names are upon the record as members. Are we manifesting that interest
in this important cause which those did who were the original founders
of this society? Almost all of those are now absent, several have
removed to other places; two, we trust, have long since been joining in
the praises, and participating in the enjoyments, of heaven; and others,
by reason of illness or the infirmities of age, are usually detained
from the place of prayer. But we trust their hearts are with us; and
shall we not endeavor to be faithful representatives of those whose
places we now occupy? Have we not motives sufficient to stimulate us to
a more diligent discharge of duty? God has given to us jewels of rare
beauty, no gem from mountain or mine, no coral from the ocean's flow,
can compare with them. And they are of priceless value too; Christ's
blood alone could purchase them, and this He gave, gave freely too, that
they might be fitted to deck His diadem of glory. He has encased these
gems in caskets of exquisite workmanship, and given them to us, that we
may keep them safely, and return them to Him when He shall ask them of
us. Shall we be negligent of this trust? Shall we be busy, here and
there, and suffer the adversary of souls to secure them to himself? We
know that God is pleased to accept the efforts of the faithful mother;
his language to us is, "Take this child and nurse it for _me_, and I
will give thee thy wages." But on this condition alone, are we to
receive the reward promised that they be trained for His service. And
have we not the evidence, even now, before us of the fulfillment of His
precious promise? Those of us who were privileged on the last Sabbath to
witness the consecration of that band of youthful disciples to the
Savior, felt that the efforts of faithful mothers _had_ been blessed,
their prayers _had_ been answered, and when we remembered that six of
those loved ones were the children of our little circle, and others were
intimately connected with some of our number, we felt our confidence in
God strengthened, and I trust all gained new encouragement to labor for
those who were yet out of the ark of safety. There are others of our
number with whom God's Spirit has been striving, and even now His
influences are being felt. Shall they be resisted, and those thus
influenced go farther from Him who has died that they might live?

Not many years since I was permitted to stand by the death-bed of a
mother in Israel. Her sons were there, and as she looked at them with
eyes in which we might almost see reflected the bright glories of the
New Jerusalem, she exclaimed, "Dear sons, I shall meet you all in
heaven." Why, we were led to ask, does she say this? Two of them had
already reached the age of manhood, and had as yet refused to yield
obedience to their Heavenly Father. But she trusted in her
covenant-keeping God, she had given them to Him; for them she had
labored and prayed, and she _knew_ that God delighted to answer prayer.
We realized the ground of her confidence, when tidings came to us, ere
that year had expired, that one of those sons, far away upon the ocean,
with no Sabbath or sanctuary privileges within his reach, had found the
Savior precious to his soul. The other, ere long, became an active
member of the church on earth. Is not our God the same in whom she so
implicitly trusted, and will He not as readily bless our efforts as
hers, if we are truly faithful?

We are all, I trust, prepared to-day to render a tribute of praise to
our Heavenly Father, who has so kindly preserved us during the year now
passed. As we look around our little circle we find no place made vacant
by death, I mean of those who have been the attendants upon our meeting.
We do not forget that the messenger has been sent to the family of our
eldest sister, and removed that son upon whom she so confidently leaned
for support. He who so assiduously improved every opportunity to
minister to her comfort and happiness, has been taken, and not only
mother and sisters have been bereaved, but children, too, of this
association have, by this providence, been made orphans. We trust _they_
have already realized that precious promise, "When my father and mother
forsake me, then the Lord will take me up;" and may He whose judgments
are unsearchable, and His ways past finding out, enable that sorely
afflicted mother to say, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him."

What the events of the coming year are to be, as it regards ourselves,
we know not. We would not lift the curtain to gaze into futurity; but
may we each have strength and wisdom given us to discharge faithfully
every duty, that whether living or dying we may be accepted of God!

                    SARAH A. GUTHRIE, _Secretary._

THE EDITOR'S TABLE.

The steamer _Humboldt_, after a long passage, having encountered heavy
seas, and been obliged to put into port for repairs, has just arrived.
She has proved herself a stanch vessel, thoroughly tested her sea-going
qualities, and escaped dangers which would have wrecked an ordinary
steamer. Her passengers express the utmost confidence in the vessel and
her officers, and advise travelers to take passage in her.

_Our_ bark has now accomplished a voyage, during which it met many
dangers and delays which as thoroughly tested its power and capacity;
and we too meet with expressions of kindness and confidence, some of
which we venture to extract from letters which the postman has just laid
on our table.

A lady, residing near Boston, writes thus: "Permit me to assure you, my
dear Madam, of my warmest interest in you and your work, and of my
earnest desire that your enterprise may prove a successful one. Your
work certainly deserves a wide circulation, and has in my opinion a
stronger claim upon the patronage of the Christian public than any other
with which I am acquainted. You must have met with embarrassments in
commencing a new work, and hence, I suppose, the occasional delays in
the issuing of your numbers."

A lady from Michigan writes: "My dear Mrs. W., we rejoice in the success
which has thus far attended your efforts in the great work of your
life. May their results, as manifested in the lives and characters of
the children of the land, for many many years, prove that your labors
were not in vain, in the Lord. We were beginning to have some anxiety as
to the success of your Magazine from not receiving it as early as we
expected; no other periodical could fill its place. May you, dear Madam,
long be spared to edit it, and may you have all the co-operation and
patronage you need."

A friend says: "Our pleasant interview, after a lapse of years, and
those years marked by many vicissitudes, has caused the tide of feelings
to ebb and flow till the current of my thoughts is swollen into such a
stream of intensity as to lead me, through this channel of
communication, to assure you of my warmest sympathy and my deep interest
in the important work in which you have been so long engaged. It was
gratifying to learn from your lips that amid the varied trials which
have been scattered in your pathway God has been your refuge and
strength--a very present help in trouble, and cheering to hear your
widowed heart sing of mercy and exult in the happiness of that precious
group who have gone before you into the eternal world." * * *

"My dear friend, may the sentiments and doctrines inculcated in your
work drop as the rain, and distill as the dew, fertilizing and
enlivening the sluggish soul, and encouraging the weary and heavy-laden.
I know you need encouragement in your labor of love, and as I expect
soon to visit M----, when I shall greet that precious Maternal
Association to which I belonged for so many years, and which has so
often been addressed by you, through the pages of your Magazine, as well
as personally, I shall hope to do something in increasing the
circulation of the work there. * *

                                 "Your friend,

                                   "E. M. R."

We have many other letters from which we might make similar extracts,
but our purpose in making the above was to give us an opportunity to say
to our friends, that our bark is again ready for sea, with the
flattering prospect of making a pleasant voyage, and that our sails are
trimmed and need but the favoring breeze to speed it on its way.

Original.

COUSIN MARY ROSE; OR, A CHILD'S FIRST VISIT.

BY GEORGIANA MAY SYKES.

How capricious is memory, often retaining through life trivial and
transient incidents, in all the freshness of minute details, while of
far more important events, where laborious effort has been expended to
leave a fair and lasting record, but faint and illegible traces
frequently remain!

Far back in my childhood, so far that I am at a loss where to place it,
is a little episode, standing so far apart from the main purport of its
history, that I do not know how it happened, or whether the original
impression was deepened by its subsequent recurrence. This was a visit
to the village of W----, the home of my Cousin Mary Rose.

I remember distinctly the ride; short it must have been, since it was
but four or five miles from home, but it seemed long to me then. There
was great elation of spirits on my part, and no particular excitement;
but a very sedate pace on the part of our old horse, to whose swinging
gait a monotonous creaking of the old-fashioned chaise kept up a steady
response, not unharmonious, as it was connected in my mind with the idea
of progress. I remember the wonders of the way, particularly my awe of a
place called Folly Bridge, where a wide chasm, filled with many
scattered rocks, and the noisy gurgle of shallow water, had resulted
from an attempt to improve upon the original ford. Green fields, and
houses with neat door-yards, thickened at last into a pretty village,
with a church and school-house, stores and workshops. Then, turning from
the main street, near the church, we took a quiet lane, which soon
brought us to a pause, where our wheels indented the turf of a green
slope, before the gate of a long, low dwelling, half buried in ancient
lilac trees. This was the home of Aunt Rose, who, though no veritable
aunt of mine, was one of those choice spirits, "to all the world akin,"
around whose memory lingers the fragrance of deeds of kindness. Here, by
special invitation, I had come on a visit--my _first_ visit from home. I
had passed through no small excitement in the prospect of that event. I
had anxiously watched every little preparation made for it, and my own
small packing had seemed momentous. I felt to the full the dignity of
the occasion. The father and mother, the brothers and sisters, the
inseparable and often tedious nursery-maid, Harriet, were all left
behind.

I stood for the first time on my individual responsibility among persons
of whom I had known but little. The monotony of home-life was broken in
upon, and my eyes and ears were both open to receive new impressions.
Doubtless, the careful mother, who permitted me to be placed in this new
situation, was well satisfied that I should be subjected only to good
influences, but had they been evil, I should certainly have been
lastingly affected by them, since every thing connected with the house
and its inmates, the garden, the fields, the walks in the village, lives
still a picture of vivid hues.

What induced the family to desire my company, I do not know; I have an
idea that I was invited because, like many other good people, they liked
the company of children, and in the hope that I might contribute to the
element of home-cheerfulness, with which they liked to surround their
only daughter, my Cousin Mary Rose, whose tall shadowy figure occupies
in my recollections, as it did in reality, the very center of this
household group. That she was an invalid, I gather from many remembered
trifles, such as the constant consideration shown for her strength in
walks and rides, the hooks in the ceiling from which her swing-chair had
formerly hung (at which I used to gaze, thinking it _such_ a pity that
it had ever been removed); her quiet pursuits, and her gentle, and
rather languid manner. She must have been simple and natural, as well as
refined in her tastes, and of a delicate neatness and purity in her
dress. If she was a rose, as her name would indicate, it must have been
a white rose; but I think she was more like a spotted lily. There was
her father, of whom I remember little, except that he slept in his large
arm-chair at noontide, when I was fain to be quiet, and that he looked
kindly and chatted pleasantly with me, as I sat on his knee at twilight.
I found my place at once in the household. If I had any first feelings
of strangeness to be overcome, which is probable, as I was but a timid
child, or if I wept any tears under deserved reproof, or was in any
trouble from childish indiscretions, the traces of these things have all
vanished; nothing remains but the record of long summer-days of delight.
Up and down, in and out, I wandered, at will, within certain limits.

An old cider mill (for such things _were_ in New England) in the orchard
was the remotest verge in one direction; to sit near it, and watch the
horse go slowly round and round, and chat with Chauncey, the youngest
son of the house, who was superintending it, was a great pleasure; but
most of my out-of-doors enjoyments were solitary. I think this must have
given a zest to them, for at home I was seldom alone. I was one of a
little troop of brothers' and sisters, whose pleasures were all _plays_,
gregarious and noisy. It was a new thing to be so quiet, and to give my
still fancies such a range. I was never weary of watching the long
processions of snow-white geese, moving along the turfy sides of the
road, solemn and stately, each garnished with that awkward appendage the
"_poke_," which seemed to me very cruel, since, in my simplicity, I
believed that the perpendicular rod in the center passed, like a spit,
directly through the bird's neck. Then, how inexhaustible were the
resources of the flower garden, on the southern side of the house, into
which a door opened from the parlor, the broad semicircular stone
doorsteps affording me a favorite seat.

