SETH, THE DRUNKARD'S BOY.

BY MRS. N. M'CONAUGHY.

"GEORGE, I saw your old spotted cow down in the woods this afternoon, so I drove her up and shut her into that farthest pasture. I guess you'll find her there. The fence is so high I thought she could n't jump over very well."

"Much obliged to you, Seth; it will save me a long hunt. Come over and see how my watermelons come on to-night, if you can; we shall have some ripe in a week, I think."

"Well, I will come if I can," said the ragged boy as he went whistling on toward his still more ragged home.

"It seems to me people take a great deal of pains to accommodate you, George," said his companion, Lewis. They never put themselves out of the way to oblige me, I am sure. I think the boys in our school are about as selfish as they can be, and Seth Carver is the last boy of all boys I should ever look to for a favor."

And he was not exactly the one a person would call on to do a kindness if there were plenty of other boys about. He belonged to the most miserable family in the village, and was in more mischief than any ten common boys. In fact, no body ever expected any good of him, unless George Aikin did. Perhaps the bad word he had from every body helped to make him worse. In fact, that very afternoon when he found the old cow he was rambling off in the woods after blackberries instead of going to school.

"Seth is not all bad, Lewis, as I have had cause to know. I believe it makes him worse to have the boys treat him so and call him names. I only wonder he ever comes to school a day. I do n't suppose he would if it was not for the teacher's kindness."

Well, I think you were silly to invite him over to see your watermelons. He is the last boy I should wish to know how mine came on. You'll find he will help himself to them pretty freely."

"I mean to help him myself, so he will have no temptation. I shall have a tun of them, so I can well afford to spare him what he would like to eat."

"Well, you are odd," said Lewis, half provoked. "He will get enough by stealing-as many as are for his good, I dare say. I would never give him a slice. I have always believed it was he who ruined my patch last year. He not only eat the ripe ones, but cut up the green ones so no body else should have any. If we could only have proved it I would have sent him to jail in a minute. Such selfishness!"

Lewis's idea of selfishness was much like that of the big brother, who, when dividing some fruit with his little sister, exhorted her, "Do n't be selfish, give me all." He had never reflected that "the earth is the Lord's, and the fullness thereof," and that it was his duty to impart of his abundance to the needy. But it

did not change the fact any, because he was unwilling to admit it.

Now, why do you suppose that Seth was ready to do a favor for George Aiken. It was because George was always willing to do one for him, and had done a great many. It often takes only one kind action to open the way into a very hard heart.

It had only been a few months since Seth's family moved from a distant part of the town to the tumbledown cabin they now inhabited. Every body thought it was because his father wished to get near the tavern. He was getting so far on the "destruction railway" he could not manage to walk home after his carousals. He had slept off "the spell" in the wet meadows more than once, but when he came to himself one morning and found he had made his bed in the gutter beside the iron track, he shuddered when he thought what an escape he had. Many a drunkard before him had laid himself down to sleep on the very rails and woke up in eternity. Perhaps his turn would come next, so he made all haste to remove to the village.

Do you belong to the cold-water army? If not you may be on the highway that leads you down to just such wretchedness. I would join that army as quick as I could. They are all volunteers; no body is ever drafted into it.

The first time George saw Seth was on the playground standing under an old oak apart from the other boys looking very surly. The teacher, who was full of good works and alms-deeds had searched him out and brought him in. But it seemed a question whether she would keep him or not.

"George, be sure and speak kindly to that new boy, and make him like the school if you can," said the teacher before the school opened. You can do him good if any body," she added with a bright smile. George felt it was a pleasant thing to have his teacher's good opinion. An idle, mischievous lad never

can.

"Will you take an apple?" said George to the new boy as he sauntered out to the spot where he stood. He was paring another very tempting one with his jack-knife. Now, Seth's stealings were confined chiefly to such times as the fruit was out of doors, and he had not tasted an apple for many a day, so you may be sure he was glad to get such a fine, large pippin. He did not accept it very graciously, though. He had never been taught any little forms of politeness as you have, and if they are not learned in childhood they will never come very easy in later years. Still, from the time of that short recess-conversation and that little act of kindness, Seth felt that George was disposed to be a friend to him. And there was something in George's air and manner that told Seth as plain as words that he must be a friend on George's own terms. He must come up to the higher platform; he could not drag the other down to his level.

