but he is honest, 
and true to his word—always pays when and 
what he agrees to pay; his subscription is 
always paid in advance, if possible.”
So passed the day ; in every house and in 
every shop and store the subject of tithing 
was thoroughly discussed, always concluding 
with a wise shake of the head and the sage 
remark : “ The Pennimans won’t hold out 
long. 
No farmer can afford to give away one- 
tenth of what he raises, cattle and all.” 
But 
they went to the prayer-meeting, and for once 
the cold, cheerless little church was packed 
full.
Mr. Goodman opened the meeting as usual, 
and then remarked : “ Brethren and friends, 
I know you are all anxious to hear the mes­
sage which Brother Penniman brings us to­
night, and we will listen to him now.”
Slowly Mr. Penniman rose to his feet and
FARMER PENNIMAN’S DREAM. 
121
looked around on the congregation. 
His face 
was deadly pale, and his lips quivered for a 
moment. 
Then, in a calm, distinct tone he 
said :—
“My first duty to-night is confession. 
I 
have frequently said, in the presence of many 
of you, my brethren, that our minister’s sal­
ary was amply sufficient to support his fam­
ily without donation parties; that he must be 
extravagant, or he would not get into debt. 
Now, that was all wrong; I am sorry for it, 
and ashamed of it. 
In the first place the 
statement was not true, though I did not in­
tend to falsify. 
I made the mistake which 
we farmers are apt to make; we only reckon 
our money outlay, and count as nothing what 
we consume.
“ Yesterday I took my books and deducted 
the amount of family supplies I had sold from 
the amount produced on my farm last year, 
and I was surprised. 
Now, I only wonder 
how, with the closest economy, our pastor’s 
family could live comfortably on his salary and 
our donations too. 
But if my assertion had 
been true to the letter, it was no business of 
mine how he spent the money he had honestly 
earned, any more than it is how any other man
122
SABBATH READINGS.
spends the money he earns. The only question 
for me, as a member of this church, to decide is 
whether Mr. Goodman’s labors among us are 
worth the salary which we agree to pay. 
If 
so, my portion of his salary is to be paid 
promptly and fully, like any other debt, and 
he and his family left to the expenditure of 
the money well and faithfully earned, with­
out remark or hindrance. 
This shall always 
be my course toward him and every other pas­
tor hereafter.
“ Last Sabbath I sat in my easy chair, list­
ening to my wife and children as they read 
and conversed about the Jewish law of tith­
ing, till I fell asleep with the very comforta­
ble feeling that, for myself, I had brought all 
the tithes into the store-house—and I really 
believed it.
“ I dreamed that I went to the anticipated 
donation visit with my family, and carried 
about my usual donation—a bushel of flour, 
a bag of potatoes, and a bag of apples—and 
thought I had done well, for I was very sure 
the minister did not need even that with his 
salary.
“ The evening passed as usual, we farmers 
talking of the crops of last year and discuss­
FARMER PENNIMANS DREAM.
123
ing our plans for the coming season. 
I was 
well satisfied to find, by comparison, how 
abundant my harvest had been.
“ When I came in sight of my home, that 
night, I saw my well-filled barn in flames, 
my garnered treasures gone beyond hope of 
rescue. 
It was a terrible blow; and as I 
stood there helpless—for nothing could be 
done—and saw the product of my hard toil a 
great, blazing mass, how I wished I had given 
more of that burning wheat to my pastor. 
But it was too late now. 
I had only enough 
left for bread and for seed—a few bushels put 
in another barn for lack of room.
“ It was summer ; my oats were sown, my 
corn and potatoes planted, the cattle and 
sheep were in the pastures ; but there was no 
rain. 
Day after day the sun arose without a 
cloud, and night after night the moon and 
stars shone with undimmed beauty. 
So 
the summer months passed—not one drop of 
rain, no harvest. 
The winter came, and still 
no moisture for the thirsty earth. 
I had no 
grain in store, it had been burned; no hay 
for my cattle, the grass had not grown. 
The 
cattle died, one after another; and through 
the long winter it was a fearful struggle to get 
bread to eat.
124
SABBATH READINGS.
“ Spring returned, and yet no rain. 
I had 
no grain to sow, and others began to be in 
want. 
We grew weak and sick at heart. 
We were in the midst of what this country 
had never known—a real famine. 
Terror 
took hold of the soul, while hunger tormented 
the body.
“ Day and night we prayed for relief, and 
the answer, always the same, echoed and re­
echoed everywhere : ‘ Will a man rob God 1 
Yet ye have robbed me. But ye say, Wherein 
have we robbed Thee 1 In tithes and offer­
ings. 
Ye are cursed with a curse; for ye 
have robbed me, even this whole nation.’
“ Summer’s burning heat poured down 
upon us, and one after another, my whole fam­
ily sickened and died. 
Oh ! the agony of 
watching over sick beds with nothing to alle­
viate their suffering! To see our dearest 
friends dying of starvation ! 
Yet so my loved 
ones died, and I lived on. 
I buried them 
with my own hands, for the famine had taken 
all sympathy from the community ; each was 
fully occupied with his own sorrow.
“Day after day I wandered through the 
rooms of my desolate home, and touched rev­
erently the common things which their dear
FARMER PENNIMAN S DREAM.
125
hands had used, and found some comfort in 
this indulgence of my sorrow.
“ But even this poor solace was taken away 
from me. 
Another fiery tempest came, 
sweeping away every remaining vestige of my 
earthly possessions, and I fled before it. 
On, 
and on, and on, still flying, still pursued, never 
tiring, impelled by a terror indescribable, till 
at length, I know not how, I found myself in 
a deep gorge of a California mine. All around 
me lay broken fragments of rich gold-laden 
quartz, the very earth beneath my feet seemed 
formed of golden sand, and on either side of 
the narrow valley the mountains rose, full of 
treasure. 
But all this wealth awakened no 
emotion, for yonder, trickling over the rocks, 
was water, pure cold water ! 
Almost frantic 
with joy, I rushed toward it, but fell fainting 
ere my lips were moistened. 
I did not lose 
consciousness, but, too weak with my utmost 
effort to drag myself onward, there I lay, with 
the life-giving water almost within my reach!
“At last relief came; the miners gathered 
to the little grass plat not far away to eat their 
noonday meal. 
They seated themselves on 
the grass, made tables of the broken rocks, 
and spread out their bountiful repast. 
How
126
SABBATH READINGS.
delicious their food looked ! 
I had not seen 
so much at one time for months. 
How I 
longed for the very crumbs that fell from their 
hands, yet I could not ask. 
It was not pride, 
but despair. 
All the ungrateful past of my 
life seemed to come up before me; the food I 
had carelessly wasted, or carelessly received, 
unmindful of the Giver. 
I never was hungry 
till this famine began, and now it seemed im­
possible for me ever to be fed. 
‘ Cursed with 
a curse ’ for my ingratitude and robbery of 
God ! 
Oh, the thought was agony ! 
A deep 
groan escaped my lips and discovered me to 
the miners. 
One brought me a cup of water, 
and others gave me food. 
What a luxury 
was that cold water ! 
How delicious was 
that coarse but wholesome food ! I ate and 
drank like the famished creature that I was, 
till fully satisfied, and my kind friends re­
turned to finish their own repast, leaving me 
lying on the soft grass with a heart full of 
praise and thanksgiving.
“ The miners were rough men, of many na­
tionalities. 
Irish, Germans, Chinese, and 
profane, God-defying Americans, worked side 
by side. 
And as they sat in groups, enjoy­
ing their noonday meal, I listened to their
FARMER PENNIMAN S DREAM.
127
fearful profanity till my soul was sick within 
me. 
There I lay, all that long summer after­
noon, living over the years of my past pros­
perous life, bemoaning my selfishness and 
thinking how little I had ever done to send 
the gospel to such as the men in the mines.
“But all the future was dead within me. 
What could a poor, bereaved, famine-stricken 
man do, only to pray for pardon and for death?
“At last the day was ended, and two of the 
kind miners, half led, half carried me to their 
camp, shared their evening meal and their 
scanty tent with me. 
My heart was full of 
gratitude, and, before seeking repose, I knelt 
to thank him who had given such unexpected 
deliverance from famine and death.
“ Scarcely had I lain down, when one of 
the men touched me on the shoulder, saying : 
‘ Stranger, if you can pray won’t you come 
and see a sick man just over here V
“ I arose and followed him, and there in a 
dirty tent, lay, and had lain for weeks, toss­
ing with fever and delirium, my once happy, 
innocent boy, my long lost Henry. 
The fe­
ver had left him, and now, pale and exhausted, 
he seemed only waiting for the last heart- 
throb of a wasted life. 
Some of you, my
128
SABBATH 
READINGS.
friends, have known of this great sorrow 
which has lain on my heart for years, and 
may imagine the meeting and the sad recital 
I had to make. 
He said little of himself till 
I asked him of his spiritual state—his prep­
aration for an exchange of worlds. 
An ex­
pression of anguish passed over his face. 
‘ I 
am not ready—not prepared,’ he exclaimed. 
‘ All is lost, lost! 
Don’t interrupt me,’ he 
continued, as I was about to speak. 
‘ I know 
what you would say; I know the way, but 
have lost the desire to walk therein. 
I feel I 
am forever lost! 
Two years ago,’ he contin­
ued, ‘ there came to the mines a young Chris­
tian minister, full of life and enthusiasm, yet 
so gentle and blameless, so Christ-like that 
we must all love him. 
He had a wonderful 
power over all, even the roughest, and I loved 
him as a brother. 
He remained with us a 
year, preaching, talking, and praying, till 
profanity was banished, and many seemed 
almost persuaded. 
His second year’s labors 
were scarcely begun, when news came from 
the Home Missionary Society, saying the 
treasury was empty, and they did not know 
how long it would be before they would be 
able to pay what remained due on his salary,
FARMER 
PENNIMAN’S 
DREAM. 
129
and there were so many feeble churches need­
ing a little help, so many new settlements to 
be occupied, that they could not continue his 
commission another year. 
His heart was full 
of grief. 
He loved those rough men. 
He 
would have gladly worked with his hands as 
did Paul, but had not the strength, nor could 
he live without the salary. 
The miners 
might have paid it, but they would not; they 
liked him, but he was a restraint upon them, 
and he left us. 
Father, I thought of home 
then, of those rich farms, those bountiful har­
vests, and those men and women professing 
so much love to Christ, yet neglecting to fully 
support their own minister, and doing nothing 
to give these poor miners the bread of life. 
I 
might have been a Christian if young Hurd 
had remained here, but when he went away 
I was angry with Christians, with God, and 
myself. 
I went back to my old ways, and 
now I cannot repent.’ 
My poor boy sank 
back on his pillow exhausted; a deadly pallor 
overspread his face, his breath grew shorter 
and shorter, and in my agony at seeing him 
dying thus without hope, I uttered a deep 
groan and awoke.
“ At first I could scarcely believe it pos­
Sab. Read. Vol. III. 
9
130
SABBATH READINGS.
sible that all I had passed through was but 
a dream, and then such a flood of contending 
emotions poured in upon my soul as almost 
overpowered me. 
I was indeed like one res­
cued from deepest misery, and put in posses­
sion of every needful blessing. 
How happy 
I was, how grateful for the sparing mercy of 
my heavenly Father! and never did I re­
ceive any worldly good with half the satis­
faction that it gave me to know that God 
would accept a thank offering at my hands. 
I was in haste to make the offering, for I 
feared the old life-long selfishness would come 
back to trouble me; and I could see that my 
wife had the same fear.
“ But the offering was made, gladly and in 
good faith, by us both. 
During the few 
days that have intervened since then, I have 
thoroughly investigated the subject of tith­
ing, and it seems so reasonable, so just, 
indeed so very little to offer in return for 
our many mercies, that I only wonder I, a 
professedly Christian man, could so long 
have been blind to my duty and privilege.
“Just think of it, year after year, I have 
plowed my fields and sowed the seed, ut­
terly powerless to make one single seed ger­
minate. 
I have planted orchards, and could 
neither make the trees live, nor the fruit 
grow.. And every season, God has given 
the sunshine and the dew, and the copious 
rain. 
And more wonderful still, he has con­
stantly carried on that chemical process by 
which each plant has appropriated to itself 
the elements it needed for growth and per­
fection. 
Then, when the rich harvests have 
been gathered in, I have not brought to God 
a thank-offering of even one-twentieth of the 
fruits of the earth, and the little which I 
have doled out, I have called benevolence.
‘‘ And all these years, men, like the min­
ers in my dream, men from the corrupt 
nations of the old world, whom God has sent 
to us for light; and our own people, some­
body’s sons, every one of them, have been 
going down to eternal death uninstructed 
and unwarned; while I, Cain-like, have said 
in my heart, 1 Am I my brother’s keeper 1 ’ 
0 my brethren! God would be entirely just 
if he were to visit upon me all the horrors 
of that fearful dream.
“Yet he is long-suffering, and abundant 
in mercy, and his fearful denunciation is fol­
lowed by the comforting words : “ Bring ye
FARMER PENNIMAN’s DREAM. 
131
132
SABBATH READINGS.
all the tithes into the store-house, that there 
may be meat in mine house, and prove me 
now herewith, saith the Lord of Hosts, if I 
will not open you the windows of heaven, 
and pour you out a blessing that there shall 
not be room enough to receive it!
“I cannot recall the past; I can only pray 
God to forgive it, but most gladly for the 
future, do I, from the depths of a grateful 
heart, adopt Jacob’s vow: ‘ Of all that Thou 
shalt give me, I will surely give the tenth 
unto Thee.’ ”
A solemn hush pervaded that large assem­
bly when Mr. Penniman ceased speaking, 
broken, at length, by Mr. Goodman’s voice 
in prayer. 
A hymn was then sung and the 
meeting closed.
A WOMAN at the bottom of it.
'0 tell the truth,” said John Haviland, 
as he threw aside his evening paper, and 
faced the little group in the parlor, “lam 
fast growing out of patience with this text— 
‘ a woman at the bottom of it.’ 
It would be 
strange in this world, made up, as far as we 
are aware of, of nothing but the two sexes, 
if a woman would not occasionally be found 
at the bottom of anything good ! 
It is the 
injustice of the thing that makes me angry. 
Now there are hundreds of us poor fellows 
who owe all we are, all we have and all we 
can hope to become, in this world or the next, 
to the unselfish love of woman.”
The gentleman’s face was flushed, and he 
spoke very warmly and feelingly, so much so 
that his wife, rocking her baby to sleep in 
the farther corner of the room inquired :—
“ But why should you care, John 1 It has 
always been so, and always will be. We 
do n’t think much about it now because we 
have been taught to expect it.”
134
SABBATH READINGS.
“ But you should care! and you should 
stand up for each other more than you do. 
There is one chapter in my life history that 
I have always locked in my heart, but to­
night I feel as if it were my duty to open it 
for your inspection ; and I do it for the love 
of woman—for the love of one woman who 
made me what I am worthy to be, the hus­
band of a good woman.”
“Why, John,” said Mrs. Haviland, softly 
approaching—babe still held tight to her 
bosom—“You absolutely frighten me.”
“ Let’s have the story,” said the rest of the 
group, certain that something good might be 
anticipated) and John commenced, at first a 
little timidly, but gaining confidence as he 
proceeded.
“When I first came to New York, at the 
age of twelve years, to seek my fortune I can 
call myself a precocious chap without danger 
of being accused of an unusual degree of self­
appreciation. 
1 was quick to learn every­
thing, the bad as well as the good. 
My em­
ployer used profane language. 
I picked up 
the oaths he dropped with a naturalness that 
surprised myself even. 
The boys in the office 
all chewed tobacco. 
This was a little the
hardest job I ever attempted, but after two 
weeks of nausea and indescribable storaach- 
wrenchings, I came off victorious, and could 
get away with my paper a day with the best 
of ’em.
“True every word of it,” continued the 
speaker.
“One afternoon I was sent with a note 
from my employer to a house in the upper 
part of the city. 
I had n’t anything to read, 
but I had a plenty of tobacco, and with that 
I proposed to entertain myself during the two 
or three hours I must spend in the passage. 
For some distanoe I did not notice who were 
beside me, but by-and-by a lady said very 
softly and pleasantly, ‘Would you please, 
little boy, be more careful, I am going to a 
party thiB afternoon, and I should hate to 
have my dress spoiled.’
“ I looked into her face. 
It was the sweet­
est face I ever saw. 
Pale, earnest and lov­
ing, to my boyish heart it was the counte­
nance of an angel.”
“ What in the world did you say,” inter­
rupted Mrs. Haviland, her bright eyes filling 
with tears, as she saw how the memory of 
this beautiful woman affected her husband,
A WOMAN AT THE BOTTOM OF IT. 
135
136
SABBATH READINGS.
“ Say ! 
There was very little I could say, 
I think all I did for some time was to look. 
I managed to dispose of the tobacco, however, 
and wiped my mouth very carefully, all of 
which I felt certain she saw and mentally 
commented upon.
“ ‘ Have you a mother, little boy 1 ’ she next 
asked in the same low tone.
“ ‘ Ho ma’am,’ I answered, and I felt my 
throat filling up, and I knew that I must 
swallow fast to keep from sobbing.
You have a father then, I suppose ? ’ she 
kept on.
“ ‘No ma’am, no father.’
“‘Brothers and sisters ? ’
“ ‘ Neither, ma’am.’
“ ‘ Then the little boy is all alone in the 
world 1’
“ ‘ All alone, ma’am.’
“ ‘ How long has his mother been dead 1 ’ 
and the dear woman looked away from my 
face, and waited till I could speak.
“ ‘ Two years,’ I answered.
“ ‘ And you loved her 1 ’ came next.
“ ‘ Dearly,’ was all that I could say. 
She 
was silent for a moment, and then said so 
sweetly—oh ! I shall never forget it—‘ and
what do you think your dear mother would 
say—how do you think she would feel—to 
know that her little boy was guilty of such a 
disgusting habit as this?’ pointing to my 
cheek where the tell-tale quid had vainly tried 
to stand its ground.
“ ‘I must leave now,’ she continued, ‘ but 
here is my card, and if you come to me most 
any evening, I shall be glad to see you, and 
perhaps we can be of service to each other.’
“ She gave me her little gloved hand, and to 
my dying day, I shall never forget the sensa­
tions of that moment. 
I could not bear to 
part with her ; without her I felt that I could 
do nothing—with her,’ I could grow to man’s 
estate—a man in the truest sense of the word. 
From that moment tobacco never passed my 
lips.
“ As soon as I could muster courage I called 
upon the lady. 
Well do I remember how my 
heart beat as I waited in the elegant parlor 
for her to come down ; and how awkward I 
felt as I followed my guide to her private sit­
ting room. 
Here she got at every point of 
my life, and before I bade her good-bye it was 
arranged that I should spend two evenings 
of each week at her house, and I was to read
A WOMAN AT THE BOTTOM OF IT. 
137
138
SABBATH READINGS.
and study on these oocasions just what she 
thought best.
“No lover ever looked forward to meetings 
with the mistress of his heart any more ar­
dently than I did to these evenings with my 
friend.
“ I grew careful of my personal appearance 
—careful of my conversation, and strove in 
every way to be worthy this noble friendship. 
Two years passed in this delightful manner— 
two years that made me. 
My friend not only 
attended to my studies, striving also all the 
while to sow the right kind of spiritual seed, 
but she procured me a business situation with 
a particular friend of hers, where I remain to 
this day. 
Nobody but God knows what I 
owe this woman. 
During the last three 
months of those two years, I noticed that she 
grew constantly pale and thin; she never was 
betrayed into speaking of herself. 
Some­
times when I would ask her if she felt worse 
than usual she would reply:—
“ ‘Oh, no ! I am only a little tired—that is 
all.’
“One evening she kept me by her sofa much 
longer than was her custom, while she ar­
ranged lessons, and laid out work enough it 
seemed to me, for months.
“ ‘ Why so much to-night 1 ’ 
I inquired, 
conscious that my heart ached, and vaguely 
suspecting the cause.
“ ‘ Because dear,’ she answered, ‘ I do not 
want you to come for the next week, and I 
am anxious that you should have sufficient 
work to anticipate, as well as to keep you 
busy, 
I think I can trust you to be a good 
boy, John! ’
“ ‘ I think you can, ma’am,’ I answered al­
most sobbing.
“ I soon comprehended it all, and my grief 
knew no bounds. 
It is no use to go on. 
She died two days after; and when I hear 
folks saying: ‘ There’s a woman at the bot­
tom of it,’ I feel like telling the whole world 
what a woman did for me.”
A WOMAN AT THE BOTTOM OF IT. 
139
THE WAY OF ESCAPE.
aW/T ^ heart ached for the wretched man.
His debauch was over; his nerves un­
strung; the normal sensibilities of a moral 
nature, quickened, after a brief torpor, into 
most acute perceptions. 
Such a haggard 
face ! 
Such hopeless eyes ! 
I see the pict­
ure now, as a haunting spectre.
“ Let the memory of this hour, so bur­
dened by pain and repentance, be as a wall 
of defense around you in all the future,” I 
said.
He looked at me drearily. 
Slowly shak­
ing his head, he replied :—
“ Such memories are no defense. 
My 
soul is full of them. 
When temptation 
assails, they fall away, and I am at the 
mercy of mine enemy, who rushes in, like a 
hungry wolf, to kill and to destroy.”
“ Is there no help for you, then 1 ” I asked. 
He shut his eyes and was very still. 
If 
an artist could have seen his face then, and 
faithfully caught its expression, those who
THE WAY OP ESCAPE.
141
looked upon the image must have felt such 
pity in their hearts as makes the eyes grow 
dim with tears.
“I fear not,” he answered, after a little 
while, in a hopeless kind of way.
“It cannot be.” 
I spoke cofidently and 
assuringly. 
“No man is given over to such 
utter ruin. 
There must be, and there is, a 
way of escape from every evil.”
“ Except the evil of a bad and degrading 
habit—that vile second nature,” he answered, 
“ the steady current of which is forever bear­
ing him downward, downward, toward a 
storm-wrecked ocean. 
He may seize the 
oars in alarm, as I have done scores of times, 
and pull against the current, making head 
for a little while. 
But, human strength 
avails not here. 
The arms grow weary, the 
spirit flags—it is easier to drift than to row, 
and down the current bears him again. 
It 
is the history of thousands and tens of thou­
sands, and I am no exception.”
“ It cannot be,” I answered. 
“ There is 
help for every man, no matter how weak, 
nor how beset by enemies; else God’s word 
must fail.”
“ It does fail, I think,” he answered, in a 
gloomy, despairing kind of way.
142
SABBATH READINGS.
“No! No! No!” 
Quickly and emphat­
ically did I reject his conclusion.
“ Have it as you will. 
I shall not argue 
the point.” He spoke almost listlessly.
“ Then, I say there is help for every man, 
no matter where he is or what he is. 
We 
cannot fall so low that the Everlasting arms 
are not still beneath us, ready to bear us 
upward to mountain hights of safety.”
“ Oh, that those arms would bear 
me 
upward!” almost groaned my poor friend. 
“ I have no strength in myself. 
I cannot 
climb. 
Unless lifted by another, I must 
perish.”
“ So bad as that 1 ” I said.
“ Just so bad,” he answered, slowly and 
bitterly. 
“ This second nature I have made 
for myself, is my ruler. 
Reason, conscience, 
the love of my wife and children, my good 
reputation, pride, 
manliness—all 
human 
powers and virtues are its slave. 
And such 
a bondage!”
There was not a ray of hope in his dreary 
eyes.
“You must try again,” I said, cheerily 
“No man need be a slave.”
“ Easily said! ” was his impatient answer;
THE WAY OF ESCAPE.
143
“ while yet all men are slaves to some habit 
from which they cannot break.”
“Say, rather, from which they will not 
break.”
“ You mock me with idle words.”
“ No; I speak only the words of truth 
and soberness. There is human strength, 
and there is divine strength. 
The Everlast­
ing arms are always beneath and ready to 
bear us up, if we will but lean upon and 
trust them. 
Human strength is but as a 
broken reed; divine strength is sure as God 
Himself. 
It never fails.”
There came into his heavy eyes a feeble 
play of light. The stern rejection that sat 
upon his lips faded off.
“ In our own strength, nothing,” I said; 
“ in God’s strength, all.”
I saw his hands moving in an uncertain 
way. 
Then they rested one against the other. 
Suddenly they were clasped together in a 
kind of spasm, while his eyes flashed upward 
in a wild, half-despairing appeal to God, his 
lips groaning out the words :—
“ Save me, or I am lost! ”
Even now, memory gives back the thrill 
that swept along my nerves as his cry pene­
trated my ears.
144
SABBATH READINGS.
Never from any human soul went up, un­
heard, a prayer like that. 
He who once and 
forever took upon himself our nature, and 
who was in all points tempted as we are, yet 
without sin, and who is touched always with 
the feeling of our infirmity, stands close be­
side us, knocking at the door of our heart, 
that he may come in and help and save us. 
All hell is powerless before Him. 
Impure 
desires flee from his presence like night-birds 
when the sun rises; and the cords of evil 
habits are broken, as the withes that bound 
the arms of Samson, at His lightest touch.
I waited for awhile without speaking 
watching him closely, to see if he would rise 
into anything like confidence. 
Gradually, 
the hard, desponding look faded from his 
countenance, and I saw a calm resolve begin 
to show itself about his mouth.
“ One effort more,” he said, at last, speak­
ing slowly, but very firmly; “ One effort 
more, but not in my own strength. 
I have 
tried that too often, and shall never try it 
again. 
I give up the struggle as hopeless. 
If God fails me, I am lost.”
What a fearful crisis ! If God fail 1 
He 
never fails—is never nearer to us, nor stronger
THE WAY OF ESCAPE.
145
to help us, than at the moment when, de­
spairing of our own strength, we turn to him. 
The only danger lies in our not trusting him 
fully.
“ But how shall I trust him 1 
How shall 
I get a transfer of his strength to my will 1 
How is it that this power can supplement 
my weakness1? 
I am away down in the 
valley of sin and shame; how am I to get 
upon the mountains of purity, peace and 
safety 1 Will he bear me up as on the wings 
of an eagle1? or must I climb and climb, 
from day to day, until I reach the summit 1 ” 
“ You must climb,” I said.
“ I cannot. 
I have no strength. 
I have 
tried it a hundred times and failed.” He 
answered with returning doubt.
“ And will fail again if you trust in your 
own strength. 
But with God-given strength, 
used as your own, the ascent is sure.”
“ Ah ! I see ! ” Light broke all over his 
face. 
“ I see ! I see ! ” he repeated. 
“ God 
does not lift us out of our sin and misery, but 
gives us divine strength, if we ask him in all 
sincerity, by which we lift ourselves.”
“Yes.”
“ It is very simple and clear.” 
He drew
Sab. Read. Vol. IU.
10
146
SABBATH READINGS.
a long breath of relief, like one who has a 
load taken from his mind.
“ The law of our dependence on God for 
help,” I said.
“Yes. 
And now I see the meaning of 
this sentiment, in an old hymn I often heard 
sung when I was a boy," and which always 
struck me as a paradox :—
“ ‘ When I am weak, then am I strong.’”
“ The Christian poet,” I answered, “ lifted 
into something of inspiration, often sees 
truth in clearer light than we who are down 
among the mists and shadows.”
“ Ab me ! ” he sighed; “ your closing 
words remind me of the depth at which I lie, 
and the almost infinite distances above me to 
which I must rise ere out of danger.”
“ And to which you may surely rise if you 
will,” I answered with cheerful assurance.
“ By God-given strength only ! ” he spoke, 
solemnly.
“ Aye) never, never for an instant lose 
sight of that! Never, no matter how strong 
you may feel that you have grown, trust in 
yourself. 
In the hour of temptation, look 
upward, praying in the silence of your heart, 
for strength to resist.”
THE WAY OF ESCAPE.
147
“ Best of friends ! ” he exclaimed, in deep 
emotion; “ you must have been sent to me 
by God. 
Hope dawns on a night that has 
been starless. 
I see the way to safety—for 
me the only way. 
No one knows but my­
self how hard I have tried to reform, nor in 
how many ways I have sought to escape 
from a terrible thralldom. 
But all has been 
in vain. 
When this remorseless appetite 
that has enslaved me, asserted itself my will 
became as nothing.”
Long time we talked, I saying all that I 
could to strengthen him.
On the next Sabbath, much to my sur­
prise and pleasure, I saw him at church with 
his wife. 
I could not remember when I had 
seen him there before. 
At the close of the 
services, as I moved down the aisle with the 
crowd, some one grasped my hand and gave 
it a strong pressure. 
I turned and looked 
into the face of the friend I had tried to 
save.
“Oh, Martin!” I said, as I received a 
glance full of meaning, and then returned 
his hand-pressure.
We walked for a few moments side by 
side without speaking, and then were sepa­
rated by the crowd.
148
SABBATH READINGS.
On the Sabbath following, he was at 
church again; and Sabbath after Sabbath 
found him in the family pew, that for years 
had seen him so rarely.
Three or four months went by, and Mar­
tin’s feet were still in the paths that led 
upwards. 
But one day I was shocked to 
hear that he had fallen again. 
On careful 
inquiry, I learned that he had been with his 
wife to an evening entertainment, given by 
a citizen of high worth and standing, whose 
name is on every lip as munificent in charity; 
but who, whatever may be his personal con­
viction, is not brave enough to banish wine 
from the generous board to which he invites 
his friends. 
And I learned still further, to 
my grief and pain, that the glass which 
broke down the good resolution of Martin, 
and let in upon him the fierce flood of re­
pressed appetite, was proffered by the hand 
of this good citizen, as host.
I lost no time in going to my poor friend. 
I found him way down the valley of humil­
iation, his soul in the gall of bitterness. 
Shame and sorrow were in his heavy eyes; 
but not despair. 
I took hopeful notice of 
this.
THE WAV OF ESCAPE.
149
“ It is very hard for us, all but God for­
saken wretches ! ” he said bitterly, after the 
first formal sentence had passed between us.
“ Mr.------ is a man of generous feeling.
He gives, in a princely way, to churches and 
to charities; is one of our best and most 
liberal citizens; and yet, after I have taken 
a few steps heavenward, he puts a stumbling- 
block in my way and I fall back toward 
hell! ”
“You could not have fallen over any 
stumbling-block man or devil might place in 
your way,” I answered, “if you had been 
walking in divine, instead of human strength.”
“ Well do I know that,” he replied.
“ And so,” I said, “ let this sad fall keep 
you in a more vivid remembrance of human 
weakness. 
Never for one instant trust in 
yourself. 
Stand perpetually on guard. 
The 
price of your liberty is eternal vigilanee.”
“ It is a hard fight,” he said, with a sigh, 
despondingly.
“Life is a warfare,” I replied. 
“We are 
all beset with enemies, who know too well 
our vulnerable places—enemies that never 
sleep; implacable, cruel, ever seeking our 
destruction. 
I, you, all men have them.
150
SABBATH READINGS.
Trusting only in human strength, no one 
gains a victory ; but in divine strength the 
issue of battle is sure. 
And so, my friend, 
gird up your loins again, and be wary and 
valiant.”
Hope and courage came back into his 
heart.
“ Beware of ambush,” I said, as I parted 
from him that day. 
“The enemy, coming on 
you unawares, is more to be dreaded than 
when he forms his line of attack to the sound 
of trumpets. 
Seek no conflicts; keep off his 
ground; but when he comes forth to meet 
you, giving challenge, do battle in the name 
of the Lord.”