What a variety of treasures were spread out before me: larkspurs, from
whose pointed nectaries I might weave "circles without end," varying the
pattern of each by alternate proportions of blue, and pink, and white.
There were foxgloves to be examined, whose depths were so mysteriously
freckled; there were clusters of cowslips, and moss-pinks to be
counted. There were tufts of ribbon-grass to be searched as diligently
as ever merchandise in later days, for perfect matches; there were
morning-glories, and moon-sleeps, and four o'clocks, and evening
primroses to be watched lest they might fail to be true to their
respective hours in opening and shutting. There were poppies, from whose
"diminished heads" the loose leaves were to be gathered in a basket,
(for they might stain the apron,) and lightly spread in the garret for
drying. There were ripe poppy-seeds to be shaken out through the curious
lid of their seed-vessel, in which a child's fancy found a curious
resemblance to a _pepper-box_; I often forced it to serve as one in the
imaginary feasts spread out on the door-step, though there were no
guests to be invited, except plenty of wandering butterflies, or an
occasional humming-bird, whizzing about the crimson blossoms of the
balm. Oh, the delights of Aunt Rose's flower-garden!

Then, there were the chickens to be fed, and the milking of the cows to
be "assisted at," and a chat enjoyed, meanwhile, with good-natured
Nancy, the maid, to stand beside whose spinning-wheel when, in an
afternoon, she found time to set it in motion, herself arrayed in a
clean gown and apron, was another great delight.

But my greatest enjoyments were found in Cousin Mary Rose's pleasant
chamber, which always seemed bright with the sunshine. From its windows
I looked out over fields of grain, and fruitful orchards, and green
meadows, sloping all the way to the banks of the blue Connecticut. I
doubt if I had ever known before that there was any beauty in a
prospect. There was plenty of pleasant occupation for me in that
chamber. I had my little bench, on which I sat at her feet, and read
aloud to her as she sewed, something which she had selected for me.
Though I never had an opportunity of knowing her in years when I was
more capable of judging of character (for we were separated, first by
distance, and now, alas, by death), I am sure that she must at that time
have been of more than the average taste and cultivation among young
ladies. Sure I am that she opened to me many a sealed fountain. My range
of reading had been limited to infant story-books and easy
school-lessons. She took from her book-shelves Cowper, and made me
acquainted with his hares, _Tiny_ and _Bess_, and enlisted my sympathies
for his imprisoned bullfinch. She turned over many leaves of the
_Spectator_ and _Rambler_, till she found for me allegories and tales of
Bagdad and Balsora, and showed me the Vision of Mirza, the Valley of
Human Miseries, and the Bridge of Human Life; I caught something of
their meaning, though I could not grasp the whole, and became so
enamored of them that when I returned home nothing would satisfy me but
the loan of my favorites, that I might share the great pleasure of these
wonderful stories with my friends there. How great was my surprise to
find that the same books held a conspicuous place in the library at
home!

The little pieces of needlework, too, which filled a part of every day,
unlike the tedious, never-ending patchwork of school, were pleasant.
Cousin Mary Rose well understood how to make them so, when she coupled
the setting of the delicate little stitches with the idea of doing a
service or giving a pleasure to somebody. This was a bag for Nancy.
To-morrow, it was a cravat for Chauncey. Now, this same Chauncey was my
special delight, he being a lively youth of eighteen, the only son at
home, with whom, after tea, I had always a merry race, or some
inspiriting game of romps. And then, feat of all, came the hemming of a
handkerchief for Mr. Williams.

But who was Mr. Williams? I had no manner of idea who he was, or what
relation he held to the family, which entitled him to come in
unceremoniously at breakfast, dinner or tea-time, and gave him the
privilege of driving my Cousin Mary Rose over hill and valley for the
benefit of her health. In these rides I often had my share, for my
little bench fitted nicely into the old-fashioned chaise, where I sat
quietly between the two, looking out for wonders with which to interrupt
the talk going on above my head. Not that the talk was altogether
unintelligible to me. It often turned on themes of which I had heard
much. It spoke of God, of heaven, of the goodness and love of the
blessed Savior, of the hopes and privileges of the Christian. I liked
to hear it; there was no constraint in it. They might have talked of any
thing else; but I knew they chose the topic because they liked it,--I
felt that they were true Christians, and that it was safe and good to be
near them. Sometimes the conversation turned on earthly hopes and plans,
and then it became less intelligible to me.

One ride, I remember, which occupied a long summer afternoon. We left
home after an early dinner, and wound our way over hills rocky and
steep, from which we would catch views of the river, keeping always near
its bank, till we came to Mr. Williams's own home, or rather that of his
mother. What a pleasant visit was that! How Mr. Williams's mother and
sisters rejoiced over our coming! What a pet they made of me! and how
much they seemed inclined to pet my Cousin Mary Rose. I have an
indistinct idea of a faint flush passing now and then over the White
Rose. What a joyous, bountiful time it was! Such pears, and peaches, and
apples as were heaped up on the occasion! How social and cheerful was
the gathering around the teatable, lavishly spread with dainties!

How golden and glorious looked the hills, the trees, and the river in
the last rays of the setting sun, as we started from the door on our
return! How the sunset faded to twilight, and the dimness gave place to
the light of the rising moon, long before we reached the door, where
anxious Aunt Rose was watching for us! How much talk there was with the
old people about it all; for I suspect that, in their life of rare
incidents, it was the custom to make much of every thing that occurred.
What an unlading there was of the chaise-box, and bringing to light of
peaches and pears, which kept the journey in remembrance for many days
after!

That night, as on every other night of my stay, my kind cousin saw me
safely placed in my bed, after I had knelt beside her to repeat my
evening prayer. Then, as she bent to kiss me, and gently whispered,
"_God bless thee, child_," she seemed to leave her serene spirit as a
mantle of repose.

When the Sabbath came, I walked hand in hand with her to the village
church. There was much there to distract my attention, particularly in
that rare sight, the ample white wig (the _last of the wigs_ of
Connecticut!) on the head of the venerable minister, who, though too
infirm for much active service, still held his place in the pulpit; but
I listened with all my might, intent on hearing something which I might
remember, and repeat to please Cousin Mary Rose; for I knew that she
would expect me to turn to the text, and would question me whether I had
understood it. I have pleasant hymns too, in recollection, which date
back to this very time. They have outlived the beautiful little purse
which was Mr. Williams's parting gift to me, and the tortoise-shell
kitten, with which Aunt Rose sought to console me, in my grief at seeing
myself sent for to return home. The summons was sudden but peremptory,
and I obeyed it with a sad heart.

I cannot tell how long afterwards it was, for months and years are not
very different in the calendar of childhood, when I was surprised with
the announcement that a change had come over Cousin Mary Rose. She was
changed to Mrs. Williams, and had gone with him, I think, to the South.

I doubt if any trace of the family is still to be found in the pleasant
village which was their home. The parents have gone to their rest. The
younger members removed long ago to the distant West.

My Cousin Mary Rose, for many years a happy and useful wife, has at last
found, in some part of the great western valley, a peaceful grave. I do
not know the spot where she lies, but I would fain twine around it these
little blossoms of grateful remembrance.

There is a moral in this slight sketch which I wish to impress on the
_daughters_ who read this Magazine. It is that their influence is
greater than they may suppose. Children read the purpose, the motive of
conduct, and understand the tenor of character; they are attracted by
feminine grace and refinement; they are keen admirers of personal
beauty, and they can be won by goodness and gentleness. Never, dear
young friends, overlook or treat with indifference a child thrown in
your way. You may lose by it a choice opportunity of conferring
happiness and lasting benefit.

_Norwich, Conn._

Original.

MY LITTLE NIECE, MARY JANE.

CONCLUDED.

When the sick child had recovered, and the family were again collected,
Mary Jane was sent to school. This was a delightful change to her--she
loved her teacher, she loved the little girls, she loved her book, but
more than all, her needle. The neatly folded patchwork made by her
little fingers, is kept as a choice relic to this day.

She had been in school just one month when she was taken sick. Whether
this was owing to the confined air of the school-room, or to a too close
application to her studies and work, is not known.

She returned from school one evening, and having sat with the family at
the table as usual, she went to her mother, and with rather unusual
earnestness requested her to take her in her lap and tell her a story.
To be told a story in mother's lap was regarded as a great indulgence by
the children. The little ones on hearing her request, ran to mother and
insisted on being attended to first. "Take me up, mother, and do take me
up." At length Mary Jane with her usual self-denial restored quiet by
requesting her mother to begin with the youngest first. When a short
story had been told her little brother, and she was about occupying the
desired position, she again yielded her right to the importunities of
her younger sister. A longer story was now told, in which she became
quite interested herself, so that when her turn came, she appeared
somewhat exhausted. As her mother took her in her arms, she laid her
head upon her shoulder, saying it ached very hard. It was thought that
sleep would restore her, so she was placed in bed.

At midnight the mother was aroused by the ineffectual efforts of Mary
Jane to awaken her nurse. On entering the chamber, she found that the
dear child had not slept at all. Her head was throbbing with pain, and
she was saying in a piteous manner, "I can't wake up Nancy." Her mother
immediately carried her to her own bed, and having placed her there,
perceived that from an almost icy coldness, she had suddenly changed to
an intense and burning heat.

Her father was standing by the bed uncertain whether or not to call a
physician, when in a pleased but excited manner she called out to him
"to see all those little girls." She imagined that little girls were all
around her, and although somewhat puzzled in accounting for their
presence, yet she appeared greatly delighted to see them.

After this she lay for some time in a dozing state, then she became
convulsed. During her short but distressing sickness, she had but few
lucid intervals. When not lying in a stupor her mind was usually busied
amidst past scenes.

At one time as I was standing by her pillow, bathing her head, she said
in a piteous tone, "I can't thread my needle." Then in a clear sweet
musical voice she called "Nancy" to come and help her thread it.

At another time her father supposing her unconscious said "I fear she
will never get well." She immediately opened her eyes, clasped her
little hands and laying them upon her bosom, looked upward and with
great earnestness commended herself to God: "My dear Father up in
heaven," she said, "please to make me well, if you think it is best; but
if you do not think best, then please to take me up to heaven where
Jesus is." After this, she continued for some time in prayer, but her
articulation was indistinct. One expression only was audible. It was
this, "suffer little children to come."

What gratitude is due to the tender and compassionate Savior for this
rich legacy of love, to the infant mind! How often has it comforted the
dying, or drawn to the bosom of everlasting love, the living among
little children. "Suffer little children to come unto me." The
preciousness and efficiency of this touching appeal seem to be but
little realized even among believing parents. Were it otherwise, should
we not see more of infant piety, in the families of professing
Christians?

Once as the gray dawn approached, she appeared to wake as from a quiet
sleep, and asked if it was morning. On being told that it was, she
folded her hands and commenced her morning prayer. Soon, however, her
mind wandered, and her mother finished it for her.

