by his mother's advice, although it seemed hard to postpone for an indefinite time his return home. Meanwhile, things had gone on in their old quiet way at home. The children grew up under loving discipline; father, mother, Josephine, and Swiss Anna worked diligently, and God's blessing rested ever on them, though they still had a cross to bear. Soon after Tony's departure, old Eli began to fail; he grew weaker and weaker, till at last he could not leave his bed, and required constant care. The three women had now the care of the invalid added to their day's work, which was heavy enough already. "But what one does willingly does not feel hard," said Anna; and Mrs. Lindfelder added, "When God imposes a duty, he gives strength to fulfil it." And Josephine rejoiced to be able to prove her gratitude to Eli by more than mere words. Joseph was a faithful friend to them, and when he saw that the night-watching would soon prove too much for the women, he asked permission to take Dresy's place in Eli's room, and attend to him during the night, and thereby, as Anna said to her confidante, Josephine, "once for all stopped the mouth" of Anton Lindfelder, who had again begun to grumble and to talk of the hospital. Poor Eli had to suffer much and long, for sores broke out both on the stump and on his remaining leg, which caused him great pain and frequently brought on fever. But as his strength gradually failed, his sufferings too decreased; he became more and more still and silent, and on some days when he wished to speak he could not find words. "But Josephine and Mrs. Lindfelder always understand him, they can read his thoughts in his eyes, and God will surely reward them for their kindness to him," said Swiss Anna. What Eli enjoyed most was to have passages from the Bible and from his dear old hymn-book read aloud to him; and latterly, when he would sometimes lie long apparently unconscious, taking no notice of what went on around him, it was wonderful how the sound of a Bible text, or a verse of one of his favourite hymns, would rouse him, and seem to bring him back to life again. Then he would pray and give thanks so earnestly, and rejoice with such childlike pleasure at the prospect of "going home," that all who heard him were moved. To-day a great change had come over the old man, for when Anna brought him his coffee in the morning, and Josephine was about to dress his sores as usual, she was astonished to see how they had healed up during the night; and Eli looked up at them with bright, glancing eyes, and said, in a strange, trembling voice, "Go now, friends, and dig my grave, For at length of life I'm weary; This earth now grown so cold and dreary: The angels call me from above In accents full of peace and love." "It is Saturday, Eli; the father and mother have gone to work, and the children are at the school." "Saturday! And my everlasting Sabbath begins tomorrow! Give me your hand, Anna! God reward you for your kindness to the poor old cripple! I will wait for you in the beautiful city, and come with the angels to meet you, when you too are allowed to come home. God bless you, little Josephine! Give my thanks and my farewell greetings to all the others. The dear little mother must close my eyes: tell her that through his great mercy, and by the blood of Christ, the Lord has given me a peaceful end.-Yes, yes, thou doest all things well, my dear Lord in heaven! All, all!" repeated the old man, with folded hands and a smile on his lips, and then fell quietly asleep. He had already often slept so for hours and even days together. Anna went away to the market, and Josephine to her work in the house; but she could not rest, and went every two or three minutes quietly to Eli's bedside to see if he still breathed. When Mrs. Lindfelder came home at dinner-time and heard what had passed, she went at once to Eli's room. He slept still, but was unusually pale; while Anna and Josephine told how, in the morning, his cheeks had been flushed and his eyes wonderfully bright. The mother said nothing, but sent Dresy for the doctor and the pastor, and then sat down to watch by the bed of the dear invalid. Her soul was deeply stirred, and her prayers rose as if on eagle's wings to heaven. Eli did not wake again; towards evening his breathing became heavy, and his features distorted. Then Mrs. Lindfelder rose to call the others, and just at that moment Josephine entered with a joyful face, and with Tony's letter in her hand. In order to spare his dear ones the anxiety of knowing him to be on the sea, Tony had embarked at New Orleans without letting them know, and now wrote frum Havre to say that he had arrived there safe and sound, and would quickly follow his letter, so as to be with them, God willing, early on Sunday morning. "Eli is dying, and Tony is coming home to-morrow.” With these words the boys greeted their father on his return. Soon all had assembled around Eli's dying bed. Mrs. Lindfelder had sent word to Joseph, and be was there too. The solemnity of the presence of death, and the pain all felt in parting from the dear old man, checked the joy which Tony's return would otherwise have occasioned; and had he entered at that moment, tears would have