as if their little hearts would break. And next to her own family, among the most sincere mourners at her funeral, were the poor children of her Sunday School class., For several years past a young man of our congregation attracted increasing attention. He was a laboring man-a Christian mechanic. He carried his Christianity with him during the working days of the week. Without making a parade of his piety, or thrusting the claims of religion pharisaically on every body, his daily life preached Christ, and commended His cause to others. No amount of provocation could throw him off his guard, or extort from him an unkind or improper expression. He became the centre of a large circle of young men. He warned them when careless or tempted, and counselled them in their various trials. "Is it wrong for me to belong to a fire company?" he asked me one day. "Why did you join it?" "To do good," was his reply. "My membership gives me an influence over the young men. I use it to keep them from bad company and vicious habits, and to get them to church.' "Then it is not wrong for you to be a member. Go on, and the blessing of God be with you." He had a tenderness of conscience which almost amounted to morbidness. The least neglect of known duty, or impropriety of conduct, would distress him for days. In all his engagements he was prompt, regular, and faithful. His class in the Sunday School was always full, because he always prepared his lessons and was never absent. For two years he was a deacon-and died in the office. Few adorn this important position with so much energy, diligence, and piety. His heart was aglow with love for Christ and the Church. He gave of his earnings to benevolence, beyond his means. Rather than reduce his contributions to the cause of Christ, he forfeited his life insurance policy, by non-payment of his dues. As a consequence, his widow and two children are left homeless. I learned to lean on him more than I was aware of. One day, while at work in a large shop, an accident occurred, and fractured his skull. I hastened to his bedside and found him dying. Thus a Christian young man, although but an uneducated mechanic, made a mark which many of the great and wealthy will never reach. Many a youth in my flock, who aims to be good and godly, thinks of his Christian counsel, and strives to imitate his example. A brother of noble, generous He was Another young man died at his post. principles. Manly in all his deportment, shrinking with horror from every mean and impure act. A mechanic too, he was-one who excelled in his craft, the pride of his employers. The pride too of his associates. A comrade of impure habits he could not for a moment tolerate. brim-full of manly vigor. This demanded an outlet. He had to be a working man, a working man in his shop, and in his church. He was always in good earnest. Every thing he did, he did with his might. When we organized a missionary association, he was among the first to work for it. In his Sunday School class he was a sort of magnet, around which the little ones fondly clustered. A few years ago his widowed mother died, leaving a younger brother and three sisters at home. He took charge of them as their natural protector. For two years he assumed the headship of the family, until the bereavement of the parentless children had in a measure been compensated by the tender unweaned care of this older brother. O, it seemed so sad a providence, that one who was so much needed, should be cut down so early. "Even so, Father, for so it seemeth good in Thy sight." For several years a boyish-looking youth has been a member of my catechetical class. He was always earnest, studious, and devout beyond his years. Last spring he was confirmed. His confirmation made no very perceptible change in his life; for he was pious from a child. He had a delicate bodily structure. Not positively diseased, but a finely-strung nervous system; a body of too ethereal a mould long to endure the rude cuffs of earth. He seemed surcharged with vitality. Enjoyed life-Christian life-with strange delight Every duty seemed a pleasure. On week day and Sunday work and worship were al ke a delight to him. At Sunday School he taught, and put his hand to every imaginable kind of work, with greater skill and aptitude, than many of twice his age. He spoke of the interests, wants, and enterprises of our congregation, with an intelligence and earnestness rarely found. He possessed rare musical talent, a voice clear as a bell, of rare compass and melody. Singing seemed as natural to him as breathing. His highest enjoyment was praise. He sang like a robin on a sunny morning, with every feather in her body quivering. His fondness for doing good had become a passion with him. Uncertain as to what field of usefulness the Lord would open for him, the language of his heart constantly seemed to be: "Lord, what wilt Thou have me do?" He was rarely absent from any religious services. Not as a burdensome duty, but from choice he attended them. One of the seve rest trials of his last illness was, that it kept him from church and from Sunday School. His only reason for desiring a longer life was for the sake of doing good. He approached the rest of heaven over a painful path. But his end was peace. Sweet as angels' notes I used to hear him warble with his singing voice: "I know there's a crown for the young." Perhaps he is singing it still-a crowned youth in the choir of heaven. These all died young. Thousands live longer but not as well. Strange that useless souls drag their droning, aimless lives to a withered old age, blaspheming the kind Being that preserves them, and breathing poison on all around them, while the pious, whom the world and the Church so much need, die in the morning of their days. "O sir, the good die first, While those whose hearts are dry as summer dust, Here and there one "comes to his grave in a full age, like as a shock of corn cometh in his season." For twenty years past, and more, a godly matron worshipped with our flock. None perhaps, among the large membership missed church so rarely as she. She always sat in the same pew, before the pulpit, and always at the same end of the pew. She often reminded us of Anna, in the Gospel (Luke ii. 37.) "which departed not from the temple night and day." We have seen her laboring her way to church through rain and storm which kept many younger people at home, grasping her umbrella in her wrinkled, trembling