From this time she lay and moaned her little life away. But whenever
prayer was offered, the moaning would cease for a short interval,
indicating that she was conscious, and also interested.

During the last night of her life, her mind appeared perfectly clear.
She spoke often of "heaven" and of "Jesus"; but little is recollected,
as her mother was not by. Not apprehending death to be so near, she had
been persuaded to try to get some rest. Suddenly there was a change. The
mother was called. Approaching the bed she saw that the last struggle
had come on. Summoning strength, she said, "Are you willing to die and
go to heaven where Jesus is?" The dear dying child answered audibly,
"Yes." The mother then said, "Now you may lay yourself in the arms of
Jesus. He will carry you safely home to heaven." Again there was an
attempt to speak, but the little spirit escaped in the effort, and was
forever free from suffering, and sorrow, and sin.

In the morning I went over to look upon my little niece, as she lay
sleeping in death. "Aunty B----" was there standing by the sofa.
Uncovering the little form she said, "She has _found the way to heaven_
now;" alluding to the conversation she had with Mary Jane, more than
three years before.

Soon, the person whose office it was to prepare the last narrow
receptacle for the little body, entered the room and prepared to take
the measurement. Having finished his work, he seated himself at a
respectful distance, and gazed on the marvelous beauty of the child. At
length turning to the father he asked, "How old was she?" "Six years and
eight months," was the reply. "So young!" he responded; then added that
he had often performed the same office for young persons, but had never
seen a more intelligent countenance, at the age of fifteen. Yet
notwithstanding the indications of intellect, and of maturity of
character, so much in advance of her tender age; her perfectly infantile
features, and the extreme delicacy of their texture and complexion, bore
witness to the truthfulness of the age, beneath her name on the little
coffin: "six years and eight months."

And now as my thoughts glance backwards and linger over the little
sleeper upon that sofa, so calm and beautiful in death, a voice seems
sounding from the pages of Revelation that she shall not always remain
thus, a prey to the spoiler. That having accomplished his work, "ashes
to ashes," "dust to dust," Death shall have no more power, even over the
little body which he now claims as his own.

But it shall come forth, not as then, destined to see corruption, but
resplendent in beauty, and shining in more than mortal loveliness; a fit
receptacle for its glorified inmate, in the day of the final
resurrection of the dead.

Let all Christian parents who mourn the loss of pious children, comfort
themselves with the words of the apostle, "Them also that sleep in
Jesus, will God bring with him," "when he shall come to be glorified in
his saints, and to be admired in all them that believe."

It was in the month of November that Mary Jane died, and was buried;
reminding one of those lines of Bryant:

  "In the cold moist earth we laid her,
    When the forest cast his leaf;
  And we mourn'd that one so lovely,
    Should have a life so brief.
  Yet not unmeet it was, that one,
    Like that young child of ours,
  So lovely and so beautiful,
    Should perish with the flowers."

On the return of her birth-day, February 22, when if she had lived, she
would have been seven years old, the following lines were sent to the
bereaved mother by Mrs. Sigourney.

THE BIRTH-DAY OF THE FIRST BORN.

  Thy first born's birth-day,--mother!--
    That cold and wintry time,
  When deep and unimagined joy
    Swell'd to its highest prime.--

  Thy little daughter smileth,--
    Thy son is fair to see,--
  And from its cradle shouts the babe,
    In health and jollity:

  But still thy brow is shaded,
    The fresh tear trickleth free,
  Where is thy first born darling?
    Oh, mother,--where is she?

  And if she be in heaven,
    She, who with goodness fraught,
  So early on her Father--God
    Repos'd her bursting thought:--

  And if she be in heaven,
    The honor how divine,
  To give an angel to His arms,
    Who gave a babe to thine!

L. H. S.

Human improvement must begin through mothers. It is through them
principally, as far as human agency is concerned, that those evils can
be _prevented_, which, age after age, we have been vainly endeavoring to
_cure_.

He that is good will infallibly become better, and he that is bad will
as certainly become worse; vice, virtue, and time, are three things that
never stand still.

Original.

SABBATH MEDITATIONS.

John 5:1.

It is a time of solemnities in Jerusalem--"a feast of the Jews"--and
crowds throng the sacred city, gathered from all parts of Judea,
mingling sympathies and uniting in the delightful services which the
chosen people so justly prize. The old and young, the joyful and the
sad, all classes and all conditions are there, not even are "the
impotent, the blind, the halt, the withered," absent. Through the aid
and kindness of friends they have come also, cheered and animated by the
unwonted excitement of the scene, and doubtless hoping for some relief
in known or unknown ways, from their various afflictions. Among these, a
numerous company of whom are lying near the sheep-gate, let us spend an
hour. By God's help it shall not be wasted time. How many are here who
for long years have not beheld the sun, nor looked on any loved face,
nor perused the sacred oracles. A lesson of resignation we may learn
from them, in their proverbial peacefulness under one of the severest of
earth's trials, for "who ever looked on aught but content in the face of
the born-blind?" Here also are those who have felt the fearful grasp of
pain, whose nerves have been shocked, and the whole frame tortured by
untold sufferings; and those who cannot walk forth on God's earth with
free elastic step, nor pursue any manly toil--the infirm, the crippled,
the helpless. How it saddens the heart to look upon them, and hear their
moans! Yet they all have a look of hope on their faces. The kind angel
who descends to ruffle the hitherto calm waters of the lake may be near
at hand. Soon sorrow to some of these will give place to proportioned
gladness. He who can _first_ bathe his limbs in the blessed wave, says
the sacred oracle, shall find relief from every infirmity. First: It is
a short and simple word, yet how much of meaning it contains, and in
its connection here how much instruction it affords! It is ever thus
under the moral and providential government of God. The first to ask his
blessing are those who gain it. "Those who seek Him early are the ones
to find Him." The prompt and active are the successful competitors. To
those who with the dawning day are found offering their daily sacrifice,
He vouchsafes most of his blessed presence. "Give Him thy first thoughts
then; so shalt thou keep Him company all day, and in Him sleep."

It is those who dedicate to Him the freshness of youth, that thrive most
under His culture, and still bring forth fruit in old age. Their whole
lives are spent beneath the shadow of his wings, and they know not the
doubts and fears of those who long wandered before they sought that
sheltering spot. They who are on the watch, who see the cloud as big as
a man's hand, are the largest recipients of the blessing when the Spirit
is poured out from on high. The lingerers, who think they need not
bestir themselves, for the blessing is sure, may nevertheless fail, for
though there was a sound of rain, the clouds may scatter, when but a few
drops have fallen, and the _first_ be the only ones who are refreshed.

But we are wandering. In this porch lies one who scarce bears any
resemblance to living humanity, and from his woe-worn countenance has
departed the last glimmering of hope. "Thirty and eight years" a
helpless being! a burden to himself and all around him! Alas, of what
untold miseries has sin made human flesh the inheritor! He came long
since to this healing pool, with cheerful anticipations, perhaps
undoubting faith, that he should soon walk forth a man among men. But he
has been grievously disappointed. He seems friendless as well as
impotent. Listen while he answers the inquiry of one who speaks kindly
to him: "Sir, I have no man, when the water is troubled, to put me into
the pool; but while I am coming another steppeth down before me." This
is indeed hopeless wretchedness. But who is it thus asking, "Wilt thou
be made whole?" Little didst thou dream, unfortunate, yet most
fortunate, of sufferers, who it was thus bending tenderly over thy
painful couch! Said we that thou wert friendless; that none knew thy
woes? Blessed be God, there is ever One eye to see, One ear to hear, One
heart to pity.

"When my spirit was overwhelmed within me, then thou knewest my path."
"He is not far from every one of us." But, though He is ever near, yet
God often waits long before he relieves. Why is it thus? We do not
always see the reason, but we may be sure it is infinite wisdom that
defers. He would have us feel our dependence on Him, and when we do feel
this, when we hope no more from any earthly source, and turn a
despairing eye to Him, then he is ever ready to rescue. Even toward
those who have long withstood his grace, and rebelled against his love,
is he moved to kindness "when He seeth that their power is gone." "We
must sometimes have the sentence of death in ourselves, that we should
not trust in ourselves, but in God which raiseth the dead."

Even where we would accomplish most, when we would fain secure the
salvation of those dearest to us, when we would win eternal life for our
children, we must be made to rely on Him who, as he can raise the dead,
even call life from nothing, can also revive the spiritually dead, and
break the sleep which threatens to be eternal.

He is gone--while we looked, suddenly he rose in the full vigor of
manliness, and now, exulting in his new-found faculties, he is walking
yonder among the multitude, carrying upon his shoulders the couch which
has so long borne his weary, helpless frame. See, one with frowning
countenance and harsh words arrests his steps, and wholly unmindful of
the joy which lights his pale face, reproves him with severe and bitter
words: "It is the Sabbath day. It is not lawful for thee to carry thy
bed." The command indeed is, "Thus saith the Lord, take heed to
yourselves and bear no burden on the Sabbath day, nor bring it in by the
gates of Jerusalem. Neither carry forth a burden out of your houses on
the Sabbath day; neither do ye any work; but hallow ye the Sabbath day,
as I commanded your fathers." He stands dismayed and troubled. In his
new-found happiness he has forgotten the solemn mandate. Timidly he
answers, "He that made me whole, the same said unto me, Take up thy bed
and walk." Thou hast answered well. Only the Lord of the Sabbath could
have done on thee this work of healing. Go on thy way rejoicing. Return
not to seek Him, He was here, he spoke to thee; but he is gone. None saw
him depart. Everywhere present, He is, yet, when He will, invisible to
mortal eyes.

Original.

REPORTS OF MATERNAL ASSOCIATIONS.

SECOND PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH OF DETROIT.

Another year has passed over us, and we, a little band, have met to
recount, and gratefully to acknowledge, God's goodness and
loving-kindness to us and our families. Our Association, commencing as a
small stream, has not yet grown to be a mighty river; yet it has flowed
steadily in its course, and we confidently believe, has sent forth sweet
and hallowed influences, refreshing some thirsty souls with pure and
living waters.

During the year now past, our meetings have been continually sustained,
although sickness and absence from the city, especially during most of
the summer, have deprived us of the attendance of a large proportion of
our members. Notwithstanding our meetings have been much smaller than we
could desire, and sometimes tempted us to be "_faint_ and _weary_ in
well-doing," still we believe that our prayers and consultations have
been a source of blessing to ourselves and to our offspring. We are told
that "the effectual fervent prayer of the righteous availeth much." We
feel assured that we can testify to the faithfulness of the promise, for
not only can we gratefully acknowledge the love of God in shedding more
grace upon our hearts; but the gracious call of the gospel of salvation
has been accepted by some of our precious children, and we trust that
they are now in the "narrow way that leadeth unto life." Oh, may the
Spirit of all truth guide their youthful steps through all the thorny
mazes of life, preserve them from the alluring and deceitful charms that
surround them, and bring them at last to those blissful mansions
prepared for those who love and serve God. We do indeed rejoice with
those dear mothers who have been made the recipients of so large a
blessing--that of seeing the precious lambs of the flock gathered into
the fold of the Good Shepherd. Oh, may the prayer of faith ever encircle
them in this only safe retreat from the ravening wolves and the hungry
monsters of sin!