been his only welcome. The silence was only broken by the sobs of the children. Old Anna had neither tears nor words left; she sat with folded hands, immovable as a statue, her eyes fixed on her dying friend. Mrs. Lindfelder and Josephine knelt by the bedside; the father stood beside them. "Do you feel worse, Eli ?" asked Josephine, tenderly Joseph opened the old man's Bible, and read with an bending over him. "Not exactly, child. But where are the others, and what day is this?" unsteady voice the 16th and 17th chapters of the Gospel of St. John. Suddenly Mrs. Lindfelder said: "Now, Joseph, it is time. We must sing his death-bed bless ing, as we so often promised him." And they sang together: "When his weary eyes are closing, Lord, illume the inward sight; May he find the darkness light. During the singing the pastor had entered. All knelt down while he offered a short prayer; and then, laying his hands on the head of the dying man, blessed him with the words in which God commanded that his people should be blessed : "The Lord bless thee and keep thee; the Lord make his face to shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee; the Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace. Amen." Then the laboured breathing ceased; old Eli had gone home. His body lay there, and the peace of God, in which his redeemed soul had left its earthly covering, seemed still to hover over it. The sun had just set, and the western sky celebrated with its evening glory the departure of our good old friend. One after another silently left the chamber of death; only poor old Anna remained, sitting motionless on her chair; and when Mrs. Lindfelder returned with the snow-white winding-sheet, in which, with Joseph's help, she was about to wrap the body, she was alarmed at the old woman's white face. Gently approaching her, she took her by the hand, and tried to comfort her by saying: "Our good Eli has now overcome, Anna. It is well with him. He will not return to us, but, by God's inercy, we may soon go to him." “Did you see them, Mrs. Lindfelder?" asked Anna, as if awaking from a trance. "See whom, Anna?" "The angels that carried Eli to paradise. They were here, Mrs. Lindfelder! I felt them, if I did not see them." She rose, approached the bed, and looking earnestly into the dead face, burst into tears and exclaimed, "O how beautiful he has become! And I will never sin and murmur over my poverty again, for if Eli had been as rich as a king, he could not have had a more blessed death. And he will come to meet me-he promised he would; and now that I know that, and that the angels really care for him, I will pray.- Tell me, Josephine, what was it that Eli said last this morning?" she inquired of the girl, who now entered. 66 Ah, yes!" exclaimed Josephine. "I was to tell auntie: he said, 'Through his great mercy, and by the blood of Christ, the Lord has given me a peaceful end.”” Then Swiss Anna clasped her hands, and, still gazing into the smiling face of her departed friend, prayed earnestly: "O my God! by the blood of our dear Lord Jesus, give me too such a peaceful end !" When the boys met Tony early next morning at the station, and told him, weeping, of Eli's death, his heart was saddened by the news; his return home was not as bright as he had expected, and it was with tears in his eyes that he embraced his parents and his dear Finy. His first visit was to the chamber of death. Josephine and the children had strewn the bed with the most beautiful flowers which the garden could offer, and Anna had placed between the cold hands a nosegay of rosemary and mignonette. "They were always his favourite flowers," she said, "and he shall take them with him to the grave." When she saw her old favourite Tony, who held out his hand to her with scarcely concealed emotion, she sank weeping into his arms, and said, between her sobs, "You have come home, Tony, and the angels have carried Eli away from us." "And I cannot thank him, nor show him my gratitude for what he did for me!" said Tony, deeply moved; and as he stood there by the bed, great tears rolled down his manly, sunburnt face. In the evening, when the coffin was brought, all gathered round it once more; and while Tony and Joseph reverently laid the dead body in it, the little singing society, who had assembled in the garden, sang before the open window : night by the body of his old friend. Poor old Anna, | pride as I looked at the dear old man who lived so poor worn out with weeping, had been kindly assisted to bed by Josephine; the children too slept, and forgot, as children happily do, their grief and their tears. Outside, under the apple-tree, sat Tony and Finy; both gazed silently and reverently into the beautiful starcovered heaven, from which the moon looked down on them so lovingly, and seemed to tell them of the many mansions which are in our Father's house. They were both in a peculiar frame of mind: serious, feeling the uncertainty of all earthly things, and sincerely grieving over Eli's death; but yet full of joyful hope, for life lay so beautiful and so attractive before their young imagination, and they were so happy to be able to wander through it hand in hand, sharing all its joy