A few weeks afterward I was present 
when a gentleman of large wealth and good 
standing, both in church and society, said to 
him:—
“I didn’t see you at my house last even­
ing.”
“No,” was the rather curt reply; “it is 
safer for me to keep off the devil’s ground.”
“I don’t understand you, sir!” replied 
the gentleman, a flush of sudden anger in his 
eyes, for he felt the remark as a covert in­
sult.
THE WAY OF ESCAPE.
151
Martin’s face grew sober, and he answered 
with a calm impressiveness that caused the 
anger to go out of his listener’s eyes, and a 
thoughtful concern to take its place.
“ I am fighting the devil,” he said, “ and 
must not give him the smallest advantage. 
Just now I am the victor, and hold him at 
bay. 
He has his masked batteries, his en­
chanted grounds, his mines and pitfalls, his 
gins and miry sloughs ; and I am learning 
to know the signs of hidden danger. 
If I 
fall into any of his snares, I am in peril of 
destruction; and though I struggle, or fight 
my way out, I am weak or wounded, and so 
the less able to meet the shock of battle 
when he rushes upon me as I stand on guard, 
ready in God’s name, for the conflict.
“His enchanted ground is a social com­
pany, where wine flows freely. 
I speak of 
what it is to me, and call it, so far as I am 
concerned, the devil’s ground. 
He caught 
me there not long ago, and had me at his 
own advantage. 
But I will not again set 
foot thereon. 
If you, good citizens, make of 
your homes, in mistaken hospitality, places 
where the young find temptation, and the 
weak, stumbling-blocks, such men as I am
152
SABBATH HEADINGS.
must shun them as they would the gates of 
hell.”
His manner had grown more and more 
impressive.
“ Is it so bad as that 1 ” remarked the gen­
tleman, in a voice that showed both surprise 
and pain.
“Just so bad,” Martin answered impress­
ively ; “I believe Reigart’s oldest son was at 
your house 1 ”
“ Yes.”
“ It was the devil’s ground for him 1 An 
•hour or two ago I saw him coming out of a 
saloon, so drunk that he could not walk 
straight. 
And only three days ago, his 
father told a friend that his boy had cer­
tainly reformed, and that he now had more 
confidence in his future than he had felt for 
a long time.”
“ You cannot mean what you say 1 ” The 
gentleman exclaimed in visible agitation.
“ I have told you only the sad and solemn 
truth,” was Martin’s answer; “ and if I had 
accepted your invitation, I might now be 
lying at a depth of misery and degradation, 
the bare thought of which makes me shud­
der!”
THE WAY OF ESCAPE.
153
The gentleman stood for a little while as 
if stunned.
“ This is frightful to think of,” he said, 
and I saw him shiver.
“It is the last time,” he added, after a 
pause—“ the last time that any man shall go 
out of my house weaker and more degraded 
than when he came in. 
If my offering of 
wine cause my brother to offend, then will I 
not offer it again while the world stands.”
“ Ah, sir ! ” answered Martin, “ if many, 
many more of our good citizens would so 
resolve, hundreds of young men now drifting 
out into the current of intemperance, might 
be drawn back into safer waters ; and hun­
dreds of others who are striving to make 
head against it, saved from destruction. 
I 
speak feelingly, for I am one of those who 
are struggling for life in this fatal current.” 
The way of safety for a man like Martin, 
is very narrow and straight. 
If he steps 
aside into any of the pleasant paths that 
open on the right hand and on the left, he is 
in the midst of peril. 
If he grow confident 
in his own strength, and less dependent 
on that which is given from above, the danger 
of falling becomes imminent.
Martin fell again. 
Alas ! that this should 
have to be told.
“Was that Martin who passed us?” 
asked a friend with whom I was walking.
“ No,” I answered in a positive voice; 
and yet, as I said the word my heart gave a 
throb of fear—the man was so like him.
“ It was, I am sure. 
Poor wretch ! 
He 
tried hard to reform; but that cursed appe­
tite is too much for him. 
I’m afraid there 
is no help. 
He’ll die a drunkard.”
I turned back quickly and without a re­
sponse, followed the man we had passed. 
Just as I came up to him, he had stopped at 
the door of a drinking-saloon, and was hold­
ing a brief parley with awakened appetite.
“ In God’s name, no ! ” I said, laying my 
hand upon him.
He started in a frightened kind of way, 
turning on me a haggard face and blod-shot 
eye. 
I drew my arm within his and led him 
away, passive as a child. 
Not a word was 
spoken by either, until we were in his office, 
which was not far distant, and the door shut 
and locked. 
He dropped into a chair, with 
a slight groan, his head sinking upon his chest. 
He was the picture of abject wretchedness.
154 
SABBATH READINGS.
“ He leaveth the ninety and nine that are 
safely folded,” I said, speaking in a low, ten­
der voice, “and goeth out into the wilder­
ness to seek that which is estray.”
He did not answer.
“ You have looked to the strong for 
strength, you have prayed to him for succor, 
and he has come very near to you and helped 
you. 
Because you again went out of the 
fold, his love has not failed. 
He has found 
you out in the wilderness and brought you 
back to a place of safety. 
Only trust in him, 
and all will be well. 
He is the friend that 
sticketh closer than a brother. 
His is a love 
that never fails.”
I waited for him to reply, but he kept 
silence.
“ It must have been no ordinary tempta­
tion,” I said. 
Still he was silent.
“ The enemy must have come on you 
unaware,” I added, after a brief pause. 
“ The bolt must have fallen ere you saw the 
warning flash.”
“I was taken at a disadvantage; but I 
had time to know my enemy, and should 
have given battle in God’s name, instead of 
yielding like a craven.”
THE WAY OF ESCAPE. 
155
156
SABBATH READINGS.
Such was his reply. 
It gave me hope.
“ Tell me the whole story,” I said.
He raised himself to a firmer attitude; 
and I saw swift light beginning to flash in 
his dull eyes,
“Wounded again in the house of a friend,” 
he replied.
“ What friend ? ”
“ One on whom God has laid the special 
duty of saving souls—our minister ! ”
“Not Mr. L.?”
“Yes.”
I was confounded.
“ I went to him for help,” continued Mar­
tin, “ and instead of the counsel and support 
I then so much needed, for my old enemy, 
appetite was gathering up his strength, and 
setting his host in battle array, I was tempted 
and betrayed ! 
I should have gone to God, 
and not to man. 
With his divine word in 
my thought, and prayer in my heart, I 
should have opposed the awakening entice­
ment of desire, as I have so often done and 
prevailed.”
“ Tell me how it happened,” I said.
“As I have just told you,” he replied, “I 
was not feeling very strong. 
That old rest­
THE WAY OF ESCAPE.
157
lessness of which I have spoken, had come 
back upon me, and I knew what it meant. 
So, I said to my wife, ‘ I think, Mary, that 
I’ll step around and see Mr. L. 
I’d like to 
talk with him.’ 
She looked at me with a 
slight shadow of concern in her face; for 
she has learned to know the signs of a com­
ing hour of darkness, when the powers of 
hell renew their direful assaults upon my 
soul. 
‘ Do,’ she answered ; and I went.
“ I found Mr. L. in his library, but not 
alone. 
Mr. E. the banker, had called in to 
talk with the minister about a college for 
theological students, in which both felt con­
siderable interest. 
Funds were wanted in 
order to give the Institution the required 
efficiency; and the ways and means of get­
ting funds were earnestly discussed by Mr. L. 
and the capitalist. 
After an hour’s talk, 
and the arrangement of a plan for securing 
the object in view, Mr. L. rang a bell. 
To 
the servant who came in, he said something 
in a low voice, that I did not hear. 
The 
servant retired, but came back in a few min­
utes, bearing, to my surprise, and momentary 
consternation, a tray with wine and glasses. 
I saw a pleased look in the banker’s eyes, as
158
SABBATH HEADINGS.
they rested upon the amber-colored wine.
“ ‘ Some fine, old sherry,’ said Mr. L,, 
‘sent me by a friend abroad. 
I want you to 
taste it.’ And he filled the three glasses 
that were on the tray, handing one to his guest 
and another to me. 
In myself—my poor, 
weak self, I was not strong enough to refuse. 
If I had looked up to God, instantly, and 
prayed for strength to do the right, strength 
would, I know, have come. 
But I did not. 
I took the glass, not meaning to drink, but 
to gain time for thought. 
To have refused, 
would have been, I then felt, to set myself 
up as a rebuker of these men; and that I 
had not the courage to do. 
No, I did not 
mean to taste the wine. 
But, as they lifted 
their glasses, drank, and praised the fruity 
juice, I, in a kind of mesmeric lapse of ra­
tional self-control, raised my glass also, and 
sipped. 
A wild, fierce thirst possessed me 
instantly, and I drained the glass to the 
bottom.
“ A sudden terror and great darkness fell 
upon me. 
I saw the awful gulf on whose 
brink I stood. 
‘ I will go home,’ I said to 
myself; and rising, I bade the two men an 
abrupt good-night and left them. 
But I did
THE WAY OF ESCAPE.
159
not go directly home, alas for me! There 
are too many inticements by the way. 
In­
deed, I don’t know how or when I got home.
“ Of the shame, the anguish, the despair 
of this morning, I cannot speak. 
You don’t 
know what it means—have no plummet by 
which to sound its depths of bitterness. 
I 
left home for my office, feebly resolved to 
keep away from temptation; how feebly, 
you know! 
If the good Lord who is trying 
to save me, had not sent you to my rescue, 
I would now be—oh! I cannot speak the 
frightful words.”
“ He never leaves us nor forsakes us,” I 
answered. 
“He is always going out upon 
the bleak mountains, to the hot desert, and 
into the wilderness of wild beasts, seeking 
his lost and wandering sheep. 
If they hear 
his voice, and follow him, he will bring them 
into his fold, where is peace and safety.”
“ Good Shepherd of souls,” my friend said, 
audibly, lifting upwards his eyes, that were 
full of tears, “save me from the wolves ! 
They wait for me in all my paths; they 
spring upon me in all my unguarded mo­
ments ; they hide themselves in covert places, 
thirsting for my life; they steal upon me in
160
SABBATH READINGS.
sheep’s clothing—they beset me everywhere! 
Good Shepherd ! I have no help but in Thee.”
Breaking the deep, impressive silence that 
followed, I said: “ In him alone is safety. 
So long as you hear his voice, and follow 
him, no wolf can touch you with his murder­
ous teeth. 
But, if you go out of his sheep- 
fold, and trust in your own strength to 
overcome the wild beasts that crowd the 
wilderness of this world, destruction is sure.”
A few years have passed since then, and 
Martin still holds, in divine strength, the 
mastery of appetite. 
The vile second nature 
he had formed unto himself, and which bore 
him downward, for a time, in its steady cur­
rent, grew weaker and weaker, as the new 
life, born from above, gained strength. 
In 
the degree that he resisted and denied the 
old desires, did they grow weaker; and in 
their place, God gave him purer and healthier 
desires, so that he became, as it were, a new 
man.
“ The wolves are not all dead,” I said to him 
one day, as we talked of the present and the 
past.
He looked a little sober as he replied : 
“No, my friend. 
I often hear them howl­
SABBATH READINGS.
161
ing in the distance \ and I know full well 
that if I leave my Shepherd’s side, and stray 
off into the wilderness, vainly trusting in 
myself, that I shall be as powerless to stand 
against them, as a helpless sheep. 
For me, 
I am not safe for a moment, except when I 
trust in God’s strength to supplement my 
weakness. 
When I do that, all hell cannot 
prevail against me ! ”
CAUTION.
Was there a bright and glorious summer sky 
Ever so pure and clear,
But black and rugged clouds were hovering nigh, 
To make it dull and drear?
Was there an Eden e’er so blithe and gay,
And free from jealous care,
But busy change, some dark, unwelcome day, 
Brought grief and sorrow there?
When, blessed with pleasant days, and fortune’s smile, 
Our life untroubled grows,
’Tis best to guard in watchfulness, the while,
Against unlooked for foes;
And while we thank the Lord for mercies past,
And blessings day by day,
’Tis best ahead a watchful eye to cast,
And watch, as well as pray.
Sab. Read. Vol. III. 11.
“ Yes.”
“ Two large limbs full of fruit bung over 
on his side. 
You would hardly believe it, 
but it is true; I was out there just now, 
and discovered that he had sawed off those 
two fine limbs that hung over on his side. 
They lay down upon the ground and his 
pigs were eating the fruit.”
“ Why is Dick so spiteful to thee, friend 
Levering? He doesn’t annoy me. 
What 
has thee done to him ? ”
“ Nothing of any consequence.”
“ Thee must have done something. 
Try 
and remember.”
“ I know what first put him out, I kicked 
an ugly old dog of his once. 
The beast, 
half starved at home, I suppose, was all the 
time prowling about here, and snatched up 
everything that came in his way. 
One day 
I came upon him suddenly, and gave him a 
tremendous kick that sent him howling 
through the gate. 
Unfortunately, as it 
turned out, the dog’s master happened to be 
passing along the road. 
The way he swore 
at me was dreadful. 
I never saw a more 
vindictive face. 
The next morning a splen­
did Newfoundland, that I had raised from a
A QUARRELSOME NEIGHBOR. 
163
A QUARRELSOME NEIGHBOR.
HAT man will be the death of me yet,” 
said Paul Leveling. 
He looked wor­
ried, but not angry.
“Thee means Dick Hardy1?”
“Yes.”
“ What has he been doing to thee now ? ” 
asked the questioner, a friend, named Isaac 
Martin, a neighbor.
“ He’s always doing something, friend 
Martin. 
Scarcely a day passes that I don’t 
4iave complaint of him. 
Yesterday one of 
the boys came and told me he saw him 
throw a stone at my new Durham cow, and 
strike her on the head.”
“ That’s very bad, friend Levering. 
Does 
thee know why he did this? 
Was thy 
Durham trespassing on his grounds ? ”
“ No, she was only looking over the fence. 
He has a spite against me and mine, and 
does all he can to injure me. You know the 
fine Bartlett pear that stands in the corner 
of ray lot adjoining his property ? ”
164
SABBATH READINGS.
pup, met me shivering at the door, with his 
tail cut off. 
I don’t know when I have 
felt so bad. 
Poor fellow! 
his piteous 
looks haunt me now ; I had no proof against 
Dick, but have never doubted as to his 
agency in the matter. 
In my grief and 
indignation I shot the dog and so put him 
out of sight.”
“ Thee was hasty in that, friend Levering,” 
said the Quaker.
“ Perhaps I was, though I have never 
regretted the act. 
I met Dick a few days 
afterwards. 
The grin of satisfaction on his 
face I accepted as an acknowledgement of 
his mean and cruel revenge. 
Within a week 
from that time one of my cows had a horn 
knocked off.”
“ What did thee do 1 ”
“ I went to Dick Hardy, and gave him a 
piece of my mind.”
“That is, thee scolded and called him 
hard names, and threatened.”
“ Yes ; just so, friend Martin."
“ Did any good come of it 1 ”
“ About as much good as though I had 
whistled to the wind.”
“ How has it been since ? ”
“ No change for the better; it grows, if 
anything, worse and worse. 
Dick never 
gets weary of annoying me.”
“ Has thee ever tried the law with him, 
friend Levering? The law should protect 
thee.”
“ Oh, yes, I’ve tried the law. 
Once he ran 
his heavy wagon against my carriage pur­
posely, and upset me in the i*oad. 
I made a 
narrow escape with my life. 
The carriage 
was so badly broken that it cost me fifty 
dollars for repairs. 
A neighbor saw the 
whole thing and said it was plainly intended 
by Dick. 
So I sent him the carriage-maker’s 
bill, at which he got into a towering passion. 
Then I threatened him with a prosecution, 
and he laughed in my face malignantly. 
I 
felt the time had come to act decisively, and 
I sued him, relying on the evidence of my 
neighbor. 
He was afraid of Dick, and so 
worked his testimony that the jury saw only 
an accident instead of a purpose to injure. 
After that Dick Hardy was worse than ever. 
He took an evil delight in annoying and 
injuring me. 
I am satisfied that in more 
than one instance he left, gaps in his fences 
in order to entice my cattle into his fields
A QUARRELSOME NEIGHBOR. 
165
166
SABBATH READINGS.
that he might set his dogs on them, and hurt 
them with stones. 
It is more than a child 
of mine dares, to cross his premises. 
Only 
last week he tried to put his dog on my lit­
tle Florence, who had strayed into one of 
his fields after buttercups. 
The dog was 
less cruel than the master or she would have 
been torn by his teeth, instead of being only 
frightened by his bark.”
“ It’s a hard case, truly, friend Levering. 
Our neighbor Hardy seems possessed' of an 
evil spirit.”
“The spirit of the devil,” was answered 
with feeling.
“ He’s thy enemy, assuredly; and if thee 
does not get rid of him he will do thee great 
harm. 
Thee must if thee would dwell in 
safety, friend Levering.”
The # Quaker’s face was growing very 
serious. 
He spoke in a lowered voice, and 
bent towards his neighbor in a confidential 
manner.
“ Thee must put him out of the way.”
“ Friend Martin ! ” the surprise of Paul 
was unfeigned.
“Thee must kill him.”
The countenance of Levering grew black 
with astonishment.
“ Kill him ! ” he ejaculated.
“If thee doesn’t kill him he’ll certainly 
kill thee, one of these days, friend Levering. 
And thee knows what is said about self- 
preservation being the first law of nature.”
“ And get hung ! ”
“ I don’t think they’ll hang thee,” coolly 
returned the Quaker. 
“ Thee can go over to 
his place and get him all alone by thyself, 
or thee can meet him on some by-road. 
Nobody need see thee, and when he’s dead, I 
think people will be more glad than sorry.”
“ Do you think I’m no better than a mur­
derer; I, Paul Levering, stain my hands 
with blood! ”
“Who said anything about staining thy 
hands with blood 1 ” said the Quaker, mildly.
“ Why, you ! ”
“ Thee’s mistaken, I never used the word 
blood.”
“ But you meant it. 
You suggested mur­
der.”
“No, friend Levering, I advised thee to 
kill thy enemy, lest some day he shall kill 
thee.”
“ Isn’t killing murder, I should like to 
know 1 ” demanded Levering.
A QUARRELSOME NEIGHBOR. 
167
168
SABBATH 
READINGS.
“ There are more ways than one to kill an 
enemy,” said the Quaker. 
“I’ve killed a 
good many in my time, and no stain of blood 
can be found on my garments. My way of 
killing enemies is to make them friends. 
Kill 
neighbor Hardy with kindness, and thee’ll 
have no more trouble with him.”
A sudden light gleamed over Mr. Lever- 
ing’s face, as if a cloud had passed. 
“A 
new way to kill people.”
“ The surest way to kill enemies, as thee’ll 
find, if thee’ll only try.”
“ Let me see. 
How shall we go about 
it 1 ” said Paul Levering, taken at once with 
the idea.
“ If thee has the will, friend Levering, 
it will not be long before thee will find the 
way.”
And so it proved. 
Not two hours after­
ward as Mr. Levering was driving into 
the village, he found Dick Hardy with a 
stalled cart-load of stone. 
He was whipping 
his horse and swearing at him passionately, 
but to no purpose. 
The cart wheels were 
buried half way to the axles in stiff mud, 
and defied the strength of one horse to move 
them. 
On seeing Mr. Levering, Dick stopped
pulling and swearing, and getting on the 
cart, commenced pitching the stones off on 
the side of the road.
“ Hold on a bit, friend Hardy,” said Lev­
ering, in a pleasant voice, as he dismounted 
and unhitched his horse. But Dick pretended 
not to hear, and kept on pitching off the 
stones. 
“ Hold on, I say, and don’t give 
yourself all that trouble,” added Mr. Lever­
ing, speaking in a louder voice, but in a kind 
and cheering tone. 
“ Two horses are better 
than one. 
With Charlie’s help we’ll soon 
have the wheels on solid ground again.”
Understanding now what was meant, 
Dick’s hands fell almost nerveless by his side. 
“ There,” said Levering, as he put his horse 
in front of Dick’s and made the traces fast. 
“ One pull and the thing is done.” 
Before 
Dick could get down from the cart it was 
out of the mud hole, and without saying a 
word more, Levering unfastened his horse 
from the front of Dick’s animal and hitching 
up again rode on.
On the next day Mr. Levering saw Dick 
Hardy in the act of strengthening a bit of 
weak fence through which Levering’s cattle 
had broken once or twice, thus removing
A QUARRELSOME NEIGHBOR. 
169
170
SABBATH READINGS.
temptation, and saving the cattle from being 
beaten and set on by dogs.
“ Thee’s given him a bad wound, friend 
Levering,” said the Quaker, on getting infor­
mation of the two incidents just mentioned, 
“and it will be thy own fault if thee does 
not kill him.”
Not long afterwards, in the face of an 
approaching storm, and while Dick Hardy 
was hurrying to get in some clover hay, his 
wagon broke down. 
Mr. Levering, who saw 
from one of his fields the accident, and un­
derstood what its loss might occasion, hitched 
up his team, and sent his own wagon over to 
Dick’s assistance. 
With a storm coming on 
that might last for days and ruin from two to 
three tons of hay, Dick could not decline the 
offer, though it went against the grain to 
accept a favor from the man he had hated 
for years, and injured in so many ways.
On the following morning Mr. Levering 
had a visit from Dick Hardy. 
It was rain­
ing fast. 
“I’ve come,” said Dick, stammer­
ing and confused, and looking down on the 
ground instead of into Mr. Levering’s face,
“ to pay you for the use of your team yester- 
day, in getting in my hay. 
I should have
lost it if you hadn’t sent your wagon, and it 
is only right I should pay you for the use of 
it.”
“ I should be very sorry,” answered Paul 
Levering, cheerfully, “ if I couldn’t do a 
neighborly turn without pay. 
You are quite 
welcome, friend Hardy, to the wagon. 
I 
am more than paid by knowing that you saved 
that nice field of clover. 
How much did 
you get ?”
“About three tons. 
But Mr. Levering, 
I must ”—
“ Not a word, if you don’t want to offend 
me,” interrupted Levering. 
“ I trust there 
isn’t a man around here that wouldnt do as 
much for a neighbor in time of need. 
Still, 
if you feel embarrassed—if you don’t wish 
to stand my debtor, pay me in good will.”
Dick Hardy raised his eyes slowly, and 
looking in a strange wondering way at Mr. 
Levering, said: “ Shall we not be friends 1 
Mr. Levering reached out his hand. 
Hardy 
grasped it with a quick, short grip, and 
then, as if to hide his feelings that were be­
coming too strong, dropped it, and went off 
hastily.
“ Thee’s killed him ! ” said the Quaker,
A QUARRELSOME NEIGHBOR. 
171
172
SABBATII READINGS.
on his next meeting with Levering; “ thy 
enemy is dead ! ”
“ Slain by kindness,” answered Paul Lev­
ering, “ which you supplied.”
“ No, thee took it from God’s armory, 
where all men may equip themselves with­
out charge, and become invincible,” replied 
the Quaker. 
“And I trust for thy peace 
and safety, thee will never use any other 
weapons in fighting with thy neighbors. 
They are sure to kill.”
DISCORD.
It had some grains of truth, at least, 
That fable of the Sybarite,
For whom, because one leaf was creased, 
The rose-strewn couch had no delight. 
’Tis pity that one thwarting thought,
One adverse chance, one sudden fear 
Or sharp regret can turn to naught 
The full content that seemed so n-.ar! 
But this strange life of ours abounds 
With notes so subtile, they afford 
A thousand discords and harsh sounds 
For one harmonious, perfect chord.
ALL FOR CHRIST.
OW girls, I have got news for you! ” 
The speaker was a showy girl, dressed 
in the hight of fashion. 
She was just enter­
ing a room where sat several young ladies, 
her cousins, pursuing various household em­
ployments.
“What is it, Ada!” cried one and an­
other.
“ You’ll never believe it; Lizzy Ashbrook 
has professed religion !” was the half-serious, 
half-laughing reply.
« Lizzy Ashbrook ! ” The girls repeated the 
name more or less in surprise.
“ Lizzy Ashbrook,” said the elder cousin, 
Julia, seriously : “ why, she was forever mak­
ing sport of the subject.”
“ And such a fashionable girl; why, she 
would hardly look at a girl who was meanly 
dressed,” remarked another.
“ Her father an infidel, too; what will he 
say 1 ”
174
SABBATH READINGS.
“ I heal'd that he turned her out of the 
house,” said Ada.
There was a long silence.
“Well,” it was abruptly spoken by the 
youngest of the family, “ we shall see now if 
there is that reality in religion that Christians 
talk about. 
I do n’t believe there is one single 
person in any branch of her family who is re­
ligious. 
She will have unusual trials to un­
dergo; I wouldn’t be in her place. ”
“ Trials ! pshaw ! there’s no such thing as 
persecutions in these days; it would be a rare 
thing to see a martyr !” This was lightly 
spoken by Ada, who had been Lizzy’s nearest 
friend, and who felt unusual bitterness spring­
ing up in her heart against the young girl, 
who she knew could no longer enjoy her com­
panionship as of yore.
Martyrs are not rare, even in these days • 
aye, and martyrs to religious persecution, as 
we shall see.
The cousins made an early call on Lizzy, 
who received them with her accustomed grace, 
and a sweeter smile than usual, and there 
was a purer expression in her beautiful face, 
yet she appeared like one wearied a little with 
some struggle in which she was the sufferer.
ALL FOR CHRIST.
175
Although she did not speak directly of the 
new vows she had taken upon her, the new 
peace she had found, her visitors could see 
distinctly and clearly the wondrous change in 
dress, in manner, and even in countenance.
Lizzy was engaged in marriage to a 
thorough man of the world. 
George Phillips 
loved his wine, his parties, his race-course, 
the theatre, the convivial free-and-easy club- 
The Sabbath was his day of pleasure, and 
many a time had Lizzy graced his elegant 
equipage, radiant in beauty on the holy day, 
as they swept along. 
He bore a dashing ex­
terior, 
was intellectual, a wit, 
courted, 
caressed, admired everywhere.
His brow darkened as he heard the news. 
What ? the girl of his choice, the woman he 
would place at the head of his brilliant house­
hold, become a canting Christian ! Nonsense, 
he did n’t believe it; he would see for him­
self. 
He didn’t furnish his parlors for 
prayer-meetings; he wanted no long-faced 
ministers, elders or sisters to visit his wife, 
not he. 
It was a ridiculous hoax; it must 
have originated in the club-room. 
What! 
the daughter of Henry' Ashbi'ook, the freest 
of free thinkers? “Ha! a capital joke—a 
very clever joke—nothing more !”
176
SABBATH READINGS.
He called upon her not long after the visit 
before mentioned. 
His cold eye scanned her 
from head to foot—but how sweetly! how 
gently she met him ? Surely the voice that 
was melting music before was heavenly in its 
tones now. 
All the winning grace was there, 
all the high-bred ease—the merry smile dim­
pled her cheek—but there was a something, 
a subtle something, that thrilled him from 
head to foot with apprehension, because it 
was unlike her usual self. 
What could it be 1
At length, lightly, laughingly, he referred 
to the report he had heard. 
For one moment 
the frame trembled, the lips refused to speak 
—but this passed, and something like a flush 
crossed her face—it lighted the eyes anew, it 
touched the cheek with rich crimson, as she 
replied—“ George, please do n’t treat it as a 
jest, for truly, thank God ! I have become a 
Christian ! I have only just begun to live ! 
If you knew—”
The proud man sprang to his feet, almost 
throwing her hands from him in his impa­
tient movement; and not daring to trust his 
voice, for an oath was uppermost, he walked 
swiftly back and forward for a moment. 
Then he came and stood before her. 
His
ALL 
fOR CHRIST.
177
forehead was purpled with the veins that pas­
sion swelled, his face white, and his voice 
unsteady as he exclaimed:—
“ Do you mean to say that you will really 
cast your lot among these people, that you 
will give up all—all'? ”
“ I will give up all for Christ; ” the words 
were very soft and low, and not spoken with­
out reflection.
For one moment he locked his lips together 
till they looked like steel in their rigidity; 
then he said, in a full, passionate voice:—
“ Lizzy—Miss Ashbrook, if these are your 
sentiments, these your intentions, we must go 
different ways.”
This was very cruel; it was a terrible test, 
for the young girl had, as it were, placed her 
soul in his keeping. 
Before a higher and 
purer love was born in her heart, he had 
made up her human love—an absolute idola­
try—and the thought of ever losing him, now 
caused her cheek to grow ashen, and her eyes 
dim.
As he saw this, his manner changed to en­
treaty.
He placed before her the position he would 
give her; lured her by every argument that 
Sab. Read. Vol. III. 
12
178
SABBATH HEADINGS.
might appeal to the womanly heart. 
And 
he knew how to win by entreaty, by the sub­
tlest casuistry. His was a masterly eloquence. 
He could adapt his voice, his language, his 
very looks, with the most adroit cunning, to 
the subj ect and object of his discussion. More 
than once, the gentle spirit of the young 
Christian felt as if giving away—that only 
help direct from the Fountain of Life could 
sustain her with firmness to resist to the end 
of the interview.
At last it was a final 
AH this will I give 
you if you will fall down and worship me.” 
It came to this—“ Christ or me.” 
There 
could be no compromise, it was “ Christ or 
me.” 
And standing there clothed with a 
mantle of a new and heavenly faith, with its 
light shining in her heart and playing over 
her pale features, she said, with the firmness 
of martyrs of old:—
“ Christ! ”
Though his soul was filled with rage, so 
that he could have gnashed his teeth, the 
slight figure standing there with an earnest 
upward glance—the brow that seemed to 
have grown white—the attitude so self- 
possessed, yet so modest, so quiet and yet so
ALL FOR CHRIST.
170
eloquent, filled him with a strange, admiring 
awe. 
But the hostility toward religion was 
so strong in his heart, that it bore down all 
his tenderness, almost crushed his love, and 
he parted from her, for the first time, coldly, 
and like a stranger.
The engagement was broken off; but who 
can tell the struggles it cost.
This was but the first trial; there came 
another yet, while the blow lay heavy on 
her heart.
Her father had ever been very loving 
towards her. 
He was proud of her; she 
was the brightest gem of his splendid home. 
She was beautiful, and gratified his vanity; 
she was intellectual, and he heard praise 
lavished upon her mind with a miser’s greedy 
ear, for she was his—part of himself; she 
belonged to him.
He called her into his study, and required 
a minute account of the whole matter. 
He 
had heard rumors, he said, had seen a sur­
prising and not an agreeable change in her; 
she had grown mopish, quiet; what was the 
cause i It was a great trial, with that stern, 
unbelieving face, full of hard lines, opposite, 
to stand and testify for Christ. 
But He who
180
SABBATH READINGS,
has promised was with her, and she told the 
story calmly, resolutely, kindly.
“ And do you intend to be baptized l ’
“ Yes, sir,”'—a gleam of hope entering her 
heart; she did not expect his approval, but 
she could not think he might refuse to sanc­
tion this important step.
“ You know your aunt Eunice has long 
wanted you to become an inmate ot her 
home.”
“Yes, sir,” the gentle voice faltered. 
“Well, you can go now. 
Unless you can 
give up this absurd idea, and trample it 
under your feet, I do not wish you to remain 
with me. 
Be as you were before, and you 
shall want for no luxury, no affection; fol­
low this miserable notion, and henceforth I 
am only your father in name.”
And still, though her heart was broken, 
she said, as she had before :—
“ Christ.”
She did forsake all for him, but her step 
became slow, her form wasted, her eye hollow 
and her cheek sunken. The struggle had 
been too much for a frame unable to cope 
with any overwhelming sorrow. 
