and Dixon's line; and then winding its way down the mountain through Harbaugh's Valley, goes on to its terminus-Baltimore.

As you ascend this historic little mountain from Hagerstown, one gets a magnificent view of a most lovely valley, extending for twenty miles and more to the north and west. Just at the foot of the mountain, near where the railroad passes, is the old "Harbaugh Homestead." And just east of the "summit is the remnant of Germantown, a little settlement of foreign Germans, made about forty years ago. Alas! but one or two broken families remain of the goodly number of happy and thrifty villagers that once worked so industriously, ate so heartily their frugal but wholesome diet of bread and milk, and who slept so soundly under the shadow of this lonely mountain.

A mile or so to the south of this German Dorf, right in the woods, with no house in sight, lived PETER COFFEEBERGER, of the same industry and faith with the villagers in the distance.

Peter came to America with a company of his countrymen in his early manhood, landed at Baltimore, and moved by the associations of his native land, gradually made his way into the mountainous region, where land was cheap, and where he might seek out for himself a spot he could settle on, and make his home. The Germans as a class, are thrifty, and their first aim when they come to this favored clime, is to secure a home. The home-feeling is exceedingly strong in them, and as a rule, they rest not until their heart's desire is secured. And their partners, the wives and daughters, share in this feeling, and join their husbands and the boys heartily, in the task of paying for the home. Moreover, they are satisfied, if poor, with a humble home, until they can with safety secure a more inviting one. The German dislikes debts. He will work, husband his earnings, and often stint himself in clothing, in furniture, and in many of the "comforts" and "conveniences" of life, in order to meet his engagements promptly and so secure for himself that which he so much longs for,-his own home. The wife and daughters share in full the spirit and self-denial of the father, and work with their hands to gain the common object. How worthy of imitation! There are few young beginners who could not do the very same thing that many of these poor, but industrious foreign Germans are doing for themselves and their children,-buy and pay for a home. Try it, my young friend. The first of January, 1874, is a good time to begin. Form the resolution, and carry it out.

Peter Coffeeberger bought twenty-five acres of unimproved mountain land, right in the bosom of God's own territory, the primeval forests, and set to work to build himself a house on it. By industry the trees were felled, the house put up, a patch cleared,

potatoes, corn, and other "truck" planted, and so he soon rested under his own grape arbor, none daring to molest or make him afraid.

Four miles he lived from old " Father Harbaugh's." Here he sought and found employment during a good part of the year. He helped to make hay and to harvest, to haul out the manure, to pick stones off the fields, to plant and husk the corn, to thresh rye with the flail, and in winter to thresh with the "machine." Peter was rather slow of speech, somewhat of a stammerer, and slow in his movements, but perfectly reliable; and by his industry and hon · esty he never failed to do a full day's work. Many a time, early in the morning, before aurora gilded the sky, he left his humble dwelling, struck the "Indian Path" leading across South Mountain just east of the Harbaugh Home, and made his way to his employer's, reaching there just as the younger boys were getting up, and so in good time for breakfast. Alas! for the bread and meat, the potatoes and cabbage, the pot-pie and apple dumplings, the long sausage curled up on the big plate in the center of the table, and the good things besides! It was refreshing to see this hearty Teuton making inroads on savory dishes right and left! But, no matter: there was always plenty, and the girls only smiled to see that their cooking was appreciated.

Many a hard day's work did Peter do on the old "Home Farm," first for "Grandfather Harbaugh" himself, and after he quit farming, then for his son George and his son-in-law, who together farmed in his stead. In this way he paid for the property he bought, and gathered a surplus besides with which to improve and beautify it. Now that he is old, almost four-score years, he still enjoys the fruits of his industrious and temperate life. Still quite hale, in quietness and peace, right under the peaceful evening shadow of the mountain, he meditates, and in faith awaits the call of the Master.

Although he was on the farm much, he yet never learned very well the art of harnessing, hitching, and working with horses. For instance, when a pair were given him once, as indeed was often the case, to plough and harrow a patch for corn and potatoes, he fastened the jockey-stick to the bits of both the horses!

At another time, when asked to draw the "rabber" at the wagon, he took hold of the lever with great earnestness and pulled with all his strength, without first putting the lever forward. These are specimens of his inability fully to comprehend some situations. Nevertheless, he had his good points. He was industrious. He was perfectly honest. His employer needed not to watch him. His habits were good. He was a perfectly moral man. Nay more. He was a religious, a Christian man.

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member of the Lutheran Church "von Haus aus," he never failed to attend service, though he had to walk from seven to eight miles to do it. Twice a year he attended the Holy Communion. Saturday previous he was always present at Preparatory service; and his employer never asked him to stay away, but encouraged him to go instead. Somewhat hasty in temper, he was always ready to acknowledge any wrong step, and was truly humble and faithful.

Peter was perfectly trustworthy as a companion for boys. He never used profane language; was always truthful; and according to the measure of his ability, he bore witness against all forms of sin, and spoke in favor of Christ and his Church. This is also the reason largely why he was employed so long on the same farm, and why he is still welcome at the table of those for whom he labored so many years.

