27© 
THE BUBAL NEW-YORKER 
APRIL 28 
he was not prepared to answer the question be¬ 
fore him. 
“ it seetns as though every word was written to 
condemn me,” said be. “ But what is this? ” 
" Moments systematically saved each day will 
soon make hours, days, and weeks.” 
“ Ah! ” said he, “ the moments 1 have lost not 
only make days and weeks, but months and 
years. But I will redeem the time! 1 will never 
waste another moment! Here am I, already 
nineteen years of age, and what have I ever done 
that the world Is any better for my having lived 
In It? simply nothing. While mother lived 1 had 
something to work for; but now, for the last two 
years, I have earned only enough to live on, and 
to-day, Instead of working, have been stealing. 
Oh! mother, mother, what will become of your 
poor boy ? " 
For a long time be Bat with bowed head, while 
tears of anguish streamed down Ills face and sobs 
convulsed his frame, as he recalled his mother’s 
dying hours, or hla father he could remember but 
very little, as he was only four yoars old when he 
died. 
Ills father was a poor minister, who received 
but little more than a living; and, after he died, 
Ills mother left the little white parsonage and 
rented a couple of small rooms, which had since 
been their home. She refused all aid from the 
parish, saying: “Give it to them that need help 
more than I, for 1 can earn my own living.” 
She was one of the most learned of women, and, 
with the aid of her husbands books, had an ex¬ 
cellent opportunity for giving her son a good edu¬ 
cation. 
The one great object, of her life was to train her 
son for the ministry; and, indeed, It had been the 
last wish of her husband that his son should 
llnlsh the work he had begun. And so they had 
lived happy In each other's love until two years 
before the opening of our story, when tho mother 
sickened, and, after a long Illness, died. 
We do not reel capable of describing those last 
few weeks of that devoted mother’s life, as she 
tried to impress truths upon her son’s mind that 
time should never efface. Ah I well did he re¬ 
member In after life those hours. Well did he re¬ 
member the promises he had made. Yes, and that 
Bible she gave him, bidding him carry It In his 
pocket, and at all times to take It for his guide. 
“l know not what may befall you,” said she; 
“but this 1 do know, that If you, by faltb, keep 
your eye on God, this Book will guide you to 111m. 
Jtead It, I Study in Telit be your it fe-work to 
8oarehout the truths It contains. Though you 
may live many years, you have only time to do 
God’s work, iryou Improve all the time; It you 
fall—no, l cannot think of that, you must not fail, 
you must meet us In Heaven. I have hut a little 
while yet to live, and 1 should be glad but for 
your sake. I know you will miss me, my son. I 
dread to think of your being left alone—no, not 
alone,for the Lord will he with you, and keep you, 
if you will only let Him. 1 will leave you in His 
care. I have always trust,e<i Him, an.l l will not 
distrust Him now. My son, trust Him ever.” 
Thus was she ever trying to Impress upon his 
mind tho necessity of relying wholly on God. 
When, at last, she was dead, and all expenses 
were paid, he found he had little left him save 
his lather’s library. It was his mother’s wish 
that he should keep the rooms and what few 
things she left, and that he should continue his 
studies. For a few months he did well, studying 
nights. Many dark hours he had, hut ho always 
found relief In prayer. It seemed, sometimes, 
that he was communing with Saviour and moth¬ 
er too. Ah! there are bul few that would have 
struggled alone as well as he. But at last he got 
acquainted with some young men about his own 
age, who Invited bun here and there—“justto 
have a good time,” they said. 
At, tlrst he did not. feel at, ease In their company, 
for he knew lie was neglecting his studies, and 
knew also that ids mother had never approved of 
his making such acquaintances. But when he 
would think oi these tilings, he would say: 
“ By associating with them 1 can do them good; 
and surely my mother would wish me to do all 
the good 1 can! ” 
But In a little while he ceased to say anything 
to them about their souls, lor It was always met 
with a laugh and a Jest; and soon, too, he became 
as careless and unthinking as they, but never do¬ 
ing any willful wrong until the opening of our 
story. And now It seemed that, he fully realized, 
for the tlrst time, that he had been going down¬ 
ward. Instead of upward, as he had promised he 
would do. 