Swiftly she 
went down into the valley, but it was not
* ALL FOR CHRIST.
181
dark to her. 
Too late the man who had so 
sorely tempted her, knelt by her bedside and 
implored her forgiveness. 
Too late ? No, 
not too late for his own salvation, for in that 
hour his eyes were open to the sinfulness of 
his life, and by her dying pillow, he promised 
solemnly to give his heart to God. 
Her 
father, too, proud infidel that he was, looked 
on his wasted child, triumphing over death, 
with wonder and with awe. 
Such a dying 
scene it is the privilege of but few to witness. 
She had given up all, absolutely all for 
Christ, and in the last hour, like Stephen, 
she saw heaven open. 
Her face was angelic, 
her language rapture, her chamber the gate 
of heaven. 
And like one who, but the other 
day, untied the sandals of life, and moved 
calmly and trustingly down the one step 
between earth and heaven, so she said, with 
a smile inexpressibly sweet—“ Sing.”
And they sang, “ Rock of Ages, cleft for 
me!”
At its close they heard one word—the 
last. 
It was :—
“ Christ.”
THE SILVER LINING.
Jm VERY cloud lias its silver lining.” 
But it seemed to Helen Livingston 
that there could be none to her sorrow-cloud, 
it was so dark and heavy.
And yet her home was a most luxurious 
mansion, she had everything money could 
buy, she was yet young and very beautiful. 
But there is one sorrow riches cannot avert 
—death. 
Two years ago her husband,
proud, noble-hearted Edward Livingston, 
died. 
That almost crushed her, but she 
bore up for the sake of his son—her bright­
eyed, golden-haired Eddie.
And now Eddie was gone. 
And since the 
day they laid him beside his father, all her 
energy was gone. 
All her hopes and inter­
ests in life left her, and all day long she lay 
upon the sofa or sat in a deep lounging-chair 
in her darkened chamber, scarcely eating 
food enough to sustain life, refusing to see 
any friends except her own family, and 
resisting all entreaties to go out for a breath 
of air.
THE SILVER LINING.
183
And here her sister, Mrs. Maxwell, found 
her as she came one bright morning, bring­
ing a breath of heaven’s fresh loveliness into 
the close, perfumed, and heated chamber.
“Come, Helen, do come out for a little 
vide,” she entreated. 
“ I’ve brought my own 
carriage and ponies, and I’ll drive you my­
self. 
It is such a lovely morning. 
Please, 
Helen! ”
But Helen only turned wearily on her 
sofa.
“ No, no, Susan ! 
How can you ask me 1 ”
“ It will do you good, Helen,” pleaded 
Susan.
“I don’t want to be done good. 
I only 
want to be let alone. 
I never want to leave 
this room until I am carried out as poor 
little Eddie was,” moaned Helen.
“ And that won’t be long, I’m thinking, if 
you’re allowed to go on in this fashion,” 
muttered Susan, under her breath, while she 
said aloud, using a last argument, “ Please, 
Come, Helen ; we’ll drive to Laurel Hill and 
take some flowers to Edward’s and Eddie’s 
grave. 
But still the mourner only sighed, 
“ No, Susan, no ! 
I send flowers out every
184
8ABBATH READINGS.
day. 
But I can’t go myself; don’t tease me, 
Susan.”
Poor Susan stood still, her bright eyes full 
of tears, looking at her sister for a little 
while. 
Then she turned abruptly, and left 
the room without another word. 
And she 
drove her pretty ponies straight to the house 
of a dear old Quaker friend—in two senses— 
into whose presence she carried her petition.
“ Aunt Rachel, do please go and see 
Helen,” she begged. 
“ I can’t do anything 
with her—none of us can, and if you can’t 
I don’t know what will become of her.”
“ Thee knows I will do what I can,” softly 
returned Rachel Dalrymple. 
“ Sit thee down 
and tell me all about Helen.”
And having heard, aunt Rachel donned 
her dove-colored plumage, and went in 
Susan’s carriage to the mourner’s home.
“ The servants will not want to admit you, 
but don’t be denied,” said Susan as aunt 
Rachel got out.
The dear old lady nodded, and when the 
door svas opened, she walked in at once.
“ I have come to see Helen Livingston," 
she said.
“ Mrs. Livingston does not see visitors,” 
exclaimed the waiter.
THE SILVER LINING.
185
“She will see me. 
I will not trouble 
thee to go with me,” she said, as she con­
tinued straightway up to Helen’s darkened 
chamber.
Entering with a soft tap, she crossed the 
room and took Helen’s thin, white hand.
"«I have come to see thee Helen,” she said 
softly. 
“ But I cannot say I do see thee; 
thy chamber is too dark, dear.”
She walked at once to the window and 
drew aside the heavy curtains, letting in a 
flood of golden sunlight.
“ Oh, the light! ” moaned Helen, turning 
away her head.
“ We cannot live without the light, my 
dear,” said aunt Rachel, turning to a seat 
close beside Helen. 
“Now, Helen,” she 
said gently, “ I am older than thee, and I’ve 
been through the deep waters of tribulation. 
Tell me all thy troubles, and I will help thee 
if I can.”
The gentle words and tones went to Helen’s 
heart, and she burst into a torrent of such 
tears as she had not shed before since her 
bereavement.
Two or three hours aunt Rachel stayed, 
and continued her tender ministrations, and
186
3ABBATH READINGS.
when she left she had won from Helen a 
promise that she would no longer nurse her 
sorrow in selfish loneliness, but go about in 
the world and endeavor to do the duties still 
left to her.
“ If thee tries to do right, thee’ll find there 
is some happiness left yet,’’ said gentle aunt 
Rachel. 
And though Helen did not quite 
believe she could ever be happy, she knew 
her wealth afforded her large means of doing 
good, and for that she would try to live.
A few months later the winter snow had 
covered the graves of Eddie and his father 
with a robe of spotless white, and it was 
near the happy Christmas-tide.
More than one humble home in the great 
city had been brightened by Helen’s gener­
ous Christmas gifts, and she began to take 
some pleasure in these pleasant duties.
Some one has beautifully said :—
; “ Happiness is a perfume which we cannot 
sprinkle over others without spilling a fewr 
drops on ourselves.” 
And Helen, in seeing 
how she made others happy, was far happier 
herself than she had ever hoped to be again.
The day before Christmas she had word 
of an aged and bed-ridden relative across the
THE SILVER LINING.
187
river, on the Jersey side, and she at once 
went over to see her.
As she stepped upon the ferry-boat to re­
turn, she found it very crowded, and with diffi­
culty found a seat next a plain, neat-looking 
country-woman who had with her a litile 
fellow of five or six years, and Helen’s heart 
thrilled as she looked at the little face with 
its bright blue eyes and golden hair, for it 
bore quite a resemblance to the dear face of 
her lost Eddie.
She could not help speaking to the child, 
and trying to win it to her, and presently she 
had him upon her knee.
“ What i i your little boy’s name 1 ” she 
said, addressing the woman.
“ Eddie Hamilton,” said the sti-anger, with 
a sigh, and Helen’s heart thrilled again at 
the familiar name.
“ But he’s not my child, he’s an orphan,” 
continued the woman.
“ Ah 1 ” commented Helen, interested at 
once.
“No ma’rna, he’s not mine. 
His mother 
was a widow, and came to Brookville, where 
I live, a year ago come next March. 
She 
was very poor, and she had a little house
188
SABBATH READINGS.
right next to us, and tried to make her liv­
ing with her needle. But she made her death 
ma’am, that’s what she made—and we 
could n’t bear to see the little fellow suffer, 
and not a friend in the world, as we knew of, 
so we took him, me and my John, and we’ve 
kept him ever since.”
“ Do you still intend to keep him 1 ” asked 
Helen.
“ We can’t, ma’am. 
We’re poor, hard­
working folks, and we’ve got five children of 
our own. 
John had a bad fall last week— 
he can get about the house, but the doctors 
say he won’t be able to work this winter. 
It don’t stand to reason that we could keep 
an extra one, and be just to the rest, does 
it, ma’am ? ”
“ No, indeed,” returned Helen, politely,
“ That’s what’s taking me to the city to­
day,” returned the woman.
“We hated to do it, me and John did, 
awful bad, but we did n’t see any other way 
to do, so I’m a-taking him to the Orphan 
Asylum. 
Do you think they’ll be good to 
him, ma’am 1 ”
A thought which had struggled in Helen's 
heart for the last few minutes found expres­
sion now.
THE SILVER LINING.
189
“ I don’t know,” she said, eagerly. 
“ But 
I do know some one who would! 
You say 
you are poor—I am rich, and I am widowed 
and childless. 
I have lately lost my husband 
and my little Eddie, and I am alone and 
lonely. 
Give me your little Eddie, and I 
will love him, and be good to him, and bring 
him up as my own child ! ”
“ Are you in earnest, ma’am 1 ” asked the 
country-woman.
“ Indeed I am ! 
He looks like my lost 
Eddie—that is what made me first notice him 
—and it seems to me as if Heaven had sent 
him to me. 
He is my Christmas present! 
Oh, do let me have him ! ”
“ I can’t say no, ma’am. I am sure he will 
have a happy home with you,” replied the 
woman, earnestly.
“Go with me and see!” cried Helen. 
“Your John would approve, I am sure. 
Please tell me your name."
“ Reynolds is my name.”
“ Mine is Livingston. 
Now, Mrs. Rey­
nolds you shall go home with me. 
It is not 
near the distance it is out to the Orphan 
Asylum, and you shall see how I will do for. 
little Eddie. 
Oh, I am so happy to have
190
SABBATH READINGS.
him ! ” And as Helen hugged the child to 
her bosom, she did, indeed, feel that he was, 
in some measure, her lost Eddie, restored.
So when Mrs. Livingston’s elegant car­
riage met her on the city side of the ferry, she 
took Mrs. Reynolds and little Eddie to her 
handsome home. And over a dainty dinner, 
which Helen ordered, they made all arrange­
ments and plans for little Eddie’s transfer to 
his new mamma.
For Helen proposed to adopt and educate 
him as her own son, with her own name, 
taking pride in the thought, that after all, an 
Edward Livingston might bear the name 
and wear the wealth and honors of the 
family.
When Mrs. Reynolds returned home, Helen 
sent her to the ferry in her carriage again, to 
save her the long walk.
“Come to see Eddie whenever you like,” 
she said, as they parted, for Helen had no 
false pride about her—she was too true a lady 
for that—“and I will bring him to see you. 
I don’t want him to forget his first kind ben­
efactors. And here,” slipping a tiny roll into 
Mrs. Reynolds’ hands, “ is a little Christmas 
present for John and the children.”
THE SILVER LINING.
191
And when Mrs. Reynolds looked at the 
“little Christmas present ” she found it was 
a crisp, new bundred-dollar bill. 
>
And so that Christmas Eve a golden curly 
head rested on the empty crib pillow in 
Helen Livingston’s room. 
And the next 
morning two little stuffed stockings hung 
over the table, loaded with Christmas toys.
While Helen, herself, was so bright and 
happy, that, when sister Susan and aunt 
Rachel came in to see the little stranger, of 
whose arrival Helen had sent them word, 
they stood astonished at the transformation.
“Thee sees, Helen,” said aunt Rachel, 
“ that I was not wrong when I told thee if 
thee tried to do right thee would be sure to 
be happy! ”
LIFE-WORK
Little by little our work is done,
From night till morning, from sun to sun. 
Thoughts and deeds,
Fruit and weeds.
Silently, slowly, they work within
Fierce struggles with Satan and with sin, 
Leaving scars,
Iron bars.
Mortal; your acts are measured above,
By acts of purity and of love,
Short of this,
Wretchedness.
Music and dancing; frolic and mirth ;
All the illusive pleasures of earth,
Cannot stay 
Judgment day.
Work is a failure unless it tends
To give us a life that never ends,
Joy and bliss,
Happiness.
A CHANGE OF PLACE
S
LFRED 
ROGERS was a skillful 
young mechanic in the city of Hart­
ford more than thirty years ago, but like 
many a young man of that day and this, he 
had fallen into evil habits. 
Not all the en­
dearments of a loving home circle could win 
him from the enchantment of the occasional 
glass and when the first was taken another 
and another were sure to folloW, until a 
week was very likely lost in a “drunken 
spree.”
An old writer used to give us a very good 
reason for not drinking, that it consumed too 
much time. 
It took “ one day of sinning, 
one of suffering and one of repenting,” every 
time he indulged in his cups.
Alfred had an excellent friend in a lady 
who had received him into her family when 
a boy and had always taken the deepest in­
terest in his welfare. 
Not long after his mar­
riage she had interceded with a gentlemnan
Bead. Vol. III. 
IS
194
SABBATH READINGS,
who employed many workmen to take him 
into his establishment, feeling that his wel­
fare for time and eternity might depend upon 
that decision.
That man had many scruples, fearing the 
influence of one who was intemperate upon 
his young apprentices. 
But Alfred con­
sented to sign the pledge to abstain from“ ar­
dent spirits,” which, with the little light then 
existing was considered all that could be rea­
sonably asked of a man. 
I do not fully un­
derstand the nice distinctions made about 
the kinds of liquors, but there seems to have 
been various sorts of intoxicating drinks that 
were not counted as “ ardent spirits.” 
These 
the young man felt his pledge did not require 
him to abstain from.
For a while all went smoothly. 
Alfred 
was valued as a superior workman. 
He was 
respeeted everywhere, and his family were 
handsomely supported. 
But in an evil day a 
glass of something not called “ ardent spirits,” 
set on fire the old smoldering embers of a 
depraved taste. 
A second and a third glass 
fanned the blaze until it fired every drop cf 
blood in his veins. 
The result was, not “ one 
day of sinning, another of sorrowing and an­
A CHANGE OP PLACE.
195
other of repenting,” but two whole weeks of 
drunken insanity. 
Knowing that his wife 
had some money, he gave her no peace by 
day or by night until she gave it up to him. 
Then he set out for New York, where he 
spent it all in wild carousals, pawning a part 
of his clothing, and coming home at last a 
miserable, despicable object. 
“Who hath 
woe?” 
Surely there can hardly be a woe 
more terrible on earth than that of the drunk­
ard and his family.
But yet he was not wholly lost, for when 
he came to himself he was overwhelmed with 
despair and self-reproach. 
Days of repent­
ing were long and many, yet he shunned the 
path which led to his old employers. 
How 
could he hope to be received again, after all 
that had transpired. 
But he hears that the 
Spirit of the Great Master goes out after the 
lost sheep and seeks diligently for them 
among , the dark mountains of sin; perchance 
he may save them from being dashed to pieces 
upon the fearful rocks.
“Why do you not come back to the shop 
Alfred'] ” he asked kindly.
With a look of anguish and despair in his 
bloodshot eyes, he said : “ I never can come
196
SABBATH READINGS.
into your shop again; I have abused your 
confidence, treated you with the basest ingrat­
itude, and destroyed my last hope of refor­
mation. ”
A few strong, earnest, cheering words were 
like oil on the troubled waters of his heart. 
He clutched like a drowning man at a straw 
to hope that he might be a man again. 
He 
came to the shop and worked more faithfully 
than ever to prove his gratitude to the hand 
so kindly held out to him in his time of 
need.
Three bright months and then a terrible 
fall again. 
Ah, what a tyrant is a depraved 
appetite ! stronger than a man’s love of re­
spectability, or happiness of the wife and 
child, stronger than his fear of eternal retri­
bution !
At every successive fall Alfred sunk deeper 
into the mire. 
This time he grew so violent, 
that he was obliged to be put under arrest.
Another season of suffering and repenting, 
and then another trial in the service of an 
employer who had learned the lesson of for­
giving until “ seventy times seven.”
The intervals of sobriety also became 
shorter and shorter, and the days of drunken
A CHANGE OF PLACE.
197
debauch longer and more terrible, as the ty­
rant got the young man more and more into 
his clutches.
At last one bright May morning he was 
gone, no one knew whither; his presence 
would seem to have been a relief in the home 
where he was so often a terror and a curse. 
But oh, who can measure the depths of a wo­
man’s love for even the most worthless son or 
husband. 
How the poor bruised heart 
goes out in all their wanderings, yearning 
over them and praying for them in all the 
years of neglect and unkindness.
So Mary Rogers watched and prayed for 
the return of her worthless husband. 
When 
at last in mid-summer a letter came, stating 
where he was, and that he had got steady 
work, and begging her to come to him, with 
many promises of reformation, the poor trust­
ing heart believed them all, and taking her 
little child she went to him. 
There were 
enough to sneer at her faith in such promises, 
to call her a fool for trusting to them after 
her past experience, but she heeded them not.
Two years and a half rolled away when a 
respectable, well-dressed man walked into 
the door of the old workshop and advanced
198
SABBATH READINGS.
with a manly, ringing step to meet the pro­
prietor. 
Could it be Alfred Rogers changed ? 
All that haggard, downcast look was gone. 
The face had the glow of health and cheer­
fulness, the bearing that of the steady and 
prosperous man.
You may be sui’e there was a warm grasp 
of the hand for him and a cordial greeting. 
In answer to his inquiries Alfred replied 
emphatically:—
“I am well, well in more senses than one. 
It is over two years since I have tasted a 
drop of anything that can intoxicate. 
That 
was the only thing for me ; I began abstain­
ing from ardent spirits alone—but that was 
not enough—I could not reform that way. 
Now I have shut down on everything that 
can intoxicate, and you see the result.”
After various kinds of inquiries after the 
welfare of hi3 family, to all of which he 
would give most pleasing answers, Alfred 
went on to say :—
“ I have come now to tell you why I left 
you. 
I saw clearly that I should die if I 
did not leave off drinking, and that I never 
could leave off in Hartford. 
I could not 
turn a corner of the street without passing a
A CHANGE OF 
PLACE.
199
grog-shop. 
I could not go to my meals 
without meeting some associate who asked 
me to take a glass. 
The dealers themselves 
would use every art to entice me to drink, 
well knowing that I would not stop after 
the first glass until they had a good bill 
against me. 
My only hope was in going 
where liquor was not to be had.”
He remained away from the city some 
five years, and returned to his old business 
thoroughly reformed, and became an active, 
earnest worker in the church and Sabbath- 
school.
He could pass the old haunts now with 
only a feeling of loathing and repulsion.
What was the secret of this man’s refor­
mation1?
It was in entire abstinence from every­
thing that would intoxicate, and to succeed 
in this he went where liquor was not to be 
had. 
Otherwise he would have soon lain 
down in a drunkard’s grave.
OVER THE CROSSING.
JjEjoJ PLEASE sir, take me over the cross- 
ing,” said a little faint voice, as I was 
leisurely taking my morning walk.
The strange request roused me from my 
reverie; and looking imploringly in my face 
stood a thinly-clad, shivering little girl, who 
carried a small bundle, which she held in her 
hand with a singular tenacity. 
I gave 
a searching look into the child’s face, while 
she imploringly repeated:—
“Will you take me over the crossing 
quick, I’m in such a hurry.”
Tossing her in my arms I bounded over the 
muddy pathway; and just as I set down my 
little charge, the bundle slipped from her 
grasp, or rather its contents, leaving the 
empty paper in her hands, and an embroi­
dered vest on the sidewalk. 
I picked up the 
vest, and in doing so unrolled the same, when 
lining, sewing-silk and padding were all dis­
engaged, so that the nimble fingers of the
OVER THE CROSSING.
201
poor child picked up, and brushed, and 
packed them together again with scrupulous 
care; and tying them firmly, she gave me a 
sweet smile and bounded along. 
She would 
soon have passed from my sight had I not 
again called after her, and interrogated her 
why she made such haste.
“ 0 sir,” she replied, “ because my mother 
must have expected me an hour ago. 
I have 
been waiting for the young gentleman at the 
tailor’s shop to decide which color he pre­
ferred, and then the tailor told me to stop 
while he cut it, and then he gave me such 
a beautiful pattern for my mother to em­
broider it by—but it’s a sight of work to do 
it, sir, and I’m afraid she will set up all the 
long nights to sew, while I am sleeping, for 
the man said he must have it completed by 
next Thursday; the young gentleman is to 
be married then, and will want it—and if it 
isn’t done, maybe he would never give 
mother another stitch of work, and then 
what would become of us 1 ”
And as the child hurried on I caught the 
same hurried footsteps, and followed on until 
we came to another crossing, when again 
came the beseeching tone:—
202
SABBATH READINGS.
“Will you take me over this crossing too, 
sir ?"
It was done in a trice, and my interest in 
the child increased as her prattle continued :—
“ Mamma is to have a dollar for this work, 
and she means to buy me a new frock with 
part of the money, and then we shall have a 
great loaf of bread and cup of milk, and 
mother will find time to eat with me—if 
there is any money left, she says I shall have 
a little open-work straw bonnet, and go to 
Sabbath-school with Susy Niles.”
And her little feet scarcely touched the 
walk, so light and fairy-like was her tread.
“ And does your mother work for one man 
all the time, little girl 1 ” 
I inquired.
“ Oh, no, sir; it is only now and then she 
gets such a nice job. 
Most of the time she 
has to sew for shops where she earns but 
about twenty-five cents a day, and then she 
has hardly enough to pay her rent, and it 
is n’t all the time we get enough to eat—but 
then mother always gives me the big slice 
when there is one big and one little one; 
sometimes she cries and don’t eat her’s 
at all.”
A coach was passing—the child looked 
toward it and remarked :—
OVER THE CROSSING.
203
“ I know the lady in that pretty carriage; 
she is the very one that is going to marry 
the young gentleman who is to wear this 
embroidered vest. 
She came to my home 
yesterday to get my mother to spangle the 
wreath round her white satin dress ; and it’s 
j ust the same pattern that is to be put on 
this vest; but she could not do it, ’cause her 
eyesight is so poor, and the spangles shined 
so.”
My tongue was silent. 
Could it be that 
these were to be the very articles that were 
to be worn at my Ellen’s wedding 1 For did 
I not pay for spangles yesterday, and what 
was it that vexed Ellen but because she 
could not find anybody to sew them on when 
she returned ? She said Mrs. Taggard was 
almost blind.
“ My little girl,” said I, “ Is your name 
Taggard 1 ”
“Yes, sir—’Gusta Taggard, and we live 
down in Sullivan court. 
Are you going home 
with me ? ”
It was a sensible conjecture; for why 
else should I follow on 1
“ I am going to see you safely at the door, 
and to help you over all the crossings.”
204
SABBATH READINGS.
“ There’s only one more, sir, and here it is; 
we live down there at No. 3, on the third 
floor back.”
The child looked kindly, and as she sweetly 
bade me “ good by, sir,” I thrust my hand 
in my pocket and drew from it all the change 
it contained, which was a bright fifty cent 
piece, and placed it in her little palm. 
’Gusta Taggard gave me her heartfelt thanks, 
and was soon out of my sight.
An hour before, I had started from my 
home an invalid. 
I had long deliberated 
whether an exposure to a chilly east wind 
would not injure rather than improve me. 
I was melancholy, too; my only daughter 
was about to be married—there was confu­
sion all over the house—the event was to be 
celebrated in fashionable style. 
Ellen’s dress 
had cost what would have been a fortune 
to this poor seamstress, and I moralized. 
But I had forgotten myself; the cough 
which had troubled me was no longer oppres­
sive. 
I breathed quite freely, and yet I had 
walked more briskly than I had done for 
months, without so much fatigue as slow 
motion caused, so that when I returned, my 
wife rallied me upon looking ten years
OVER THE CROSSING.
205
younger than when I left her in the morning; 
and when I told her the specific lay in my 
walk with a little prattler, and the satisfac­
tion of having left her happier than I found 
her, she took the occasion to press the pur­
chase of a diamond brooch for Ellen, affirm­
ing if the gift of half a dollar made me so 
much happier, and that, too, to a little errand 
street girl, what would fifty times that 
amount confer upon one’s only daughter, 
upon the eve before her marriage 1
I gave the diamond brooch—I paid the 
most extravagant bills to upholster’s, dry 
goods establishments, confectioners and musi­
cians, with which to enliven the great occa­
sion, and yet I found more real satisfaction in 
providing for the real wants of little ’Gusta 
Taggard and her mother than in all the splen­
did outlay of the wedding ceremony; and it 
was not that it cost less which made the sat 
isfaction, but it was that all extravagant 
outlays, in the very nature of things, are un­
satisfactory, while ministering to the neces­
sities of the truly needy and industrious 
confers its own reward.
I had seen the glittering spangled dress— 
but it was made ready by some poor, emaci­
206
SABBATH READINGS.
ated sufferer, who toiled on in patient trust, 
and the embroidered vest as finished by the 
strained vision and aching head of another, 
who was emphatically one of “ God’s poor,” 
upon whom blight or disgrace had not fallen, 
save by His appointment; and the diamond 
brooch was borne off by admiring throngs but 
to be envied and coveted, while the simple 
coin bestowed upon my little street acquaint­
ance had introduced me to a new species of 
enjoyment that never cloys in the retrospect 
or causes uneasiness in the prospective. 
I ’ 
had learned to do good in small ways—my 
morning walks have now an object and aim.
I pass by splendid palaces to hasten to Sul­
livan. court, and thence on to yet other 
sources of enjoyment, so that my invalidism 
is fast leaving me by the new direction which 
is given to my thoughts.
I am free to acknowledge that while I cheer­
fully pay for flannel robes, and silver-ware, 
and servants, and all the requirements which 
fashion imposes, I derive far less pleasure 
from surveying them, than in sitting beside 
some worthy recipient of charity, who tells 
me that “ the little sum you gave me saved 
me from despair and self destruction, and en-
OVER THE CROSSING.
207
abled me to become helpful, so that no other 
assistance is now necessary.” 
Such a confes­
sion fills a void which administering to a 
luxury never can; and all the satisfaction 
originated in first helping a little child over 
the crossing.
A HELPING HAND.
Why should I sit with folded palms,
Why study my own wants and ease;
When to my ears there comes for help,
A call on every passing breeze.
House slothful heart go sow the seed,
God gives with willing hand, broadcast;
Fear not the heat of noontide’s sun,
Nor yet the evening’s chilly blast.
’Tis thine to sow, nor question if 
Thine eyes shall see the golden grain;
God watches o’er the buried seed,
Thy labor shall not be in vain.
ONLY THIS ONCE.
S
’LL be in again very soon, mother; I 
am only going round the corner to see 
the new billiard rooms; ” and, cap in hand, 
Harry was closing the parlor door when his 
mother called him back.
“ I cannot consent to your going there, my 
dear,” she said; “ you must know that both 
your father and myself disapprove of all such 
places.”
“But I don’t intend to play, mother; 
only to look on; the boys say the tables are 
splendid; and besides, what could I tell 
Jim Ward after promising to go with him 1 
He is waiting outside for me. 
Please say 
‘ yes ’ only this once.”
“ Tell Jim that we would prefer you should 
not go, and ask him to walk in and spend 
the evening,” said Harry’s father, as he 
looked up from the paper.
“ Oh, I know he won’t do that ! ” and 
Harry stood turning the door-handle, till,
ONLY THIS ONCE.
209
finding that his parents did not intend to 
say anything more, he walked slowly to the 
front step.
“ Why don’t you hurry along,” called Jim, 
“ and not keep a fellow standing all night in 
the cold 1 ”
“ I am not going. 
Won’t you come in 1 ” 
said Harry.
“ Not going ! 
Your mother surely doesn’t 
object to your looking at a billiard table.”
“ She would prefer I should not go,” said 
Harry, and Jim’s only reply was a very signifi­
cant whistle, as he walked off.
“ He’ll be sure to tell all the boys ! ” said 
Harry, half aloud as he shut the front door 
with rather more force than was necessary. 
“ I don’t see what does make father and 
mother so particular.” 
Then, entering the 
parlor, he took the first book that came to 
hand from the table, and, taking a seat very 
far from the light, looked exceedingly unami- 
able.
His father laid aside the paper, and with­
out seeming to notice Harry’s mood, said 
pleasantly, “ I wonder if my son feels him­
self too old for a story; if not I have one to 
tell him about ‘ only this once.’ ” 
The book
Sab. Read. Vol. III. 
14.
210
SABBATH READINGS.
Harry had taken up, and which chanced to 
be one of his father’s on civil engineering, 
was returned to the table ; but he still kept 
thinking of what the boys would say when 
Jim told an exaggerated story, and his coun­
tenance remained unchanged.
“ When I was about your age, Harry, we 
lived next door to Mr. Allen, a very wealthy 
gentleman, who had one son. 
As Frank 
was a good natured, merry boy, and had his 
two beautiful ponies, several dogs, and a 
large playground, he soon made friends. 
Many an afternoon did we spend together, 
riding the ponies, or playing ball on the 
playground, and one summer afternoon in 
particular, I never expect to forget, for it 
seems to me now, looking back upon it, as 
the turning point of Frank’s life; but we 
little thought of such a thing at the time. 
It only seemed to us a very warm afternoon; 
and, becoming tired of playing ball, we had 
stopped to rest on the piazza, when he pro­
posed that we should take the ponies to a 
plank road, a few miles from the house, and 
race them. 
I was certain that his father 
would disapprove of this, and, besides, it 
would have been most cruel work on such a
ONLY THIS ONCE.
211
warm afternoon, so I tried to make Frank 
think of something else he would like to do 
instead; but all in vain.
“‘I think you might go, Charlie,’ he said. 
‘What’s the harm of doing it; only this 
once? I just want to see if either of my 
ponies is likely to be a fast trotter.’
“For one moment I hesitated, but in the 
next came the thought of my father’s dis­
pleasure, and I shook my head.
“ ‘ Very well, just as you please, Mr. Glood 
Boy ! 
I know plenty who will be glad of the 
chance to ride Jet; ’ and so saying he walked 
off.
“ Frank did find a boy who was delighted 
to go with him, and enjoyed the race so 
much that, notwithstanding his father’s rep­
rimand, he managed to pursue the same 
sport more times than ‘ only that once.’
“ As soon as the summer was ended, Mr. 
Allen went to Europe for his health, and I 
did not see his son again for three years, till I 
left the country and entered the same college 
with him. 
Fxank commenced studying very 
earnestly; but before the first year was 
ended the earnestness had passed away. 
Friends would induce him to spend his even­
212
SABBATH READINGS.
ings at their rooms, or at some public place 
of amusement, and each time Frank would 
try to satisfy his conscience with, ‘ It will be 
only this once.’ 
Thus by degrees his lessons 
were neglected, and, as study became irksome, 
his love for excitement and gaiety increased, 
till one day I overheard a gentleman, who 
knew him well, remark that he feared Frank’s 
‘ only this once ’ would prove his ruin.
“ But a few years before, Frank would 
have been shocked with the thought of spend­
ing the afternoons in racing, and evenings in 
billiard saloons and such places, nor did he, 
at one time, ever really intend to go to the 
latter more than ‘ once,’ ‘just to see for him­
self ; ’ but there are very few who ever stop in 
the course of wrong doing at ‘ only this once.’
“When the tidings of his father’s death 
reached Frank, he seemed more thoughtful 
for a time; but in an hour of temptation he 
yielded. 
Before long his old companions 
surrounded him again, and of them he soon 
learned how to spend, in a most reckless 
manner, the large fortune left him by his 
father.
“ In vain his true friends tried to stop him 
in his wild career; and, five years ago, Harry, 
Frank died a drunkard.”
ONLY THIS 
ONCE.
213
“ Oh, father, how dreadful! ” and Harry 
shuddered as he thought the story over.