and sorrow with each other. Tony had been telling about California, and how, in the midst of the desperate gold-seekers-the very thought of whom makes him shudder yet-he had felt as if the prayers of his dear ones at home surrounded him like a wall, and had been his protection against all temptation; for his own goodness was as nothing at all, and he had much to learn yet before he could hope for such a death as Eli's. And even while he acknowledged that most of the evil around him came from pride, and every one trying to make himself great, and none being content to remain poor and humble-while he saw all that, he himself was nearly tempted in Paris to be proud and upsetting like the rest. "You, Tony?" asked Josephine, astonished. "Yes. One of my companions bought a silk dress and a bright-coloured shawl for his bride to wear on their wedding-day, and I wished to do the same for you; for I said to myself, I am as good as he, and if he can afford it, so can I.' But then I thought of what mother, and old Eli, and you yourself, would say to it, and that in the grandest clothing you could not please me better than in your honest, simple, peasant's dress; and I turned away and kept my money-though I got well laughed at by my comrade, who called me a miser and a silly pietist. And I could almost regret it now, for I have brought you nothing, my poor Finy, but my own true heart." "Which is a thousand times better than the finest clothes and all the gold in the world," said Josephine, nestling at his side. "And do you know, Finy, I had another ambitious dream in my head. I thought I would buy a piece of ground for a woodyard, and build a beautiful house in it, where you should reign like a little queen." "But you have given up that plan too, Tony?" "Yes, Finy. This evening, as we laid old Eli in his coffin, I gave it up, and resolved that when we are married we will stay on in the dear old house with our parents." An earnest pressure of the hand expressed Josephine's answer and thanks. "Yes, Finy, I grew ashamed of my selfishness and and died so rich. We will stay with our parents, and honour them, and work for them all their lives! In the spring I will build a small addition to the house, so that there will be room for us all to live comfortably in it. For, Finy, I am richer than I wrote to you, and have brought a good bit of money home; but I will give it all to mother at once, or I will be tempted into doing something stupid with it. Father and mother and Swiss Anna have worked hard all their lives, and they shall have a rest now, and enjoy the remainder of their days. For, to requite their parents, that is good and aeceptable before God' (1 Tim. v. 4). I learned that text long ago in the pastor's confirmation class, and it came to-night all at once into my head and my heart." "O Tony, if our dear Eli could hear you now he would rejoice over you !” "Do you see that falling star, Finy, and do you know what it says to you?" "No, Tony; I never heard that they meant anything." "Did you not? Well, they say that when we see a falling star at the moment when we are wishing something good, it is as if it said, Thy wish is fulfilled! So, my Finy, perhaps Eli has heard me. But," he continued, after a pause, "if Eli did not hear me God did; and you must pray for me, Finy, that I may have grace to do all that I have vowed to him." And within, in the little parlour, Anton Lindfelder was saying to his wife: "Do you remember, wife, what you said to me that time when we thought we should have to leave our house, and I behaved so unreasonably about it?" "No, Antony; how should I remember? That is many years ago." "You said then, it did not so much matter whether we had a happy life, the great thing to strive for was a blessed death. Yes, Salome, you said just that; I remember it as if it were yesterday.” "Well, and if I did say it, father, was I so far wrong?" "At that time, I confess it, I thought you were talking nonsense. But since I have seen Eli die, and specially to-night as we laid him in his coffin, I felt it was true, that we can and should wish nothing better for ourselves than a blessed death. And that God gives that to the poor as well as to the rich, we have seen in our dear old friend." Mrs. Lindfelder, deeply moved, held out her hand to her husband, who held it long clasped in his. And that night, when he had gone to bed, she went once more into Eli's 's room, and, kneeling by the bedside, thanked God, with tears of joy, for the blessing he had sent into their house with old Eli. And it was wonderful, only when she rose did she observe that Josephine had been kneeling by her side, as on that other evening long ago, and that Tony's prayers and Joseph's too had mingled with theirs! An offering well pleasing in the sight of God! On Saturday Swiss Anna, accompanied by Josephine | and the children, made a pilgrimage to the churchyard, to Eli's grave. Hammy carried a spade and rake, Dresy a watering-can filled with water, and little Lena a basket full of hyacinth roots and cuttings of plants which Tony had bought from a nursery garden: "For he must lie under a bed of flowers, as he often told me they made all the graves in his place" (she meant in Herrnhut), Anna had said on the funeral day. To-day she was to keep her word to her old friend, and herself smooth the surface of the mound, and turn it into a bed of flowers; but her hands trembled, and her eyes were blinded with tears, so that she was glad to hand over the spade and rake to the willing Hammy, and leave the planting of the flowers to Josephine. Dresy then watered them from his can, and Lena busied herself picking off the stones. The grave-digger stood watching them with friendly interest, and Anna turned to him and begged: "Keep this place next Eli's grave for me; for you will see he will come to fetch me very soon. It seems as if I could live no longer now he is gone." "No, no, old Anna," said Tony, who had just joined them, and set to work busily to help, "you must not leave us yet; that would be too sad. We will give you now all the love we gave to Eli, and make your old age peaceful and happy. And we could not miss you at the marriage; your hands must place the bridal wreath on Finy's head." The thought of the marriage of her two favourites did❘ much to cheer old Anna. She smiled through her tears as she answered: "It is very good of you, Tony; and indeed I love you and Josephine and all the others better than my life. But you must not think it strange that I should still wish rather to go to Eli. I would be well off with you, I know that; but, God be praised! I know now too that I will be far, far better off in heaven.” CONCLUSION. THE winter passed quickly and busily with our friends. Tony was preparing to begin work on his own account in the spring, and to build the addition to the house. "In his holy zeal," as Anna said, he wished that his parents should no longer go to the factory, nor Finy to her customers, nor Anna to the market. But his good mother taught him better, and told him that "idle hands bring poverty;" and she thought it would be better that all should continue at their accustomed work, and not fold their hands to rest prematurely. And when Tony had bought a piece of ground, close by his parents' garden, for his workshop, and made an estimate of the cost of building it, he saw to his astonishment that his money would be barely enough; so he gladly fell in with the simple ways and work of the household. The parents now slept again in the little room they had given up to Eli; but the little shelf over the bed was still in its place, and all continued faithfully to lay their weekly offering in the can of honour, which was dear to each heart as a remembrance of their old friend. And they were none the poorer for that; for the Lord blessed their earnings, and they were no longer put into a bag with holes. Old Anna had worked as hard as ever through the whole winter, and had carried many a basket of fruit and vegetables to the market, and brought home many a franc. Every Saturday she went to Eli's grave to tend the flowers there; and in the winter she covered them carefully with moss. She often spoke of Eli, and said that since his death she felt more sure that the Lord Jesus loved her too a little, that she could pray better now, and think more calmly of her own approaching end. Every evening Josephine had to read something alond to her, "Eli's verses," and oftenest those he had repeated in his last days,—and over and over again the stories of poor Lazarus and of the prodigal son; and then she would say, "O Finy, if I were only like Lazarus and the prodigal son, and if the angels would come soon to fetch me as they fetched Lazarus and Eli!" And in the spring, when the flowers bloomed on Eli's grave, and the sweet-scented hyacinth bells rose out of the green moss, then the grave-digger prepared Swiss Anna's last resting-place. The Lord in his mercy spared her the death struggle, with all its bitterness. She was taken away in a moment, also on a Saturday evening, as she was sitting with Josephine under the apple-tree, watching Tony fix upon its trunk an ebony tablet upon which the father had carved the date of Eli's death, and the word Ebenezer. Great was the shock of Anna's sudden death, and great the sorrow over it. Josephine in particular refused to be comforted, and poor Tony wept as he had never done in his life before. They all felt just as Anna herself had done at Eli's death, as if they had never known before how dear she was to them. She looked so beautiful-almost triumphant-on the bed of death, honest old Swiss Anna! after the hard work and the weary day's labour! Good true soul, thou hast been faithful over little; the Lord has called thee in love, and we will not grudge thee thy rest! The addition to the Lindfelders' house is now completed, and home-like and pleasant it looks, outside and in. In the workshop adjoining Tony is busily at work. He employs several apprentices now, a sign that he has got plenty of work, and can earn his bread honestly. The father goes back and forward, helps a little at the work, and superintends the apprentices. Dresy has hopes of educating himself to be a teacher; and Hammy is to learn cabinetmaking. Lena has meanwhile grown into a lovely, blooming girl. In the house Josephine works quietly and diligently by the side of the good mother, who now goes no more to