“ on I i can never forgive myself, never, never ! 
1 never thought to ;ome to this! o mother! o 
GOD! Can you ever forgive your wicked child? ” 
When at last he grew calm, he said: “ It Is not 
too late yet. 1 will redeem the past. I will be all 
that Is noble and manly, l will go to work, and, 
with patience and perseverenco, make for myself 
a name that will he honored among men. And I 
will have riches too—yes, riches. It is not wicked 
to have them, provided they be got honestly. 
Mother always wanted me to be a minister. She 
said she believed that,It was my mission; but I do 
not think so. 1 can do good and be good without 
being a minister; aud 1 believe I can do more 
good by working for riches and then giving to the 
poor; rov who ever heard of a minister having 
anything to give—they don’t receive enough to 
keep themselves from want sometimes. 1 believe 
there are more to be led and clothed than there 
are who need t he Gospel preached to them. At 
any rate, l shall try for riches, and I feel confi¬ 
dent I shall be successful; for, thanks to my dear 
mother, I have a good education, which Is one of 
the best things to begin with. 1 know I can get a 
good situation any day for no one knows of my 
wickedness to-day. They all think me honest; 
and as true as this Is my first, theft., so shall It be 
my last, god being my helper. This little book 
has done It all. How can I ever be thankful 
enough ? Although It seems so wicked for me to 
have taken It, fellII It seems as though the Lord 
had placed It within my reach for the purpose of 
saving me—yes. saving me, for 1 now hoc how cer¬ 
tain was my ruin, bud I kept In the path I was 
then treading. And now, u l knew the name and 
address or the lady to whom this book belonged, 
I would send it to her Immediately. But 1 only 
find the word • Minnie —the sweetest name, my 
dear mother's name, a name that shall always be 
most dear to me. Ah! here Is something she has 
written to-day: ” 
“ There is more Joy In enduring the cross for 
God than in the smiles and riches of the world.” 
“ What beautiful thoughts! ” She does not, 
choose riches, bul religion. Well, I will have 
both. Oh! how good arid puro she must be. 1 do 
not fed worthy even to think or her, for l know 
she must be as pure as she Is lovely, or Bhe never 
could write such beautiful words. Then her taco! 
By it, auy one can tetl she has high and holy 
thoughts, and noblo purposes, which lift, her al¬ 
most on a level with the angels. Ain 1 saying too 
much? Perhaps. Still 1 hope to see the day 
when she will be as proud to call me * Friend,’ as 
I would be to-day to call her 4 Friend.' And now, 
as the secret road to success and riches, I will 
take this little Bible that I have carried In my 
pocket ever since my mother gave It to me, but 
wblcb basso long been unread, and will again 
study its holy pages; the memorandum 1 can read 
some other time. The Bible T need now, for I feel 
a holy light breaking over me, such as 1 never 
felt, before in my life. Perhaps the Scriptures 
will reveal light on some subject 1 have never 
fully understood before.” 
He opens the book at random, and his eyo falls 
on these words; 
“Go to, now, ye rich men, weep and howl for 
the miseries that shall come upon you. Your 
riches are corrupted and your garments are motb- 
cateii! Your gold and silver is cankered; and 
the rust or them shall be a witness against you, 
and shall eat your flesh as it were lire.” 
“Oh god l” he erted, “Is rny light thus to be 
turned Into darkness ? Have 1 Indeed chosen the 
wrong path— that of riches ? No, no, It Is only by 
chance that 1 have read that! It Is not all like 
that 1” 
In Ids desperation he again turns the leaves, 
and reads: 
“Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon 
earth-” 
“No, no, not that! I cannot read that!" 
“ For what shall It profit a man if he shall gain 
the whole world and lose his own soul ?” 
“ I do not mean to lose my soul l I mean to be 
good l To have riches to do good with! o what 
shall I read that will not condemn me? Is there 
not something to comfort, ? I never read this book 
before when It seemed so terrible I It Is crushing 
me! Where shall I go for rest?” 
Ah! he has found It. now: 
•• come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy 
laden and l will give you rest.” 