“ Yes, it is dreadful, my son; but there are 
countless untold stories as dreadful as this 
one. 
If we were to visit a prison, and ask the 
wretched inmates how it was that they were 
first led into crime, we should find that ‘only 
this once’ brought most of them there. 
One 
took something which did not belong to him, 
never intending to do it more than that once ; 
but the crime soon grew into a habit. 
Another was once tempted to gamble, and 
only that one game was the foundation of all 
his crimes.
“ Learn, my son, to dread those three little 
words, and when tempted to use them think 
of all they may lead to, and ask for strength 
to resist the temptation; and, Harry, do you 
wonder now at our refusing to let you, even 
once, visit the billiard room 1 ”
“No, father; I see now that you were 
right, and I was wrong in supposing that it 
could not possibly do me any harm to go only 
this once; and if .Jim does tell the boys some 
silly story to make them laugh at me, I can 
tell them about Frank Allen, and that will 
sober them soon.”
214
SABBATH READINGS.
Dear reader, do you flatter youi’self that it 
is a trifling thing to d© wrong, “ only this 
once 1 ” 
If so, stop and consider, how often 
not only the young but those of mature years 
yield to this deceptive and alluring thought 
and indulge in that which they would look 
upon with horror if repeated. They do not real­
ize that sin once indulged in loses its exceeding 
sinfulness, that one step in the downward path 
opens to the broad road.
And how many parents yield to the plead­
ings of their children to be indulged, “ this 
once ” who find that to deny after once being 
indulged costs a greater effort than to have 
stood with firmness to conviction of con­
science and true principle. 
Multiplied sorrows 
and heart aches of parents and children, and 
countless stories of wretched ones, tell of 
this ruinous power. 
The only way of safety 
is to determine solemnly, with Heaven’s aid_ 
to resist unto death temptations to do wrong 
“ only this once.”
HE WILL SOON BE HERE.
S
FTER a long day’s journey, I arrived 
at the house of some relatives in Wales, 
who had invited me to spend Christmas with 
them. 
After the first greetings had been 
exchanged, I said : “ But I don’t see my 
dear Ruthie.”
“ No, aunt,” one of the children answered, 
“Ruth is obliged to be out this evening; 
and she wants to have you all to herself at 
first, because she has some news that nobody 
else is to tell you.”
Ruth, the eldest daughter, had been for 
some time betrothed to a gentleman holding 
a civil post in India, whither soon after their 
engagement, he had been compelled to return. 
At the time of which I am speaking, there 
was every probability of his being able to 
revisit England in a few months, and claim 
his betrothed; but when last I heard from 
Ruth, the time for his coming was still unset­
tled. 
I at once guessed that her good news
216
SABBATH READINGS.
had reference to this matter; nor was I mis­
taken. 
Soon after I had retired for the night, 
there came a gentle tap at my bedroom door, 
and Ruth entered; there was a light in her 
eyes, a joyous elasticity in her step.
“ Auntie,” she cried, as she embraced me, 
“ they haven’t told you? ”
“ No, darling; only that you have some­
thing to tell.”
So, making me sit down by the fire, she 
told me, with a happy blushing face, while 
she drew a letter from her pocket, that Her­
bert had written to say he would be home 
from India the following February. 
“He 
must almost have started before I got this,” 
she said. 
“ Oh, auntie, I can hardly believe 
it for joy ! ”
After congratulating her most cordially, 
I said:—
“ But, dear Ruth, if he has started by this 
time, he will be home before February.”
“ No, aunty, I was going to tell you; 
there is one little drawback; he says he 
hasn’t been quite well, and though he is 
really all right now, he is so strongly advised 
to come by the long sea voyage, that he has 
made up his mind to do so.”
he will soon be here.
217
I thought this was not the time to remind 
my niece of the uncertainty of earthly things. 
We cannot prepare our loved ones for the 
darkness through which God may purpose to 
lead them, by casting over the sunshine he 
sends, the shadow of our misgivings. 
I 
therefore only expressed my ardent wishes 
for the loved one’s safe arrival.
When Ruth had left me, I sat thinking 
how much more gladness there should be in 
the lives, in the very faces, of those who are 
looking for the coming of the heavenly Bride­
groom. 
Could there be, I asked myself, a 
surer test of our affections toward the Lord 
Jesus, than our feelings about his personal 
return 1
Every day’s intercourse with my niece 
taught me, in some new and practical way, 
how the thought of our Lord’s appearing 
should regulate our present aims and occupa­
tions—should influence our views concerning 
the possessions, privations, joys, and sorrows 
of this transitory life.
I noticed she was less with the family cir­
cle than formerly; and one day I went to 
seek her in her room. 
There I found her 
sitting at a table which was covered with
218
SABBATH READINGS.
books; she was reading a large volume, and 
busily making notes from it.
“ This is a new sort of occupation for you, 
my dear,” I remarked.
“Yes, aunt, but you see Ilerbert is so 
clever, I don’t want him to find me very igno­
rant, so I am studying history two hours a day. 
And as he said something in his last letter, 
about going on the continent after our wed­
ding, I want to get up my French and Ger­
man.”
Again, one afternoon there was to be a 
shopping expedition to the neighboring town, 
and Ruth’s mother and sister were busily 
engaged making a list of what they wanted. 
“ Now, Ruth,” her mother asked, “whatcan 
I do for you 1 ”
“ Nothing, thank you, mamma. 
It is not 
worth while now. 
I must think about my 
outfit next month, as Ilerbert will soon be 
here."
Shortly before Christmas, an invitation 
was received for as many of the family as 
could go to an entertainment given by a gen­
tleman and lady who had lately settled in 
the neighborhood. 
It was accepted; but the 
carriage room was limited, and Ruth, hear­
HE WILL SOON BE HERE.
219
ing herself mentioned among those who must 
certainly be of the party, said it would be a 
great pity she should keep any one else from 
going. 
“ You see, papa,” she said, “ it is of 
more consequence the others should make 
acquaintance with these people, as I am so 
soon going away.”
On another occasion I heard some young 
friends ask her if she had heard anything about 
the house of Peshawur where she was to live.
“ Hardly anything,” 
she answered. 
“ I 
know Herbert has been preparing it for a 
long time; but he has scarcely told me any­
thing about it but that it seems lonely to 
him; and I,” she added, in a lower tone, 
“have scarcely thought anything about it, 
except that he will be there.”
But, alas ! 
Herbert never came home for 
his betrothed. 
The indisposition of which 
he had made light, deceiving himself for her 
dear sake, rapidly increased; and at length, 
all hope of recovery being at an end, he 
started for England in the hope of at least 
dying amidst his loved ones. 
But even this 
wish was not fulfilled; he breathed his last 
on board ship, before the voyage was over.
Many years have passed since then. 
Af­
220
SABBATH READINGS.
ter a time it pleased God to heal my young 
niece’s sorrow; and although that tie was 
painfully sundered, she is now a happy, mid­
dle aged wife and mother.
But the impression left upon my mind by 
her earnest looking for her expected bride­
groom has never been effaced; and, to this 
hour, when the things of this passing life 
threaten to assume an undue importance, I 
recall Ruth’s oft-repeated words, “It is not 
worth while, when he will so soon be here; ” 
and I strive to bring the glory of the coming 
again, in his glorious majesty, of “ that great 
God, and our Saviour Jesus Christ,” to bear 
on all the interest of time ; to keep me sober 
in its joys, and content in its sorrows; and 
to be careful for nothing because “ the Lord 
is at hand.”
And many a time, when I have felt a long­
ing for more definite information regarding 
the promised land, the better country whence 
the Lord Jesus will return to receive us unto 
himself, I have remembered Ruth’s simple 
words witli respect to her unknown dwelling- 
place in India, and rested my heart on the 
blessed thought, “ He who loves me with an 
everlasting love is preparing a mansion for
HE WILL SOON BE HERE.
221
me there; his happiness is not complete 
without the presence of his redeemed ones; 
and neither can there, in this case, be any 
disappointed hopes; for the heavenly Bride­
groom ever lives; and his precious promise 
to all who look for and long for and ‘ love his 
appearing’ is, ‘I go to prepare a place for 
you; and if I go to prepare a place for you, 
I will come again and receive you unto my­
self, that where I am there ye may be also.”
CONSOLATION.
Thotj, whose frail bark drifts wearily 
Adown life’s troubled stream, 
Whose tearful eyes seek vainly,
Some beacon’s friendly gleam ;
Look up ! the stars shine dimly 
Through the dark night of despair ; 
They light the shores of Paradise! 
And thou art speeding there.
Fear not—for Christ, whose holy feet 
Once calmed the stormy sea,
Will still the tempest-waves of grief, 
And whisper, “ Peace ” to thee.
THE BLIGHTED LIFE.
I
T was at a boarding-house in one of our 
large cities, where I was expecting to so­
journ for some months, that I made the 
acquaintance of Henry Somers. 
The first 
time I went to the table, he attracted my at­
tention by his loquacity. 
He talked more 
than anyone else) but though his conver­
sation was fluent and animated, his counte­
nance did not light up; indeed he had not an 
expressive faoe, and what expression there 
was, was not cheerful. 
It was that of a man 
with whom things were not going happily • 
of one who had something on his heart—some 
disappointment, some sorrow, some anxiety, 
some heavy care. 
At first I thought the 
sweet, gentle, youthful woman who sat be­
side him was his wife, but in this I soon 
found that I was mistaken ] their proximity 
at the table being merely accidental, and 
their acquaintance not of long standing. 
He 
had never been married.
THE BLIGHTED LIFE.
223
Judging from his appearance, I should say 
that Somers, at this time, was approaching 
forty years of age. 
His dress was alwayB 
most scrupulously neat, and his light brown 
hair and full handsome beard in perfect order. 
His blue eyes, though lusterless, and sur­
rounded with a dark circle, were always in 
motion, as if indicative of an uneasy, rest­
less soul. His cheeks were somewhat sunken, 
and his face pale.
As the season advanced, I became better 
acquainted with my fellow boarder, and 
foun1 that he had been quite a traveler; 
having not only been in Europe, but in China 
and Japan. I discovered, too, that he be- 
onged to a wealthy family, and that he had 
enjoyed opportunities of improvement far 
beyond what fall to the lot of most young 
men. 
But still there was not that intelli­
gence and culture which such advantages 
should have given him. 
His conversation 
was quite disconnected, and, sometimes 
almost silly. 
Occasionally he seemed much 
dejected, talking about the unfeeling an 
heartless, selfish world, and his own hard lot 
and even wished he was dead. 
He had 
no employment, but told me that not long
224
SABBATH READINGS.
before he had almost completed arrange­
ments for going into business, but that the 
party failed to keep their word.
Two or three months had elapsed after 
my first meeting with my somewhat myste­
rious acquaintance when he disappeared from 
his place at the table for some days, and 
no one knew what had become of him. 
He 
had told no one of his intended absence, 
and his trunk and clothes were still in his 
room. 
Various were the conjectures, as day 
after day passed without his return. 
The 
mystery was soon solved. 
Learning one 
morning that he had come back the night 
before, and that he was sick in his room, I 
went to see him. 
The first glance told the 
tale. 
He had been in a debauch, and was 
now in the prostrate condition consequent 
upon days of drunkenness. 
I sat down by 
his bedside, spoke kindly to him, let him 
know that I understood the state of the case, 
that I wished to be his friend, and to do all 
in my power to help him up from his fall. 
Sympathy and kind words quickly unlocked 
his burdened heart, and he told me his sor­
rowful story. 
He had fallen in with so- 
called friends, who enticed him to drink, and
THE BLIGHTED LIFE.
225
having once tasted he oould not stop; he 
had lain several days at a public-house under 
the influence of liquor, and the debauch hav­
ing run its course, he had now come back, 
“in soul and body,” as he expressed it, “the 
most wretched man alive.” 
With nerves 
unstrung, stomach disordered, burning thirst, 
an aching head, and an aching heart, he was 
indeed a pitiable spectacle.
But notwithstanding the evident suffer­
ings of this miserable man, it was a relief to 
him to have some one present, and especially 
one to whom he could unburden his oppressed 
and troubled soul. 
He told me his whole 
story. 
“ This is not the first time,” said he, 
“ no, not by hundreds, that I have been as 
you now see me. 
This thing has been going 
on for years. 
Long ago I contracted the 
habit of drinking, and it has clung to me 
with a power that I can’t shake off. 
I am 
the son of a rich man and that has been my 
ruin. 
I had plenty of money, and abundant 
opportunities of indulgence, and but for that 
my life would have been a very different one. 
My social position, and ample means gave 
me access to a club, when I was quite young.
“ There I met a gay, jolly set, and we used
Sab. Read.^Vol. III. 13.
226
SABBATH READINGS.
to play cards, and take drinks night after 
night, until a very late hour. 
In this way 
things went on from bad to worse, until 
sometimes I took a dozen or more drinks in 
a night, and of course never went home 
sober. This sort of life soon brought its nat­
ural consequences. 
My family were morti­
fied and distressed. 
At first they plead and 
remonstrated; then they grew harsh, and 
reproached. 
I was making a brute of my­
self, disgracing them. 
Various means were 
resorted to, to reform me, and after a time I 
was taken to Europe to get me out of the 
way of bad companions; but this did not 
help the matter much. 
Afterwards they 
Rent me off to China, in hopes that the long 
voyage and change of life would break up 
my wretched habits; but this did not avail.
“ I remained two years in the East, and 
soon made the acquaintance of Englishmen 
who were harder drinkers than my old com­
panions ; and the only wonder is that I lived 
to get back to my own country. 
Perhaps it 
would have been better if I had died there, 
but I was spared and came home, and for a 
while strove to do better. 
Indeed I reformed 
so far that my father put me into business,
THE BLIGHTED 
LIFE.
227
but the accursed drink soon got the better of 
me, no longer fit for business, I was once 
more set adrift, and with old companions to 
help me on to ruin.
“What I have gone through since then, 
God only knows. 
Some time ago I con­
cluded that I would make a desperate effort 
to break the horrible bondage, and, as it was 
important to get away from old haunts and 
companions, I came to this city. I am allowed 
just money enough to pay necessary expenses; 
but even that, with the exception of a few 
dollars a month, is not risked in my hands. 
I had been keeping sober until I fell into this 
bad company, and then, as you see, I was 
overcome and I fear this will continue to be 
the way. 
What is to be the end—how long 
this wretched sort of life is to continue, I don’t 
know; but if I were only ready for a better 
world, what a relief it would be to die ! ”
The foregoing was not given in the con­
tinuous form in which I have narrated it; he 
was suffering too much for that—nor in the 
precise words; 
but this is the story. 
He 
looked and talked like one who, although con­
scious of his frightful bondage, was yet hope­
less as to his power to escape. 
I told him
228
SABBATH READINGS.
that God could help him, that his grace was 
all-sufficient, and that if with a penitent, bro­
ken heart, he would cast himself at the feet 
of the sinner’s Friend, he would find mercy 
and be made a thoroughly reformed man; and 
that this was the only help that would cer­
tainly avail.
“I wish I were a Christian,” said he; “what 
a blessing it must be to be a Christian ! 
I 
should think you must be the happiest man 
in the world, with a Christian’s hope, and 
spending your life in trying to do good.”
This was spoken in the tone and manner of 
one whose bitter experience afforded a som­
bre background for setting off his ideal of a 
Christian. 
But though the words were sin­
cere, they were evidently but the passing ut­
terances of a restless, disturbed spirit.
After a few moments silence, he said :—
“I’m like the man in the Bible—Esau, 
wasn’t it 1—that sold his birthright for a 
mess of pottage. 
I sold mine for a glass of 
liquor.”
“ Well, there’s one thing,” said I, “ that 
yon ought to do, and which I suppose you 
can do—that is, to get some employment. 
You know the proverb ‘ An idle mind is the
THE BLIGHTED LIFE.
229
devil’s workshop;’ and so long as you are 
unemployed, you will be more liable to fall 
into temptation.”
“ I know that very well,” he replied, “ but 
how can I get employment! 
My father 
won’t trust me with money, for he thinks I 
would soon waste it; and nobody would take 
a man into a business house who knows noth­
ing about business, and who, they would be 
sure to find out, had been dissipated. 
And 
to tell the truth. I am not fit for business; 
my miserable course of life has injured my 
mind. 
I can’t fix my attention on anything, 
and what I undertook to do wouldn’t be 
done well. 
The fact is, there’s no hope for 
me. 
Oh, if I was only prepared, what a re­
lief it would be to die ! ”
The tone and manner in which this was 
said, showed that it came from a thoroughly 
wretched heart. 
It was the wail of woe from 
one who had made shipwreck of himself.
After this interview I not unfrequently 
conversed with this unhappy man. 
His 
course was still the same—sometimes for 
months conducting himself well, and then fall­
ing into a debauoh. 
But at his beat moments 
there was about him an air of misery and
230
SABBATH READINGS.
hopelessness, which always excited ray sym­
pathy. 
He went to the West some years 
since, and not long ago I read a notice of his 
death. 
Poor fellow ! from what I have been 
able to gather about his last years, they were 
of a piece of his previous life, and no light 
shone upon his closing scene.
I have narrated the foregoing as a strik­
ing illustration, of the wreck which bad 
habits, contracted in youth, make of the 
entire subsequent life. 
This man was not 
cut off in the morning of his days; he lived 
to middle age. 
Nov did he sink to utter 
degradation. 
He never lay in the gutter; 
he was not a common outcast; nor did he 
die literally a drunkard’s death. 
For years 
he saw the evil of his course, and would fain 
have changed it; but when he had made the 
attempt, he could neither form the social ties 
nor make the business connections so essen­
tial to his continuance in well-doing.
What he said of himself, indeed was true; 
he really was fit for nothing. 
His enfeebled 
mind rendered him an uninteresting com­
panion ; he was incapable of continuance and 
intelligent application, and he was restless as 
the troubled sea. 
All this, combined with
THE BLIGHTED LIFE.
231
shattered nerves and an irresolute will, made 
him apparently as unavailable for all the 
practical purposes of manhood as any human 
being I ever saw. 
Oftentimes I used to 
think what could be done for him, or with 
him, but there seemed nowhere to begin, 
nothing to build upon. 
Had he become a 
Christian that would have furnished the 
needful objective point; but thoughts on 
that subject came and went through his 
mind like water through a sieve. 
And so 
powerless was his will, that if he made a 
pledge of abstinence he would not keep it.
Here, then, was the sad spectacle of a man 
hardly yet in the noon of his days, restless, 
miserable, exiled by his family, without one 
intimate virtuous friend, and for practical 
purposes good for nothing. 
It was one of 
the most sorrowful illustrations I have ever 
met with, of a blighted life. 
At the outset 
of his career he had every advantage—social 
position, wealth, influential friends, every­
thing—but by yielding to the tempter these 
were all sacrificed. 
In those days and nights 
card-playing drinking and jollity, no doubt 
seemed very fine, that was the seed-sowing, 
but when I saw him, the harvest time had
232
SABBATH READINGS.
some. 
He sowed.to the wind and was reaping 
the whirlwind.
As I used to listen to the moaning of his 
wretched heart, and feel how powerless I 
was to help him in such a case, oh, how my 
inmost soul pitied him; and how unspeak­
able seemed the folly of those who, with such 
beacons before them, deliberately and per­
sistently follow in their footsteps. 
“ Surely 
in vain the net is spread in the sight of any 
bird.” 
So spoke Solomon; but it does not 
seem to be so now. 
The net stands right in 
view, with its victims struggling in its 
meshes, and yet how many with eyes wide 
open walk right into it.
Young man, beware of dissipated company! 
Touch not, taste not, the fatal wine cup. 
Avoid the first step in the road to rain and 
then you will not take the second. 
Take 
warning from the bitter experience of Henry 
Somers, lest like him sowing the poison seeds 
in youth, like him you reap the blighted 
life.
HOME INFLUENCE.
W
HO is that, I wonder? ” said Mrs. 
Seaburn, as she heard a ring at the
basement door.
“ dh ! it’s Marshall,” returned her husband 
who had looked out at the window and recog­
nized the grocers cart.
“And what have you sent home now 
Henry ? ”
But before Mr. Seaburn could answer, the 
door of the sitting room was opened, and one 
of the domestics looked in and asked :—
“ What’ll I do with the demijohns, ma’­
am?”
“ Demijohns ? ” repeated Mrs. Seaburn.
“ Put them in the hall, and I’ll attend to 
them,” interposed the husband.
“ Henry, what have you sent home now ?” 
the wife asked after the domestic was gone. 
“ Some nice old brandy,” replied Henry. 
Cora Seaburn glanoed up at the olock, and 
then looked down upon the floor. 
There was
234
SABBATH READINGS.
a cloud upon her fair brow, and it was very 
evident that something lay heavily upon her 
heart. 
Presently she walked to the wall and 
pulled the bell cord, and the summons was 
answered by the chambermaid.
“ Are George and Charles in their room 1 ” 
“ Yes, ma’am.”
“ Tell them it is school time.”
The girl went out, and in a little while two 
boys entered the sitting room, with their 
books under their arms and their caps in 
their hands. 
They were bright, happy, 
healthy fellows, with goodness and truth 
stamped upon their rosy faces, and the light 
of free consciences gleamed in their spark­
ling eyes. 
George was thirteen years of age> 
and Charles eleven; and certainly those two 
parents had reason to be proud of them. 
The boys kissed their mother, gave a happy 
“ good morning ” to their father, and then 
went away to school.,
“ Come,” said Mr. Seabum, some time 
after the boys had gone, “ what makes you 
so sober 1 ”
“ Sober ? ” repeated the wife, looking up. 
“Yes. 
You have been sober and mute 
ever since the grocer came.”
HOME INFLUENCE.
235
“ Do you want me to tell you why 1"
“Of course I do.”
“ Well, Henry, I am sorry you had that 
spirits brought into the house.”
“ Oh, what’s the use of talking so, Cora ! 
You wouldn’t have me do without it would 
you 1 ”
“ Yes.”
“ Why, what do you mean 1 ”
“ I mean that I would cut clear of the stuff 
now and forever.”
“ But, Cora, you are wild. 
What should 
we do at our parties without wine h ”
“ Do as others who have it not.”
“But—mercy !—what would people say 1— 
Are you afraid—but no, I won’t ask so 
foolish a question.”
“ Ask it, Henry. 
Let me say plainly, now 
that we have fairly commenced.”
“ Well, I was about to ask if you were 
afraid that I should ever drink too much 1 ” 
“That’s not a fair question, Henry. 
I 
was not thinking of that at all. 
But I will 
answer it by and by. 
You have no fixed 
appetite for it now.”
“ Of oourse not.”
“ Then it would not cost you any effort to 
abstain from its use 1 ”
236
SABBATH READINGS.
“ Not a particle.”
“ And you only have it in your house, and 
serve it to your friends and drink it yourself 
because it is fashionable ! or, you do it be­
cause others do it ? ” (
“I do it because”—said Mr. Seaburn, 
hesitating in his choice of language—“be­
cause it would appear very odd, and very 
niggardly and very fanatical, not to do it.” 
This last was spoken emphatically.
“But,” pursued Mrs. Seaburn, with the 
calmness and assurance of one who feels the 
sustaining influence of right, “ you would not 
do what you were convinced was wrong, 
out of respect to any such consideration, 
would you ! ”
“You know I would not, Cora. 
This 
question of temperance, I know, is a good 
one in the abstract, and I am willing to live 
up to it as I understand it; but I am not a 
teetotaler.”
“ Henry,” said his wife with an earnest 
look into his face, “will you answer me a 
few questions!—answer them honestly and 
truly, without equivocation or evasion 1 ”
“ Bless me, how methodically you put it, 
Cora ! But I will answer.”
HOME INFLUENCE.
237
“Then first—do you believe you, or your 
friends, are in any way benefited by the 
drinking of intoxicating beverages at your 
board! That is—do you derive any real 
good from it 1 ”
“No, I can’t say that we do.”
“Do you think the time has ever been 
since we were married, when we actually 
needed wine in the house, either for our 
health or comfort 1 ”
“ Why, I think it has added to our com­
fort Cora.”
“How!”
“ In many ways.”
“ Name one of them.”
“ Why, in the enjoyment of our guests.” 
“ Ah ! But I am speaking of ourselves, 
Henry—of you, and of our own little fam­
ily. 
Has it ever ministered to our comfort!” 
“ No, I can’t say that it has.”
“ And if it were banished from our house 
to-day and forever, as a beverage, should we 
suffer in consequence 1 ”
“ Certainly. 
What would our friends— ” 
“ Ah ! but stop. 
I am only speaking of 
our own affairs, shut out from the world, by 
our own fireside. 
I want all extraneous con­
238
SABBATH READINGS.
siderations left out of the question. 
Should 
we, as a family, suffer in our moral, physical, 
social or domestic affairs, in the total absti­
nence of this beverage 1 ”
“No, I don’t know that we should.”
“ Then to you, as a husband and ^ father, 
and as a man, it is of no earthly use 1 ”
“No.”
“ And it would cost you no effort, so far 
as you alone are concerned, to break clear 
from it 1 ”
“ Not a particle.”
“And now, Henry,” pursued the wife, 
with increased earnestness, “I have a few 
more questions to ask : Do you believe that 
the drinking of intoxicating beverages is an 
evil in this country 1 ”
“ Why, as it is now going on, I certainly 
do.”
“And isn’t it an evil in society 1 ”
“Yes.”
“ Look over this city, and tell me if it is 
not a terrible evil! ”
“ A terrible evil grows out of the abuse of 
it, Cora."
“ And will you tell me what good grows 
out of the use of it 1 ”
HOME INFLUENCE.
239
“Really, when you come down to the 
abstract point, you have the field. 
But peo­
ple should govern their appetites. 
All 
things may be abused.”
“ Yes. 
But will you tell me the use—the 
real good—to be derived from drinking wine 
and brandy 1 ”
“ As I said before, it is a social custom, 
and has its charms.”
“Ah ! there you have it, Henry. 
It does 
have its charms, as the deadly snake is said 
to have, and as other vices have. 
But I see 
you are in a hurry.”
“ It is time I was at the store.”
“ I will detain you but a moment longer, 
Henry. 
Just answer me a few more ques­
tions. 
Now call to mind all the families of 
your acquaintance; think of all the domes­
tic circles you have known from your school­
boy days to the present; run your thoughts 
through the various homes where you have 
been intimate—do this, and tell me, if in 
any one instance you ever knew a single joy 
to be planted by the hearth-stone from the 
wine cup 1 Did you ever know one item 
of good to flow to a family from its use i ” 
“No; I cannot say that I ever did—not 
as you mean.”
240
SABBATH READINGS.
“ And now answer me again. 
Think of 
those homes once more—call to memory the 
playmates of your childhood, of the homes, 
think of the firesides where all you have 
known dwell—and tell me if you have seen 
any sorrows flow from the wine cup i 
Have 
you seen any great griefs planted by the 
intoxicating bowl upon the hearth-stone 1 ”
Henry Seaburn did not answer, for there 
passed before him such grim spectres of sor­
row and grief that he shuddered at the men­
tal vision. 
He saw the youth cut down in 
the hour of promise ; he saw the gray head 
fall in dishonor; he saw hearts broken; he 
saw homes made desolate ; he saw affection 
wither and die; and saw noble intellect 
stricken down ! 
Oh ! what sights he saw as 
he unrolled the canvas of his memory.
“ Henry,” whispered his wife, moving to 
his side, “We have two boys. 
They are 
growing to be men. 
They are noble gener­
ous, and tender. 
They love their home and 
honor their parents. They are here to form 
those characters, to receive those impressions, 
which shall be the basis upon which their 
future weal or woe must rest. 
Look at 
them—oh ! think of them. 
Think of them
HOME INFLUENCE.
241
doing battle in the great struggle of the life 
before them. 
Shall they carry out from their 
home our evil influence 1 
Shall they in the 
time to come fall by the way-side, cut down 
by the demon of the cup, and in their dying 
hour curse the example whence they derived 
the appetite ? 
Oh ! for our children—for 
those two boys—for the men we hope to see 
them—for the sweet memories we would 
have them cherish of their home—for the 
good old age they may reap—let us cast this 
thing out now and forever ! ”
Cora ceased speaking; and Henry, with­
out another word left the house and went to 
his store.
How strangely did circumstances work to 
keep the idea his wife had given him alive 
in his mind ! 
That very morning he met a 
youth, the son of one of his wealthy friends, 
in a state of wild intoxication ; and during 
the forenoon he heard that Aaron Green had 
died at sea. 
He knew that Aaron had been 
sent away from home that he might be 
reclaimed.
After the bank closed, and as Henry Sea- 
bum was thinking of going to his dinner, he 
received d note through the penny post. 
It
Sab. Read. Vol. III. 
10.
242
SABBATH READINGS.
■was from a medical friend, and contained a 
request that he would call at the hospital on 
his way home. 
The hospital was not much 
out of the way, and he stopped there.
“ There is a man in one of the lower wards 
who wishes to see you,” said the doctor.
“ Does he know me 1 ” asked Seaburn.
“ He says he does.”
“ What is his name 1 ”
« He won’t tell us. 
He goes by the name 
of Smith ; but I am satisfied that such is not 
his true name. 
He is in the last stage of 
consumption and delirium. 
He has lucid 
intervals, but they do not last long. 
He 
has been here a week. 
He was picked up 
in the street and brought here. 
He heard 
your name, and said he knew you once.”
Mr. Seaburn went to the room where the 
patient lay, and looked at him. 
Surely he 
never knew that man! “ There must be 
some mistake,” he said.
The invalid heard him, and opened his 
eyes—such blood-shot eyes !
“Henry,” he whispered, trying to lift 
himself up on his elbow; “is this Henry 
Seaburn ? ”
“ That is my name.”
HOME INFLUENCE.
243
“ And don’t you know me 1 ”
“ I am sure I do not.” 
And he would 
have said he did not wish to, only the man 
seemed so utterly miserable that he would 
not wound what little feelings he might 
have left.
“ Have you forgotten your old playmate 
in boyhood, Harry—your friend in other 
years, your chum in college 1 ”
“ What! ” gasped Seaburn, startling back 
aghast, for a glimmer of the truth burst 
upon him. 
“ This is not Alec Lomberg 1 ”
“ All that is left of him, my Hal,” returned 
the poor fellow, putting forth his wasted, 
skeleton hand, and smiling a faint, quiver­
ing, dying smile.
“ Alexander Lomberg 1 ” said Henry, gaz­
ing into the bloated, disfigured face before 
him.
“You wouldn’t have know me, Hall”
“ Indeed, no ! ”
“ I know I am altered.”
“ But, Alec,” cried Seaburn, “howis this! 
Why are you here 1 ”
“ Rum, my Hal—rum ! 
I’m about done 
for. 
But I wanted to see you. 
They told 
me you lived not far away, and I would look 
upon one friend before I died.”
244
SABBATH READINGS.
“ But I heard you were practicing in your 
profession, Alec, and doing well.”
“ So I did do well when I practiced, Hal. 
I have made some pleas, but I have given 
up all that.”
“ And your father—where is he 1 ”
“ Don’t mention him; he taught me to 
drink! 
Ah, he taught me ! 
and then 
turned the cold shoulder upon me when I 
drank too much ! 
But I’m going, Hal— 
going, going! ”
Henry Seaburn gazed into that terrible 
face, and remembered what its owner had 
been—the son of wealthy parents ; the idol 
of a fond mother ; the favorite at school, at 
play, and at college; a light of intellect and 
physical beauty, and a noble, generous friend. 
And now, alas ! 
“ Alec, can I help you 1 ”
“Yes.” 