But whilst we rejoice with those of our number who have been so greatly
blessed, we turn with heartfelt sympathy toward those whose hearts have
been wrung by the loss, _to them_, of the objects of their hopes and
affections. Three of the children of members of this Association have
died during the past year. Thus we believe so many sweet angels of God
have gone from our midst and escaped the sorrows of this evil world. Let
the dear parents think of them as already far surpassing their own best
attainments, and praising the blessed Savior, in the heavenly paradise,
and turn their more anxious and diligent thoughts to the living. Two
children have been added by birth to the number of those connected with
the Association.

Our membership has not greatly changed within the past year. Three
mothers have united with the Association since the last Annual Report,
and three have left us, making the number the same that it was one year
since.

While we regret the loss of each and all of those who have departed from
our midst, we think it would not be deemed invidious to express our deep
sense of the loss we have sustained by the removal from the city of Mrs.
Parker, the former secretary. Her devotion and faithfulness in every
sphere of duty, afforded us all an example well adapted to stimulate us
in the discharge of our obligations, as well as to guide us in the paths
of usefulness. We hope and pray that she may long be spared to shed a
hallowed influence around her wherever her lot may be cast.

Our quarterly meetings have been sustained with interest and profit.
Portions of Scripture have been committed by the children, and the
instructions and truths contained in them have been enforced by
appropriate remarks from the Pastor. We consider this an invaluable
means of instilling saving truth into the tender minds of our children,
and would urgently request that it be accompanied by the constant and
believing prayers of all parents. Upon a full review of the past year,
we see abundant cause for gratitude and encouragement. We have especial
occasion for thankfulness that none of our number have been removed by
death. Since we know that the Lord has thus prolonged our stewardship,
that we may work in his vineyard, let us be the more diligent, that we
may be prepared to render our account with joy at the last day. Amongst
the means for preparing ourselves for the faithful discharge of our
duties to our own families, and as members of this Association, we take
pleasure in acknowledging the _pre-eminent merits of Mrs. Whittelsey's
Magazine_, and would urgently recommend its more general perusal and
circulation. During the past summer some of us enjoyed the inestimable
privilege of hearing her experienced counsel, and fervent exhortations.
We believe that her visit to this city resulted in much good, and we
wish her abundant success in her noble calling.

Dear Mothers, let us persevere, looking unto the covenant-keeping God
for the salvation of our children, as well as for the triumph of the
Gospel throughout the community and this sin-ruined world.

SALEM, MICHIGAN.

We have been brought, through the kindness of our Heavenly Father, to
this the first anniversary of our Maternal Association. We meet to-day
that we may together look back upon the year just closing, and recall
the mercies and judgments of our God, in which I think we cannot fail
to recognize the guiding hand of our Heavenly Father, who we believe
has presided over and defended the dearest interests of this our little
society. We bless his name that a few individuals, sustaining the sacred
name of mother, and upon whom consequently devolve important duties,
were led to roll their burden, in all its magnitude, upon an Almighty
arm, and in a united capacity to plead for promised grace. We rejoice
that this feeling has been perpetuated, and that there have been those
who have not "forsaken the assembling of themselves together," but who
have been drawn to the place of prayer by an irresistible influence,
esteeming it a privilege thus to resign their numerous anxieties into
the hands of an all-wise God. And may we not rejoice, dear sisters, that
as each returning fortnight has brought its precious opportunity for
prayer and instruction, our hearts have cheerfully responded to its
call, and that we have hailed these seasons as acknowledged and
well-tested sources of profit. If they have not proved so to us, have we
not reason to fear that our guilt will be greatly increased, and that we
shall share the condemnation of those who have been frequently and
faithfully reminded of duty, but who have failed in its performance?
During the past year we have had twenty-two meetings, the most of which
have been attended by from six to ten mothers. A small number, indeed;
yet God, we remembered, promised that where two or three are met
together in His name, He would be in their midst to bless them. On the
7th of May the Rev. Mr. Harris preached to the children, from the text,
"Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not." Sixteen
ladies were present, and twenty-three children. On the 28th of
September, Professor Agnew addressed mothers on their various important
duties. At the commencement of the year we numbered twelve mothers and
twenty-three children, under the age of fifteen. We now number sixteen
mothers and thirty-three children; one little one has been added to our
number. God, in wise providence, and for some wise purpose, has seen fit
to lay his afflicting hand upon us. Early in the year it pleased Him to
call an aged and beloved father of one of our sisters from time to
eternity. With our sister we do most sincerely sympathize; may it truly
be said of us, as an Association:

  "We share each other's joys,
    Each other's burdens bear,
  And often for each other flows
    The sympathizing tear."

But God has come nearer still unto us as an Association, and has taken
one of our little number, dear sister Elizabeth C. Hamilton, who was one
of the four mothers who met together to converse and to ask counsel of
our pastor on the subject of forming this Association. On the 11th of
October, her spirit took its flight from this frail tenement of clay, as
we humbly trust to the mansions of the blest. With her bereaved and
afflicted companion and infant daughters, we do most sincerely
sympathize. May we remember that we have promised to seek the spiritual
and eternal interests of her children as we do that of our own! Let us
not cease to pray for her children until we shall hear them lisping
forth the praises of the dear Redeemer. As we commence a new year, shall
we not commence anew to live for God? Ere another year has gone, some
one of this our little number may be called from time to eternity; and
shall we not prove what prayer can do; what heavenly blessings it will
bring down upon our offspring? But perhaps some mother will say, I
should esteem it the dearest of all privileges, if I could lay hold in
faith on God's blessed promises, but when I would do so a sense of my
own unworthiness shuts my mouth. But which of God's promises was ever
made to the worthy recipient? Are they not all to the unworthy and
undeserving? And if "Satan trembles when he sees the weakest saint upon
his knees," shall we not take courage, and claim God's blessed promises
for ours, and often in silence and in solitude bend the knee for those
we love most dear?

While memory lasts I shall never forget my mother's earnest,
supplicating, trembling voice, as she pleaded with God for Christ's
sake to have mercy on her children. And shall our children forget ours?
No, dear sisters, let our entreaties with our God be as they will, I
think they will not be forgotten. Therefore, let us be more awake to
this subject, let us sincerely endeavor to train our children up for
God, that they may be useful in his service while they live, and that we
may be that happy band of mothers that may be able to say in God's great
day: Here, Lord, are we, and the children which thou hast given us.

                          A. HAMILTON, _Secretary_.
  _Salem, Wash. Co., Michigan_, Dec. 31, 1851.

Original.

BROTHERLY LOVE.

BY REV. MANCIUS S. HUTTON, D.D.

     "Be kindly affectioned one to another, with brotherly love, in
     honor preferring one another."

In no system of morals or religion, except the Bible, can such a precept
be found. It at once proclaims its divine author. We feel as we read
it--here speaks that God and Almighty Father who so loved the world as
to give his Son to die to save it. We feel that none but a being who
regards himself as the Father of all, and who would unite his children
in the bonds of family affection, would think of urging upon a company
of men and women, gathered from all classes and conditions of life, the
duly regarding each other with the same sincerity, tenderness, respect
and kindness as if they were the nearest relatives. Such is the force of
the expression, "Be kindly affectioned one to another." The word
expresses properly the strong natural affection between parents and
children; but the apostle is not satisfied with this, and uses the word
to qualify that brotherly love which our Lord has made the badge of
discipleship. It should be with the tenderness and the unselfishness
which characterize the filial and paternal relation, blending love with
natural affection, and making it manifest in common intercourse. Oh, how
different this from the spirit of the world, the spirit which seeks not
to bless others, but self; not to confer honor but to obtain it; which
aims not to diffuse respect, but to attract all others to give honor to
ourselves.

I design at present to use this divine injunction as conveying the Holy
Spirit's direction and description of proper family intercourse, in
reference, particularly, to children in the family circle.

I notice very briefly (for the direction must commend itself to the
heart of every child) its application to parents: "Be kindly affectioned
toward your father and mother." It is indeed hardly necessary to urge
this duty, for God has in his wisdom so constituted us, as in a good
degree to insure the duty of filial love even in those who do not regard
his own authority over their spirits. No child can for a moment reflect
upon the love and care which he has received from his parents, without a
moved heart, although he can never know their full power until he
himself becomes a parent; but here indeed lies the difficulty, and here
do I find the necessity of dwelling for a moment upon this point.
Children do not reflect upon this. Few ever sit down, calmly and
consecutively, to recall the parental kindness, and therefore, would I
ask each of you, my young friends, that you may obey this injunction,
and be kindly affectionate towards father and mother, to consider their
kindness to you. Why, if you look at it, you will hardly be able to find
that they have any other care in the world, or any other object, than
yourselves. What does that kind mother of yours do which is not for her
children? does she not seem always to be thinking of you? have you never
noticed how her eye brightens with delight when you or any of your
brothers or sisters do right, or even when she looks around on the
health and happiness of her children? and, when you or any of her dear
ones are ill, how sad she looks, how her cheek will become pale, and how
she will watch and wait at the bed-side of her child, how her own hand
gives the medicine, how nothing can call her away from home, no friends,
no amusements, often not even the church and Sabbath-day, and if she did
go to church while you were ill, she went there to pray that God would
make you well. And I would have you also think of the large surrenders
of ease, time and fortune which your father is daily making for the
benefit and comfort of his children. How many fathers will compass land
and sea in quest of provision for them, and in order to give them name
and station in society? How many adventurously plow the ocean in their
behalf? How many live for years in exile, and in the estrangement of a
foreign land, with nothing to soothe them in the midst of their toil and
fatigue, but the image of their dear and distant home? How many toil and
plan, day after day, and year after year, from early morn until late at
night, for no other object than to gather wealth, which in their love
they expect and intend their children to enjoy, when they themselves
have gone down to the grave! Oh, my young friends, though ye have not
perhaps thought of it, yet the devotedness of a parent to his children,
in the common every-day duties and comforts of life, often equals and
surpasses that which history has recorded for us of the sublimest
heroism.

It would often seem utterly impossible to wear out a father's affection
or a mother's love, and many a child, after the perversities and losses
of a misdirected manhood, has found himself welcomed back again to the
paternal home, with all the unquenched and unextinguishable kindness of
his early and dependent childhood; welcomed even amid the hardships of
poverty, with which declining years and his own hand, perhaps, have
united to surround the whitening heads of the authors of his being.

Now, it is in view of the reality and strength of these parental
regards, thus flowing from a father's or a mother's heart upon their
children, that we bid you see the force, the reason, and the right of
the direction, Be kindly affectionate in all your intercourse with them.
And it is in the same view that we appeal to your own hearts, and ask
whether it be not most revolting and wrong for a son or daughter to
utter the word, or dart the look, or feel the feeling which is prompted
by wickedness; a disdainful son or disrespectful daughter is a sight
most painful to every right-minded man.