the factory. Who knows! perhaps, like Naomi, she hopes soon to take a child into her bosom, to be a nurse to it and to enjoy the pleasures of a grandmother. If it be so, may God bless the faithful mother in her children and her children's children, as he has promised in his Word: "The mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear him, and his righteousness unto children's children; to such as keep his covenant, and to those that remember his commandments to do them" (Psalm ciii. 17, 18). LESSONS FROM LIFE-FOR THE YOUNG. BY THE EDITOR. VI. WE DON'T NEED PAPA. BOUT fourteen years ago, in the great city of Glasgow, lived Mr. Tonar, with his wife and six children. The ages of the children ranged from two to thirteen years. The two elder were well advanced with their education, and had become, in some measure, companions to their parents, entering with some degree of intelligence and sympathy into all the family plans and prospects. It was a new experience and a great delight to the parents when the elder children became capable of comprehending, to some extent, the measures adopted for the welfare of the family. They accordingly made companions and, as it were, counsellors of those that had, to this extent, attained the years of discretion. The children, on their part, made their parents their chief confidants and friends. Mr. Tonar's business made it necessary for him to leave home frequently for two or three days at a time. One season these journeys had occurred more frequently than usual, and had also been more prolonged. The elder children missed their father's company, and longed for his return. Coming home from school one afternoon, they found him in the lobby with great-coat on, and travelling-bag packed up, and all in readiness for another journey. Disappointed and displeased, they exclaimed with one voice, in a tone of complaint, "O papa! you are always going away." A little one of four, who had not been at school, and had come into the lobby to see what was going on, hearing her sisters' exclamation, and by no means sympathizing with it, answered in accents of decided self-satisfaction and independence, "What do you complain about? We don't need papa!" She had observed-for even at that tender age children begin to lay things together, and to reason vigorously from such premises as they have-that everything went on very well in the absence of her father. She remembered that the milk and the bread were forthcoming as regularly and as plentiful when he was away as when he was at home. Warm clothes were provided; and if anything gave way, it was as promptly mended as if her father had been close at hand. Nay, even while he was in the house she never saw him carrying home the groceries, or cooking the dinner, or washing the clothes. And, accordingly, she thought she was not indebted to him for any of her comforts. For that part of it, if she had mother, and Betty, and her eldest sister, she thought she might get along as well without papa as with him. The elder children knew better. They were aware that although their father's hand was not seen providing and preparing the daily meals, and buying and making the garments, yet he gained and gave all. Although the servants of the house brought home the provisions, and cooked them, and carried them up, yet their father provided and paid for all ;-that, without their father, they could not obtain home, and food, and clothes, and books. They had as much intelligence and experience as to know that they owed all to their father, although they did not see his hand providing anything. Although Betty brought in the rolls and spread the breakfast, and put on their clothes, they owed breakfast, and clothes, and Betty too, to their father. They loved him accordingly, and were happy in his company, and were sorry to see him going away. In defence of the little one, however, let me say, that she was not lacking in love to her father. It was in knowledge, and not in affection, that her defect lay. Her ignorance, too, was owing to her infancy. She does not now, at the age of eighteen, entertain the opinion which she expressed at the age of four. She knows now that she needs papa; and does not know how she could do without him in the world. But, not knowing how it will be done, she yet believes that our Father in heaven will provide. But in the meantime, when childhood is past, that childish thing has passed away with it, and no member of the family is more deeply convinced of papa's usefulness, or clings more fondly to his neck when he is setting out on a journey. It would appear that mankind at large are divided, like that family, into two sections-the intelligent and the unintelligent. One portion-not indeed the youngest. but the most presumptuous, seeing no hand of God stretched down from the sky to lay our bread upon our table-say they have no need of God. The laws of nature are enough for them. By aid of these laws they will help themselves. Does not the field produce our food, and the air supply our breath, and the sun give us light; and why should we pray to God for these things? Oh, when will these children learn that "every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights." |