It is worth a great deal to a boy to have a friend he can look up to; some one he is to aspire to be like

The boys respected George, and would follow his lead any where. What a blessing to any school to have a noble boy-leader! Some kind they will have, but too often it is a rude, coarse lad, who rules because he has the strongest arm, and so can make himself a petty tyrant over lesser boys-a most despicable distinction, which is sure to result in contempt and aversion when the boys become men. Many an ill turn the boytyrant meets with in a later life, many a cold shoulder and contemptuous glance from those who were once victims of his ill-treatment. Never imagine you can efface your boyhood from the memories of your companions. It is stamped on the mind as indelibly as the pictures of the old home-scenes-the wood, and vale, and winding stream. You may forget a great many persons and scenes that have come between, but these you never can forget.

The boys forbore to teaze Seth out of regard to George. They saw he was taken under his particular wing, so they would not interfere with any good he might try to do him. Of course no body could make them like him, so they mostly let him alone decidedly. Many a lesson George helped him on with out of school hours, and, restless as his untamed mind was, he did make a little progress.

I

"Mother, I wish we could fix Seth up a little. know he feels ashamed of that ragged jacket and those old pants. Could n't you fix over something of mine for him? I would willingly give him my every-day clothes and wear my Sunday suit every day if you say so," he added with a merry glance in his hazel eyes. "What a self-sacrificing boy," said mother. "Well, we will see what can be done for poor Seth, for, as Peggy says, he is 'an object to see.' If he will really try to behave we will do every thing we can to help

him."

"

He does behave as hard as he can in some things, mother," said George earnestly. "He drove old Spot' up from the woods for me this afternoon and let down the fence to turn her into the 'further pasture,' and put it all up again as snug as could be. I should like to give him some of our early vegetables to-night, mother, if you would be willing. We have so many and they live so wretchedly. His mother does n't drink, though she does look so dreadfully. He has a little sister too, who often goes hungry, I dare say."

"A poor, broken-hearted woman his mother must be I do not doubt," said George's mother. My son, we will do all we can to make them more comfortable. I am glad you called my attention to it. I do not suppose we can do much for the father, but we will do all we can for the children."

From that day the poor drunkard's family had a friend, and a good, warm-hearted one, in Mrs. Aikin. Many a comfort found its way to their poor dwelling, and little Phoebe sometimes crept out from the dark shadow of her own home into the bright sunshine of her kind neighbor's beautiful dwelling.

Well, after a time the poor old man died, a dreadful, dreadful death, as the drunkard always must. It was a terrible thing for him, it is true, but a blessing to every one else that was associated with him. Is it not very sad to think of people's death being a bless ing to others? What a dreadful life they must have led! Seth's father might have lived on for a score of

years, respected and happy, an industrious laboringman, if he had only let strong drink alone. "The wicked shall not live out half his days," especially those that indulge in this sin of intemperance. O, shun the first approaches to this downward path!

After this George redoubled his efforts for Seth's improvement. And first of all he got him to go to the Sunday school, and it was the very best step he could have taken to improve even his worldly condition. Godliness is profitable for all things, having the promise of the life that now is and of that which is to come."

After Seth became a regular attendant at the Sabbath school it was not half so difficult to prevail on him to go to church, and Mrs. Aikin did not rest till she had also persuaded his mother to come. Her poor, way-worn, weary heart found a rest and peace in God's house it had not known for many a long year. It was no matter of surprise to others when the cottage began to assume a better look. A pound of nails worked wonders on the old tumble-down fence, and a peck of lime gave an entirely new face to the little house and its surroundings. There is hardly any place so bad but it can be improved. The tangled door-yard was cleared up and raked out till it looked orderly. A rank, straggling vine, too, which had managed to live on and thrive beside the house was trimmed and tacked against the old weather-boards, giving an air of taste and neatness to the whole door-way. What seeming trifles give an expression to the whole appearance of a house, both in doors and out!