But while I mention this as the rule which should govern the family in
their treatment of those who stand at its head, I would also beg leave
to remark, that this same law should govern the heads of the family
towards each other and all the members. This is the only way by which
reciprocal affectionate regard and treatment can be inculcated and
insured. The Holy Spirit has deemed this so important, that He has given
the express injunction to parents: "Fathers, provoke not your children;"
and it is an injunction which parents need constantly to remember. The
natural and necessary subjection of the children to parental authority,
unless the hearts of the parents be guided by religious principle, will
often induce an arbitrary and enforced obedience, which, unless guided
and controlled by affection, will have only the appearance of harshness,
and will only produce unpleasant feeling. Parents should never forget
that it is always as unpleasant to a child to have his will and plans
crossed as it is to themselves, and that, therefore, it is their own
obedience to the injunction, Be kindly affectioned, which alone can make
their authority both strong and pleasant. There are again so many cares
and anxieties connected with the details of family arrangements, and
there are so much thoughtlessness and perversity in the depraved hearts
of the most amiable and properly disposed children, that the patience of
even the all-enduring mother will often be tried in a manner which
nothing but divine grace can sustain. Ill health and natural
irritability, so constantly exposed to attack, will often increase the
difficulty, and thus make the injunction, Be kindly affectioned, one of
the most arduous duties of life. But the triumph of principle will
always be accompanied with corresponding valuable results in the
happiness and comforts of the whole family circle.

Original.

KNOW THYSELF.

Many instructive lessons may be conveyed to the minds of children in
story and in verse. We do not now remember who is the author of the
story we are about to relate. It may be familiar to many of our readers.
We venture, however, to repeat it in our own words, as it has an
important moral worthy the attention of the old as well as the young:--

A man and his wife were hard at work in a forest, cutting down trees.
The trees were very hardy and tall, and their axes were dull; the
weather was cold and dreary, they were but poorly clad, and they had but
little to eat.

At length, the woman, in her despondency, fell to crying. Her husband
very kindly inquired, "What is the matter, my dear wife?"

"I have been thinking," said she, "of our hard fate, and it does seem to
me a hard case that God should curse the ground for Adam's sake, just
because he and his wife had eaten a green apple; and now all their
descendants must earn their bread by the sweat of their brow, all their
days."

The man replied, "Do not, my dear wife, distress yourself thus, seeing
it will do no good."

She continued, "I do think that Adam and Eve were very foolish to listen
to any thing that a serpent had to say. If I had been in the place of
Eve I am sure I should have done otherwise."

To this her husband replied, "True, my dear wife, Eve was a very silly
woman. I think, if I had been in Adam's place, before I would have
listened to her foolish advice, and run such a hazard, I would have
given her a smart box on the ear, and told her to hold her tongue, and
to mind her own business."

This remark made his wife very angry, and here followed a long dialogue
on this topic till they began mutually to criminate each other as well
as the serpent.

Now, a gentleman, who had all this time been concealed behind the trees,
and had heard their complaints, and listened with grief to their
fault-finding disposition, came forward and spoke to them very kindly.

He said, "My friends, you seem to be hard at work, and very unhappy.
Pray tell me the cause of your misery, and whether I can do anything to
comfort you?"

So they repeated to this gentleman what they had been saying.

He replied to them thus: "Now, my dear friends, I am truly sorry for
you, and I desire to make you more comfortable. I have a large estate,
and I wish to make others as happy as I am myself. I have a fine house,
plenty of servants, and every thing desirable to eat and to drink. I
have fine grounds, filled with shrubbery and fruit trees. If you will go
and live with me you have only to obey the regulations of my house, and
as long as you do this and are contented, you shall be made welcome."

So they went with this gentleman. At once he took off their rough and
ragged garments, and clad them in a fine suit of clothes, suited to the
place, and put them into a spacious apartment, where for a time they
lived very happily.

One day this gentleman came to them, and said business of importance
would call him from home for some days. In the mean time he hoped they
would be happy and do every thing in their power to reflect honor upon
his hospitality till his return. He said he had but one other suggestion
to make, and that was, that _for his sake_ they would be very careful to
set a good example before his servants, and do every thing _cheerfully_
that they should direct, for up to this hour not one of his servants had
ever questioned the reasonableness of his commands.

They thanked him kindly for his generous supply of all their wants, and
promised implicit obedience.

They now had, if possible, more sumptuous meals, and in greater variety
than ever, and for a few days every thing went on well. At length, a
servant placed a covered dish in the center of the table, remarking that
he always had orders from his master, when that particular dish was
placed upon the table, that no one, on pain of his displeasure, should
touch it, much less lift the cover.

For a few days these guests were so occupied in examining the new dishes
that this order was obeyed.

But the woman at length began to wonder why that dish should be placed
on the table if it were not to be touched; she did not for her part see
any use in it.

Every meal she grew more and more discontented. She appealed to her
husband if he did not think such a prohibition very unreasonable. If it
were not to be touched, why was it placed on the table?

Her husband at length grew very angry; she would neither eat herself nor
allow him to eat in peace. She at length remonstrated, she threatened;
she used various arguments to induce him to lift the cover; said no one
need to know it, &c. Still her good-natured husband tried to reason her
out of this notion. She now burst into tears, and said her life was
miserable by this gentleman's singular prohibition, which could do no
one any good; and she was still more wretched by reason of her husband's
unkindness,--she really believed that he had lost all affection for her.

This remark made her husband feel very badly. He lifted the cover and
out ran a little harmless mouse. They both ran after it, and tried their
best to catch it, but in vain.

While they were feeling very unhappy, and were trembling with fear, the
gentleman entered, and seeing their great embarrassment, inquired if
they had dared to lift the cover?

The woman replied that she did not see what harm there could be in doing
so. She did not think it kind to place such a temptation before them; it
could do no one any good.

The man added that his wife teazed him so that he had no peace, and
rather than see her unhappy he had lifted the cover.

The gentleman then reminded them of their fault-finding while in the
forest, their hard thoughts of God, of the serpent, and of Adam and Eve.
Had it been their case they should have acted more wisely! But, alas!
they did not know themselves!

He immediately ordered his servants to take off their nice new clothes
and to put on their old garments, and he sent them back to the forest,
ever after to eat their bread _by the sweat_ of their brow.

Original.

OLD JUDA.

Many years since, I took into my service an old colored woman by the
name of Juda. She was a poor, pitiful object, almost worn out by hard
and long service. But I needed just such services as she could render,
and intrusted to her the general supervision of my kitchen department.

Under the care bestowed upon her she fast recruited, and I continued to
employ her for three years. I gave her good wages, and, as for years I
had induced all my help to do, I persuaded her to deposit in the
savings' bank all the money she could spare. Fortunately for poor old
Juda, she laid up during these three years a considerable sum.

Before this, she had always been improvident, careless of her earnings,
and from a disposition to change often out of place. But as one extreme
is apt to follow another, when she found that she had several dollars
laid aside, entirely a new thing for her, there was quite a revolution
in her feelings and character. She now inclined to covetousness, and
could hardly be persuaded to expend a sum sufficient to make herself
comfortable in extreme cold weather which sensibly affected her in her
old age and feeble health. At length her disposition to hoard up her
earnings increased to that degree that she resorted to many unnecessary
and imprudent means to avoid expense and to evade my requirements with
regard to her apparel. But for this parsimony she might have held out
some years longer. She greatly improved in health and strength for the
first two years, and was more comfortable and useful than I expected she
would be. Always at her post, patient, faithful, economical and
obliging, I really felt grateful for the relief she afforded me in the
management of a large family; but at length I was obliged to dismiss her
from my service. For a few months she found employment in a small
family, but soon fell sick, and required the services of a physician.
She had to find a place of retirement and take to her bed, and soon her
money began to disappear.

Her miserable sister, who had exercised an injurious influence over
Juda, and whom I had found it necessary to forbid coming to my house,
now came constantly to me for this money, for Juda's use, it is true,
but which I had reason to fear was not wisely spent. Under this
impression, I broke away from my cares and set out to look after her
welfare. I was pained to find her in a miserable hovel, surrounded by a
crew of selfish, ignorant, lazy and degraded women, who were ready to
filch the last farthing from the poor, helpless invalid.

My first interview with Juda was extremely painful. She hid her head,
her great wall eyes rolling fearfully, and cried bitterly, "Oh! I am
forever undone. Why did I not listen to your entreaties, and heed the
kind advice of my good master, to lay up treasures in heaven as well as
in the savings' bank!" I remained silent by her bedside, thinking it
better for her to give full vent to her agonized feelings before I
should probe her wounded spirit, or try to console her. "Oh," said she,
"that I could once more have health, that I might attend to what ought
to have been the business of my life--the care of my soul." "Yes, Juda,"
I replied, "but I see, I think, plainly, how it would be had you ever so
much time. You would not be very likely to improve it aright, for even
now you are wasting this last fragment of time that remains to you in
fruitless regrets; why not rather inquire earnestly, 'Is there still any
hope for me? What shall I do to be saved? Lord, save me, or I perish.'"
For some time her emotions choked her utterance, at length she seized
both my hands so forcibly that it seemed as if she would sever them from
my wrists, and exclaimed, "Oh, pray for me!"

Her condition was an awful one. From the nature of her ailment she was a
loathsome object. Not one of her old companions would approach her, for
to them she was now peculiarly an object of terror. Her entreaties that
I would not leave her in the power of such cruel wretches, to perish
alone, and without hope, prevailed over my own reluctance and the
remonstrances of my husband, and summoning up all my resolution, I
remained with her, with but little respite, for three days and nights.

Her bodily sufferings continued to be extreme to the last, but were
nothing in comparison to her mental agonies. What a condition of mind
and body was hers! Every moment demanding something to cool her parched
tongue, or to allay her fears, or to encourage her hopes.

Never shall I forget the last night of painful and protracted suffering.
The miserable woman who pretended to assist me in watching, had taken
some stupefying potion, and I watched alone, as David expressed it,
longing for the first ray of the morning. At length, the day dawned, and
I was relieved by good old Mr. Moore. As he entered, I said to him,
"Poor Juda is still living, and is a great sufferer; will you not pray
for her?" He replied, "I come purpose pray with Juda." Then kneeling,
prayed, "Oh Lord, Oh Lord God Almighty, we come to thee for this poor
dying creature. Have mercy on her precious soul--Lord God, it will never
die. Forgive her sins; oh, Lord God, take the lead of her thoughts
to-day, TO-DAY, TO-DAY; Lord God, take the lead of her thoughts
to-day, for Christ's sake. Amen."

This was indeed her dying day, and I could not but hope that this humble
but pertinent prayer was prevalent with God.

Very many times since then, as I have caught the first glimpse of day,
have I said, This may prove my dying day, and prayed, Oh Lord, take the
lead of my thoughts to-day.

Original.

GOD IS FAITHFUL.

"The fruits of maternal influence, well directed," said a good minister,
"are peace, improvement, and often piety, in the nursery; but if the
children of faithful mothers are not converted in early life, God is
true to his promise and will remember his covenant, perhaps after those
mothers sleep with the generations of their ancestors."

