Newspaper Page Text
entered according to Act of Congress, in June, 1869, by J. W. Burke & Cos., in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the So. District of Georgia.
Vol. 11l No. 20.
THE REASON WHY.
% ms 1 '
are you thinking about,
t> ra ce?” asked Mrs. Arnold,
as she noticed her daughter
looking intently at a figure in the pat
tern of the carpet, while she slowly,
very slowly, pulled off her gloves.
“ I was thinking of my Sunday School
class,” answered Grace, raising her
sweet serious eyes to meet her mother’s
glance. “And not only of my class,”
she continued, “ but of other children ;
and not only of other children, but of
grown people also.”
“ It must be something interesting to
concern so many,” was the reply.
“ What is it ?”
“Well, mamma, I was wondering
what makes the difference in people
about giving. Now, in my class are
Freddie Barton and Harry Long. They
are punctual in attendance and perfect
in their lessons, but, oh, there is such
a difference in their contributions. Both
have spending money of their own, and,
they tell me, the same weekly allow
ance. Harry scarcely ever gives less
than a dime, while Freddie as seldom
puts more than a cent into the basket —
often nothing.”
“ Perhaps Freddie’s eyes are dazzled
by toys and bonbons through the week,
so that he has nothing left for the Lora’s
day,” replied Mrs. Arnold.
“ That is true of several in my class,
but not of Freddie,” answered Grace.
“ He often has more than Harry, but
seems unwilling to part with it.”
“ It must be owing to a difference in
disposition, then,” answered Mrs. Ar
nold, “Harry being more liberal than
Fred.”
“ I think that cannot be the reason,
mamma. I have observed them close
ly, and found Fred quite as willing as
Harry to share his ‘goodies’ and play
things with his companions.”
“ Well, Grace, suppose you ask the
boys themselves to solve the mystery for
you.”
The next Sunday there was no offer
ing from Freddie.
MACON, GEORGIA, NOVEMBER 13, 1869.
“ How is this?” asked Grace. “ Did
you forget to save something to give
Him Avho gives so much to you ?”
Freddie blushed, and was^silent.
“If you have no money I will lend
you a small sum until next week. You
know I like an offering from each one
in the class.”
“ Oh, I have money,” replied Fred,
“but I am saving it up to buy a veloci
pede.”
“ But you can give me a portion of
it, can you not?”
“ If I do, I’ll have to wait another
week,” answered Fred, giving his head
a rueful shake. “Father don’t allow
me to borrow.”
“ llow is it that you always have
money?” inquired Grace, turning to
Harry. “Do not velocipedes tempt
you ?”
“ Oh, yes ; I have one already.”
“ Yet you have always had something
for the Lord’s treasury.”
“ Yes, Miss Grace, when I was a little
bit of a lellovv, almost before I can re
member, I was taught to put a piece of
money in a box, every week. When I
grew older, I was told that the contents
of that box belonged to the Lord, and
must not be used for anything else.
Now, I put away part of my allowance
in the same way, and so always have
something to give.”
“ I have solved the mystery,” said
Grace to her mother, when she was
once more at home. “ I know the rea
son why some give while others with*
hold. It is because they are taught to
give, just as they are taught to speak or
walk. I am going to make a mission
ary box for the baby right away.”
The Little Sower.
Wliat Heaven Will 80.
Tins is what Heaven will be —the
eternal presence of God. Do nothing
you would not like God to see. Say
nothing you would not like Him to hear.
Write nothing you would uot like Him
to read. Go to no place where you
would not like God to find you. Read
no books of which you would not like
God to say, “ Show it to me.” Never
spend y.our time in such a way that you
would not like God to say, “What art
thou doing ?”
Let us learn to forgive injuries.
Whole No. 124.
Written for Burke’s Weekly
The Days that Were.
SAM dreaming—softly dreaming—
Os Octobers long ago,
When the heart was full of music,
?And the hills were all a-glow.
I am gazing—fondly gazing—
Through the mist of many years,
To a fairy land of flowers,
Never dimmed by sorrow’s tears.
I am thinking—sweetly thinking—
Os a quiet country home,
Nursed by overhanging branches,
Where the stranger loved to come.
Ah ! I’m living—softly living—
The dear past over again,
Before sin, and grief, and error,
Made of angels sinful men !
I am treading—softly treading—
’Mid the golden sunlight fair,
'Weaving garlands—rosy garlands—
In the joyous days that were!
Airs. Mary Ware.
Columbiana, Ala.
Written for Burke’s Weekly.
HERO ISLAND.
Dear Little Children:
Some time ago, quite a long
time ago, I wrote you a little
letter, telling you of a visit I had had
from the deaf and dumb children who
live in the little village close by me.
Perhaps you have forgotten, for child
ren, I know, do not remember things a
long time ; and you may not have been
as much interested as I was. Now, I
have a fancy for telling you something
else about my home in the country, and
I think I wall put it in the form of a lit
tle story.
Just at the foot of the hill on which
my house is built, and running around
it like a broad blue ribbon, runs a beau
tiful little brook, just deep enough and
just shallow enough, as I told you be
fore, to float a whole fleet of little ships.
At the foot of the hill, where the carri
age road crosses this brook, is an island,
—not very large, to be sure, perhaps
not much larger than your mother’s big
dining table, but yet a real island, for
there is water all ax*ound it. The little