And the poor fellow started 
higher up from his pillow, and something of 
the light struggled for a moment in his eyes. 
“ Pray for me, Hal. 
Pray for my soul! for 
my mother’s sake. 
Oh ! she was a good 
mother, Hal. 
Thank God she didn’t live to 
see this ! 
Pray for me—pray—pray ! ”
As the wasted man sank back he fell to 
weeping, and in a moment more, one of his
HOME INFLUENCE.
245
paroxysms came on, and he began to rave. 
He thought Harry was his father, and he 
cursed him; and cursed the habit that had 
been fastened upon him under that father’s 
influence. 
But Henry could not stop to lis­
ten. 
With an aching heart he turned away 
and left the hospital. 
He could not go home 
to dinner then; he went down town, and got 
dinner there. 
At night he went to the hos­
pital again. 
He would inquire after his 
friend, if he did not see him.
“ Poor fellow ! ” said the physician, “ he 
never came out of that fit; he died in half 
an hour after you went out.”
It was dark when Henry Seaburn reached 
home. 
“You didn’t tell Bridget where to 
put those demijohns, Henry,” said his wife. 
She had not noticed his face, for the gas was 
burning but dimly.
“ All! I forgot. 
Come down with me, 
Cera, and we’ll find a place for them.”
His wife followed him down into the base­
ment, and one by one he took the demijohns 
and carried them into the rear yard, there he 
emptied their contents into the sewer. 
Then 
he broke the vessels in pieces with his foot, 
and bade Bridget have the dirtman take the
246
SABBATH READINGS.
fragments away in the morning. 
Not one 
word had he spoken to his wife all the while, 
nor did she speak to him. 
He returned to 
the sitting room, where his boys were at 
their books, and took a seat on the sofa- 
He called his wife and children about him, 
and then told the story of Alec Lomberg.
“And now, my loved ones,” he added, lay­
ing his hand upon the heads of his boys, “ I 
have made a solemn vow that henceforth my 
children shall find no such influence at their 
home. 
They shall never have the occasion 
to curse the example of their father. 
I will 
touch the wine cup no more forever! 
What 
say you, my boys—will you join me in that 
pledge 1 ”
They joined him with glad willingness; 
for their hearts were full, and their sympa­
thies all turned, by a mother’s careful love, 
to right.
“ And you Cora ? ”
“Yes, yes I” she cried. 
“And may the 
holy lesson of this hour never be forgotten. 
0 God! let it rest, as an angel of mercy, 
upon my boys! and so shall they bless 
through life the influence they carry with 
them from their home ? ”
THE RELIGIOUS MISS R-
YOUNG lady was leaving her home, 
on a visit to a friend’s house at the 
seaside. 
She did not care very much for the 
visit, as she knew by experience that they 
were people in many respects not thoroughly 
congenial to her; they lived only for this 
world, whereas she had learned to live for 
things higher and nobler, and to find her 
greatest joy, not in parties and dress, and 
novel-reading, but in pleasing her heavenly 
Friend and Redeemer, and in communion 
with him.
And now, as she sat in the railway train 
bearing her swiftly along, she prayed si­
lently'for'the dear'home she had left, and 
for some there who as yet knew not the se­
cret of happiness she had attained. 
She 
was distinguished from her sisters, by her 
acquaintances,^as “ the religious Miss R.; ” 
she knew this, and rather shrank from it, 
while feeling that she ought not to do so.
248
SABBATH READINGS.
It was an honorable badge which she would 
sooner have been without.
She remembered rather too well the apos­
tle Paul’s affirmation, that he made himself 
all things to all men, in order to gain the 
more; and forgetting that she was not ex­
actly in strength of character or of piety an 
apostle Paul, she forgot also that there is 
such a thing as “ hiding God’s righteousness 
within the heart, and concealing his loving 
kindness and his truth.”
The dread of appearing singular, and of 
having the old odium fixed upon her, led her 
to comply with everything, and to live as 
near like the others as could be. 
Whenever 
conscience whispered a remonstrance, she qui­
eted the monitor by such reflections as: “ I am 
recommending my religion by cheerfulness, 
and by showing how far it is from being strait­
laced or severe; I am proving that a Chris­
tian is not necessarily gloomy and morose; 
and so on.
It is said that the principle of human vi­
tality deteriorates so quickly in impure air, 
as to be very soon unconscious of the slow 
poison it inhales, while gradually losing the 
power to struggle against the baleful influ­
the religious miss r.
249
ence. 
This is true also in soul matters. 
Nothing descends so quickly as the standard 
of spirituality in one’s heart. 
Still, often 
when Mary R. was reading her Bible in her 
own room, and enjoying very much the 
precious words of eternal life, feeling them 
as the very utterance of her Father in 
heaven, she would have her gladness dashed 
with regret as she came upon such passages 
as these : “ None of us liveth to himself, and 
no man dieth to himself.” 
“ Jesds also, that 
he might sanctify the people with his own 
blood, suffered without the gate; let us go 
forth therefore unto him without the camp, 
bearing his reproach.” 
“Be not thou there­
fore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord; 
but be thou partaker of the afflictions of the 
gospel according to the power of God.” 
And 
the motto under the old picture of the Cru­
cifixion would come into her mind : “ I did 
this for thee; what art thou doing for me 1 ” 
Then she would resolve that in some way 
or other she would prove herself a Christian 
before the day should pass. 
She would get 
some of the ladies to talk on serious subjects, 
or she would tell some little child about the 
Saviour; or she would not spend so much
250
SABBATH 
READINGS.
time in frivolous amusement—she would 
show that she possessed a source of more ex­
cellent delights. 
Alas ! for religious resolu­
tions, unless the strength of God go with 
them. 
The attempt at serious conversation 
would dwindle down from a talk about 
Providence to, perhaps, dead people and 
epitaphs; the stand against frivolity would 
end in a shamefaced yielding to persuasion. 
The very last day of Miss R.’s stay at her 
friend’s house arrived, and the most worldly 
of the visitors could have concluded that she 
was altogether such an one as themselves.
She was walking in the pleasure-grounds 
which sloped to the sea’s edge, and were bor­
dered with shingle beyond the grass and tam­
arisk ; a lady was with her, to whom she 
felt much attracted during their sojourn 
together in the same house. 
She was a 
young and apparently very light-hearted 
woman; the foremost in every plan of pleas­
ure, the most brilliant singer, and liveliest 
talker among the company. 
But during 
times of unreserve, such as this walk, the 
gayety was supplanted by something not far 
from gloom; and Mary thought more than 
once that she was one to whom she would
THE RELIGIOUS MISS R.
251
like to talk about religion. 
But never until 
now, in all their intercourse, had she ven­
tured to lead the way to the best of subjects; 
and to-day, only because urged by a sense 
of the quickly vanishing opportunity.
Mrs. Brown looked at her with some little 
surprise. 
111 did not expect to hear you 
talk in this way ; but when your sister, the 
religious Miss R. came, I hoped for some 
profitable conversation.”
«The religious Miss R.!” Mary’s face 
flushed violently. 
“ They call me by that 
name,” she said, in a low tone.
The lady’s countenance fell. 
“ I beg your 
pardon; I never would have thought you 
were a Christian—I mean— and she coloied 
in her turn— “ I never would have thought 
that you had any decided views on religious 
matters.”
“ Oh, Mrs. Brown!” 
The implied re­
proach was more than the unfaithful believer 
could bear. 
Her eyes filled with tears. 
“ Oh, Mrs. Brown, I profess to be a Chris­
tian. 
I have been most wicked in not ap­
pearing to be one more decidedly. 
I—I—do 
indeed wish above all things to serve and 
glorify the Lord Jesus Christ.” 
She paused,
252
SABBATH READINGS.
overcome by an emotion which had in it 
much of remorse.
“And I,” said the other lady, not looking 
at her, “have been longing to meet with 
somebody who could speak from experience 
about religion, where I know that the only 
real satisfaction is to be found in this world. 
I have tested the world at all points, and 
learned its utter hollowness. 
I have enjoyed 
what is called society to the utmost. 
I have 
found nothing anywhere to fill the void in 
my soul; when I heard that ‘ the religious 
Miss R..’ was coming, I thought, now I 
shall see a happy Christian, and I can talk 
to her about what I so much want—peace 
and rest, such as are promised in the Script­
ures. 
And when you came, I imagined that 
you must be one of the others, for I knew 
you had sisters that were not Christians in 
that sense of the word.”
It may be believed how every word sank 
into Mary’s heart. 
But for her unfaithful 
walk and conversation, perhaps this soul 
would have been given her for her hire ! And 
she had been “ashamed of Jesus !” for now 
she saw that this was the truth of the case. 
She had not confessed him, her dear Saviour,
THE RELIGIOUS MISS R.
253
before this company, by bearing herself as an 
earnest believer should; by showing that she 
trod a stranger soil, and that the home of her 
heart was with him in heaven; she had been 
“ offended in him ”—she had lived to herself, 
and not unto “ Him who died for her, and 
rose again ! ’ ’ 
Like words blazoned in fire 
rose these in her memory : “ If we deny him, 
he also will deny us.” 
“ Whosoever shall be 
ashamed of me and my words, of him shall 
the Son of man be ashamed when he shall 
come in his own glory, and in his Father’s, 
and of the holy angel’s.”
Mary never forgot the lesson. 
She had 
gone down into the Yalley of Humiliation 
that day, which is one of the most effective 
departments of “the school of Christ; ” and 
he gave her strength never again in such a 
manner to suppress the fact of her Christian­
ity.
MRS. 
DEACON 
GRAY’S BONNET! 
AND WHAT IT COST.
P
OOR little Lettie, how tired she was ;
and yet there was no break in the stream 
of ladies all the afternoon. 
Madam La Vert 
has just returned from the East with a su­
perb stock of millinery; and Lettie was so 
pretty and obliging, and withal was noted 
for such excellent taste and skill in combin­
ing and blending, that her counter was con­
stantly thronged with ladies, whose pretty, 
explosive comments over the fresh beauty of 
each new love of a bonnet, or hat, had grown 
so tiresome to the tired nerves of the weary 
little milliner, that she felt desperate enough 
to rush forth into the bright, free sunshine, 
and leave the chattering group to help them­
selves. 
But a glance at the tired face of her 
kind mistress gave her new endurance. 
And so all the bright afternoon she stood 
upon her tired, aching feet, and talked over 
and over, to each successive group, the same 
weary nothings.
MBS. GRAY’S BONNET.
255
But at length the gathering night brought 
a lull, and she was permitted to run home to 
her supper.
“ Madam, need I come back to-night 1 ”
“ Why, yes, to be sure, Lettie; just see 
that pile of goods; they must all be marked 
before we sleep, for the rush to-moi’row will 
be much greater than to-day.”
Poor Lettie went home with a heavy heart, 
and the way seemed longer and more dreary 
as she reflected upon her speedy return, so 
that not even the nicely prepared meal or gen­
tle endearments of her kind mother could 
coax a smile upon the sad face.
“ You Btaid late, Lettie ; don’t you intend 
going to church to-night 1 ”
“ Oh ! mother, I did want to go so badly, 
but Madam says I must go back to the 
shop. 
The new goods have just come to-day, 
and as usual we all have to work night and 
day.”
“ I’m real sorry, daughter; but I hope, 
dear, you will not lose your serious impres­
sions in the midst of so much talk and fash­
ion.”
“ I havn’t- a moment to think, mother; 
it’s just fashion, and flowers, shade and
256
SABBATH 
READINGS.
color, laces and ribbons, over and over, un­
til I’m so tired I can hardly stand upon my 
feet.”
Lettie hurried back to the shop, and as 
she was the only one of the shop girls who 
was familiar enough with the business to 
assist in marking, she and the Madam had 
the room to themselves.
Lettie was a great favorite with Madam, 
and she ventured in the course of the even­
ing to speak of the meetings that had been 
in progress during her absence.
“ Yes, Mrs. Deacon Gray was speaking of 
it. 
She says a great many of our young peo­
ple have united with the church. 
I was 
surprised that such girls as Delia Shaw and 
Hattie Holcomb were among the converts ; 
they were so fond of dress and society, I 
didn’t think they ever gave a thought to 
their souls.”
“ If you had been to the meetings, dear 
Madam you would wonder how any one 
could come away without feeling that eter­
nal life is the only thing in this weary world 
worth striving for.”
Madam turned and looked into the ear­
nest face of the young speaker, and then, with
MRS. GRAV’S BONNET.
557
a queer little sigh, said, “ I see you, too, are 
thinking about these things, and I’m glad of 
it. 
I’m no Christian; but once, when I 
was about your age, I was deeply impressed 
with my state as a lost sinner; and looking 
back now I believe, if I had been permitted 
to remain under the Christian counsel of my 
mother a few weeks longer, I should have 
led a different life. 
But suddenly placed in a 
crowded shop, with no companions save the 
thoughtless, giddy girls, I lost the true path 
and have ever since been too constantly in 
this busy whirl to find time to change. 
Ah, 
me ! I shall have to take time to die, some 
day, and what then 1 I wish I had my life 
to live over again, Lettie.”
“ Oh, Madam, our pastor said Sunday, 
that while it was better, safer, and easier, to 
come to Jesus while we are young, yet that 
it was infinitely better to come late than 
never.”
A silence fell upon the two, each busy 
with her own thoughts. 
Lettie looked up 
from her work after a while, and asked Mad­
am if she thought she could spare her to­
morrow evening to go to the inquiry meet­
ing.
Sab. Head. V»J. III. 
17.
258
SABBATH READINGS.
“ I hope so, if we can finish marking to­
night. 
There will be a great deal to do 
to-morrow, but we will crowd pretty close 
rather than have you miss another night.”
Lettie went home feeling more hopeful 
and less tired than she was at tea-time, and 
as she listened to her mother’s glowing 
account of the good meeting she thought, 
“ To-morrow night, ah, to-morrow night, I, 
too, may find peace and joy in believing.”
Poor Lettie, like too many others, felt 
that she could make but little progress out­
side of the meetings. 
She never dared to 
pray, “ Lord save now; right here may I 
believe in thee; ” but as she would bend 
busily over her work, her thought would be, 
“ Perhaps God will hear his people pray for 
me to-night. 
Perhaps I shall be the next to 
be blessed. 
Oh, if it would be; but I’m 
so wicked.”
The next day matters moved on in the old 
groove at the shop. There was more trim­
ming and showing, but Lettie comforted her 
tired little self with the soft whisper, “ To­
night, yes, to-night, the good pastor is going 
to tell us so plainly just how to go to Jesus. 
And then, it seems to me, I’ll, not care for
MRS. 
GRAY’S 
BONNET.
259
hard work and the many things that worry 
me so now. 
I wonder if Christians ever do 
feel real sad, or if they ever hate folks, or 
want to do any wrong thing. 
I guess not, 
for mother says to be a Christian is to be 
like Christ.” 
Just here her reverie was 
broken off by the entrance and hearty greet­
ing of Mrs. Deacon Gray.
“ How do, Lettie 1 
Busy as a bee, as 
usual, but where is the Madam ! ”
Lettie pointed to the work-room, and Mrs. 
Gray hurried on. 
“Oh, Madam La Yert, 
I’ve just taken a letter out of the office that 
has put me in a perfect flurry. 
You see the 
folks down at Lee have heard about our good 
meetings, and Dr. James and wife, and Dea­
con and Mrs. Stoakes are coming on the 
evening train to stay over Sunday. 
You 
know how stylish those ladies are, and I 
wouldn’t have them see me wear that old 
spring bonnet I fixed over myself for any­
thing. 
I was reading in ‘ Madam Demo- 
rest ’ of the sweetest thing, and I want you 
to get it up for me.”
“ But my dear Mrs. Gray, do you know 
this is Saturday afternoon, and ‘ opening 
time,’ too 1 
Why, bless me it’s quite impos 
sible.”
260
SABBATH READINGS.
“Now, don’t say so, Madam. 
I know 
you can crowd it in some way. 
Now, do 
pray, oblige me, and you shall lose nothing 
by it, I assure you.”
Madam bent her head over the pattern 
presented by Mrs. Gray, and took in, item, 
by item, the pretty, French design for a 
spring bonnet.
“ Sweet, isn’t it?”
“Yes, very; it will make up elegantly,” 
said the demure little artist, mentally esti­
mating, the effect such a novel, yet beautiful 
design would have upon her reputation.
“ Mrs. Gray, I’d say we would attempt it, 
if it were not for one thing. 
You know 
Lettie is my only dependence for such work, 
and I have promised that she may go to the 
meeting to-night; and I have as much, and I 
fear more, promised than I can finish by mid­
night.”
“ Oh, if that is all that’s in the way of my 
wearing the handsomest bonnet that ever 
entered Graysville chapel, I’m sure to do it. 
I can coax Lettie to give up one meeting I 
know.”
“But Mrs. Gray, you know Lettie is 
among the anxious, and really, I don’t feel
MRS. GRAY’S BONNET.
261
as if it weuld be right to place a straw in 
her way.”
“ Oh pshaw! what difference can one 
meeting make 1 
Why, Madam, any one 
would think there were to be no more meet­
ings, to hear you talk.”
“ Well, Mrs. Gray, we do not know that 
there will be, for her, or us.”
“ Oh dear! you are as gloomy as a 
tombstone to-day. 
I’m not expecting to die, 
and you never looked better. 
Come, say I 
may try my powers of persuasion on Lettie.’’ 
“Well, perhaps I am foolish; it certainly 
don’t become me to lecture one so long a 
Christian upon matters of conscience.”
“ I’ll do the fair thing by Lettie, you see 
now, if she will give me this evening. 
They’re poor, are they not 1 ”
“ Yes; Lettie is her mother’s only depend­
ence.”
“ I thought so,” and Mrs. Gray hurried 
over to Lettie, and laid her proposition before 
her in such an enticing manner, that Lettie 
from the first did not see how she could 
refuse. 
But, when Mrs. Gray added, “If 
you will do this for my sake, I will show 
you how well I appreciate your little sacri­
202
SABBATH 
READINGS.
fice, by allowing you to take your choice 
from the very best of Madam’s new hats.” 
Alas for Lettie ! 
Satan had prepared the 
way for this by causing her to contrast her 
old hat (which she must still wear) with the 
fresh, bright ones, borne off so triumphantly 
by one after another of her young friends. 
And Sadie Lee had just asked her what kind 
she had got; and when she replied that she 
had not got hers yet, Sadie said, “ Oh ! but 
you must take time to select one to-night, 
for we want you to come to church to-mor­
row ; ” and now here was the offer of that 
beauty that she had thought upon first, say­
ing she would be willing to work her fingers 
to the bone to possess, and here it was, laid 
at her feet for one evening’s work. 
But the 
meeting, ah, the blessing in store, was worth 
all the hats in the universe.
“ Come, Lettie, I didn’t think you’d be so 
long about deciding to oblige me,” said Mrs. 
Gray. 
“You know you’ll have all day 
to-morrow for meetings, and will look as 
smart as any of the girls in your new hat.”
“ I guess I’ll stay.”
“ That’s a darling,” and the stately figure 
bent to kiss the white brow, then hastily
MRS. GRAY’S BONNET.
263
selecting materials for her bonnet, she left 
with the injunction, “ Be sure and send it 
up to-night, Madam. 
I wouldn’t have it 
come in the morning for anything.”
How busily Lettie’s fingers plied in and 
out of the costly material, and yet it was 
eleven o’clock when she took the last sur\ey, 
and then held it up for the inspection of 
Madam and the girls.
“Why, Lettie Lathrop ! you have far ex­
celled the pattern, cried Madam. 
“You 
should have been born in Paris ; such gen­
ius is seldom met here. 
And now you must 
go so far out of your way to carry it home.
I wish Mrs. Gray was not so particular about 
Sunday.”
“ Oh, I’m not afraid, and the walk will do 
me good, after sitting so long.”
Mrs. Gray bestowed as much praise upon 
the skill of the tired girl as the most exact­
ing could demand.
“ I’m afraid it is going to storm by morn­
ing; chilly, isn’t it? 
I hope it won’t turn 
cold, and spoil our calculations for to-mor­
row.”
Yes, it was chilly, and very dark. 
On, 
and still on pressed the weary little feet, and
264
SABBATH READINGS,
it seemed twice the distance it ever did 
before. 
The little window, with the cheery 
gleam of welcome, smiled upon her. 
Her 
mother met her at the door with many anx­
ious inquiries, all of which Lettie answered 
in such a cold, constrained manner as to 
quite alarm her.
“ My dear Lettie, you are tired now ; in 
the morning you will feel differently.”
“ Oh! mother, this morning I thought I 
should go to meeting to-night, and some way 
I felt as if I should meet Jesus there for cer­
tain, and that to-morrow I could go to church 
feeling that I was in my ‘ Father’s house,’ 
and that I would be so happy that I should 
never grieve again.”
Near morning, Mrs. Lathrop was awak­
ened by the loud, wild tone of Lottie’s voice. 
Hastily lighting her lamp, she was terribly 
alarmed at the change a few short hours had 
wrought. 
As soon as-it was light, she sent 
a neighbor for the doctor, and when he came 
and examined the restless, tossing form, he 
said, “ This is a singular case. 
Your daugh­
ter, madam, must have been overtaxed, 
physically and mentally, to be so completely 
prostrated so soon.”
MRS. GRAY’S BONNET.
265
He was soon informed of all the mother 
knew concerning her daughter’s state, and 
shook his head gravely as he was told of the 
mental excitement and overwork.
What was Mrs. Gray’s surprise, upon see­
ing her two friends come into her room, pre­
pared to accompany her to church in their 
last spring bonnets ! 
It spoiled half her 
delight in hers, to think that all her worry 
was far worse than a whimsical fancy.
“ Oh ! What a beauty of a bonnet! 
Why, 
it is a perfect little gem ! ” cried the ladies, 
with true feminine appreciation of the beau­
tiful.
“ You have not ordered yours yet,” said 
Mrs. Gray, surprised to hear no word of apol­
ogy offered for the old hats.
“Oh! yes,” said Mrs. James; “but in 
the city it is so different from these country 
places. 
There, when the season opens, there 
is such a rush, everybody wants their bon­
nets and hats, and in consequence, the poor, 
pale girls are worked day and night. Sol told 
my milliner not to hurry any one for me, as 
I could wait very well. 
You see I don’t 
care for these things as I used to,” said Mrs. 
James. “Nor I,” said Mrs. Stoakes, “for my­
266
SABBATH READINGS.
self, although I enjoy seeing them on others ; 
but I try to keep my body under, and to 
never let worldly matters shut me out from 
higher and holier duties.”
Poor Mrs. Gray ! how she wished her bon­
net back again upon the quiet page of Madam 
Demorest, as she thought, “ I do wonder if 
they saw or heard Lettie last night 1 but no, 
they went to their rooms full two hours before 
she came. 
Poor, little thing, how tired she 
looked ! 
I hope she’ll enjoy wearing her 
new hat better than I do mine.”
Many were the admiring glances cast upon 
the new bonnet. 
“ Why,” said little Tillie 
Wood, at the dinner-table, to her mother 
and sister, “ it was all the beauty of a whole 
springtime compressed into one little mite of 
a bonnet.”
“Yes, my dear, and I fear more than that. 
I greatly fear that your little Lettie’s life 
will be the price nature will demand for this 
love of a bonnet; ” and the good doctor told 
the pitiful story, and how Lettie raved con­
tinually about selling her soul for Madam 
La Yert’s nicest pattern hat.
Mrs. Gray was overwhelmed with grief 
when she heard of Lettie’s illness, and strove
MRS. GRAY S BONNET.
267
in every way to atone for her want of thought; 
and while every word from the blue lips of 
the sufferer went like a dagger to her heart, 
she prayed that the blood of the precious 
soul might not be found upon her skirts. 
Her prayer was answered.
Out of the soft brown eyes, Lettie’s own 
quiet self looked once more, and the old 
smile, with an added brightness, lighted up 
her dying face. 
“ Madam—mother, I am
going home. 
Jesus loves me, and is calling 
me to come. 
Don’t cry, mother. 
Just 
think I’ll never sin any more; never, never 
get tired again. 
Forgive you, Mrs. Gray 1 
Ah, yes, gladly and freely. 
You intended 
no wrong; but, oh ! I ask you to watch and 
help those who are trying to find the way to 
Jesus. 
Madam, dear Madam, I love you. 
You have always been good to me. 
Oh ! be 
good to yourself. 
Come to Jesus. 
Mother, 
kiss me. 
I’m going. 
Don’t—don’t cry.
You’ll soon follow me.”
They covered her coffin with pale spring 
flowers, and laid her away in the quiet 
churchyard. * * *
The curious eyes of Graysville were never 
again gladdened by the finery of Mrs. Dea­
268
SABBATH READINGS.
con Gray. 
In sober, neat, but plain attire, 
she went about her Master’s work, striving 
to redeem the time spent in pursuing the fickle 
goddess Fashion; and if she ever feels a de­
sire after any of life’s vanities, she goes to 
her room, and takes down a bandbox, she 
opens it, and takes out the soft, fleecy fabric, 
over which Lettie’s white fingers so dili­
gently wrought. 
Pinned to one of the ties 
is a paper; and while she reads, with stream­
ing eyes, we will look on :—
“This trifling vanity cost a young life, 
and but for the infinite mercy of God, I 
should to-day have to answer for a lost soul 
—a poor trembling, seeking soul, from whom 
my selfish pride had almost hid the cross.”
THE SERPENT IN THE HOME.
(=sraRXHEN first Miss Martin came to our 
\gfgy* town she was a bright attractive girl. 
Her elder sister had married one of the doc­
tors of the place, and she came on a visit to 
her, and as was right and fitting, her friends 
and she, enjoyed themselves visiting places of 
interest.
One day after viewing the sights of a neigh­
boring city, and when waiting the time for a 
train to take them home, they stepped into 
one of those fashionable restaurants, with 
which our city abound, to rest and take 
refreshments. 
As it was a hot day the sand­
wich was followed, at Dr. Black’s suggestion, 
by a glass of wine. 
Chemists tell us of the 
affinity of certain substances.
Dr. and Mrs. Black drank their glass of 
wine without any apparent effect. 
But 
it was different with Miss Martin. 
She had 
never in all her life drank a whole glass of 
wine before, and something, I know not
270
SABBATH READINGS.
■what or how, in her constitution answered 
to its suttle qualities, and she felt its exhilara­
ting effects. 
A pleasing indescribable sensa­
tion came over her. Before, she was worn out, 
and exhausted ; 
now she felt light, vigorous 
and happy. 
And it is to constitutions of 
this kind that stimulants are an unspeakable 
temptation. Favoring circumstances, I grieve 
to say, were not wanting. 
Mrs. Black’s call­
ers were numerous, and wine and cake were 
regularly presented. 
They were asked to 
dinner and supper parties to get acquainted 
with the neighborhood, and at most of these 
also wine was abundant, and just because 
other people took it Miss Martin did so too.
She thought the place delightful; the peo­
ple exceedingly pleasant, and if, in a forenoon, 
she felt exhausted and nervous after a party, 
a glass of wine put her all right. 
No won­
der that when she returned home, life seemed 
dull, flat and heavy. 
Of old she used to 
awake in the morning with a bright, cheery 
feeling, and begin to lay out her plan of 
work for the day. 
But things of an ordi­
nary kind had no interest for her now. 
She 
became restless, her appetite failed, and she 
grew pale and thin. 
Her mother, anxious
and alarmed, called in the doctor, whose ver­
dict was, “ A little out of sorts—trying sea­
son of the year—liver dull—a little stimu­
lant set all to rights.” 
Her father, good, 
confiding man, at once ordered in a dozen of 
port, which was to be administered to the 
patient twice a day. 
And so the spark was 
fanned and cherished which in due time was 
to become the raging conflagration in which 
health, comfort, the approval of conscience, 
the smile of friends, character, and life itself 
were to be engulfed.
As I have said, Miss Martin was a very 
prepossessing girl, and, admired by many ; so 
in a little while, when on a second visit to 
her sister, no one was surprised when it was 
announced that she was to be married to one 
who stood high in the opinion of all, and 
was indeed a young man of great worth and 
excellence. 
It happened that winter that a 
young men’s mutual improvement society 
was organized in our town, and a scientific 
association, and a total abstinence society. 
Now into the first two of these, Dr. Black 
and Mr. Bennet, his intended brother-in-law, 
entered readily, and were quite willing to 
attend 
meetings, and give readings, and
THE SERPENT IN THE HOME. 
271
272
SABBATH 
READINGS.
deliver lectures; but for the last: “Well 
really,” they said, “ it did seem a kind of 
insult to introduce the like of that among 
respectable people. 
No doubt there were 
many who should not drink, because they 
could not stop in time, and in such cases 
drink was a great curse; but with the like 
of them it was different.” 
And when Mr. 
Bennet saw Miss Martin sipping her glass of 
wine, he thought, as of everything else about 
her, how graceful it seemed, and how well- 
the action became her. 
It was but a few 
months after, that the poor illusion was dis­
pelled.
Some gentlemen friends of Mr. Bennet’s 
from a distance had come to spend the day 
with them, and a few neighbors had been 
asked to meet them at dinner. 
Mrs. Ben- 
net had, like other young housekeepers, 
made great exertions for the entertainment 
of her guests. 
Who does not sympathize 
with her wish to do the honors of her house 
in a way worthy of the husband so devoted 
to her, and of whom she was so proud? 
Well all went oft* beautifully, and she had 
left her guests in the dining-room over then- 
wine ; but when seated by herself, with the
excitement run down, a feeling of excessive 
fatigue and languor came over her. 
As on 
other occasions she at once thought of a glass 
of wine. 
This was just the very time it was 
needed, and so without further consideration 
she drank one and another, and ::o on, till 
before she knew it, she was sleeping the 
sleep of a drunkard in her own elegant draw­
ing-room. 
By-and-by the door was thrown 
open, and Mr. Bennet, in his usual cheery 
voice, said, “ Here we are, Mary, all ready 
for your nice cup of coffee.” 
But, alas ! 
there was no answering greeting, nothing 
but an inarticulate sound from the prostrate 
figure on the rug. 
The company took in the 
situation but too well, and all retired as 
gracefully as possible, sorry to see Mrs. Ben­
net so poorly, etc. 
Mr. Bennet was bewil­
dered. 
Of all the possibilities in life this 
was the last that could have occurred to him, 
and there he sat with that terrible, myste­
rious smile which you may have seen on the 
face of the strong man when shame and ag­
ony were gnawing at his heart.
It would be tedious to record Mrs. Ben- 
net’s resolutions of amendment made and 
broken, to be again renewed and with the 
Sab. Read. Vol. HI. 18.
THE SERPENT IN THE HOME. 
273
274
SABBATH HEADINGS.
same result; or her husband’s patienoe, so 
often abused, and still so ready to forgive. 
But the most long-suffering patience may be 
worn out at last, and it seemed to Mr. Bennet 
that the only chance was to send his wife— 
once his pride as well as joy—to one of those 
asylums for the drunkard called refugees. 
The arrangements were made, and the day 
she was to go fixed. 
I shall never forget 
that afternoon. 
The poor husband was 
utterly prostrated with grief and shame by 
an outbreak of his wife the day before, and 
as an old friend he requested me to accom­
pany her, for he could not trust himself, and 
feared his resolutions would give way at the 
parting scene. 
She, poor creature, not only 
acquiesced in the plan, but earnestly besought 
her husband on her knees to help her to get 
free from the wretched slavery in which she 
lived. 
It is easy for people outside to speak, 
but I do think drunkards are often deeply to 
be pitied as well as much to be blamed. 