"Several years since," that same minister stated, "he was in the
Alms-house in Philadelphia, and was attracted to the bedside of a sick
man, whom he found to be a happy Christian, having embraced the Gospel
after he was brought, a stranger in a strange land, to that infirmary.
Though religiously educated by a pious mother, he clandestinely left
home at the age of ten years, and since that period--he was now forty,
or more--had been wandering over the earth, regardless of the claims of
God or the worth of his own soul.

"In Philadelphia he was taken with a dangerous fever, and was brought to
the place where I met him. There, on that bed of languishing, the scenes
of his early childhood clustered around him, and among them the image of
his mother was fairest and brightest, and in memory's vision she seemed
to stand, as in former days, exhorting him to become the friend and
disciple of the blessed Savior. The honeyed accents were irresistible.

"Through the long lapse of thirty years--though she was now sleeping in
the grave--her appeal came with force to break his flinty heart.

"With no living Christian to direct him on that bed of sickness,
remembering what his mother had told him one-third of a century before,
he yielded to the claims of Jesus."

Here the power and faithfulness of a prayer-hearing and prayer-answering
God were exhibited. Here was a mother's influence crowned with a
glorious conquest.

EXCERPTA.

AN AMERICAN HOME.--The word Home we have obtained from the old
Saxon tongue. Transport the word to Africa, China, Persia, Turkey or
Russia, and it loses its meaning. Where is it but in our favored land
that the father is allowed to pursue his own plan for the good of his
family, and with his sons to labor in what profession he chooses and
then enjoy the avails of his labor? The American Home is the abode of
neatness, thrift and competence, not the wretched hut of the Greenlander
or Caffrarian, or under-ground place of Kamschatka. The American Home is
the house of intelligence; its inmates can read; they have the Bible;
they can transmit thought. The American Home is the resting-place of
contentment and peace; there is found mutual respect, untiring love and
kindness; there, virtue claiming respect; there, the neighbor is
regarded and prized; there, is safety; the daily worship; the principle
of religion.

Ten thousand good people noiselessly at work every day, making more firm
all good felt at home or abroad, and fixing happiness and good
institutions on a basis lasting as heaven.

CHRISTIAN UNION.--In "D'Aubigne's Reformation" we find a short,
beautiful sentiment on the subject of Christian Union. He says: "Truth
may be compared to the light of the sun. The light comes from heaven
colorless and ever the same; and yet it takes different hues on earth,
varying according to the objects on which it falls. Thus different
formularies may sometimes express the same Christian truth, viewed under
different aspects. How dull would be this visible creation if all its
boundless variety of shape and color were to give place to one unbroken
uniformity? How melancholy would be its aspects, if all created beings
did but compose a solitary and vast unity? The unity which comes from
heaven, doubtless has its place; but the diversity of human nature has
its proper place also. In religion we must neither leave out God nor
man. Without _unity_ your religion cannot be of God; without _diversity_
it cannot be the religion of man, and it ought to be of both."

Original.

THE MOTHERS OF THE BIBLE.

ZIPPORAH.

In the mountainous and wild region which lies around Horeb and Sinai,
were found, in the days of that Pharaoh, whose court was the home of
Israel's law-giver, many descendants of Abraham, children of one of the
sons which Keturah bore him in his old age. We know little of them, but
here and there on the sacred page they are mentioned, and we gain brief
glimpses of their character and of the estimation in which they were
held by Jehovah. Like all the other nations, they were mostly idolaters,
against whom He threatened vengeance for their inventions and
abominations. But among them were found some families who evidently
retained a knowledge of Abraham's God, and who, although they did not
offer him a pure worship, "seem, nevertheless, to have been imbued with
sentiments of piety, and intended to serve Him so far as they were
acquainted with his character and requirements." For these, from time to
time, a consecrated priest stood before the altar, offering sacrifices
which were doubtless accepted in Heaven, since sincerity prompted, and
the spirit of true obedience animated, the worshipers.

In the family of this priest, who was also a prince among his people, a
stranger was at one time found, who had suddenly appeared in Midian, and
for a slight kindness shown to certain members of the household, had
been invited to sojourn with them and make one of the domestic circle.
He was an object of daily increasing interest to all around him. Whence
had he come? Why was he thus apparently friendless and alone? Wherefore
was his countenance sad and thoughtful; and his heart evidently so far
away from present scenes? Seven sisters dwell beneath the paternal roof,
and we can readily imagine the eagerness with which they discussed
these questions and watched the many interviews between him and their
father, which seemed of a most important character. The result was not
long kept from them. Moses was henceforth to perform what had been their
daily task, and as his reward, was to sustain the relation of son,
husband, and brother in the little circle. Zipporah, whether willingly
or reluctantly we are not told, became the wife of the silent man, nor
has he, in the record which he has left, given us any account of those
forty years of quiet domestic life, watching his flocks amid the
mountain solitudes, and in intercourse with the "priest of Midian," and
taught of that God who chose him before all other men. As a familiar
friend, he was daily learning lessons of mighty wisdom, and gaining that
surpassing excellence of character which has made his name immortal. Was
the wife whom he had chosen the worthy daughter of her father, and a fit
companion for such a husband? Did they take sweet counsel together, and
could she share his noble thoughts? Did she listen with tearful eyes to
his account of the woes of his people, and rejoice with him in view of
the glorious scenes of deliverance which he anticipated? Did she
appreciate the sublime beauties which so captivated and enthralled his
soul as he pored over the pages of that wonderful poem which portrays
the afflictions of the man of Uz? Did she worship and love the God of
their common father with the same humility and faith? We cannot answer
one of the many questions which arise in our minds. All we know is, that
Zipporah was Moses's wife, and the mother of Moses's sons, and we feel
that hers was a favorite lot, and involuntarily yield her the respect
which her station would demand.

Silently the appointed years sped. The great historian found in them no
event bearing upon the interests of the kingdom of God, worthy of note,
and our gleanings are small. At their close he was again found in close
consultation with Jethro, and with his consent, and in obedience to the
divine mandate, the exile once more turned his steps toward the land of
his birth. Zipporah and their sons, with asses and attendants,
accompanied him, and their journey was apparently prosperous until near
its close, when a strange and startling providence arrested them.[B] An
alarming disease seized upon Gershom, the eldest son, and at the same
time intimations not to be mistaken convinced his parents that it was
sent in token of divine displeasure for long-neglected duty. God's eye
is ever on his children, and though He is forbearing, He will not
forever spare the chastening rod, if they live on in disobedience to his
commands. Both Moses and Zipporah knew what was the appointed seal of
God's covenant with Abraham, and we cannot understand why they so long
deferred including their children in that covenant. We do not know how
many times conscience may have rebuked them, nor what privileges they
forfeited, but we are sure they were not blessed as faithful servants
are. Now there was no delaying longer. The proof of God's disapprobation
was not to be mistaken, and they could not hesitate if they would
preserve the life of their child. "There is doubtless something
abhorrent to our ideas of propriety in a mother's performing this rite
upon an adult son," for Gershom was at this time probably more than
thirty years of age, but we must ever bear in mind that she was
complying with "a divine requisition," and among a people, and in a
state of society whose sentiments and usages were very different from
ours. Her duty performed, she solemnly admonished Gershom that he was
now espoused to the Lord by this significant rite, and that this bloody
seal should ever remind him of the sacred relation. The very moment
neglected obligations are cheerfully assumed, that moment does God smile
upon his child. He accepts and upbraids not. The frown which but now
threatened precious life has fled, and children rejoice in new found
peace, and in that peculiar outflowing of tenderness, humility, and love
which ever follows upon repentance, reparation and forgiveness.

For some reason, to us wholly inexplicable, Moses seems to have sent his
family back to the home which they had just left, before reaching Egypt,
and they resided with Jethro until the tribes, having passed through
all the tribulations which had been prophesied for them, made their
triumphant exodus from the land of bondage and encamped at the foot of
Sinai. Jethro, who seems to have taken a deep interest in the mission of
Moses, immediately on hearing of their arrival, took his daughter and
her sons to rejoin the husband and father from whom they had been long
separated. Touching and delightful was the re-union, and we love to
linger over the few days which Zipporah's father spent with her in this
their last interview on earth. The aged man listened with wonder and joy
to the recital of all that Jehovah had wrought. He found his faith
confirmed and his soul strengthened, and doubtless felt it a great
privilege to leave his child among those who were so evidently under the
protection of the Almighty, and before whom he constantly walked in the
pillar of fire and cloud. With a father's care and love, he gave such
counsel as he saw his son-in-law needed, and after uniting with the
elders in solemn sacrifice and worship, in which he assumed his priestly
office, he departed to his own land. We seem to see Zipporah, as with
tearful eyes she watched his retreating footsteps, and felt that she
should see her father's face no more on earth. Not without fearful
struggles are the ties which bind a daughter to her parents sundered,
though as a wife she cleaves to her husband, and strives for his sake to
repress her tears and hide the anguish she cannot subdue. One comfort,
however, remained to Zipporah. Soothingly fell on her ear the invitation
of her husband to her brother, the companion of her childhood, "We are
journeying unto the place of which the Lord said, I will give it you:
Come thou with us and we will do thee good: for the Lord hath spoken
good concerning Israel." Deprecatingly she doubtless looked upon him, as
he answered, "I will not go, but I will depart to mine own land, and to
my kindred;" and united in the urgent entreaty, "Leave us not, I pray
thee; forasmuch as thou knowest how we are to encamp in the wilderness,
and thou mayest be to us instead of eyes." With her husband and brother
near, on whom to lean, she must have been cheered, and the bitterness
of her final separation from home alleviated.

Feelings of personal joy or grief were soon, however, banished from her
mind by the mighty wonders which were displayed in the desert, and by
the absorbing scenes which transpired while Israel received the law, and
were prepared to pursue their way to Canaan. Of her after history we
gather little, and the time of her death is not mentioned. One
affliction, not uncommon in this evil world, fell to her lot. Her
husband's family were unfriendly and unkind to her, and she was the
occasion of their reproach and ridicule. But she was happy in being the
wife of one meek above all the men upon the earth, and she was
vindicated by God himself. What were her hopes in prospect of seeing the
promised land, in common with all the nation, or whether she lived to
hear the terrible command of God to Moses, "Avenge Israel of the
Midianites," we do not know. The slaughter of her people may have caused
her many a pang, and she probably went to her rest long before the weary
forty years were ended. She has a name and a place on the sacred
page,--she was a wife and mother,--and though hers is a brief memorial,
yet, if we have been led to study the word of God more earnestly,
because we would fain learn more concerning her, that memorial is not
useless.

Original.

BROTHERLY LOVE.

BY REV. MANCIUS S. HUTTON, D.D.

     "Be kindly affectioned one to another, with brotherly love, in
     honor preferring one another."

     (Continued from page 92.)