George importuned his father occasionally to see if he could not do something to help poor Seth along in the world, but he had his hands so full of business it was often forgotten, and would have been entirely if the persevering boy had not brought it to his mind at times. Finding he had a very good "knack" at cutting, and shaping, and tinkering in wood generally, he succeeded in getting him a place with a cabinet-maker, where, after fighting manfully a stout battle with his old restless, roving spirit, he finally set to work with a will and became a skillful workman. Among the very first things he made after he had learned the business was the nicest little doll's bureau you ever saw perhaps, which he gave to George for his little sister Amy's birthday present. O, how it made her blue eyes sparkle with pleasure, and how earnest the little heart was in her praise of "dood Seff!" He was more than paid for his trouble when he saw the delight it gave her.

He always looked upon George as one of his first and best friends, and would always do any thing in his power to oblige him. He felt it was his friendly hand reached out to him in those early, miserable days that enabled him to take his first step toward a higher, better life.

And was not the noble result worth the little trouble and effort required on George's part? If you would call down blessings on your own head all through the journey of life let your hand be ever ready to do good to the poor and needy. If you wish to benefit the degraded, begin first to improve the soul. Lead them to the house of God and the Sabbath school. Any merely worldly improvement will only be for the

moment.

THE LOVE OF HOME-The following noble sentiments were uttered by Daniel Webster. They are indeed pearls of the rarest value. We place them here in order that mothers may see them and read them to their children:

It is only shallow-minded pretenders who make either distinguished origin a matter of personal merit, or obscure origin a matter of personal reproach. A true man is not ashamed of his early condition. It did happen to me to be born in a log-cabin, raised among the snow-drifts of New Hampshire, at a period so early that when the smoke first rose from its rude chimney and curled over the frozen hills, there was no similar evidence of a white man's habitation between it and the rivers of Canada. Its remains still exist. I make it an annual visit. I carry my children to it, to teach them the hardships endured by the generation before me. I love to dwell on the tender recollections, the kindred ties, the early affections and the narration of incidents which mingle with all I know of this primitive family abode. I weep to think that none of those who inhabited it are now among the living; and if ever I fail in affectionate veneration for him who raised it, and defended it against savage violence and destruction, cherished all domestic comforts beneath its roof, and through the fire and blood of seven years' revolutionary war, shrunk from no toil, no sacrifice to serve his country, and to raise his children to a condition better than his own, may my name and the name of my posterity be blotted from the memory of mankind!

CHRIST OUR DELIVERER-What a glorious inventory of blessings derived through and from Christ is given to us in the following beautiful paragraph from Bishop Hall! There seems to be a peculiar richness, depth, and simplicity in the piety and the writings of these saints of the olden time that we fail to reach in our own day:

Stand still now awhile, beloved, and look back with wondering and thankful eyes upon the infinite mercy of our Deliverer. Sin beguiles us, conscience accuseth us, God's wrath is bent against us, Satan tyrannizes over us, the law condemus us, insolent superstition inthralls us, and now, from all these, Christ hath made us free. How should we now erect altars to our dear Redeemer, and ascribe them "to Christ our deliverer!" How should we, from the altar of our devoted hearts, send up the holy sacrifices of our best obediences, the sweet incense of our perpetual prayers! O, blessed Savior, how should we, how can we enough magnify thee! No, not though those celestial choristers of thine should return to bear a part with us in renewing their "glory to God on high." Our bodies, our souls are too little for thee. O take thine own from us, and give it to thyself, who hast both made and freed it! To sum up all, then, we are freed from the bondage of sin by the Spirit of Christ; from an accusing conscience by the blood of Christ; from the wrath of God by faith in Christ; from the tyranny of Satan by the victory of Christ; from the curse of the law by the sanctification of Christ; from the law of ceremonies by the consummation of Christ; from human ordinances by the manumission and instruction of Christ. Now, then, let us "stand fast" in all those liberties wherewith Christ hath made us free.