She had been for some months in this estab­
lishment when her husband, hoping against 
hope, removed to the city of which I have 
spoken, with the view of giving her the ben­
efit of new scenes and new surroundings in
her future life, and brought her home. 
How 
he congratulated himself, how his love and 
long-slumbering reverence revived, as day 
after day and week after week passed and 
still she stood the trial!
Some time after this I was invited to the 
marriage of their only daughter. 
She was 
one of whom any mother might have been 
proud, and on whom her father doted. 
I 
had been greatly gratified at hearing of my 
friend’s continued reformation, and when 1 
arrived that summer evening and found the 
three sitting together on the lawn under a 
spreading tree, enjoying the sweetest hour of 
all the day, I thought the outward scene a 
fitting symbol of the inward peace, and 
caught myself whispering, “ At evening time 
it shall be light.” 
Looking back on the 
past it seemed as if we had awoke from a 
frightful nightmare, and were being re-assured 
by the calm and peace of returning morning.
Next day, as the wedding guests were 
strolling through the grounds after the mar­
riage till lunch was announced, and every­
thing seemed the embodiment of calmness 
and comfort, he would have been thought a 
hard-hearted prophet of evil who would have
THE SERPENT IN THE HOME. 
275
276
SABBATH READINGS.
predicted the events of the following hours. 
I stepped aside and went into the house to 
see if I could give any assistance in the fin­
ishing of the arrangements. 
On looking 
into the dining-room what was my amaze­
ment to find the table furnished with a pro­
fusion of wines and even brandies ! Think­
ing there must have been some strange 
mistake I hurried out and sought Mr. Ben- 
net, to whom I told what I had seen, saying 
that his orders must surely have been mis­
understood.
He looked wonderingly a moment. 
“Not 
at all,” said he; “you do not suppose I 
could let such an occasion as this pass 
without giving it all the honors.” 
“ Hon­
ors ! ” 
I thought some people had strange 
ideas about honors. 
I implored him to alter 
his arrangements even yet. 
“ Thanks,” said 
he, “for your kind interest; but pray don’t 
trouble yourself, you will see all will go off 
well.” 
And then in a lower tone, “Mary 
has promised me.” 
With a sorrowful heart 
I turned away. 
The party had not been 
long in the dining-room when I saw Mrs. 
Bennet, who had hitherto been acting the 
part of hostess with all the ease and grace
THE SERPENT IN THE HOME.
277
which in her early days had charmed so 
many, beoome suddenly pale and seemed to 
put a strong restraint upon herself. 
I felt 
deeply grieved when I saw those around her 
carelessly sipping their wine, ignorant of the 
fierce war they were kindling within her.
At last she could stand it no longer; it 
seemed as if a thunderbolt had fallen amongst 
us when suddenly she rose and seizing a 
bottle darted to the door. 
Mr. Bennet’s face 
turned ashy pale, and when he attempted to 
rise his knees smote against each other, like 
the monarch ot old when the handwriting on 
the wall announced his doom. 
When I got 
outside the door the poor woman looked 
round on me with a half-triumphant, half- 
scared expression, and the brandy bottle, as 
it turned out to be, was lying empty beside 
her. 
I helped her to the bed and the doctor 
was sent for, but no human power could save 
her, and as we watched her tossing to and fro, 
and wildly appealing for protection from the 
fiery seipents which she averred were swarm­
ing around her, I wondered if her husband 
did not ask himself if he had fulfilled that 
vow made long ago of loving, cherishing and 
protecting her when he exposed her to what
278
•ABBATH READINGS.
was indeed supremest danger possible, tie 
smell cf what, to her, was deadly poison.
At length the storm subsided; she lay 
wan and worn on her pillow. 
Leaning over 
her, I heard in a low whisper the words, 
“They shall thirst no more.” 
The pathos 
was inexpressible. 
These were her last 
words. 
No doubt there is pardon for the 
penitent drunkard as well as the penitent 
thief, even at the eleventh hour; but turn­
ing away from that death-bed I could not 
but say, “ Let me die the death of the right­
eous, and let my last end be like his.”
I have spoken of some of the outward 
incidents of Mrs. Bennet’s history, but who 
shall imagine her inner life? Sure I am 
that the most exquisite tortures ever invented 
by cruel Turks fell very far short of those 
she inflicted on herself and her dearest 
friends. 
When bidding good-bye to the 
silent and mournful mansion, where all had 
but the other day seemed so bright and 
happy, I felt with new power and emphasis 
the force of the wise man’s words, “Look 
not thou upon the wine when it is red, when 
it giveth his color in the cup, when it mov- 
eth itself aright. 
At last it biteth like a 
serpent, and stingeth like an adder.”
THE GRADUATING DRESS.
t
HEY’LL be 
perfectly 
splendid, of 
course,” said Nate Cox. “ Connie Liv­
ingston is going to wear India mull, with puffs 
and quillings and lace, and Fan Ellis is to 
have pale blue silk; she knows what’s good 
for a blonde, and Isa True, white crape.
“ And what is Lou’s ? ” asked Kate s audi­
ence.
“ Oh, mamma and she are not agreed yet. 
Lou wants silk and mamma says white is 
the only proper thing; she was a Holyokite, 
you know, and the law there was white and 
blue sashes.”
“ Somewhat different style, though, I 
fancy, from the white of to-day, when your 
mamma graduated."
“ Just think of it, girls ! Her dress was 
white Swiss muslin, full round waist, plain 
skirt and puffed sleeves, and her blue sash— 
she has it yet—is not as wide as my finger is 
long. 
How they must have looked !
280
SABBATH 
READINGS.
“ My mother says it was a great deal 
more sensible than the present way,” re* 
maked Cathie Floss. 
I never should dare to 
graduate now, for fear of being the dowdy of 
the class. 
All you hear the Seniors talk 
about is just dress, dress.”
“ Oh, it’s splendid, I think,” said another. 
“ Almost as good as one’s first ball. 
I mean 
to make a sensation when my turn comes, 
and be got up regardless for once.”
“It will be her only hope,” whispered 
Kate; “ the sensation never’ll come from the 
inside of her head. 
But it’s stopped raining 
girls; let’s go.” 
And the merry group scat­
tered down the stairs and homeward.
Meanwhile, in the dressing-room adjoining, 
Chris sat on the floor listening to the lively 
chatter with a sudden dread numbing her 
heart. 
Her head had been so full of Mental 
Philosophy and Literature and Essays that 
she had forgotten she was to graduate in a 
dress, and now—silk and India mull! Poor 
Chris might as well expect a piece out of the 
blue sky as either of those. 
It had been such 
a happy life to study the dear books and feel 
that every day was bringing nearer the time 
when, as a teacher, she oould help the pa­
THE GRADUATING DRESS.
281
tient, hard-working father and mother, and 
give the little ones a chance in the world. 
She had known they were poor and her class­
mates rich, but that had never troubled her 
sunny nature before. 
Everybody was good 
to Chris. 
Even the haughty Fan Ellis found 
it convenient to get her help over hard 
places, and as for Connie Livingston, whom 
Chris worshiped in a girl fashion, hadn’t 
she many a sweet little note and kind word 
treasured away of hers 1 
But this dress 
question. 
Connie in India mull with ruffles 
and lace was set entirely away,
The little plain home in a poor street was 
reached at last, and Chris went in to find the 
busy mother with hands and lap full of 
mending and foot outstretched for baby to 
stand by. 
He crowed and shouted at sight 
of his sister, and Chris took him up and 
went to the window.
“ Mother,” she said, after a while, “ what 
am I going to wear to graduate in 1 ”
The mother sighed. 
She had thought of 
that a great deal.
«I do n’t know, daughter,” she said at 
last. 
“ I did hope to get you a neat white, 
but times are so hard and father’s wages are
lowered and you have outgrown every­
thing.”
“ Yes,” said Chris, “ what can it be then!”
“ I do n’t see dear, how it can be anything 
more than light calico.”
“ A calico 1 0 mother! ”
“ Yes, dear, I know.”
“ But the others are silk and mull and 
crape.”
“ Yes, dear, I know, and so does He 
who had not where to lay his head. 
Think 
it over in that way. 
You know, Chris, 
mother would if she could,”—and the voice 
trembled.
“Ye*, mother, never mind; It’ll be all 
right I guess."
But Chris sat the baby down and went up 
to her little room. 
She did not care much 
for supper, and the children wondered what 
made her so still.
When she went up to bed, and Liz and 
Cora were sound asleep, the poor child sat 
down by the open window to think it out. 
But the great tears welled up, and finally the 
head sank on the window-seat and the aching 
heart said all the time, “ It’s very hard, very 
hard,” and the tears rolled faster and faster.
282 
SABBATH 
READINGS.
“ When shall I go to look for my bonny 
calico, mother ? ” she asked in the morning.
“I must begin it soon.”
“ Do you think you can be satisfied, 
Chris 1 ”
And such an anxious question as it was. 
The mother had lain awake too that night.
“ Of course I can, mother. 
It’s me, not 
my dress, people must admire for once.”
“Here is the money, then. 
I have saved it 
as I could.”
Chris thought so when her pocket was 
weighed down with the nickels. 
But she 
realized, too, what the “savings" of her 
mother had been.
Liz wanted to go, so her sister waited to 
comb the tangled hair and find the lost hat 
before starting out, throwing back kisses to 
Cora and baby.
“ I was afraid Chris would be broken­
hearted quite,” said the mother fondly; “but 
I do believe she’s the best girl ever a mother 
had.”
And, meanwhile, up in a great block of 
stores Chris and Liz were turning over the 
many piles of prints, seieoting first one and 
then another, until fairly bewildered with 
so many.
THE ORADUATIXG DRESS. 
288
284
SABBATH 
READINGS.
“ I think I’ll have this,” said Chris at 
last, choosing a white ground with a delicate 
sprig of black.
“ 0 Chris, take this. 
See, it’s almost the 
same, but it’s blue, and so pretty.”
“ But I like this better dear."
“ Oh, no, this is so lovely.”
Now Liz was a girl of only eleven, and 
though the black did seem the prettier Chris 
thought it did not matter so much as pleas­
ing her sister. 
So Liz was gratified, the 
little bundle made up, and they went out. 
Just in front of the steps an old man was 
tottering along by the aid of an umbrella, 
and a careless newsboy brushed that from his 
hand as the girls came out of the glass doors. 
Chris sprang and picked it up and as she 
turned from handing it back, almost ran 
against an elegant lady who had just 
alighted from a carriage.
“ Good morning, Chris,” said a young girl 
following the lady.
“ Good morning, Connie,” answered Chris, 
blushing and stepping out of a party’s way 
in time to hear Connie say:—
“ Mamma that’s the girl I’ve told yon 
about in our class.”
THE GRADUATING DRESS.
285
“ A very sweet face,” said Mrs. Livingston, 
and Chris blushed now in earnest.
They were very busy days that followed. 
The dress got along but slowly, for lessons 
and baby must have the first places of course, 
but in that plain home the delicate print 
with its neatly-laid plaits, was the brightest 
thing that had come in for many a day, 
excepting the faces, and the children admired 
and thought it wonderful.
It was almost examination-day, and Chris 
had stopped one night where she could have 
the quiet school room to go over the topics of 
that long Literature that was to be the final 
recitation of the Seniors, when she heard 
Fan Ellis’ voice :—
“ I do wish some one would go over these 
topics with me. 
I never can recite unless I 
go over them once out loud. 
Wont some 
one hear me ? ”
But the girls all had too much business of 
their own, and they realized what hearing 
Fan, the dunce of the class, would be. 
Chris 
saw her coming out of the dressing-room with 
tears on her cheeks. 
That touched her.
“ What is it, Fan! can I help you ?” she 
asked from her corner.
SABBATH READINGS.
Fan turned. 
“ Is that you, Chris 1 I want 
to go over my topics with some one, and the 
girls are all too busy. 
They have time 
enough for me when I have a treat.”
“ I’ll hear you, Fan.”
“ 0 Chris, that’s good ! When 1 ”
“Now and here,” was the reply.
It was almost dark when the two girls 
left the school building, and the topics only 
two-thirds through then.
“ Wre’ll finish to-morrow night,” said Chris. 
“ Thank you, Chris; I never studied so 
hard before, but you see my father is to be 
here, and he says if I do well he will give 
me a watch and chain, but if not I cannot 
have one for two years.”
“I hope you will,” said Chris heartily, 
“ and I guess you will, too.” 
But she won­
dered about her own lesson until she found 
that helping to fix it in Fan’s mind had 
been better for herself than any amount of 
study and so she was fully repaid.
It was the night before graduating day, 
and Chris came home late to find the dress 
still unfinished. 
Baby had been sick all day 
and the mother looked pale and anxious.
“ Only one ruffle more for the overskirt,
THE GRADUATING 
DRE8*.
287
dear,” but Chris knew that was three hours 
of hard work and it was already nearly nine 
o’clock. 
She went up to her little room a 
moment and then came back.
“ Let me try it all on, mother,” she said 
then; “ the children want to see it before 
they go to bed;” and after all had been 
duly admired, she said, “ There is enough on 
it now, mother; and wre’ll hang it up till 
morning, when I’ll come out like a queen, 
see if I don’t.”
“ But you wanted another ruffle, dear.”
“I did—but do not need it. 
You are 
tired, and it will do as it is. 
We’ll have a 
good sleep, and I hope the baby will be all 
right in the morning. 
And the look of 
glad relief that came to the tired mother’s 
face was ample reward for the girl’s self- 
denial.
But Chris was not to do all the good work 
of the world. 
While she was reading her 
essay that night to the professor, Connie 
Livingston called a secret session of Seniors 
in the dressing-room. 
Chris’ eight classmates 
were on hand.
“ Girls,” said Connie, “I’ve found out some­
thing splendid to do. 
Do you know Chris
286
288
8ABBATH READINGS.
has got to graduate in a calico. 
Our sewing 
girl knows them, and she has seen it. 
She 
says it is just as sweet as a calico can be, but 
Chris felt dreadfully about it at first, of 
course, then she gave it all up. 
Now you 
all know Chris is just as good as she can be 
and has helped every one of us at some time.”
“That’s so,” said Fan Ellis, who had 
caught an approving smile from her father 
at the close of the long dreaded examination.
“And she’s got a splendid essay,” con­
tinued Connie; “Miss Markham says so; 
and now let’s each one engage one or two 
friends to throw her bouquets, so she’ll be 
sure to have as many as anybody and be as 
happy as she deserves; will you agree?” 
The girls promised in chorus. 
“ And let’s 
get her a fan,” said one, “a pretty, plain 
white one. 
She’ll be so pleased.” 
So that 
was settled, and kept a surprise for Chris.
It must be confessed that she made a very 
pretty picture at home, the trim black-kid 
boots, the neat dress with ruching at the 
throat and a pale rose bud in place of jewels; 
but as she came to the great building and 
saw the crowds of gayly dressed ladies and 
elegant gentlemen going up the steps her
THE GRADUATING DRESS.
289
heart sank a little, and she stole up the back 
stairs to the recitation-room where the class 
were to meet. 
They were all there when 
Chris opened the door, glorifying the room 
she thought for a moment, .with the bright 
flash and glimmer of their trailing robes.
“ Here she is, girls ! ” exclaimed Connie, 
catching sight of the figure in the door. 
“ How late you are, but come here, please, we 
have something sweet to tell you. Come, Fan.”
“ Please accept this, Chris, from you class­
mates,” said Fan gently. 
“We all wanted 
you to remember us,” and the daintily-gloved 
hand laid the pretty box in Chris’ ungloved 
one, and then they all eagerly watched 
the little blushing face with smiles and tears 
chasing over it as she unfolded her gift, and 
were more than thanked.
Then Connie led her into the dressing-room. 
“I brought a flower on purpose for your 
golden locks, dear; let me put it in. 
There, 
that’s lovely! ”
“ You thought of me ? ” said Chris, lifting 
wondering eyes.
“ Why, of course, you pet! You have 
helped me to be a better girl, Chris, and I 
thank you for it always.”
Sab. Read. Vol. III. 
19.
290
SABBATH READINGS.
Then they all went down together and 
took their seats on the platform, and as one 
after another came forward to that most 
dreaded ordeal, reading her essay, and was 
thanked by thoughtful friends with bouquets 
and applause, Chris was so happy for each, 
and over her fan, and Connie’s kiss, that her 
speaking face was fairly radiant; and when 
her name was called, the seventh on the list, 
she had no thought of fear, but her sweet, 
clear tones rendered the essay full of feeling. 
It was tender, and pathetic, and many 
hearts were touched by its simple words, but 
when it was finished, and Chris turned to go, 
there was a perfect storm of applause, led by 
Judge Livingston, and the bouquets came 
fast and thick. 
Chris sat down with her lap 
full, in a perfect maze, while every one of her 
classmates found occasion for the handker­
chiefs they had provided only for ornaments. 
And so Chris learned that wearing love in 
the heart makes fair in all eyes the simplest 
dress.
A RIFT IN THE CLOUD.
cXM NDREW LEE came home at evening 
from the shop where he had worked 
all day, tired and out of spirits ; came home 
to his wife, who was also tired, and dispirited.
“A smiling wife, and a cheerful home— 
what a paradise it would be ! ” said Andrew 
to himself as he turned his eyes from the 
clouded face of Mrs. Lee, and sat down with 
knitted brow, and a moody aspect.
Not a word was spoken by either. 
Mrs. 
Lee was getting supper, and she moved about 
with a weary step.
“ Come,” she said at last, with a side 
glance at her husband.
There was invitation in the word only, 
none in the voice of Mrs. Lee.
Andrew arose and went to the table. 
He 
was tempted to speak an angry word, but 
controlled himself, and kept silence. 
He 
could find no fault with the chop, nor the 
sweet homemade bread, and fresh butter.
They would have cheered his inward man, if 
there had only been a gleam of sunshine on 
the face of his wife. 
He noticed that she 
did not eat. 
“Are you not well Mary?” 
The words were on his lips, but he did not 
utter them, for the face of his wife looked so 
repellant, that he feared an irritating reply. 
And so in moody silence, the twain sat to­
gether until Andrew had finished his supper. 
As he pushed his chair back, his wife arose, 
and commenced clearing off the table.
“ This is purgatory! ” said Lee to him­
self, as he commenced walking the floor of 
their little breakfast-room, with his hands 
clasped behind him, and his chin almost 
touching his breast.
After removing all the dishes and taking 
them into the kitchen, Mrs. Lee spread a 
green cover on the table, and placing a fresh 
trimmed lamp thereon, went out and shut 
the door, leaving her husband alone with 
his unpleasant feelings. 
He took a long, 
deep breath as she did so, paused in his 
walk, stood still for some moments, and then 
drawing a paper from his pocket, sat down 
by the table, opened the sheet and commenced 
reading. 
Singularly enough the words upon
A RIFT 
IN THE CLOUD.
293
which his eyes rested were, “ Praise your 
wife.” They rather tended to increase the 
disturbance of mind from which he was suf­
fering.
“ I should like to find some occasion for 
praising mine.” 
How quickly his thoughts 
expressed that ill-natured sentiment. 
But 
his eyes were on the page before him, and 
he read on.
“ Praise your wife, man, for pity’s sake, 
give her a. little encouragement; it wont 
hurt her.”
Andrew Lee raised his eyes from the 
paper and muttered, “ Oh, yes. 
That’s all 
very well. 
Praise is cheap enough. 
But 
praise her for what 1 
For being sullen, and 
making your home the most disagreeable 
place in the world 1 ” 
His eyes fell again to 
the paper.
“ She has made your home comfortable, 
your hearth bright and shining, your food 
agreeable; for pity’s sake, tell her you thank 
her, if nothing more. 
She don’t expect it; 
it will make her eyes open wider than they 
have for ten years ; but it will do her good 
for all that, and you, too.”
It seemed to Andrew as if these sentences
SABBATH 
READINGS.
294
SABBATH READINGS.
were written just for him, and just for the 
occasion. 
It was the complete answer to his 
question, “ Praise her for what ? ” and he 
felt it also as a rebuke. 
He read no farther, 
for thought came too busy, and in a new 
direction. 
Memory was convicting him of 
injustice toward his wife. 
She had always 
made his home as comfortable for him as 
hands could make it, and had he offered the 
light return of praise or commendation? 
Had he ever told her of the satisfaction he 
had 'known, or the comfort experienced. 
He was not able to recall the time or the 
occasion. 
As he thought thus, Mrs. Lee 
came in from the kitchen, and taking her 
work-basket from a closet, placed it on the 
table, and sitting down without speaking, 
began to sew. 
Mr. Lee glanced almost 
stealthily at the work in her hands, and saw 
it was the bosom of a shirt, which she was 
stitching neatly. 
He knew that it was for 
him that she was at work
“Praise your wife.” 
The words were 
before the eyes of his mind, and he could 
not look away from them. 
But he was not 
ready for this yet. 
He still felt moody and 
unforgiving. 
The expression of his wife’s
A RIFT IN THE CLOUD.
295
face he interpreted to mean ill-nature, and 
with ill-nature he had no patience. 
His 
eyes fell on the newspaper that lay spread 
out before him, and he read the sentence :—
“ A kind cheerful word, spoken in a 
gloomy home, is like the rift in a cloud that 
lets the sunshine through.”
Lee struggled with himself a while longer. 
His own ill-nature had to be conquered first; 
his moody, accusing spirit had to be subdued. 
But he was coming right, and at last got 
right, as to will. 
Next came the question 
as to how he should begin. 
He thought of 
many things to say, yet feared to say them, 
lest his wife should meet his advances with 
a cold rebuff. 
At last, leaning towards her, 
and taking hold of the linen bosom upon 
which she was at work, he said, in a voice 
carefully modulated with kindness :—
“ You are doing the work very beautifully, 
Mary.”
Mrs. Lee made no reply. 
But her hus- 
’band did not fail to observe that she lost, 
almost instantly, that rigid erectness with 
which she had been sitting, nor that the 
motion of her needle hand ceased.
“My shirts are better made, and whiter
296
SABBATH READINGS.
than those of any other man in our shop,” 
said Lee, encouraged to go on.
“ Are they ? ” 
Mrs. Lee’s voice was low, 
and had in it a slight huskiness. 
She did 
not turn her face, but her husband saw that 
she leaned a little toward him. 
He had 
broken through the ice of reserve, and all 
was easy now. 
His hand was among the 
clouds, and a few feeble rays were already 
struggling through the rift it had made.
“ Yes, Mary,” he answered softly, “ and 
I’ve heard it said more than once, what a 
good wife Andrew Lee must have.”
Mrs. Lee turned her face toward her hus­
band. 
There was light in it, and light in 
her eye. 
But there was something in the 
expression of the countenance that puzzled 
him a little.
“Do you think so?” she asked quite 
soberly.
“What a question!” ejaculated Andrew 
Lee, starting up and going round to the side 
of the table where his wife was sitting.— 
“ What a question, Mary ! ” he repeated, as 
he stood before her.
“ Do you ? ” 
It was all she said.
“ Yes, darling,” was the warmly-spoken
A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS.
297
answer, and he stooped down and kissed her. 
—“ How strange that you should ask me 
such a question ! ”
* ‘ If you would only tell me so now and 
then, Andrew, it would do me good.” And 
Mrs. 
Lee arose, and leaning against the 
manly breast of her husband, stood and 
wept.
What a strong light broke in upon the 
mind of Andrew Lee. 
He had never given 
to his faithful wife even the small reward 
of praise for all the loving interest she had 
manifested daily, until doubt of his love had 
entered her soul, and made the light thick 
darkness. 
No wonder that her face grew 
clouded, nor that what he considered moodi­
ness and ill-nature took possession of her 
spirit.
“ You are good and true, Mary. 
My own 
dear wife. 
I am proud of you—I love you 
—and my first desire is for your happiness. 
Oh, if I could always see your face in sun­
shine, my home would be the dearest place 
on earth.”
“ How precious to me are your words of 
love and praise, Andrew,” said Mrs. Lee, 
smiling up through her tears into his face.
298
SABBATH READINGS.
“With them in my ears, my heart can 
never lie in shadow.”
How easy had been the work for Andrew 
Lee. 
He had swept his hand across the 
cloudy horizon of his home, and now the 
bright sunshine was streaming down, and 
flooding that home with joy and beauty.
OUR RECORD.
We built us grand, gorgeous towers 
Out toward the western sea,
And said in a dream of the summer hours,
Thus fair should our record be.
We would strike the bravest chords 
That ever rebuked the wrong ;
And through them should tremble all loving words 
That would make the weary strong.
There entered not into our thought 
The dangers the way led through,
We saw but the gifts of the good we sought,
And the good we would strive to do.
Here trace we a hurried line,
There blush for a blotted leaf;
And tears, vain tears, on the eyelids shine,
That the record is so brief. 
,
NEVER INDORSE.
«
 SHALL not soon forget the family of 
oxj Israel Day, who lived neighbor to my 
father when I was a boy. 
Mr. Day was 
working out as a laborer, and as he had a 
large family dependent upon his earnings for 
support, and sometimes it was difficult in 
our neighborhood to find employment, the 
family was poor, and the strictest economy 
had to be practiced to furnish the bare neces­
sities of life.
I often wondered how it happened that 
such a man as Mr. Day should be so poor. 
He had no intemperate or extravagant habits, 
and was a man of more than common 
education, and there was an air of intel­
ligence and refinement about the'entire family 
that commanded the respect of their neigh­
bors. 
Mr. Day was industrious, but always 
seemed to me a man who had no ambition in 
life, and who expected and desired no more 
than a mere subsistence for his family. 
No
300
SABBATH READINGS.
one in the neighborhood knew anything of 
his history. 
The family had come from 
another State a few years previous, and 
while polite and friendly they were very un­
communicative as to their former life, and 
there was something about them that forbade 
inquisitiveness.
I was at this time sixteen years old, and 
on very intimate terms with Mr. Day’s fam­
ily. 
At the time of my story he was helping 
my father on the farm for a few days and 
boarding with us. 
One day when we came 
in from our forenoon work, we found ’Squire 
Black was to take dinner with us, and as he 
was reputed to be the wealthiest man in the 
township we felt quite honored. 
He was a 
very genial man and an excellent talker, and 
had an adroit way of flattering and making 
every one feel easy in his company.
On this occasion he made himself very 
agreeable ; he praised the neat appearance of 
the farm and buildings, complimented mother 
on her good cooking, called me a fine, manly 
fellow, gave some small change to the children, 
and by the time dinner was over had gained 
the good will of the entire family.
After dinner Mr. Black asked to see the
NEVER INDORSE.
301
stock and examine the arrangement of the 
barn and outbuildings, and as father took 
pride in having good, well-fed stock and one 
of the most conveniently arranged barns in 
the county, he was glad to show him around, 
and was much pleased with the hearty com­
mendation which Mr. Black bestowed upon 
them.
He finally made known the object of his 
visit; he had found a piece of very desirable 
property for sale, low, so that there was no 
question that within less than a year he 
could clear several thousand dollars on it, 
but he must pay all cash down and he lacked 
two thousand dollars of having enough 
money to pay for it. 
He wished father to 
become security for him for one year, as he 
had found a party who was willing to lend 
him the amount if his signature could be had 
to the note.
He did not give father time to think or 
scarcely to answer his questions, but took 
out his pocket-book and handed him a paper 
supposing it to be the note which he had 
drawn up, and signed by himself, all ready 
for father’s signature. 
I verily believe 
that if the paper had been what ’Squire
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SABBATH READINGS.
Black thought it to be, father could not 
have refused to sign it; but it so hap­
pened that he had made a mistake and left 
the note at home and had substituted for it 
another paper.
A shade of vexation passed over the 
’Squire’s face when he discovered the mis­
take, but he at once recovered his good hu­
mor and said, “Never mind; I will call 
again this evening,” and hastily mounted 
his horse and rode away.
Father looked troubled, and turning to me 
said, “ I do not like to indorse for any one, 
but ’Squire Black will be insulted if I should 
refuse, and as he is rich I suppose there can 
be no risk about it. 
It is only complying 
with a legal form and I suppose I shall be 
obliged to do it; but I wish he had not 
asked me to do so.”
Before I could reply, the barn door opened 
and Mr. Day came out; he was pale and 
deeply agitated, and when he spoke I should 
not have recognized his voice. 
Calling my 
father by name he said, “ I believe that you 
are in danger, and if you will listen to me I 
will give you a chapter from my own history 
that I had never intended should be known 
to any in this neighborhood,”
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303
Father motioned for me to leave, thinking 
that Mr. Day wished to speak to him alone. 
He noticed it, however, and said, *“ No, let 
him stay, for one cannot learn too soon the 
lesson that my experience teaches. 
I would 
be willing that it should be published to the 
world if thereby some could be saved from 
my bitter experience. 
I overheard, as you 
know, what ’Squire Black said to you. 
Lis­
ten to my story and then decide as to whether 
you will put your name on his note.
“ Fifteen years ago, when I was married, 
I was not the poor man that you now know 
me to be. 
My father gave me as my share of 
his property two thousand dollars, which I 
had increased to three, and my wife received 
as her wedding portion one thousand dollars. 
We were both strong and willing to work, 
and ambitious to succeed in the world, and 
we bought a good farm, running in debt a 
few hundred dollars. 
For several years we 
were greatly prospered. 
We had good health, 
and the seasons were favorable, so that we 
grew heavy crops and obtained fair prices for 
them.
“ At the end of five years we had paid off 
our debt and had nearly one thousand dollars
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SABBATH READINGS.
in bank, and we felt that it would be safe to 
build a new house, although we expected to 
put more than the amount of money on hand 
into it.
“ In the meantime there had come into the 
neighborhood one of the most companionable 
men I ever met. 
He was familiarly known 
as Capt. Cole. 
He had been a lawyer, but 
had been appointed by the General Govern­
ment to a lucrative office which he held for 
some years, and had the reputation of being 
very wealthy. 
He lived in good style, and 
was a general favorite in all the community.
“When my house was finished I found my­
self in debt seven hundred dollars, and as I 
had given the contract to a carpenter, he to 
furnish everything, he needed all his money. 
I went to the bank to borrow the amount 
until I could find some one who would let 
me have it for one or two years, and not be­
ing accustomed to borrow money it did not 
occur to me that an indorser would be neces­
sary, until the cashier of the bank informed 
me that it was their invariable custom to re­
quire security, 
Capt. Cole, who happened to 
be in at the time, overheard the conversation 
and came forward with a pleasant ‘ good
NEVER INDORSE.
305
morning,’ saying, ‘ I shall be only too happy 
to indorse for my friend, Mr. Day.’ I felt 
both grateful and flattered, and when a few 
months later I happened to be in the bank 
when he wanted an indorser, I was glad to 
return the favor.
“We had two years of prosperity, and I 
paid the debt on my house. 
I now deter­
mined to build a fine barn, and as I had al­
ways paid my debts easily and could not well 
get along with my old barn until I had 
saved the money to build the new one, I 
determined to borrow one thousand dollars, 
and happening to meet Capt. Cole I asked 
him if he knew where I could get that 
amount for three years. 
He told me he did, 
and offered to become my security. 
The 
money was borrowed and my barn begun.
“ A few weeks later Capt. Cole called to 
see me. 
Like ’Squire Black to-day, he 
seemed delighted with everything he saw. 
His flattery put me in the best possible hu­
mor, and when he asked me to indorse a 
note of $5,000 for sixty days, and assured 
me that he could meet it (or even twice as 
much) promptly, to the day, I consented 
against my better judgment, and affixed my
Sab. Read. Vol. III. 2o.
306
SABBATH READINGS.
signature to the note. 
That act ruined me. 
Before the sixty days expired I learned that 
he was bankrupt. 
My farm was sold at a 
sacrifice, under the hammer, and when I 
paid the thousand dollars which I had bor­
rowed to build the barn with, I was left pen­
niless.
“ With my history in your possession, do 
you wonder that I was alarmed to-day when 
I saw you about to fall into the same trap 1 
I tell you I have a right to feel deeply on 
this subject. 
Would that I could make my 
voice be heard by every young man in the 
land. 
I would say to him, shun as you would 
a serpent this evil which has brought ruin to 
so many families. 
I realize fully what it 
means to put my name on another man’s 
paper, and it is just this—that I assume all 
the risks of his business, without any voice 
in its management or any possible chance of 
profit if he is successful; but with a fearful 
certainty that if from any cause he makes a 
failure, my earnings must make it good, even 
though it reduces my family to beggary. 
Since my own misfortune I have made this 
a matter of study, and I find that a very 
large per cent, of the business failures, of the
NEVER INDORSE.
307
country (and nearly all among farmers) are 
due to this practice.”
The remainder of my story is soon told. 
My father was deeply impressed by Mr. Day’s 
story, and before night I was dispatched to 
’Squire Black’s with a note from Father 
stating that after carefully considering the 
matter he had decided not to sign the note. 
In less than a year after this ’Squire Black 
was declared a bankrupt, and in the final 
settlement of his business it did not pay ten 
cents on the dollar.
Father felt that he owed a debt of grati­
tude to Mr. Day, and he presented him with 
a good team and helped him to rent a farm. 
This encouraged him, and he worked so in 
dustriously and managed so prudently that 
in a few years he was able to buy a small 
farm and has since been able to support his 
family comfortably.
Many years have passed since these events 
transpired, and I am now passed middle life, 
but I have never ceased to be thankful for 
the lesson taught me by Mr. Day, and in ful­
filling his wish I would repeat the lesson 
which the story teaches—never indorse.
PUT TO THE TEST.
HE bright June sunshine streamed 
cheerily into the long visitors’ room of 
a country lunatic asylum. 
Around the high 
and open windows the heavily-foliaged trees 
swayed in the breeze, and the birds cbit- 
tered and sang.
But sunshine, birds, and trees were little 
noticed by the occupants of that long room; 
they were too engaged to notice any signs of 
gladness without. 
Around the large apart­
ment various small groups were formed, 
each group having for its center of interest a 
poor lunatic. 
It was curious to look around 
and note the different phases of madness in 
these poor creatures. 
One was weeping as 
passionately and continuously as if the sor­
row of many lives had been heaped upon her, 
and she were trying to dissolve the load in 
tears; another chattered like a magpie, with 
the absorbed air of a philosopher, though 
her utterances were as foolish a jumble as
PUT TO THE TEST.
309
was ever strung together ; another sat mood­
ily staring at the anxious friends who had 
come to see her, scarcely deigning to speak 
a word to them; another laughed and uttered 
drolleries which brought unwilling smiles to 
the faces of her friends; but of all the groups 
none was more interesting than one com­
posed of a sprightly little dark-eyed woman 
in gown and cap which marked her as an 
inmate of the place; a young widow with a 
toddling baby-boy, and a young lady and 
gentleman by her side.
The old woman caught up the baby and 
half smothered it with kisses. 
“ He won’t 
be like you, mind, Jenny; he’s got his father’s 
bonnie blue eyes—bless him ! ” And with 
tearful eyes she bent over the child again 
and gave him another dose of kisses. 
It 
was quite too much for the little fellow; he 
stoutly resisted it, struggled to his feet, and 
got behind grandma’s chair. 
“ Well, Ruth, 
so you brought Philip Davis to see me,” con­
tinued the old woman. 
“ I’m glad to see 
you, Philip, and hope you are sticking to 
work and getting on. 
To tell you the plain 
truth, lad, though I’m glad to see you, 
I’m not quite comfortable at seeing you and
310
SABBATH READINGS.
Ruth together. 
I shall ask you all about it 
when I go home, and give you both a talk­
ing to. 
I am not going to let another get into 
what I did without speaking some warning 
and advice.”
“ Hush, mother,” said the young widow, 
seeing the tears filling the old woman’s eyes; 
“the governor’ll be here directly, and we 
mustn’t let him see you crying, or he’ll 
think it’s because you are so loth to leave 
this place.”
“ Ha ! 
ha ! ” laughed Ruth, quietly; 
“ would n’t he guess the truth, mother ? ”
“ Not a bit of it,” said the mother, laugh­
ing through her tears. 
“ How is the old 
man, Ruth1?”
“Better, lately, I think, mother. 
But 
mind, you are not going back to him ; your’re 
going to visit Philip’s mother for a few weeks. 
He came to-day on purpose to invite you; 
and why do n’t you speak up, Phil ? ” added 
the vivacious damsel, turning to the young 
man.
A smile broke over his handsome brown 
face as he replied. 
“ It is n’t fair to reprove 
a fellow for not speaking, when you’ve taken 
the words out of his mouth.
Presently the governor entered.
PUT TO THE TEST.
311
“Who wants me? 
Is it you, Rhoda 
Sperry ? ”
“ Yes, sir,” said the old lady, rising, and 
giving him a smile and a courtesy. 
“ It’s to 
speak about my going home, sir.”
“ Why you do n’t mean to say you’re well 
enough ? ” he said gayly, laying his hand on 
her shoulder.
“Yes, sir, Ido,” answered Rhoda; “and 
they all do.”
He turned to the visitors.
“ Yes, we should like her to come home, 
please, sir,” said Ruth, her face beaming with 
smiles. 
“We all think she’s quite well 
enough.”
“ Yery well,” said the pleasant governor; 
“then I’ll make arrangements for her to 
leave next week; and she can be out next 
Sunday to spend the day with you, if you 
like.”
The old woman smiled delightedly, and 
blessed the kind man with her eyes. 
After 
a few more cheery words, he left them to 
continue their chat, and for some time they 
carried it on heartily. 
It was a beautiful 
picture in a dreary setting—yes, dreary, in 
spite of the sunshine within, and the music
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SABBATH READINGS.
without, for in reality it was a tomb for the 
living, a place wherein men and women suf­
fered from the worst malady that afflict hu­
man nature.
The leave-taking now had to take place 
between the visitors and the visited. 
Never 
before had old Rhoda Sperry said good-by 
so cheerily; never before had she returned 
to the monotony of her life in the asylum 
with smiles on her wrinkled face. 
But now 
she left the long room almost trippingly, 
with the gladness of a prisoner having re­
ceived a promise of liberty.
On the following Sunday an equally glad­
some picture to the one referred to above 
might have been seen in a little thatched 
cottage some five or six miles from the asy­
lum. 
In the “ best room ” sat Rhoda 
Sperry like a queen in the old arm-chair, 
surrounded by the same young folks whom 
we have already seen, and Philip Davis’ 
mother.
A beautiful quietness prevailed, broken 
only by the humming of bees and the twit­
tering of birds around the open door. 
The 
fragrance of a thousand flowers was wafted 
in by the soft breezes.
PUT TO THE TEST.
313
The group within seemed to be enjoying 
it too much to talk. 
Moreover, they seemed 
to be waiting for somebody to complete their 
satisfaction for each other’s society. 
Pres­
ently Ruth rose from her low seat, and, with 
a shade of anxiety on her ruddy face, went 
and stood at the door. 
Her mother glanced 
up at her and said, “ What keeps Philip'( 
Where is he gone 1 ”
“It isn’t late for him,” answered his 
mother; “he always runs down to ‘The 
Grapes ’ after dinner on Sunday to see some 
of his friends.”
“ Does he 1 ” said old Rhoda, in a peculiar 
voice. 
“ And what about other daysl ”
“ He goes in evenings,” replied his mother.
Rhoda Sperry became strangely agitated. 
Leaning forward, she said to her daughter, 
“Ruth ! Ruth!”
The girl half turned, revealing a crimsoned 
cheek. 
“ Yes, mother,” she answered qui­
etly.
“ Does he ever get drunk 1 ” almost gasped 
the little old mother.
“ Yery seldom,” answered Ruth, with her 
head cast down.
“ 0, Ruth, what have I told you many
and many a time 1 How I’ve warned you ! 
But you shall not get into what I’ve suffered! 
You must n’t have him, do you hear?—you 
must n’t! ”
Ruth did not speak, but as she turned 
away she saw nothing of the beauty without 
for tears.
“Hush! mother,” said the young widow, in 
a soothing voice; “ you must n’t worry your­
self, or we shall not enjoy each other’s com­
pany to-day.”
Rhoda leaned back in her chair, and wept 
quietly. 
Ruth went outside and sat on a 
bench under the window. 
In a few minutes 
her lover entered the garden with a jaunty 
step.
“ What’s up now, Ruth ? ” he asked, gavly. 
“ What on earth have you got to cry about 
at such a time as this ? and your mother, too, 
I declare ! 
Why, what is the matter ! ”
“It’s about your going to ‘The Grapes’ 
so often,” said his mother. 
“ I’ve told you 
myself many a time, Phil, that no good can 
come of it, and that for Ruth’s sake you 
oughtn’t to go. 
It’s Sundays and week­
days just the same.”
“ Well what harm is there in it ? ” he
314 
SABBATH READINGS.
asked, looking around at the disturbed faces 
with some amazement. 
His own was flushed 
with something more that the heat of the 
sun; and he was just in a mood to be either 
yielding or defiant.
“ I’ll tell you what,” said Ruth’s mother, 
looking up through great tears ; “ tell Ruth 
to come in, and let us all sit together here, 
while I answer your question.”
Philip and Ruth came and sat beside her 
mother. 
Had it not been for that noisy 
moving just then, they would have heard a 
step on the flag-stones outside the window. 
As it was, the visitor outside took his seat 
close under the open window, where he 
could not be seen from within, and yet 
could hear every word that was spoken. 
Old Rhoda’s voice trembled much as she 
began, but steadied as she went on.
“ Thirty years ago, ay, more than that, 
thirty-five years ago,” she said, “ two young 
folks were walking and whispering about 
these lanes, just as you two, Philip, do now 
—that was my Ned and me; and we were 
looking forward to many years of happiness, 
though we were not going the right way to 
get them. 
I was a proud, willful bit of a
PUT TO THE TEST. 
315
316
SABBATH READINGS.
girl, more than twenty though—old enough 
to know better; and I would n’t listen to 
anything that mother or any body else said 
to me. 
I was blind and foolish, but mother 
could see clear enough what was to come; 
and though I didn’t believe her warnings, 
it did come, and a thousand times I’ve had 
to rue the day that I despised her anxious 
words; ah, bitterly rue it, too ! 
Ned was 
almost such another as you, Philip—some­
times you remind me very much of him. 
He was a smart young fellow, spirited and 
gay, and he seemed to me kind-hearted, but 
really he was n’t so kind-hearted as he seemed. 
If he had been, there would have been some 
pleasant breaks, now and then, in the long, 
years of ill usage; but no, from the time 
when he gave himself quite up to drinking, 
there was nothing kind in him at all. 
He 
was like one possessed of a devil. 
But you 
know he wasn’t like that from the first. 
No, no; he carried on just as you do now, 
Phil, going out at night and getting tipsy 
once in a while. 
Mother and all my friends 
entreated me to give him up; they said if he 
would n’t pay any heed to my words before 
marriage, he would be sure not to after.
PUT TO THE TEST.
317
But I did n’t believe it. 
I thought when I 
was always with him, he would settle down 
into a good husband. 
Many a girl keeping 
company with a young fellow of loose habits 
thinks just so ; but it is n’t often that things 
turn out as she expects. 
I pretty soon had 
to wake up to the truth of what I had done, 
and what a waking up it was! 
God pity 
any poor young thing that’s got to go through 
the same trial! 
At first my proud spirit 
kept me up, and helped me to hold out 
against Ned; but that soon gave way, and I 
seemed to sink down like one crushed and 
heart broken. 
To feel that every hope of 
home comfort and husband’s love is gone, 
and that one is tied for life to a man who is 
a curse instead of a blessing, is more than 
the most spirited woman could bear long. 
When my first baby was born—your hus­
band that was, Jennie—I vowed before God 
that he should never touch that which had 
made a wreck of all my hopes, and I trained 
him up and you, too, you know, Ruth, to 
hate it, and keep from it forever. 
When he 
was old enough to think for himself, Arthur 
used to say he thought it wise of me to train 
him up to do so, and was glad that I had
318
SABBATH HEADINGS.
kept him from such dangerous temptation. 
To the day of his death he kept the promise 
he made me years ago, as faithful as could 
be, didn’t he, Jennie? and he was the bet­
ter for it, and might have lived a healthy 
man for years, if he had n’t met with that 
accident that was the death of him.”
The young widow leaned her head on her 
mother-in-law’s lap and wept quietly. 
The 
old woman caressed it tenderly, as she pro­
ceeded :—
“ And Ruth I talked to and warned, and 
she promised to mind me; but since I’ve 
been away she seems to have forgotten her 
promise ; and I suppose my last years are to 
be filled with sorrow by seeing her walk in­
to the pit of misery that I walked into.” 
She paused a moment, and then continued : 
“ But no, you must not do it, Ruth! 
I 
would rather see you now lying dead at my 
feet than that you should have the life I 
have had! 
What it was none but God 
knows. 
You need not think I went mad for 
nothing. 
All the wonder is to me how I 
kept my senses so long during those years of 
misery, and fear, and despair. 
Girls think 
it a very little thing that their sweethearts
PUT TO THE TEST.
319
drink and get tipsy now and then ; but they 
little know what may come of it. 
When the 
drink once gets anything like the mastery, it 
quenches everything—hope, happiness, love, 
life—everything. 
To think what my Ned 
would have been if it had not been for that! 
What a good kind husband and father! 
And what a happy, peaceable life I should 
have had ! 
But everything has been ruined 
altogether ; and now we must be separated to 
the end.”
“You do n’t know, mother,” said Jennie, 
looking up. 
“ Father has seemed broken 
down and better lately. 
Who knows but 
he might give up the drink altogether, and 
become good and kind in his old days, like 
my Arthur was ? I was talking to him last 
week, and I am sure he was a bit repentant. 
He asked how we had found you at the asy­
lum, and spoke of what a curse he had been 
to you.”
“Ah, Jennie! it’s no use talking, dear. 
I shall never let myself hope any more. 
I’ve 
hoped and hoped, and been disappointed so 
many times, that I shall never do it again. 
But I want to save Ruth from all that. 
So, 
Philip, if you really love her, as you profess
320
SABBATH READINGS.
to do, give her proof of it now, before me, 
her mother, who has suffered so dreadfully.”
“ What do you want me to do ? ” asked 
Philip.
“ I want you to promise her now, on the 
word of a truthful and honest man, that 
you’ll never again touch that useless and 
dangerous drink, that is sure to change you, 
from a kind man to a savage unfeeling brute.
I know Ruth does n’t believe that; but did 
I believe it about my Ned 1 ”
“ But suppose 1 should n’t keep my prom­
ise 1 ” said Philip.
“ Of course you’d keep it, Philip,” answered 
old Rhoda. 
“ Your manliness and your love 
for Ruth would make you keep it; but more 
than that, you can have God’s strength to 
help you; if you get that, there is no fear of 
breaking down.”
Turning to Ruth, the mother added: 
“ Ruth, I wonder you have never put Philip’s 
love to the test before this. 
I should think 
after all you have seen, you would have done 
this, and not been so quiet about it.”
“ She has n’t been quiet, Mrs. Sperry,” 
said Philip. 
“ She has spoken to me many 
times about it; but I have always laughed
PUT TO THE TEST.
321
it off; I did not think she was in real ear­
nest ; but now, tell me Ruth, do you really 
mean that it would make you happier and 
better satisfied with me, if I gave up drink­
ing altogether, and became like your brother 
Arthur 1 Because if it would, I will do it. 
I hope I have too much love for you to let 
anything selfish trouble you, and destroy 
your happiness. 
Drinking is just one of my 
selfish habits; it gratifies me, but if it dis­
tresses you, I can give it up. 
So put me to 
the test, Ruth.”
Ruth looked up into his honest face and 
said, “ Will you promise, then, Philip, for 
your own sake, and mine and mother’s, to 
give it up altogether from this day!”
“ I will, indeed, Ruth,” he answered firmly, 
taking both her hands.
“ Phil,” she said tearfully, “ if it was any­
thing that lowered you in God’s sight or 
man’s, I would not wish you to do it, if it 
would gratify me ever so much. 
But it will 
not lower you; it will make you a better 
and truer man, and will bless you in body 
and soul, I know it will.”
“ Yes, I know that too, Ruth. 
I’ve many 
times been the worse for drink as regards
Sab. Read. Vol. III. 21.
322
SABBATH READINGS.
my mind and body, my work, and every­
thing. 
I know you would not wish me to 
do anything to my injury in any way; and 
if I know it, I will not do anything to yours.”
At this moment, a tall, wasted, gray, old 
man appeared in the door-way, and gazed 
fixedly at the group before him. 
Old Rhoda 
started and turned pale, and Ruth rose in a 
tremor from her seat.
Ah, how frightened you all seem of me V’ 
said the man in slow, sad tones. 
“ No won­
der, no wonder; for I’ve been a monster, 
have n’t 11 But, Rhoda, I hear you have n’t 
forgotten the early days, and the love I once 
had for you. 
Well, it isn’t all dead yet; it 
never has been, though it’s been smothered 
for years and years. 
There’s some in my 
wicked old heart yet; and will you put it to 
the test, mother 1 
Put it to the test, as you 
told Ruth to do to Philip just now. 
I’ve 
heard all you said; I’ve been sitting under 
the window.”
Rhoda leaned back, a faint feeling came 
over her, and she closed her eyes. 
The old 
man went and stooped down beside her. 
“ Rhoda, Rhoda,” he said, “ I won’t ask you 
to come back and live with me now, not till
PUT TO THE TEST.
323
I have shown you that I have repented sin­
cerely ; but now, if you’ve got ever such a 
bit of faith in me, put it to the test, and see 
if I don’t prove that I’m sorry with all my 
soul that I’ve been such a brute to you all 
these years.”
“ How shall I put you to the test, Ned 1 ” 
asked his wife tremblingly.
“ As Ruth did Philip,” he replied.
“ And do you mean to say, Ned, that you 
will give up the drink altogether and for­
ever 1 ”
“ I do, Rhoda, in God’s strength.”
Tears and blessings, gladness and thank­
fulness and love prevailed in the little room, 
making it a paradise of joy. 
Ah, how much 
happiness one such high and holy determ­
ination as this car give to human hearts ! 
And what rejoicing in the sunshine after 
long and heavy storms.
PUT YOURSELF IN MY PLACE.
S
C ANN OT wait any longer. I must have 
my money, and if you cannot pay it I 
must foreclose the mortgage and sell the 
place,” said Mr. Merton.
“ In that case,” said Mr. Bishop, “ it will 
of course be sold at a great sacrifice, and af­
ter the struggles I have made, my family 
will again be homeless. 
It is hard. 
I only 
wish you had to earn your money as I do 
mine; you might then know something of 
the hard life of a poor man. 
If you could 
only in imagination, put yourself in my 
place, I think you would have a little mercy 
on me.”
“ It is useless talking; I extended this 
one year, and I can do so no longer,” replied 
Mr. Merton, as he turned to his desk and 
continued writing.
The poor man rose from his seat, and 
walked sadly out of Mr. Merton’s office. 
His last hope was gone. 
He had just re­
covered from a long illness which had swal­
lowed up the means with which he had in­
tended to make the last payment on his house. 
True, Mr. Merton had waited one year when 
he failed to meet the demand owing to ill­
ness in his family, and he had felt very much 
obliged to him for so doing. 
This year he 
had been laid up for seven months, during 
which time he could earn nothing, and all his 
savings were then needed for the support of 
his family. 
Again he failed, and now he 
would again be homeless, and have to begin 
the world anew. 
Had Heaven forsaken him, 
and given him over to the tender mercies of 
the wicked 1
After he had left the office, Mr. Merton 
could not drive away from his thoughts the 
remark to which the poor man gave utter­
ance, “I wish you had to earn your money 
as I do mine.”
In the midst of a row of figures, “Put 
yourself in my place” intruded.
Once after it had crossed his mind he laid 
down his pen, saying, “Well, I think I 
should find it rather hard. 
I have a mind 
to drop in there this afternoon and see how 
it fares with his family; that man has 
aroused my curiosity.”
PUT YOURSELF IN MY PLACE. 
325
326
SABBATH READINGS.
About five o’clock he put on a gray wig 
and some old cast-off clothes, and walked to 
the door. 
Mrs. Bishop, a pale, weary-look- 
ing woman opened it. 
The poor old man 
requested permission to enter and rest awhile, 
saying he was very tired with his long 
journey, for he had walked many miles that 
day.
Mrs. Bishop cordially invited him in, and 
gave him the best seat the room afforded; 
she then began to make preparations for tea.
The old gentleman watched her atten­
tively. 
He saw there was no elasticity in 
her steps, no hope in her movements, and 
pity for her began to steal into his heart. 
When her husband entered, her features re­
laxed into a smile, and she forced a cheer­
fulness into her manner. 
The traveler 
noted it all, and he was forced to admire this 
woman who could assume a cheerfulness she 
did not feel, for her husband’s sake. 
After 
the table was prepared, there was nothing on 
it but bread and butter and tea, they invited 
the stranger to eat with them, saying, “We 
have not much to offer you, but a cup of tea 
will refresh you after your long journey.”
He accepted their hospitality, and, as they
PUT YOURSELF IN MY PLACE.
discussed the frugal meal, led them without 
seeming to do so, to talk of their affairs.
“ I bought this piece of land,” said Mr. 
Bishop, “ at a low price, and instead of wait­
ing, as I ought to have done, until I saved 
the money to build, I thought I would borrow 
a few hundred dollars. 
The interest on the 
money would not be near as much as the 
rent I was paying, and I would save some­
thing by it. 
I did not think there would be 
any difficulty in paying back the money; 
but the first year my wife and one of the 
children were ill, and the expense left me 
without means to pay the debt. 
Mr. Mer­
ton agreed to wait another year if I would 
pay the interest, which I did. 
This year I 
was for seven months unable to work at my 
trade and earn anything, and, of course, 
when pay day comes around—and that will 
be very soon—I shall be unable to meet the 
demand.”
“But,” said the stranger, “will not Mr. 
Merton wait another year, if you make all 
the circumstances known to him?”
“No, sir,” replied Mr. Bishop; “I saw 
him this morning, and he said he must have 
the money and should be obliged to fore­
close.”
328
SABBATH READINGS.
“He must be very hard hearted,” remarked 
the traveler.
“Not necessarily so,” replied Mr. Bishop. 
“ The fact is, these rich men know nothing of 
the struggles of the poor. 
They are men, 
just like the rest of mankind, and I am sure 
if they had but the faintest idea of what the 
poor have to pass through, their hearts and 
purses would open. 
You know it has passed 
into a proverb, ‘ When a poor man needs help 
he should apply to the poor.’ The reason is ob­
vious. Only the poor know the curse of pover­
ty. 
They know how heavily it falls, crushing 
the heart of man, and (to use my favorite ex­
pression ) they can at once put themselves in 
the unfortunate one’s place and appreciate 
difficulties, and are therefore ready to render 
assistance as far as they are able. 
If Mr. 
Merton had the least idea what I and my 
family had to pass through, I think he would 
be willing to wait several years for his 
money rather than distress us.”
With'what emotion the stranger listened 
may be imagined. 
A new world was being 
opened to him. 
He was passing through an 
experience that had never been his before. 
Shortly after the conclusion of the meal he
PUT YOURSELF IN MY PLACE. 
329
arose to take his leave, thanking Mr. and 
Mrs. Bishop for their kind hospitality. 
They 
invited him to stay all night, telling him he 
was welcome to what they had.
He thanked them and said, “ I will tres­
pass on your kindness no longer. 
I think I 
can reach the next village before dark, and 
be so much further on my journey.”
Mr. Merton did not sleep much that night; 
he lay awake thinking. 
He had received a 
new revelation. 
The poor had always been 
associated in his mind with stupidity and 
ignorance, and the first poor family he had 
visited he had found far in advance, in in­
telligent sympathy and real politeness, of the 
exquisite and fashionable butterflies of the 
day.
The next day a boy called at the cottage, 
and left a package in a large blue envelope, 
addressed to Mr. Bishop.
Mrs. Bishop was very much alarmed when 
she took it, for large blue envelopes were as­
sociated in her mind with law and lawyers, 
and she thought that it boded no good. 
She 
put it away until her husband came home 
from his work, when she handed it to him.
He opened it in silence, read its contents, 
and said, fervently, “ Thank Heaven ! ”
330
SABBATH 
READINGS.
“What is it, John ?” inquired his anxious 
wiie.
“Good news, wife,” replied John; “such 
news as I never hoped for or even dreamed 
of.”
“ What is it 1 
What is it 1 
Tell me 
quickly! I want to hear, if it’s anything 
good.”
“ Mr. Merton has canceled the mortgage; 
released me from the debt, both interest and 
principal; and says any time I need further 
assistance, if I will let him know, I shall 
have it.”
“I am so glad ! It puts new life into me,” 
said the now happy wife. 
“ But what can 
have come over Mr. Merton 1 ”
“ I do not know. It seems strange after the 
way he talked to me yesterday morning. 
I 
will go right over to Mr. Merton’s, and tell 
him how happy he has made us.”
He found Mr. Merton in, and expressed 
his gratitude in glowing terms.
“ What could have induced you,” he 
asked, “to show us so much kindness1?”
“ I followed your suggestion,” replied Mr. 
Merton, “ and put myself in your place. 
I 
expect that it will surprise you very much to
learn that the strange traveler to whom you 
showed so much kindness yesterday was my­
self.”
“ Indeed ! ” exclaimed Mr. Bishop, “ can 
that be true ? 
How did you disguise your­
self so well 1 ”
“ I was not so much disguised, after all; 
but you could not very readily associate Mr. 
Merton, the lawyer, with a poor wayfaring 
man.”
“ Well, it is a good joke,” said Mr. Bishop; 
“ good in more senses than one. 
It has ter­
minated very pleasantly for me.”
“I vas surprised,” said Mr. Merton, “at 
the broad and liberal views you expressed of 
men and their actions generally. 
I supposed 
I had greatly the advantage over you in 
means and education; yet how cramped 
and narrow minded have been my views 
beside yours ! 
That wife of yours is an esti­
mable woman, and that boy of yours will be 
an honor to any man. 
I tell you, Bishop,” 
said the lawyer, becoming animated, “you 
are rich—rich beyond what money could 
make; you have treasures that gold will 
not buy. 
I tell you, you owe me no thanks. 
Somehow I seem to have lived years since
PUT YOURSELF IN MY PLACE. 
331
332
SABBATH READINGS.
yesterday morning. 
What I have learned 
at your house is worth more than you owe 
me, and I am your debtor yet. 
Hereafter I 
shall take as my motto, ‘ Put yourself in his 
place,’ and try to regulate my actions by 
it.”
We cannot measure the need 
Of even the tiniest flower,
Nor check the flow of the golden sands 
That run through a single hour.
But the morning dews must fall,
And the sun and summer rain 
Must do their part and perform it all,
Over and over again.
The path that has once been trod 
Is never so rough to the feet;
And the lesson we once have learned 
Is never so hard to repeat.
Though sorrowful tears may fall,
And the heart to its depths be driven 
With storm and tempest; we need them all 
To render us meet for heaven.
NOT MYSELF.
S
F not myself, then, who was 11
Just so. 
Who was II That’s the ques­
tion. 
Perhaps, friendly reader, if I take 
you into my confidence, you will help me to 
see the matter in a clearer light, for I am 
just now in much obscurity.
“I was not myself” at the time. 
My 
friends said so, and I said so. 
It was my 
—and their—only apology and excuse.
“Mr. Jones is prudent and clear-headed 
and never would have done it if he had been 
himself.” 
Every one assented to this, and 
I accepted the declaration as true.
But how came it that I was not myself 1 
Had I been to a “circle” or “seance 1” 
No; for I have no fancy for the sound of 
footfalls on the boundaries of another world. 
My business for the present is with em­
bodied, and not with a vagrant crew of dis­
embodied spirits. 
Was I suffering from 
temporary insanity! No one, so far as I 
know, ever hinted such a thing.
334
SABBATH READINGS.
Let me tell you the whole story. 
I think 
it will interest you.
I am, or was, a merchant. 
For many 
years my business, under prudent manage­
ment, had grown steadily, until the house 
over which I presided was known as one of 
the most prominent in the city. 
There are 
two pivots in every mercantile business on 
which success or failure rests—buying and 
selling. 
If the buyer of an establishment 
thoroughly understands his role, and the 
salesmen theirs, success, in ordinary circum­
stances, is almost sure; but if either be seri­
ously at fault, ruin is quite as certain.
I was, and always had been the buyer in 
our house. 
To this part of the business I 
gave careful and systematic attention, keep­
ing myself posted in regard to stocks of lead­
ing goods in market, and the prospect of 
advancing or receding rates. 
Today I 
would buy freely, when others hesitated, 
because I was better informed, or had, from 
long observation and experience, a kind of 
intuition as to the future prices; but to­
morrow found me cautious on a different 
line of goods, and I touched them lightly 
while others bought heavily. 
The result
NOT MYSELF.
335
nearly always proved my skill or prescience.
There was no guess-work in all this. 
I 
was educated to it; and when I went to 
auction, or examined the importer’s samples, 
I knew to a fraction what the article offered 
for sale was worth in the market—whether 
stocks in first hands were large or small, 
and how much it would be prudent to buy.
During a period of ten years, in which 
scarcely a day passed that I did not go to 
auction or visit the sample-room or store of 
some manufacturer, commission merchant 
or importer, no serious mistake in buying 
was made. 
In consequence, we were never 
caught with a large stock of anything on a 
falling market, but often got single advan­
tages when prices went up.
But something came over me about three 
years ago, and every now and then I would 
make a slight mistake that annoyed me ex­
ceedingly, for I had grown proud of my 
skill and reputation as a buyer.
The first time this occurred, the mistake 
was so palpable that I made no attempt to 
excuse it. 
The case of goods I bought fell 
six cents a yard on the very next day. 
Every clerk in the store knew there would
336
SABBATH READINGS.
be a fall, and so did I. 
And yet, when the 
case was put up, I bid it off in my usual 
confident tone—the error flashing on me 
when it was too late for repair.
“I don’t understand this,” I said to my­
self, 
greatly annoyed 
by the 
incident. 
“ What could have possessed me ? 
The 
blunder has no excuse.”
And yet, strange to say, within a month 
I committed a worse blunder. 
Now, if I 
had fallen into habits of intemperance, the 
thing would have been plain. 
But this was 
not the case. 
I am temperate in all things, 
in eating as in drinking. 
I don’t mean that 
I am what is called a teetotaler for I con­
sider myself a rational being, and so put 
myself under the government of reason, and 
not in bonds. 
I take a glass of wine, or ale, 
or brandy whenever I think I need it, and 
expect to continue doing so until I find that 
it does me harm, which is not yet. 
I can 
stop whenever I please.
Well, as I was saying, within a month I 
committed a worse blunder; stocking our 
shelves with a line of goods that fell twenty 
per cent, I was annoyed, bewildered, con­
founded.
NOT MYSELF.
337
“ What has come over me? Am I losing 
my senses?” So I talked to myself. 