I remarked that this precept was important in the heads of families, in
regulating their intercourse with each other, as well as that between
themselves and their children. I take it for granted that there is in
truth no want of real affection and regard between husband and wife, and
yet there may be, in their treatment of each other, frequent violations
of the duty of kindly affection. The merely outward manner is indeed
never as important as the real feeling, but it always will be regarded
more or less as the indication of the real feeling, and parents should
never forget, that in their children they have most observant and
reflecting minds; and you may rest assured that the parental cords are
loosed most sadly when the child is led to remark that his parents do
not cordially harmonize. Nay, more, if those parents be Christians, such
conduct throws a shade of doubt over their Christian character. There
were both force and sincerity in the remark of the man who, when the
reality of his religion was questioned, replied: "If you doubt whether I
am a changed man, go and ask my wife." I fear that many a professing
Christian could not stand this test; he could appeal with confidence to
the testimony of his church, and receive the most favorable answer, but
could he appeal with the same confidence to the testimony of his home,
of one who knows him best? Is his intercourse with them whom he truly
loves best, always regulated by the law of that kindly affection which
religion imperatively demands, nay, which good sense and common humanity
require? Many a man will speak at times to his wife in a most unkind and
even uncourteous manner, in a manner in which he would not dare to speak
to any one else; I know he may not mean unkindness, but is it not a
wrong? I say nothing of its unchristianness; is it not a wrong done to
her who loves him more than she does all the world, to treat her far
more uncourteously than the world would do?

Is it not shameful that she who has borne all the pain, and care, and
anxiety, and burden of his children, should ever have an unkind word or
look from him? Nay, is it not a meanness, an entirely unchristian
meanness, that a husband should presume upon the very loveliness of his
wife, upon the very affections of her pure heart, to treat her thus
rudely? And is it not as cowardly as it is mean, thus to act towards
one whose only defense is in himself? I say cowardly, for were many a
husband to speak, and to act towards another woman as he allows himself
to do and to speak towards his own wife, he would not always escape the
punishment due his ungentlemanly conduct. Let us, who are husbands and
wives, endeavor all of us to be on the watch in this thing; and let it
be our rule to treat no one in the world more kindly or more politely
than we do our own wives and our own husbands. Not long since, at the
bedside of a dying wife, I heard a husband, with quivering lip and
tearful eye, say, "Beloved wife, forgive me, if I have ever treated you
unkindly." If you would be saved from the anguish of ever feeling that
you needed forgiveness from the dying lips of your dearest earthly ones,
be kindly affectioned, therefore, one to another.

Let us, in the next place, seek to apply this direction to the
intercourse of brothers and sisters. No association of beings on earth
can be more interesting than that of the family; there are found the
tenderest sympathies and the most endearing relations. There the painter
seeks for the sweetest scenes by which to exhibit his art, and the poet
finds the inspiration which gives melody to his song. The highest praise
which we can give to any other association of men, whether in church or
state, is to say that they dwell together as a family; and cold and hard
indeed must be that heart which does not sympathize and rejoice in
family ties. In nothing short of the developments made in the cross of
Jesus do the wisdom and love of God towards our race shine more
conspicuously than they do in this grouping us in families. The result
has been, that society has been preserved, even though the authority of
God has been condemned; and even the annals of heathenism afford us very
many displays of those kindly feelings, which adorn and beautify human
nature. These would not have existed, had not the heart been cultivated
in the family; and where religious principle is added as the guiding
influence of the circle, the family becomes the nursery of all that is
great and good in our nature, it becomes the very type and antepast of
heaven. Now, the great development of this religious principle would
chiefly show itself in obedience to the apostolic injunction in the
precept, "Be kindly affectioned, one to another, with brotherly love; in
honor preferring one another." I do not, however, so much seek just now
to urge upon the members of the family the existence of kind feelings,
for I take it for granted that in obedience to the call of nature, and
the ties of blood, these feelings are already in existence; but what I
desire to present is the duty of always making these feelings apparent
in common intercourse, for just in proportion to the neglect of this, is
the family influence on the happiness of its members affected. If you
would combine the greatest possible elements of unhappiness you could
not imagine any which would surpass that of a family of brothers and
sisters, hating each other, yet compelled to live together as a family,
where no word of kindness passes from one to the other, where no act of
kindness draws out the affections, where the success of one only excites
the envy of the others; no smile lights up the countenance; no gladness
found in each other's society, the aim of each to thwart and annoy the
other. In such dwellings there would be no light, no peace, no joy, no
pleasant sounds. Indeed such a picture does not belong to even our
fallen world, it is the description of the misery of the lost. A
picture, perhaps, of a family in hell. The further, therefore, from
this, my friends, that you can remove your own family, the greater will
be your own happiness and comfort, and you must remember that the
responsibility of this rests upon each one of you individually. Let your
brother or sister never receive an unkind, unbrotherly or unsisterly
act, never perceive an unaffectionate look, nor experience an
uncourteous neglect, and you will do very much towards making your
family the abode of as perfect peace as can be enjoyed upon earth, and
cause it to present the loveliest and most attractive scene this side of
heaven. Now, I will freely acknowledge that in urging this duty upon
brothers and sisters, I am setting you upon no easy work; I know that it
will require often much self-denial, much restraint in word and deed,
but the gain will far more than repay the struggle.

Original.

THE FAMILY PROMISE.

BY JOSEPH McCARRELL, D.D.

The promise is to you and to your children, and to all that are afar
off, even as many as the Lord our God shall call. From the beginning of
the creation God has dealt with man as a social being. He made them a
male and a female, and the first institution in innocence and in Eden,
was marriage. In his dealings with Adam, God deals with the race. He
made with them his covenant when he made it with Him. Hence, by the
disobedience of one, many were made sinners; in Adam all die. With Noah
he made a covenant never to drown the world again by the waters of a
flood. This promise belongs to the children of Noah, the human race.

To Abraham, the father of the faithful, the Almighty God said, "I will
establish my covenant between me and thee, and thy seed after thee, in
their generations, for an everlasting covenant, to be a God unto thee
and to thy seed after thee." (Gen. 17:7.) In token of this covenant,
Abraham was circumcised, and his family, and his posterity, at eight
days old. This principle of the ecclesiastical unity of the many, this
family, is continued under the new dispensation of the covenant, and
distinctly announced in the memorable sermon of Peter, on the day of
Pentecost: "Repent and be baptized, every one of you, for the remission
of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost; for the
promise is unto you and to your children, and to all that are afar off,
even as many as the Lord our God shall call." (Acts 2:38, 39.)
Accordingly, when Lydia believed she was baptized, and her household;
and when the jailor believed he was baptized, he and his, straightway.
(Acts 16.) And so clearly was this principle established, that it
extends to the children of parents of whom one only is in the covenant;
"for the unbelieving husband is sanctified by the wife, and the
unbelieving wife is sanctified by the husband, else were your children
unclean, but now are they holy." (1 Cor. 7:14.) The first mother derived
her personal name from this great principle. Under the covenant of works
her name is simply the feminine form of the man, [Hebrew: ISHA] the woman,
from [Hebrew: ISH] the man. But when, in the awful darkness which
followed the fall, the first light broke upon the ruined race, in the
grand comprehensive promise, "I will put enmity between thee and the
woman, and between thy seed and her seed: he shall bruise thy head and
thou shalt bruise his heel," it was promised that she should be the
mother of a Savior who should destroy the grand adversary of man, though
he himself should suffer in his inferior nature in the eventful
conflict. In view of this great honor, that she should be the mother,
according to the flesh, of the living Savior, and all that should live
by his mediation and grace, Adam called his wife's name Eve, [Hebrew:
KHAVA], because she was the mother of all living, [Hebrew: HAY]. (Gen.
3:20.) The family identity, established at the beginning of the
dispensation of grace, and continued to the end of divine revelation
without the least shadow of change, gives to Christian parents their
grand encouragement and constraining motive to seek the salvation of the
children whom God hath given them. His former respects, first,
themselves, and then their children, as part of themselves. As it is
necessary that they should believe the promise to themselves, in order
that they may enjoy it; so they must believe the promise respecting
their children, in order that the children may enjoy the blessing. And
as they must prove the reality of their faith in the promise which
respects themselves by their works, so they must prove the reality of
their faith in the promise which respects their children by the faithful
discharge of the duties which they owe to God in their behalf. Fathers,
provoke not your children to wrath, but bring them up in the nurture and
admonition of the Lord. Train up a child in the way he should go, and
when he is old he will not depart from it.

A soldier is not trained for the service of his country or the field of
battle by a few lectures on the art of war. He must be drilled,
practiced, in the very things which he must do upon the field of blood.
So the children of believers, who are to take the places of their
fathers and mothers in the grand warfare against Satan, the world, and
the flesh, must be practiced in these very truths, and graces, and
duties which they must labor and do, that they may be saved and be
instrumental in extending that kingdom which is righteousness and peace
and joy in the Holy Ghost, to the end of the earth and to the end of
time. Let Christian parents make full proof of the family promise, use
it in their prayers at the Throne of grace, cling to it as the anchor of
their hope for those who are as dear to them as their own lives, and
prove the sincerity of their prayers by unmeasured diligence in
instruction and parental authority and influence, and a holy example. It
was a high commendation of Abraham, in whose seed shall all the families
of the earth be blessed, that He who is the fountain of honor and
blessing should say, "I know Abraham, that he will command his children,
and his household after him, and they shall keep the way of the Lord, to
do justice and judgment, that the Lord may bring upon Abraham the thing
that he hath spoken of him." If you would not that the blood of souls
should be found in your skirts at the last day, and that the souls of
your own children, plead incessantly the family promise, plead it in
faith, approved by diligence and a holy example, not only point the road
to heaven, but lead the way. So shall each Christian parent say to the
Redeemer, when he shall come to be glorified in his saints and admired
in all that believe, Here am I, Lord, and the children which thou hast
given me. Let children of Christian parents plead the promise made on
their behalf. It has kept the true religion from becoming extinct; it
will yet fill the earth with the glory of the Lord as the waters cover
the sea. Plead it for yourselves and show your faith in it by giving
yourselves up to Emanuel, the great high priest of our profession, as
free-will offerings in the day of his power, as his progeny, whom he
will adorn with the beauties of holiness, as the dew from the womb of
the morning, when reflecting the light of the sun refracts the prismatic
colors. Say with David, "I am thy servant, the son of thine handmaid,
and therefore belonging to His household, to serve Him, to glorify Him,
to enjoy Him forever." But beware, on the peril of your souls, how you
_abuse_ your relation to the family of God. Think not in your hearts we
have Abraham to our father; make not the holy promise, nor its holy
author, a minister of sin, an apology for unbelief and all ungodliness.
Wilt thou not at this time cry unto me, My father, thou art the guide of
my youth? Hear, believe, plead and obey the gracious word. "I will pour
water upon him that is thirsty, and upon the dry ground. I will pour my
Spirit upon thy seed, and my blessing upon thine offspring, and they
shall spring up as among the grass, as willows by the water courses; one
shall say, I am the Lord's, and another shall call himself by the name
of Jacob, and another shall subscribe with his hand unto the Lord, and
surname himself by the name of Israel."

Original.

THE PROMISE FULFILLED.

     "Leave thy fatherless children with me, and I will preserve
     them alive."