SORROWS OF GREAT MEN.-Greatness confers no exemption from the cares and sorrows of life. Its share of them frequently bears a melancholy proportion to its exaltation. Out of those sorrows, too, often spring some of the noblest deeds of men, and from the depths

of aching hearts have come the words that have lived to bless and comfort the world. Such was the case with David, the monarch of Israel, as so well stated in the following from Bishop Horne:

He sought in piety that peace which he could not find in empire, and alleviated the disquietudes of State by the exercises of devotion. His invaluable Psalms convey those comforts to others which they afforded to himself. Composed upon particular occasions, yet designed for general use; delivered out as services for Israelites under the law, yet no less adapted to the circumstances of Christians, under the Gospel, they present religion to us in the most engaging dress, communicating truths which philosophy could never investigate, in a style which poetry can never equal, while history is made the vehicle of prophecy, and creation lends all its charms to paint the glories of redemption. Calculated alike to profit and to please, they inform the understanding, elevate the affections, and entertain the imagination. Indited under the influences of Him to whom all hearts are known, and all events foreknown, they suit mankind in all situations, grateful as the manna which descended from above, and conformed itself to every palate. The fairest production of human wit, after a few perusals, like gathered flowers, wither in our hands and lose their fragrance; but these unfading plants of Paradise become, as we are accustomed to them, still more and more beautiful; their bloom appears to be daily hightened; fresh odors are emitted, and new sweets extracted from them. He who hath once tasted their excellencies will desire to taste them yet again; and he who tastes them oftenest will relish them best.

SHADE ESSENTIAL TO THE EFFECT OF LIGHT-How unwillingly we accept the sorrows and trials of life; and how generally we suppose that our welfare lies always in the direction of happiness and prosperity! And yet what imperfect, half-developed creatures would we be if all our life was unmingled sunshine! Trials are as necessary to a true human life, as shade to the effect of light.

It is recorded of Queen Elizabeth, that, ignorant of the laws of painting, she commanded her portrait to be taken without a shadow upon the canvas. With an ignorance of the laws of moral painting equally profound, and infinitely more serious, how often would we have obliterated from our history those somber pencilings of life's picture-the dark background and blended shadows-which the Divine artist knew to be essential to the fidelity, harmony, and perfection of the whole! We would have life without its moral discipline. We would efface from the portrait all the shadings of sorrow and sickness, suffering, poverty, and bereavement; leaving nothing but the bright and sunny hues of unmingled, unclouded happiness!

But when we gaze upon the carvings, the paintings, and frescoes of our whole life, each epoch, event, and incidentthe lights and shadows beautifully and exquisitely blended— we shall then see the infinite rectitude of our Heavenly Father in all his present dealings with us, both of sorrow and of joy. With what vividness shall we then see the necessity, as much for the cold, dark pencilings, as for the warm roseate tints of the picture; and for both the lights and shadows, the joys and sorrows of life, we shall laud and adore his great and glorious name!-Winslow.

THE TRUE MAN.-Reader, let us weigh ourselves in this balance, and see if we are entitled to this label:

He is above a mean thing. He can not stoop to mean fraud. He invades no secrets in the keeping of another. He

betrays no secrets confided to his own keeping. He never struts in borrowed plumage, He never takes selfish advantage of our mistakes. He uses no ignoble weapons in controversy. He never stabs in the dark. He is ashamed of inuendos. He is not one thing to a man's face and another behind his back. If by accident he comes in possession of his neighbor's counsels, he passes upon them an act of instant oblivion. He bears sealed packages without tampering with the wax. Papers not meant for his eye, whether they flutter at his window or lie open before him in unguarded exposure, are sacred to him. He professes no privacy of others, however the sentry sleeps. Bolts and bars, locks and keys, hedges and pickets, bonds and securities, notices to trespassers, are none of them for him. He may be trusted himself out of sight-near the thinnest partition-any where. He buys no office, he sells none, he intrigues for none. He would rather fail of his rights than win them through dishonor. He will eat honest bread. He insults no man. He tramples on no sensitive feelings. If he have rebuke for another, he is straightforward, open, manly. In short, whatever he judges honorable, he practices toward every man.

KEEP THE BIRTHDAY.-An exchange makes the following excellent suggestions, which must meet the approbation of all youthful readers. We trust they will also be received with favor by the old folks:

Keep the birthdays religiously. They belong exclusively to, and are treasured among, the sweetest memories of home. Do not let any thing prevent some token, be it ever so small, that it be remembered. For one day they are heroes. The special pudding or cake is made for them; a new jacket or trowsers, with pockets, or the first pair of boots are donned; and big brothers and sisters sink into insignificance beside little Charlie, who is "six to-day," and is "going to be a man."

Mothers who have half a dozen little ones to care for are apt to neglect birthdays; they come too often; sometimes when they are nervous; but if they only knew how much such souvenirs are cherished by their wee Susy or Harry years afterward when away from their hearth-stone, and they have none to remind them that they have added one more year to the perhaps weary round of life, or to wish them, in oldfashioned phrase, "many happy returns to their birthday," they would never permit any cause to step between them and a mother's privilege.

SOMEBODY'S DARLING.-Though perhaps all our readers have seen the following touching lines, and many may have cut them out and laid them aside, yet

we can not resist the temptation to give them a permanent place by inserting them here. The poem is certainly one of the most beautiful waifs that we have yet found floating on our sea of strife. Who is its owner? Into a ward of the whitewashed halls, Where the dead and dying lay, Wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls, Somebody's darling was borne one daySomebody's darling, so young and so brave, Wearing yet on his pale, sweet face, Soon to be hid by the dust of the grave,

The lingering light of his boyhood's face.

Matted and damp are the curls of gold,
Kissing the snow of that fair young brow;
Pale are the lips of a delicate mold-
Somebody's darling is dying now,
Back from his beautiful blue-veined brow,
Brush all the wandering wave of gold;
Cross his hands on his bosom now,
Somebody's darling is still and cold.

Kiss him once for somebody's sake,

Murmur a prayer soft and low; One bright curl from its fair mates take, They were somebody's pride, you know; Somebody's hand hath rested there, Was it a mother's, soft and white, And have the lips of a sister fair

Been baptized in their waves of light?

God knows best! he was somebody's love; Somebody's heart enshrined him there; Somebody wafted his name above,

Night and morn, on the wings of prayer. Somebody wept when he marched away, Looking so handsome, brave, and grand; Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay,

Somebody clung to his parting hand.

Somebody's waiting and watching for himYearning to hold him again to her heart; And there he lies with his blue eyes dim, And the smiling, childlike lips apart. Tenderly bury the fair young dead,

Pausing to drop in his grave a tear; Carve on the wooden slab at his head, "Somebody's darling slumbers here."

(1) THE AMERICAN CONFLICT: A History of the Great Rebellion in the United States of America, 186064: Its Causes, Incidents, and Results; Intended to Exhibit Especially its Moral and Political Phases, with the Drift and Progress of American Opinion Respecting Human Slavery from 1776 to the Close of the War of the Union. By Horace Greeley. Vol. I. 8vo. Pp. 618. Hartford: O. D. Case & Co. From Levi Bonney, Cleveland, Ohio, General Agent for Ohio and Michigan. $5.-The ample title of this great work, which we have purposely given above, indicates excellently well the nature of Mr. Greeley's history, and the wellknown abilities of the author are a sufficient guarantee that the work is well done. Mr. Greeley does not propose to write the history of "the great rebellion," no one understanding better than he the impossibility of

cotemporaneous history. His object is so to arrange the material facts, and so to embody the more essential documents, or parts of documents, illustrating those facts, that the attentive, intelligent reader may learn from this work not only what were the leading incidents of our civil war, but its causes, incitements, and the inevitable sequence whereby ideas proved the germ of events. Thus far it is a philosophy of the origin of our gigantic civil war, being, as he well styles it, an answer to the question, "How we got into the war for the Union?" Its continuance, giving the historic details of the great conflict, will be an answer to the other great question, "How we get out?" For this work no man in America is more competent than Mr. Greeley. By nature he is a philosopher, by position the leading journalist of the country, by necessity a great writer,