“Yes, yes, I am wrongful! wrong. 1 am for¬ 
ever trying to do that which pleases me, Instead 
of doing the. will of GOD; trying to be good In my 
own strength. I had forgotten what It says about 
seeking Wet the kingdom of God, and then—yes, 
then all that is needful will be added. Oh, bow 
blind I have been. Father teach me,” he cried, 
throwing himself on his knees. 
How long and earnestly he prayed, and how he 
wrestled with god, none ever knew save he and 
the Father. But when at last he rose, he was a 
“new man In Christ Jesus," ready for the Mas¬ 
ter’s work. "Lord, 1 believe that Thou hast a 
work for me to do—a great work—teach me Thy 
will concerning me.” 
lie opened the Bible, and unconsciously turned 
to these words; 
“ go yc into all the world and preach the gospel 
to every creature.” 
Oh! what a heavenly sudle Illuminated his 
countenance, and Joy and peace filled Ids heart, 
as he exclaimed:—“ Even so, Father, for so It 
seemeth good lu Thy sight.” 
Six years have passed away, and Minnie Ste¬ 
ven Is again on a visit to her uncle’s; this time to 
spend the winter. 
The next day, as Minnie sat looking out on the 
street, her aunt detected a shade of sadness in 
her countenance, and Inquired If she were home¬ 
sick. 
" No, Aunt, not homesick, but 1 just saw a poor 
little girl go by, shivering with the cold, who 
strangely reminded me of the one I took such an 
Interest lu when I was here, six years ago.” 
“ Not six years, child 1" 
“ Yes, Auntie, it Is six years since I was here. 
Don’t you remember 1 was seventeen while I was 
here? Now you know l am twenty-three. “ Al¬ 
most. au old maid," she added, laughing. 
“ It don’t seem possible," exclaimed her aunt. 
“ Why, you don’t look a speck older than you did 
then. Twenty.three ! Why, tt Is time you were 
married. What Is the reason you have not mar¬ 
ried?” 
"Who do you suppose wants me?” laughed 
Minnie, blushing In spite of herself. 
" Don’t try to tell me bul that tbero are plenty 
who want, you, with your beauty and goodness, 
to say nothing of your great wealth. By Die way, 
Minnie, Is It true that, you said you would never 
marry any one but a minister ?” 
"Yes, Auntie, l have said so, but that doesn't 
make it so, you know; people change their minds 
very often, and besides, I am content to remain 
as I utn. T can go and come as l please, have no 
cares —" 
“ .Vo cares I / should think you had the care of 
every urchin In town. I never saw such a budget 
of goodness; always hunting for some object of 
charity—Just fit for a minister’s wife and nothing 
else; and my word for It you will lose your heart 
this time.” 
" Why, Aunt, what makes you think so ?’ 
“ I don’t know as 1 ought to say anything. But 
It won’t do any hurt to say we have got. the nicest 
minister on our charge this year that has ever 
been In this town. A young man, not over twenty- 
five or six, single, good looking, smart., and be¬ 
sides makes lots of money.” 
" Makes lots money / How can that be 7 I 
never knew a minister had a chance to make a 
great deal of money.” 
“ Well, in the first place he gets a large salary; 
and then he Is a great writer, by which he gets 
thousands of dollars, lie has a nice farm, a few 
miles from the city, with nice buildings, and all 
the comforts and conveniences necessary. He 
says he has that to fall back on, in case his hoallh 
should fall, or anything should happen to unfit 
him for the ministry. But now, since, he has that 
paid ror, they say he gives nearly all his money 
for charitable purposes. 1 never saw any eue 80 
earnestly engaged In doing good, unless It Is your¬ 
self, and I think sometimes he goes far ahead of 
you; hut perhaps it is because he has a better 
opportunity. 
"Aud among the poor—why he ants as though 
they were given into hts especial care. And he 
has got the church waked up, too, and there is 
more good being done than I ever knew In this 
place before. Scores of children that have roam¬ 
ed our streets begging, are now hlecly clothed 
and sent to school; and all through his instruc¬ 
tion. 