hands. Often she hunted her way to the house of God, through the dark night, with a lantern in her hand. At church her whole soul seemed engaged in worship. She prayed until the services began, and prayed at the close. She never taught a class in the Sunday School, yet was not five times absent from its meetings, in twenty years, until her last illness. She used to say: "If only I am there with the children, then I am happy. While the others teach, I praypray that our dear Saviour may unite all these children to himself." Their singing would often set her to weeping. The teachers and scholars felt their need of her. Her presence was a felt benediction. She had multitudes of little friends, who would greet her endearingly on the street, and "Pluck her gown, to share her loving smile." She seemed to regard them all as her own children, and loved them with a mother's love. During many long years she was never absent from the Lord's supper. On these occasions she always wept as if her heart would break. Sometimes her sobs would scarcely allow her to partake of the cup. "I cannot help it," she used to say. "When I think how our dear Saviour had to suffer for me, I must weep." The fortieth psalm was her favorite Bible lesson. This she often read, and prayed. When sick her pastor read it for her, and at her funeral, at her own request, he preached on one of its verses. How little she could do, and yet how much! "They also labor, who only stand and wait." She had a tear for every sorrowing one. Rarely did she walk up to a coffin at a funeral, and look at a corpse, without weeping with those that wept. Every breath of sorrow in the congregation swept over the chords of her heart, as sweeps the gentle breeze over the Eolian harp, evoking a mournful response. At her funeral they placed her coffin before the pulpit, aside of the seat she had occupied for so many years. As the people took a parting glimpse, many wept for her, as she had here wept for many others during her life-time. craves But one more we must record. The wife of a brother in the ministry, of the former pastor of this flock, departed in the prime of life, leaving a husband and his motherless children to mourn their loss. Great was the sorrow in this family, great in the congregation. For had he not often prayed at funerals, and comforted the mourners? Now he sits in the mourners' pew, with his stricken household around him. Now the comforter pleads for a comforter; the sympathizing one sympathy. But why preach to him? Surely one who has preached hundreds of funeral sermons, knows enough to comfort himself. Alas, it is one thing to speak to mourners from the pulpit, and another thing to sit in the mourners' pew oneself. Years ago two hearts were joined in holy wedlock. In sacred quietness they shared each other's joys and sorrows. Children were born unto them, and some in turn were borne to the dwellings of the dead. During many years this brother bore the burden of his own life, and the burden of many other lives in his flock. And she helped him to bear them all. Now this help forsakes him, "this heart in silence dies." How sad the sight of these motherless children. No marvel that they thus weep. She who most thoroughly understood them; the face they first learned to recognize; the voice they first learned to obey; the hand they first tried to grasp; the knee they first learned to climb; the cheek they first wished to kiss; the lips that first taught them to pray-dead-all dead. She knew how to comfort them when sad-understood their little childwants and sorrows as no one else could understand them. And now, God calls to the bereaved pastor: "As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you." The hand of sorrow alike touches all. Pastor and people must suffer and must die. In heaven a fairer day shall dawn. There Our griefs are turned to gladness, There is rest for those that die in the Lord. In heaven "God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." It is said that the poet Burns could never read this passage without weeping. And it is no wonder. We commend to the young readers of the GUARDIAN, the Christian life, and hopeful death of these young people. "Their works do follow them." With us too their works remain. We feel the stronger for their having died. Not great men, as they are sometimes called, but good men "Departing leave behind them, "Footprints that perhaps another, THE WHITE DOVE. BY ETA MON KORE. Through every clime there wingeth Amidst life's pelting showers And o'er its stormy seas, Still beareth she from heavenly bowers Alighting but on objects soaring To vales by wealth ungarnished In homes that truth discovers A very boon in sadness The heart's the sacred dwelling That shields the mystic dove, ADVICE OF LOUIS IX. TO HIS SON PHILIP.* Translated from the French of Fleury. BY MARY ELLEN. My dear son, the first thing I recommend to you is, love God with all your heart without which no one can be saved. Be careful to do nothing which will displease Him: you ought rather suffer all kinds of torture. If God sends you affliction, suffer it with patience and deeds of thankfulness-think that you have well merited it and it will redound to your advantage. If He sends you prosperity, thank Him ardently for it, to the end that you may not be made worse by pride or otherwise. not turn the gifts of God against Him. Because one should Have a tender, compassionate heart, and console the poor according to your power. Take care to have as your companions only the good. Love that which is good, and hate all evil in whatever form it may ap pear. Should any one be bold enough to speak any sinful word in your presence, or speak falsely of others-suffer not such to blaspheme against God or His saints, without immediately executing justice. Render frequent thanks to God for all the blessings He has bestowed upon you, in order that you may be worthy of receiving more. You owe respect and obedience to your father and mother. Be careful that your household expenses be reasonable-be circumspect in this particular. Finally, I give you all the benediction that a father can give a son. God guard you from all evil and give you grace to do His will, to the end that after this life we may praise Him together to all eternity. Amen. *Louis IX. King of France, surnamed Saint Louis, died in Africa in 1270, at the age of fifty years, after a reign of forty-four years. His son Philip died in VELLY. 1285. |