True, he was only an humble, illiterate German, never learned to understand, nor to speak scarcely a word of English, though its sound fell on his ears "for years. Yet, his steady habits of industry, his correct, even flow of life, his humble piety, had a moulding influence on at least some of the "boys" that remaineth unto this day. It is not the noisy, blustering character that best cultivates habits of industry and virtue, that will live and bear fruit. Still waters run deepest.

Peter is now old. His earthly labor is done. The physical man is fast sinking to the "common level,"-the grave. True, he still crosses the South Mountain on his way to Church, and to see old friends; but his step is feeble and his eye is growing dim. The old "Indian Path "he was wont to travel in days of yore is well nigh obliterated. The track of the iron-horse makes havoc with the walks of the olden time. The trees are being hacked down along the mountain side. The old houses are being replaced with new ones; and many a new home will soon dot the mountain side. Other men and women, other boys and girls, other laborers walk the roads, plough the fields, milk the cows, gather the harvests, sing the songs, pray the prayers, and witness for Christ and His cause now, in the room and stead of their fathers. Man is born; lives here, awhile and-hereafter!

PERPETUAL complaints, says an old writer, are like unto a new cart, which creaks and cries even while it has no burden but its own wheels; whereas that which is long used and well oiled goes silently away with a heavy load.

A SOUL WITHOUT GOD.

BY THE EDITOR.

Traveling on the cars gives one a good opportunity to study human nature. Here one meets people whom he has never met before, and may never meet again. People of the most opposite habits, creeds and types of mind. And to an observing mind, there is none so ignorant but what something worth knowing can be learned of him. Thus I happened once to get a seat near two gentlemen, who interested me greatly. One from Western Pennsylvania, a man whose features and hair showed him to be past middle life. Plainly dressed, and of easy pleasant manners, a passing stranger might have taken him for a Scotch-Irish farmer or mechanic. He seemed pleased to have me sit aside of him, and conversed intelligently on every subject touched. I soon discovered that he was a man of a thorough education, without making any display of it. What he thought of Christ I could not at once discover; whether he was a Christian or an infidel, for a while did not appear from his conversation.

In the seat before sat a man, in the prime of life, who after a while joined us in our conversation. He was from Connecticut, but a native of Ireland, which country he left when a boy. On some subjects he, too, was well informed, on others very ignorant. Passing a field where the young wheat was a few inches high, he asked what plant this was. When told that it was wheat, he inquired when it would ripen, this fall or next summer. growing, at least, our Yankee friend was poorly posted.

In wheat

Of course he soon turned his conversation to Ireland, as intelligent Irishmen are wont to do. About the charms of the Emerald Isle we talked, and of her sorrows. The latter he said were "owing to the religion of Ireland. This keeps the people in ignorance, and bends them in stooping subjection to their oppressors. The misguided Irish hate and destroy one another on account of their differing creeds, instead of uniting themselves in the expulsion of their tyrannical enemies. It is Religion, sir, that does it. And Religion is a humbug. Indeed all Religion is a humbug."

"Is it possible that you can hold such a view? All religion, the Christian Religion, a humbug, too! Surely you would not say that."

"Yes, I say that. I know all about it. I confess I am a skeptic. My mother was a rigid Catholic. She brought me up in

that creed. I have passed through it all. I tell you, there is nothing in it, nothing in any Religion. I have an only child, a little boy; I would not for a million of dollars bring him up under the influence of Religion."

By this time the plain scholarly stranger at my side could hold back no longer.

"But you certainly believe in a God," he remarked.

"No, sir. I don't know that there is a God. I believe nothing but what I can prove and understand."

"Can you prove that you exist?"

"Certainly I can."

"Prove it."

Most assuredly I can do that."

"Do it, if you please."

"Why I know that I exist."

"How do you know it? Give us the proof."

"Run a pin into my arm; won't I feel it? If I go into yonder field and cut that man's tree down without his consent, he will soon show me that I exist by a blow or a prison."

"How do you know but what that may be a dream? Did you never dream such things?"

"Well a thing must be clear as a problem in Euclid, before I will believe. I will have no humbug. I will do what is right, and fit myself for the next world, if there is such a world. That is my way of serving God, if there is such a being."

One could readily see that this poor wandering soul had been led astray by reading infidel and skeptical books. He readily quoted phrases which he did not fully understand. The stranger at my side plied him with arguments from Descartes and others, pushed him into corners, and with a gentle earnestness tried his utmost to convince him. As I parted from them I pressed the hand of the skeptic, and expressed a kind wish that this gentleman might succeed to convince him.

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Never," was his cold reply. "It is all a humbug."

How sad a spectacle is a soul without a God! Here is a person who hates Him bitterly. He tries to get Him out of his mind, to flee from Him. How vain the effort! The influence of strange companions and skeptical books poisoned his mind against the kindest and best friend ever offered to mortal man.

What a solemn warning to young men should such cases be. This man is uncertain whether there is a future life. He is without hope and without God in the world. "But now, in Christ Jesus, ye who sometimes were far off, are made nigh by the blood of Christ. For He is our peace." (Eph. ii. 12-14).