“ Some said, when he first came here, that his 
enthusiasm would soon cool; that he was too 
fast; that it could not last long. But he has been 
here six months, and, instead of tiring of his 
labors, be seetns to take more upon himself each 
day. He does not seem satisfied with what he 
does, but alms at something better each day. lie 
says his motto is * Higher and higher.’ 1 have 
been thinking, since you came, how nearly alike 
you two arc. and how nice It would be If you 
would only take a fancy to each other." 
“ Take care, Aunt; don’t begin to fill rny head 
with nonsonse now. l have no doubt but that 
your in I ulster Is all very well, still I think you arc 
a little partial. Now, would you see so many 
good qualities In him, did he belong to some other 
society than your own V” 
“ Certainly I would, If I had had as good a 
chance of seeing as much of him as I have now. 
But wall and see for yourself; we will have him 
here to-morrow to dine with us.” 
“ Indeed, you will do no such thing." 
“ Oh, but we will though, as It was all arranged 
before we knew of your arrival. Your uncle Is 
very fond of him, and as he has no home but a 
boarding bouse, we have him m-re very oltcn. 
He will be here after the morning service, and 
stay untU the afternoon.” 
Minnie said no more: stlU she was very much 
annoyed. For she had looked for want so long to 
this visit, as being enjoyed with her uncle and 
aunt alone (her cousin having gone into business 
by himself), aud now she felt that It was to be 
disturbed by this minister whom she bad never 
seen, and did not want to see, she said. And now 
that her aunt had heard what she had said about 
marrying a minister, she knew that, she would 
spare no pains to throw them into each other's 
society; and she almost wished she had not come. 
The next morning Minnie found herself in tile 
great church, seated with a large congregation, 
while before them in the pulpit stood a young 
man addresslug them with all the eloquence and 
gravity belonging to riper years. 
While listening to that deep, rich voice, she 
forgot all her annoyance of the day before, and 
saw In him only a noble man proclaiming the 
truth or God ! 
“ Where have 1 seen that face ?” she kept re¬ 
peating to Herself. “ Where have I seen those 
eyes? 1 am not mistaken ; 1 know I have seen 
him before!” 
Still she could not tell when, or where, until, as 
the closing remarks, he related some experience, 
and added: 
" There Is more Joy In enduring the cross for 
God, than In the smiles and riches of the world." 
At those words she started, for she had never 
heard them spoken before, and she remembered 
that they were the very last words she had written 
la her memorandum. 
Minnie’s feelings can be better Imagined than 
described, as she walked home with her aunt, 
while her uncle waited for the minister. 
She had laid aside her wrappings and was just 
returning to the sitting-room when they arrived. 
“Minnie, dear," said her uncle, “this way, 
please.” 
At the word “ Minnie ” the minister gave a little 
start, and blushed as he found himself face to 
face with the lady whom he had so long held In 
sacred remembrance, and he never could tell, In 
after life, how he ever got through with the intro¬ 
duction. 
As for Minnie, she had never been so disturbed 
in ber life, and had never before felt so awkward. 
She was heartily glad when dinner was over, and 
she could excuse herself ror a little while. 
She went to her room, but not to rest; she was 
too much excited for that, and her excitement 
had brought on a terrible headache: so that she 
was obliged to excuse herself from church. 
Nor was the minister sorry that she did not go; 
indeed be was glad, for he felt, that he wanted 
time to regain his composure, before he could 
endure to stand there, with those beaulilul eyes 
uplifted to his owu, he wanted time for medita¬ 
tion and prayer, and then he would again bo 
ready for the work. 
Reader, do not blame him, for he was very 
young, and he felt that he owed so much to her. 
It was very late that night before sleep came to 
his relief; but when at last he did sleep, his 
slumbers were disturbed by dreams of stolen 
memorandums, money, lovely faces, etc.; while 
Minnie's dreams, although or a different, nature, 
can hardly be said to have been mere soothing. 
As the days flew by, Minnie found that she was 
not, as she had supposed, disturbed by the min¬ 
ister’s visits, but was always glad when he came. 
And soon she began t.o wait and watch for his 
coming, and feel disappointed when be came not. 
But as yet he had not spoken of the memoran¬ 
dum ; and she would have doubted hla having It., 
had It not been for an occasional sentence he 
would utter, that she knew no one but herself 
had written. 
But at last, one Sabbath afternoon, he drew 
from his pocket the memorandum. 
Minnie know It, Instantly, and, with a glad cry, 
reached.out her hand to get it. 
“ Nor, yet, Minnie," said he; “ you may have It 
on conditions.” 
“ Name them,” she cried. 
He drew his chair beside her own, and with 
great emotion told her his past life—how he came 
by the book, and of his struggles until the present 
time. 
“ And this book, next to God and my mother,’; 
said lie, “has made me what 1 am to-day. Do 
you wonder that I love It—that I have held it al¬ 
most as sacred as the Bible ? I vowed that day 
that If God would spare my life Tor a few years, I 
would make amends for my past life; and though 
I have not always been satisfied with myself, 
still I feel that I have done all 1 could, and I be¬ 
lieve that la all He requires. If I oould not say 
this, I would not be here to-day. 1 said then t hat 
I would keep It until 1 felt worthy to give It into 
yonr hand, and I reel worthy to-day. Minnie, do 
you think 1 am worthy of your love ? Do you 
think you can forgive and trust me us Cjod has?” 
Hhe was crying softly now, but he took the Ut¬ 
ile, unresisting hand In Ills own and asked: 
"Minnie, will you take back the little book, 
and with It also take me?” 
Need we record her answer? We think not. 
But we will say that In a few weeks she went 
back to her home to got, ready for the wedding, 
which Is to take place lu the beautiful month of 
the following June. 
And so we will leave t hem In the great happi¬ 
ness they so richly deserve, hoping that joy, 
peace, and prosperity may ever attend them, and 
that their happiness may never be less! 
And now that Minnie has found “The Lost 
Memorandum,” we arc ready to exclaim with her, 
“Surely all things work together for good to 
them that love God !” 
>al)I)al!| |lcalmi(j, 
NOT THE PLACE FOR SHOW. 
It Is bad taste to make the church the place for 
the show of flDe clothes. There may be occasions 
when It. Is suitable to put on the costliest and the 
richest dress which the means and the conscience 
will allow; but to make the house of prayer a 
scene for exhibition of the latest fashions, and 
thus to appear before God, is out. of all character. 
The plainest raiment which is in keeping with the 
usual habit of a person, Is most consistent with 
the gravity of religious worship. Thoroughly re¬ 
fined people arc always averse t o making a display 
of themselves. True worth craves neutral tints. 
Least of all do well •cultivated persons wish to 
draw the gaze of a congregation to themselves, 
when they aud others arc met lor Hie serious 
matter of religious Instruction and devotion. 
They desire, also, t hat as far as possible all dis¬ 
tinctions of rich aud poor, great and small, shall 
disappear in the sanctuary.— Christian index, 
-»«» 
THE DEPTHS OF GRACE. 
No one can know the depths of grace until he 
has experienced the depths of mortal sorrow. Can 
you not see why it. Is In answer to our most earn¬ 
est aDd persistent prayers it often happens that 
our Lord’s love for us Is expressed more by rebuke 
than by his special manifestations tor which we 
pray ? This is the waj He iuinits Ills promises to 
those whom lie loves. By temporal sorrows lie 
shatters their earthly hopes, that they may know 
Him alone. By spiritual trials He reveals the 
strength and depth ot their corruption, that they 
may know the power of His forgiving and sancti¬ 
fying love. By manifold temptations He tries 
their faith In Ills love and In Ills promise. 
--— 
SUDDENLY DELIVERED. 
A man who was a confirmed a nd hopeless drunk¬ 
ard, being about to go to the fishing banks with a 
fisherman, proposed, before they started, “to 
take a drlr.k.” "No,” said the fisherman, “I 
don’t drink.” 
" Don’t you drink anything?” 
“No, 1 don't drink anything.” 
“ Why not?" 
“ Because I am a Christian.” 
-*-*-♦- 
God loves that his people should put his bonds 
(his promises) In suit; and he who does so shall 
find God near him, though friends should leave 
him and the world be In arms against him. 
Woulds'L t liou die nobl.v, let thy vices die before 
thee. 