“There 
is n’t a buyer of six months’ experience that 
wouldn’t have known better.”
I put as good a face on the matter as pos­
sible, and resolved never to be “ caught nap­
ping again.” 
Naturally, I was sensitive 
about the mistakes committed, and the re­
motest allusion to them annoyed me.
One of my partners, whose faith in my 
judgment, these lapses had disturbed, ven­
tured now and then a word of caution, espec­
ially when I was about going to some large 
sale. 
I was never able to repress my irrita­
tion at this ; and we had sharp words now 
and then, in consequence.
A great sale of goods, in our line, had 
been advertised in New York; the invoices 
covering, in the aggregate, nearly a quarter 
of a million dollars.
“ Buy cautiously,” said the partner whose 
faith in my judgment had been impaired.
“Hadn’t you better go yourself?” I an­
swered testily.
He looked at me with troubled eyes but 
made no response.
I went over to New York in the evening
Sab. Read. Vol. III. 22.
338
SABBATH READINGS.
train, in company with several merchants on 
the same errand with myself. 
They talked 
up the matter of stocks of goods, the effect 
this heavy sale would have on prices, and 
the probable future of the market. 
Opin­
ions differed. 
Some held that prices would 
advance, and some that they would recede. 
I listened and said but little, as was my 
habit; but carefully weighed all the pros and 
cons, and considering all the reasons urged 
on both sides.
When I reached New York, my mind was 
made up to buy with great caution. 
It was 
barely possible that one or two leading cap­
italists in the trade might purchase heavily 
on speculation, and hold for an advance; in 
that case, other buyers would make a good 
thing of it. 
But if the large stock went into 
several hands, each taking pretty freely, 
some, more eager to sell than the rest, might 
press the market, and cause a serious decline 
in prices.
I saw this clearly, and resolved to pur­
chase only to the extent of supplying our 
immediate wants. 
But during the evening 
this purpose was disturbed, and a different 
view adopted.
NOT MYSELF.
339
“ Come to my room,” said a well-known 
merchant who had been with me in the cars. 
It was after supper. 
“ Two or three friends 
are to drop in for a talk over a bottle of 
wine about to-morrow’s sale.”
I went with him to his room. 
In a short 
time two merchants from my own city, and 
one resident in New York, joined us. 
Wine 
and cigars were ordered, and we spirit two 
or three hours together, drinking, smoking 
and talking about the sale. 
I have never 
been able to recall the data and reasonings by 
which I passed to the conclusion that my 
role on the next day was to be that of a 
heavy, instead of a light buyer; but when I 
went to bed that night, such was my fixed 
purpose. 1 lay awake for a long time, pleas­
ing my fancy with golden results that were 
sure to come from to-morrow’s business. 
I 
counted the profits of our houses tens of 
thousands of dollars. 
Thought ran riot 
over the gains I would not fail to secure.
In thinking back to this night, I have 
always felt that I was not my real self—that 
in some way, the perception of reasoning of 
another mind was superinduced upon my 
own—that my experience, clear judgment
340
SABBATH READINGS.
and prudence were lost for a period, and that 
my mental powers were operated by some 
volition foreign to my own.
I was not myself. 
That is certain. 
I 
was not fully myself on next morning. 
On 
rising, my head ached in a dull way, and my 
brain was slightly confused. 
It was not 
clear to me that I was to make the fortune 
of our house by bidding off at the coming 
sale to the amount of fifty or a hundred thou­
sand dollars. 
The wet blanket of doubt 
chilled my night’s enthusiasm.
But a glass of brandy and water, followed 
by coffee and breakfast, cleared my head, 
gave life to my pulse, and tension to my 
nerves. 
I met my friend of the evening 
before, and we spent an hour previous to the 
sale in talking up the business of the day, 
and then, after emptying a bottle or two of 
wine, repaired to the auction rooms, which 
we found crowded with merchants from all 
parts of the country.
I was in a state of confidence and exhila­
ration—never had a clearer head, so 
it 
seemed, nor saw my way more distinctly. 
Terms were announced, and the sale began. 
Bidding was cautious at first, and a few lots
NOT MYSELF.
341
were struck down at figures so low that I 
remember feeling disturbed as well as sur­
prised. 
But the impression faded in a mo­
ment. 
On the next lot, I bid at the figure 
last obtained. 
Some one advanced, and I 
went higher promptly. 
The goods were 
mine, no one going above me.
“ Bo you take the whole lot—forty cases 1 ’’ 
asked the auctioneer.
“ The whole,” I answered in a confident 
way that caused many to turn and look at 
me.
The sale went on, growing more spirited 
as it progressed, new bidders ventured in at 
every successive lot. I forgot everything but 
my purpose to buy heavily, and make the 
fortune of our house. 
A single idea pos­
sessed me, and that was the certain great 
advance in the price of the goods now being 
sold. 
I was as sure of this as of my exist­
ence, and felt a kind of contempt for the 
timid buyers, who, with the opportunity of 
a hundred cases, took only five or ten.
At two o’clock, I left the heated auction 
rooms with flushed face and throbbing tem­
ples. 
As the fresh air struck upon me with 
its grateful coolness, I seemed to pass into a
342
SABBATH READINGS, x
new world of thought and perception. 
I 
was myself again—my clear headed self, 
poised amid my own business experience and 
convictions.
What a shiver ran down to my heart as 
the fact that I had just bid over sixty thou­
sand dollars on a single line of goods looked 
me darkly in the face.
“ Impossible ! ” 
I exclaimed, 
standing 
still, and catching my breath, for I seemed, 
for the instant, as if in a vacuum.—“ Impos­
sible ! That would be ruin ! ”
And it was ruin ! 
On the day after the 
sale, the goods that I had bought for a rise, 
fell twenty per cent, and steadily declined 
day after day, until they were fifty per cent 
below the figures I had paid.
Stunned and bewildered by the peril in 
which my blind recklessness had plunged 
our house, we failed to do the only wise 
thing, that was to sell at once, and accept 
the inevitable loss of twelve thousand dollars. 
But none of us had the courage to look that 
disaster fairly in the face.
“ The market will surely rally,” we said. 
But it did not rally. 
We struggled with 
our fate, resorting to all kinds of expedients
not myself.
343
to keep our ship afloat—plunging, buffeting ; 
gasping amid the waves, until in storm and 
darkness the goodly vessel was stranded.
We saved little from the wreck. 
My part­
ners gathered what to them remained, and 
started on a new business venture, leaving 
me out.
Yes, I was left out—out in the cold, where 
I have been shivering ever since.
I was not myself when I bid so blindly. 
That my partners said—that our business 
friends, who pitied us, said—and that I 
said emphatically.
But, if not myself, who was I? You see, 
reader, I am back to where I started. 
Ever 
since the memorable day when I went to 
that auction room, and acted the blind, over­
confident, reckless speculator, instead of the 
cool, experienced, cautious business man that 
I am and was, I have puzzled my brain over 
this question. 
Can evil spirits, who love to 
do us harm, get, through some strange pro­
cess unknown to us, a temporary possession 
of our mental machinery, and drive it to our 
hurt or ruin 1 
I have thought so sometimes. 
What happened to me, I have seen happen 
to others at various times in my life. 
One
344
SABBATH READINGS.
of the shrewdest and most wary buyers I 
ever knew, lost, suddenly, as I did, on a 
single occasion, his clearness of judgment, 
and involved his house in a heavy loss. 
“ I 
do n’t know what came over me,” he said, 
when I asked him about it. 
“ Somehow, I 
was not myself on that day.” He looked 
puzzled and worried when he said this.
A thought comes flashing across the dark­
ness of my mind as I write, and startles me ! 
Can it bring the solution ? 
Let me ponder. 
My brain did not have its normal steadiness 
and coolness on that night at the hotel, 
when we discussed the coming sale. 
Why! 
Was it the fatigue of riding in the cars? 
No ! I was used to that, and not fatigued. 
The supper ? Of course not. 
The wine ?
I have walked the floor, since writing the 
last sentence, in much agitation, and now sit 
down in a calmer state and with a clearer 
brain. 
I am afraid it was the wine ? 
My 
judgment was clear when I went, on the 
night before the sale, to the room of my bus­
iness friend, and clouded when I left it, and 
yet it seemed clear. 
That is strange. 
It 
was an erroneous judgment, 
and false in 
the light of my own true intelligence, and
NOT MYSELF.
345
yet it looked fair to me that night. 
Percep­
tion was inverted. 
How ? 
Why ? I was 
not my own self.
On the next morning, this false judg­
ment was in a wavering state. 
The convic­
tions of the night previous were not so clear.
I had disturbed doubts and troublesome 
questionings. 
I was by no means so confi­
dent that an advance in the market was to 
follow this large sale. 
What dispersed these 
doubts? 
What restored my confidence? 
Was it the nerve quieting brandy before, 
and the exhilarating wine after breakfast ? 
Did they give back that abnormal state of 
the brain, the result of unnatural stimulus, 
through which I became, as it were, another, 
and not myself—acting the part of a blind 
and follish speculator, instead of the wise 
and prudent merchant that in my real self I 
was?
How is it? 
I am startled and shocked 
at such a view of the case. 
Strange, that 
this old saying should just now intrude itself— 
“ When the wine is in, the wit is out! ” 
There is no gainsaying that. 
And I, too, 
am out—out in the cold, and all for what ? 
a glass or two of brandy, and a bottle of 
wine ?
A LIFE LESSON.
LBERT MOORE, at the age of twenty- 
five, took Alice Warren for his wife. 
He had been in the army—had gone in at the 
age of twenty—fought through from Bull’s 
Bluff to Richmond—had come out with a cap­
tain’s commission. 
He had come from the 
army with but little money; but he had a good 
trade, a stout pair of hands, and had bor­
rowed no trouble for the future. 
Alice had 
saved up a few hundred dollars from her 
wages as a teacher, and when the twain had 
become husband and wife they found, upon 
a careful inventory, that they had enough to 
furnish a small house comfortably. 
Albert 
proposed that they should hire a tenement 
in the city; but Alice thought they had 
better secure a pretty cottage in the suburbs 
—a cottage which they might, perhaps, in 
time, make their own.
Albert had no disposition to argue the 
question, so the cottage was found and se­
A LIFE LESSON.
347
cured. 
It was a pleasant, rural location, and 
so connected with the city by rail, that 
Albert found no difficulty in going to and 
from his work-shop.
During her five years’ experience in school- 
teaching Alice had learned many things, and 
having been an orphan from an early age, 
she had made the problems of real life one 
of her chief studies; and what she had 
learned in this latter department served her 
well in her new station. 
After marriage 
she found Albert to be just the man she had 
known him to be in other years. 
He was 
kind to a fault; free-hearted and generous; 
ready always to answer the call of friendship, 
and prone to pluck the flowers that bloom 
to-day, regardless of what might be nurtured 
to bloom to-morrow.
They had been married but a few months 
when Alice found he was cutting his gar­
ments according to his daily supply of cloth. 
Not a shred was he likely to save up from 
the cuttings of an extra garment for a rainy 
day to come.
« Albert,” she said to him one evening, “do 
you know we ought to be laying up a little 
something 1 ”
348
SABBATH READINGS.
Albert looked up from his paper and 
waited for his wife to elucidate.
“ I think I heard you tell Mr. Greenough 
that you had no money—that you had paid 
out your last dollar this very afternoon1?” 
“Exactly, my dear; but you know to­
morrow is pay-day.”
“And you have spent your last month’s 
earnings ? ”
“Yes.”
A brief silence ensued, which Albert 
broke.
“ Come, Alice, you’ve got something on 
your mind. 
Out with it—I’ll listen.”
And then Alice, in a smiling, pleasant 
way, went on to tell her husband that they 
ought to be laying up something.
Albert smiled in turn, and asked how 
such a thing could be done when it cost all 
he earned to live.
“ You earn three dollars and a half a day,” 
said Alice.
“Yes.”
“ George Summers only earns three dol­
lars a day.”
“You are right.”
“ And yet he lives, and does not run in 
debt.”
A LIFE LESSON.
349
« But he is forced to deny himself many 
little comforts which we enjoy.”
“ And the one great comfort which we 
might enjoy we are throwing away.”
“ How is that, Alice 1 ”
“ The comfort of a little sum in the bank, 
which we would see growing toward the 
answering of future wants.”
Albert could not see how it was to be 
done; and Alice feared that a lesson of 
empty words might be wasted. 
She knew 
that his ambition needed a substantial prop. 
Never, of his own accord, would he commence 
to save by littles. 
He did not estimate 
money in that way. 
Had some kind fairy 
dropped into his hand a five-twenty bond 
for five hundred dollars, he would have put 
it away gladly; and with such a nest egg 
in the start, he might have sought to add to 
the store. 
But he could see no hope in a 
dollar bill, and much less could he discover 
the nucleus of a grand saving in a fifty-cent 
script.
With Alice it was different. 
From her 
meager earnings as school teacher she had in 
less than five years, saved up three hundred 
dollars; and the first saving she had put by
350
SABBATH READINGS.
was a silver dime. 
She knew what little by 
little could do, and she was determined to 
show it to her husband. 
She must be pa­
tient and persevering, and these qualities she 
possessed in an eminent degree. 
It was to 
be the grand undertaking of the first years 
of her married life, and to do it she would 
bend every available energy. 
She planned 
that if possible she would get hold of that 
fifty cents every day; or, if she could not do 
that, she would do the best she could.
Generous, frank, loyal, and loving, Albert 
was an easy prey to the wiles of a wife loyal 
and loving as himself. 
He gave her money 
when she asked for it; and she asked for it 
when she thought he had any to give.
_ And here let me say that Alice knew her 
husband would not run in debt. 
That was 
an evil they both arrayed themselves against 
in the outset. 
When Albert’s purse was 
empty he bought nothing; but when it 
was full he was apt to buy more than he 
needed. 
Alice knew all this and governed 
herself accordingly.
“ I think,” said Alice, one evening, “ that 
I must fix over my old brown cashmere for 
winter, I should like a new one but I don’t 
suppose you can afford it.”
A LIFE LESSON.
351
Albert looked grieved. 
The idea that he 
could not afford his wife a new dress !
But for such a one as she wanted it would 
cost twenty-five or thirty dollars.
“ If you want it, get it,” said Albert em­
phatically. 
“I will let you have twenty 
dollars from this month’s pay, and the bal­
ance you shall have next month.
Alice got the thirty dollars, but she did 
not get the new dress. 
By the outlay of 
five dollars for new trimmings she contrived 
to fix over the brown cashmere so that it 
looked every bit as good as new.
And so Alice worked. 
Sometimes she 
asked her husband for ten cents, sometimes 
for fifty cents, sometimes for a dollar, and 
sometimes for more, and at the end of a year, 
upon careful reckoning up, she found that 
she had managed to get hold of rather more 
than fifty cents a day; but she had done it 
by denying herself of many things, some of 
which seemed really needful.
The result of the first year’s effort inspiied 
Alice with new life and vigor. 
She had 
saved up one hundred and fifty dollars, and 
had 
invested it in government funds. 
Through the influence of a dear friend who
352
SABBATH READINGS.
was in a banking establishment, and to 
whom she had confided her secret, she was 
enabled to get the bonds at their face value.
It was only a little at a time—sometimes 
a very little—but even a penny dropped into 
the strong box was so much gained. 
Only 
a little—but those littles multiplied by other 
littles, grew amazingly. 
The husbandman 
who would sit himself down by a hill of 
corn, and wait to see the tender blades put 
forth, would be disheartened ; but he knows 
if he plants the tiny seed, and cultivates it 
as he ought, that the harvest of golden grain 
will come at length.
Albert and Alice were married in the 
spring of 1865. 
It was on an evening of 
August, 1870, that Albert came home. 
He 
had been notified that he must leave the cot­
tage. 
They must give up the pleasant home, 
and lose the little garden they had cultivated 
with so much fondness and care.
“The owner wishes to sell,” he exclaimed; 
“ and he has an offer. 
He asks two thou­
sand dollars, and must have five hundred 
down.”
Alice’s eyes gleamed with radiant delight.
She had been thinking for some time that
A LIFE LESSON.
353
she must let her husband into her secret. 
It 
had begun to wear upon her. 
And now the 
time had come as though by providential 
interposition.
She got up and went away to hei cabinet, 
and when she came back she brought a little 
book in her hand.
“ Albert! ” said she, “ lets you and I buy 
the cottage.”
Albert looked at her in amazement; and 
directly it flashed upon him that there was 
too much solemnity in her look and tone for 
badinage. 
Something that he had noticed 
during the past months came back to him, 
and he trembled with the weight of suspense 
that fell upon him.
Alice then showed her book—that she had 
more than eight hundred dollars in the bank. 
The ice was broken—she told her story in 
glowing words. 
She told how she had saved 
up little by little, and how she had at length 
found herself able to purchase a fifty dollar 
bond. 
And then she told how her uncle in 
the banking house had taken charge of her 
investment; and how, under his manage­
ment, the interest had accrued in amazing 
volume.
Sab. Read. Vol. III. 23.
354
SABBATH READINGS.
But the grand result was not the chief 
thing. 
The chief thing was the beginning— 
was the very little which had been religiously 
saved until the second little could be added 
to it.
And now, as a result of his wife’s careful 
and tireless working, Albert, found something 
upon which his ambition could take a fair 
start. 
He never could himself, from so 
small a commencement, have reared the pile; 
but with the structure started, and its pro­
portions all blocked out, he could help on 
the work. 
He could see how it was done— 
and not only that, but the demonstration 
was before him that the thing could be done.
One year has elapsed since Albert Moore 
received the lesson from his wife, and join­
ing hands with her, and bending his energies 
in the same direction, he has accomplished 
during the twelve months what would have 
seemed to him a marvel in the earlier time. 
He has laid by more than fifty cents a day; 
and the cigars, and the beer, and the other 
condiments of life which he has surrendered 
to the work, are not missed—rather, he holds 
they are so many enemies conquered. 
And 
Albert can improve his home with cheerful
A LIFE LESSON.
355
heart, and he can set out new trees and vines 
in his garden with bright promises, because he 
sees, day by day, the pretty cottage growing 
more and more his own. 
The end ap­
proaches a little at a time—little by little it 
approaches, but surely, nevertheless; and 
there is a great and satisfying joy even in 
the labor and in the anticipation.
STAND LIKE THE ANVIL.
“ Stand like the anvil,” when the stroke 
Of stalwart men falls fierce and fast, 
Storms but more deeply root the oak, 
Whose brawny arms embrace the blast.
“ Stand like the anvil,” when the sparks 
Fly far and wide a fiery shower,
Virtue and truth must still be marks 
Where malice proves its want of power.
“ Stand like the anvil,” when the bar 
Lies red and glowing on its breast; 
Duty shall be life’s leading star,
And conscious innocence its rest.
HASTY WORDS.
OTHER, please look here and see my 
pretty block-house. 
When I’m a man 
■we’ll have one just like it. ”
I glanced at four year old Harry, who had 
constructed a most wonderful edifice in the 
middle of my sitting room.
“I am afraid it would not keep out much 
of the snow,” said I.
“ But it would be so nice in summer,” said 
Harry, laughing merrily, and springing to 
my side, he threw his little arms around my 
neck, saying, “ Oh, mamma ! I love you so!” 
“Harry,” said I, kissing him, “will you 
run and tell Bridget to have warm biscuit 
for tea?” He started quickly, and as he 
started his foot caught in a light stand upon 
which I had placed a rare Parisian vase, with 
a rose bud just unfolding its crimson petals in 
it. 
The stand fell over, and the vase (a gift 
from my dead mother) was shattered.
“ You naughty boy,” I cried angrily , “ you
HASTY WORDS.
357
deserve to be whipped. 
Pick up those pieces 
instantly, and put them in the coal-hod.” 
He stooped, carefully picked up the frag­
ments, cutting his little fingers as he did so 
against the sharp edges. 
He carried them 
away and was gone some time. 
When he re­
turned it was with something clasped tightly 
in his hand.
Coming to me he placed a five cent piece 
in my lap, saying timidly, “ Will that buy 
you a new vase, mamma ? ”
What evil demon possessed me to take the 
coin, his sacredly cherished treasure, (a kind 
neighbor had given him for some little office) 
and throw it from me, I know not.
Harry picked it up with tears running 
down his face, and sat down upon his stool 
with his hands folded so meekly. 
Presently 
he said: “ May I go and play with Eddie 
Potter?”
“ I don’t care where you go,” said I, crossly, 
“ so you keep out of my sight.”
Harry went to the closet where his coat and 
hat hung, put them on, and came and stood by 
my side.
“Mamma, will you please forgive me? 
I’m so sorry ; ” and he put his lips up for a
358
SABBATH READINGS.
kiss. 
I pushed the little fellow away. 
He 
stood by the door a moment, looking pitifully 
at me; it is twenty five years ago to-day 
since he stood there, but I can see him with 
his blue coat and red and gray worsted skat­
ing cap, and the little red mittens, as if it 
were but yesterday. 
But I looked coldly at 
him, the door opened and shut, the little 
feet went slowly down the stairs. 
I heard 
him go out; unfasten the gate. 
Looking 
out of the window, I saw the little fellow 
lift his face with a smile as he saw me, which 
gave place to a pitiful quiver of the lips 
as he saw I took no notice of him. 
I watched 
the darling down the street with a strange 
undefined feeling, till the little coat and red 
mittens were no longer visible. 
Twice a sud­
den impulse moved me to call him back, but 
I crushed it down. 
Oh, would to God I had ! 
Well, I sewed all through the afternoon. 
At four o’clock I put away my work, and 
sat by the window. 
Conscience began to 
reproach me for my conduct. 
“ I do n’t 
care,” said I, “ my beautiful vase is a ruin.” 
“What is the value of all the vases in the 
world compared with your child1? 
Have 
you not spoken crossly to that dear little
HASTY WORDS.
359
Harry, who is always so cheerful and obedi­
ent! 
And this is not the first time either, 
and you calling yourself a Christian mother, 
tool 
Suppose Harry should be taken sud­
denly from you. Wouldn’t your cruel words 
haunt you forever 1 ”
I could bear this no longer. 
I rose, and 
picked up the stray litter about the room to 
give it a more tidy appearance.
Then I went to the window, peering anx­
iously through the gloom, but seeing nothing 
of my boy. 
My heart became terribly 
heavy; this suspense was unbearable. 
Has­
tily throwing a shawl over my head, I ran 
into Mrs. Potters’. “ Have you seen Eddie 1 ” 
was the question before I entered the room. 
« Have you seen Harry 1 ” 
“ He was over
here at half past two ; he and Eddie went 
over to Josie Gray’s. 
I think—”
What she thought I never knew, for at 
that moment Eddie rushed in breathless, 
screaming, “Mother, Mother! Harry Loiing 
is drowned ! 
Wfi were sliding on the mill­
pond and there was a hole in the ice with 
snow on it, and Harry didn’t see it, and
“ Hush, Eddie ! ” said his mother, looking 
at me fearfully. 
“ Here is Mrs. Loring.”
360
SABBATH READINGS.
There was a great silence in the room, bro­
ken only by the blithe, sweet voice of a ca­
nary, and the purr of a Maltese cat. 
Pres­
ently Mrs. Potter came toward me, and 
placed her hand softly upon my shoulder 
saying, “ Ella, my poor child !”
I never moved, but sat with wide open 
eyes upon an awful picture. 
A cold, gray af­
ternoon, a pond, little boys playing upon it, 
one little figure well known to me, suddenly 
disappearing through the treacherous ice, 
down, down, the little hands grasping at cruel 
weeds, the sweet mouth full of water. 
And 
those wicked, sinful words ringing through 
my ears, “ I do n’t care where you go, 
so long as you keep out of my sight.” 
There was a mist before my eyes, a ring­
ing in my ears, I remember leaving the 
house with a blind feeling of going where my 
Harry was. 
Then came a horrible sense of 
the earth giving way under my feet, and I 
knew no more. '
A pleasant feeling of warmth, a languid 
sense prevading my system. 
I opened my 
eyes 
and glanced around the room. 
A 
strange woman by the fire; at the foot of the 
bed, my husband with his hand over his eyes. .
HASTY WORDS.
361
I tried to think where I was, and what had 
happened, but in vain. 
Then my attention 
was arrested by a little figure in a red flan­
nel night dress, cuddled up in a big chair— 
my Harry! Then it all flashed across my 
mind. 
I sat up straight in bed with a faint 
“Why!”
“ What is it 1 ” said I, feebly.
“You must not talk ; lie down. 
Oh, dar­
ling, darling1?” and the strong man wept 
like a child. 
And the little figure came and 
jumped on my bed, and putting his arms 
around my neck, cried, too. 
And I, puzzled 
to know what it all meant, cried also. 
The 
strange figure came forward and took Harry 
away, saying, “ Be careful, Mr. Loring, 
everything now depends upon quiet.”
“Tell me now,” said I. 
“I must know ! 
I had such a horrible feeling. 
Oh, Harold ; 
I dreamed that Harry was drowned ! ”
His face grew white. 
“ He was near 
death ; George Gray got him out of the pond ; 
Gray sent down to the office for me; I went 
after Dr. Hooper, and came right up. 
There 
was but a spark of life left, but we succeeded 
at last.'”
“ How many days ago was it, Harold ? ” I 
said.
“Seven weeks ago yesterday,” said he 
smiling.
“ Seven weeks ! ” said I. 
“ Impossible ! ”
“You have been very sick with brain fe­
ver, Ella. 
You were very near death; for 
days we despaired of ever seeing you con­
scious again. 
You would say, ‘ Harry is 
drowned; and I made him drown himself.’ 
Last night Dr. Hooper said the crisis was at 
hand; if you lived through the night you 
would get well. 
Oh, Ella ! I am so thankful 
you are spared to me ! ”
“I have been so weak and sinful, Harold.’ 
said I, and then told him all, not keeping 
back anything.
He heard me through, stroking my hair in 
a gentle fashion. 
When I finished he said :—
“ It has taught you a lesson, Ella dear.” 
And that was all.
I soon recovered. 
For a long time I could 
not bear Harry out of my sight. 
It seemed 
as if I could not do enough to atone for my 
wicked conduct. 
The thought makes me 
shudder now—if it had been that Harry had 
not come back to me, and that the last 
words he heard from his mother’s lips were 
so unkind. 
I have had three children since
362 
SABBATH READINGS.
HASTY WORDS.
363
then, and not one of them has heard a cross 
or hasty word from me. 
Oftentimes my pa­
tience is sorely tried, but one thought of that 
horrible death to which Harry came so near, 
drives the demon away.
Mothers, bear patiently with these inno­
cent little ones. 
Are there not many whose 
eyes resting on this simple story fill with 
bitter tears at the recollection of the unkind 
words, and even blows, to little children 
laid away forever, who would give all their 
worldly possessions, yes, years of their lives, 
to recall those hasty words that made their 
child’s lips quiver pitifully and the clear eyes 
dim with tears 1 Ah ! you cannot have them 
back even for a moment to kiss the sweet, 
red lips. They are gone, and your sin re­
mains.
MY GOOD OLD-FASHIONED 
MOTHER.
HE most perfect home I ever saw, was 
a small house into the sweet incense of 
whose fires went no costly things; a thou­
sand dollars served for a year’s living of 
father, mother, and four children. 
But the 
mother was the creator of a home; her rela­
tions with her children were the most beauti­
ful I have ever seen; and even the dull 
commonplace man was lifted up and enabled 
to do good work by the atmosphere which 
this woman created. 
Every inmate of her 
house involuntarily looked into her face for 
the key note of the day ; and it always rang 
clear. 
Each day’s duties were performed by 
ready and willing hands. 
Hot only were 
the little ones reared to habits of industry, 
but instructed to sacredly regard the truth, 
to respect the feelings of others, and scrupu­
lously abstain from all acts of imprudence 
which would involve in distress.
From the rose bud or clover leaf, which,
notwithstanding all her hard house-work, she 
found time to put by our plates at breakfast, 
down to the story she had on hand to be 
read in the evening, there was no intermis­
sion of her influence. 
She has always been, 
and always will be, my ideal of a mother, 
wife, home-maker. 
If to her quick brain, 
loving heart, and exquisite face had been 
added the appliances of wealth and the en­
largement of wider culture, hers would have 
been absolutely the ideal home. 
As it was, 
it was the best I have ever seen. 
And sa­
credly is cherished the memory of my good, 
old-fashioned mother.
They brought home the portrait last night to me;
On the parlor walls it is hung.
I gave to the artist a picture small,
Which was taken when she was young.
It’s true to life—and there’s a look in the eyes 
I never saw in another,
And the same sweet smile that she always wore—
’Tis my good, old-fashioned mother.
The hair in the picture is wavy and dark,
’Twas taken before she was gray,
And the same short curls, at the side, hang down,
For she always wore it that way.
Her hand on the Bible easily rests,
As when, with sisters and brother,
I knelt at her knee, reciting my verse,
To my good, old-fahioned mother.
MY GOOD OLD-FASHIONED MOTHER. 
365
366
SABBATH READINGS.
Her dress it is plain and quite out of style,
Not a puff or ruffle is there;
And no jewels or gold glitter and shine—
She never had any to wear.
Ambition for wealth or love of display,
We could not even discover,
For poor in spirit and humble in heart.
Was my good, old-fashioned mother.
Her life was crowded with work and with care—
How did she accomplish it all!
I do not remember she ever complained,
And yet she was slender and small.
Motives of life that were selfish or wrong,
With Christian grace did she smother,
And lived for her God and the loved ones at home— 
My true, good, old-fashioned mother.
The years of her life were only threescore,
When the messenger whispered, low,
“ The Master has come, and calleth for thee,”
She answered, “ I’m ready to go.”
I gaze alone on her portrait to-night,
And more than ever I love her,
And I thank the Lord that be gave to me 
Such a good, old-fashioned mother.
INDEX.
Page
A Legacy..................................................... 
44
Adopting an Orphan................................... 
50
Affecting Scene in a Saloon........................ 
61
A Woman at the Bottom of It.................... 133
A Quarrelsome Neighbor........................... 162
All for Christ.............................................. 173
A Change of Place....................................... 193
A Rift in the Cloud..................................... 291
A Life Lesson.............................................. 346
Every Heart has its own Sorrow................ 
68
Farmer Penniman’s Dream........................ 107
He will soon be Here................................... 215
Home Influence.......................................... 233
Hasty Words.............................................. 356
Lyman Dean’s Testimonial........................ 
5
My House and Our House...................... 24
Mrs. Gray’s Bonnet................................... 254
My Good Old-Fashioned Mother............... 364
Never Indorse............................................ 299
Not Myself.................................................. 333
Out of the wrong Pocket........................... 
33
Over the Crossing....................................... 200
Only this Once............................................ 208
Put to the Test............................................. 308
Put Yourself in My Place......................... 324
Ruined at Home.......................................... 
95
368
INDEX.
Page.
The Merchant’s Wife................................... 
58
The Way of Escape.................................... 140
The Silver Lining...................................... 182
The Blighted Life...................................... 222
The Religious Miss R................................. 247
The Serpent in the Home.......................... 269
The Graduating Dress............................... 
279
POETRY.
A Helping Hand........................................ 207
Caution........................................................ 161
Consolation.................................................. 221
Discord......................................................... 172
Lived in Yain............................. 
 
 
22
Life Work................................................... 1£2
Memory of the Just.................................... 
49
Our Record................................................. 298
Silver Lining to Every Cloud.................... 
93
Stand Like the Anvil................................. 355
Two Ways to Live...................................... 
32
To Give is to Live...................................... 
42
The Golden Moment................................... 
67