How often has this promise been offered in the prayer of faith at the
mercy-seat, and proved a spring of consolation to the heart of a pious
widowed mother! In the desolation caused by the death of the husband and
father, who was the helper, counselor, and guardian in reference to
spiritual as well as temporal interests, and in the deepened sense of
parental responsibility in the charge now singly resting upon her, how
often and readily does the widow cast herself upon the sure and precious
promise of the covenant, "I will be a God to thee and to thy seed after
thee." In the faith of this her heart imbibes comfort, her prayers
become enlarged and constant, and her efforts become wisely directed,
and steadily exerted, in behalf of the spiritual interests of her
children. When we carefully observe such cases, we shall find proof that
the blessing of the God of grace peculiarly rests upon the household of
the pious and faithful widow. God, in the truth and promises of his
Word, takes peculiar notice of the widow and the orphan, and his
providence works in harmony with his word. The importance and efficiency
of maternal influence in every sphere of its exercise cannot be too
highly estimated, but nowhere does it possess such touching interest, or
such high promise, as the scene of widowhood. How would faith, laying
hold upon the truth of the following promise, and securing its proper
influence in all appropriate labors, realize the fulfillment of the
blessing: "This is my covenant with them, saith the Lord; my Spirit that
is upon thee, and my words which I have put in thy mouth shall not
depart out of thy mouth, nor out of the mouth of thy seed, nor out of
the mouth of thy seed's seed, saith the Lord, from henceforth and
forever." Isaiah 59:21.

These remarks receive a new confirmation in the case of the recent
deaths of two young sons of MRS. JANE HUNT, widow of the late
Rev. Christopher Hunt, pastor of the Reformed Dutch church in Franklin
street, in this city. They died within eight days of each other, the
elder, _De Witt_, in his twentieth year, on the 19th of January, and the
younger, _Joseph Scudder_, in his sixteenth year, on the 11th January,
both of pulmonary disease. Their father, the Rev. Mr. Hunt, was a
faithful and successful minister of Christ, much beloved by the people
of his pastoral charge. The writer of this well remembers a sermon
preached by him at the close of a series of services in the visitation
of the Reformed Dutch churches of this city, which was solemn and
impressive, from the text, "There is but a step between me and death."
This was in January, 1839. At this time the seeds of disease (perhaps
unconsciously to himself) were springing up within him, and after a few
more services in his church, he was confined to his house, and lingered
until the following May. His soul was firm in faith and full of peace,
on his sick and dying bed. He committed them, again and again, to the
care and faithfulness of their covenant God, and felt that therein he
left them the best of legacies, whatever they might want of what the
world could give. At the time of his decease, they had four children,
the youngest of whom was three weeks old. The two oldest were the sons
to whose deaths we are now adverting. The two youngest (daughters) are
surviving. The elder son was seven years old at his father's death. The
responsible trust of rearing these children for Christ and heaven was
thus cast upon the widowed mother. Mrs. Hunt is the daughter of the late
Joseph Scudder, of Monmouth, N.J., and sister of the venerable,
long-tried, and devoted missionary, Rev. Dr. John Scudder, now in India.
Brought up under the influences and associations of piety, she was early
brought to a saving acquaintance with Christ, and a profession of faith
in Him within the church. The consistency and ripeness of her piety has
been evinced in the different spheres and relations of life where
Providence placed her. With the infant children cast upon her care, at
the death of her husband, she plied herself with toilful industry to
provide for them, while her soul was ever intent upon their early
conversion to Christ. She aimed to give these sons such a course of
education as would, under God's sanctifying blessing, prepare them to
engage in the work of the ministry, perhaps the missionary service. She
had the gratification of seeing them as they grew up evincing
thoughtfulness of mind, amiableness of spirit, and correctness of
conduct, and by an affectionate spirit, and ready obedience,
contributing to her comfort. At the time of his death, De Witt was in
the Junior class, and Joseph had just entered the Freshman class, and
there had gained a good distinction for study and scholarship, and drawn
forth the respect and affection of their instructors and
fellow-students. While pursuing his own studies, the elder brother led
on the younger brother at home, and it is believed that by his close
application he hastened the bringing on of his disease. In addition to
this, the mother's heart was yearning for the proofs of their having
given their hearts to God. Attentive as they were to divine truth in
the sanctuary and Sabbath-school, in the reading of it at home, and
careful in forming associations favorable to piety, she yet looked
beyond these to their full embrace of, and dedication to, the Savior.
How mysterious is that dispensation which, at this interesting period,
when these only two sons were moulding their characters for life opening
before them; and when they seemed to be preparing to realize a mother's
hope, and reward a mother's prayers, and toils, and anxieties, they
should, both together, within a few days of each other be removed from
time to eternity. But in the circumstances and issues of their sickness
and death we find an explanation of this apparent mystery by the
satisfactory evidence they afforded of their being prepared by an early
death to be translated to the blissful worship and service of heaven.

Previous to a brief sketch of the sick-bed and dying scene of these dear
youths, a circumstance may be adverted to, beautifully and strongly
illustrative of the value and efficacy of the prayer of faith. Rev. Dr.
Scudder, in his appeals, has frequently and ardently pressed upon
parents the importance of the duty of seeking the early conversion of
their children, and their consecration to the service of the Savior.
With his heart intent upon this duty in the spirit of continued
believing intercession, God has signally blessed him in his own large
family of children in their early conversion to Christ, and in the
training of his sons for the foreign missionary service in which he is
himself engaged. Two of his sons are now engaged in that service; one
training for it some time since entered into the heavenly rest, and
others are now in preparation for it. On the 12th of November last,
1851, Dr. S. addressed a letter from Madura, in India, to his nephew, De
Witt Hunt. So remarkable is this letter, not only in the matter it
contains, and spirit it breathes, but also in the fulfillment of the
prayers it refers to, as the end of the two months stipulated found De
Witt brought into the hope and liberty of the Gospel, on the very verge
of his removal to heaven, that we make the following copious extracts
from it:

"My dear Nephew,--My daughter Harriet received your letter by the last
steamer. I have not the least evidence from the letter that you love the
Savior, for you do not even refer to him. On this account I may perhaps
be warranted in coming to the conclusion that he is not much in your
thoughts. Be this, however, as it may, I have become so much alarmed
about your spiritual condition as to make it a special subject of
prayer, or to set you apart for this purpose; and I design, God willing,
to pray for you in a special manner until about the time when this shall
reach you, that is, about two months. After that I can make no promise
that I shall pray for you any further than I may pray for my friends in
general. I have now set apart a little season to pray for you and to
write to you. Do you wonder at this? Has it never occurred to you as _a
very strange thing_ that others should be so much concerned in you,
while you are unconcerned for yourself? I can explain the mystery. Your
friends have seen you, and your uncle, among the rest, has seen you
walking on the pit of destruction, on a rotten covering, as it were,
liable at every moment to fall through it, and drop into everlasting
burnings. _This_ you have not seen, and therefore you have remained
careless and indifferent. Whether this carelessness and indifference
will continue I know not. All that I can say is, that I am greatly
alarmed for you. It is no small thing for you to trample under foot the
blood of Christ for eighteen years. Justly might the Savior say of you,
as he said of his people of old, 'Ephraim is joined to idols, let him
alone.' Your treatment of the blessed Savior is what grieves me to the
heart. What has He not done to serve you? Were you to fall into a well,
and a stranger should run to your help and take you out, that stranger
should forever afterwards be esteemed as your chief friend. Nothing
could be too much for you to do for him. Of nothing would you be more
cautious than of grieving him. And has Christ come down from heaven to
save you? Has He died for you? Has He shed his very blood for you that
you might be delivered from the worm that dieth not, and the fire which
is never quenched? And can you be so wicked as not to love Him? My dear
nephew, this will not do; it _must_ not do. You must alter your course.
But I will stop writing for a moment and kneel down and entreat God's
mercy for _you_. I will endeavor to present the sacrifice of the
Redeemer at the Throne of grace, and see if I cannot, for this
sacrifice' sake, call down the blessing of the Holy Spirit upon you."

As a remarkable coincidence evidencing an answer to earnest believing
prayer, this letter found both the nephews drawing near to their eternal
state. Under the discipline of the Holy Spirit, the end of the two
stipulated months for special daily prayer in his behalf, found De Witt
brought into the light and liberty of the Gospel, rejoicing in his
Savior.

A few incidents occurring in the progress of the sickness, and during
the death-bed scene, will now be adverted to; and as the death of
JOSEPH took place first, I shall first allude to his case. He
was in his fifteenth year, and last fall, in September, entered the
Freshman class in the New York University. He had been characterized
from childhood for an amiable and docile spirit, filial kindness and
obedience, and correctness of deportment. His mind opened to religious
instruction in the family and Sabbath-school. He loved the Bible, and it
is believed was observant of the habit of prayer. It was the anxious
prayer, and assiduous labor of his pious mother that all this might be
crowned with the saving knowledge of Christ as his Redeemer. He took a
cold soon after entering the University which at first excited no alarm,
but it was soon accompanied with hectic fever, which made rapid
progress, and gave indications that his death was not remote. In the
early part of November, their mother, realizing these indications, and
also the precarious state of De Witt's health, who had been afflicted
with a cough during the whole of the preceding year, which had been
slowly taking root, and now furnished sad forebodings of the issue,
plied her labors with greater earnestness for their spiritual welfare.
The visits and conversations of Rev. Mr. Carpenter were most acceptable
and blessed after this period. I shall here make extracts from some
notes and reminiscences furnished me by the mother: "The evening of
Sabbath, November 16, was a solemn one to myself and sons. We spent the
time alone; I entreating them to yield their hearts unto God, _they_ in
listening to the words of their mother as though they felt and
understood their import. I begged them not to be wearied with my
importunity, and wearied they had been had they not cared for the things
belonging to their everlasting peace. I knew not how to part with them
that night until they should yield themselves, body, soul and spirit, to
Whom they had been invited often to go." After this, Joseph's disease
rapidly advanced, and the physicians pronounced his case hopeless. He
was throughout meek, quiet, patient. Mrs. Hunt again writes: "Sabbath
morning, November 30, I endeavored to entreat God to make this the
spiritual birthday of my children. I was with Joseph in the morning,
reading and conversing with him. In the afternoon I urged him to go to
Christ just as he was, feeling his own nothingness, and casting himself
upon His mercy. He replied, in a low, solemn voice, 'I have tried to go
many times, but I want faith to believe I shall be accepted.' After a
few minutes he said, 'Sometimes I think I shall be, and sometimes that I
shall not be.' Again, there was a pause and waiting, and then his gentle
voice was heard saying, 'I can give my heart to the Savior.' Truly did I
bless God for his loving kindness and tender mercy." It is worthy of
observation, that the evening before, Saturday, a small number of pious
young men of their acquaintance met for special prayer on behalf of
Joseph, De Witt, and another young man very ill. I continue to quote
Mrs. H.: "On Friday night, the 2d of January, I asked him in regard to
his feelings. He replied, 'I pray that I may give myself away to Christ,
and He may be with me when I pass through the valley of the shadow of
death.' I remarked, then, Joseph, you want to enter the heavenly Canaan,
to praise Him, and cast your crown at his feet. He said, 'Yes, to put on
the robe of righteousness.' On Wednesday night, January 7, he was
restless. After he awoke on Thursday morning, I said to him, