Year: 1877

III ever WrOnge0 one Human Being


in Gods great World, may the


Angels Forgive me!''


One night when the earth was so
silent that the footballs of the
guardian angels who passed to and
fro could almost be heard, and when
the grand canopy of Heavel
blazed with bright stars, an old
man, who had made his bed on the
grass under a lone tree on the com
mons, awoke with a shiver. The
chill night air had crept through
his faded and worn garments ard
pinched his flesh. He sat up and
looked about him with that longing
expression IN his eyes which comes
only when men feel that the earth
is fast passing away from them for
ever. He had no friends Even
the wandering dog which passed |
near him growled angrily as it
caught the dutter of the old mans
rags in the gentle breeze.


When a tree becomes old and
withered, and ready to die, men de-
spise it. They forget the beauty it
held for years, and they give 1t no
praise for the grateful shade it Of
tered to thousands. They would
have its shade and strength and
beauty endure forever, forgetting
that every thing must grow Older
day by day and at last die.


Men had forgotten all the good
words ever spoken by this old man.
If be had smoothed the rough paths
of the poor-if he had turned the
wicked into better paths-if his
kind words had filed despairing
hearts with new hopes he had no
credit for it-in the hearts of men.
They had sneered and scoffed at
his slow step and his many tatters,
and they had laughed in derision
as he fell upon the hard earth.
No sailor, cast upon a lone isle IN
the great ocean, seeing ships sailing
TO and fro, but none ever turning
toward him, could have felt such
isolation as this old man felt. With
his long gray locks-with his rags
and tatters-with his wounded and
aching heart-with his knowledge
that his hours were numbered, he
turned his pale face to the bright
stars aud mused:


"When the leaves dutter down
shall die, and like them l shall be
forgotten by all men. They will
bury me but they will not mark my
grave. They may write my name |
in a book, but none will ever turn |
To it. Let inc die to-night-let me
be no more when the golden leaves |
flutter down to the chilly earth"


Shivering in the keen air of mid
night, he held his face in his hands |
and pondered, and prayed. Few |
hearts had sinned less, even when
smarting under the sense of the
worlds ridicule and negleet-few
hearts had deeper longing for the
blessed rest of Heaven. BY and by
the air no longer chilled him. de
grew warmer, and his old heart
grew larger, and as sleep came oaeA
to his eye-lids he whispered;


"If | ever wronged one human
being in Gods great world may the
angels forgive mel"


The frost was creeping onwards
from the North-creeping over hill
top aud orchard and meadow so
softly that the blades of grass hard
ly quivered. 1t crept TO the tree
aud fingered for a moment in its
branches. The green leaves shiy-
cred, then the green faded away,
little by little, and 10! each leaf
was robed in goldl They quivered
in their Joy and gladness rs the
breeze whispered:


'The old man below you is dead!
He was waiting for these golden
robes to come TO you. Will wait
YOU down, and you shall cover his
gray head with such crown as no
king ever wore.


And while the leaves were float
ing down to glorify what men had
an angel in Heaven turned
the golden pages of a book and
wrote: ''Earth has sent another
soul to dwell with and find eternal
joy and peace !'


Detroit Free Press.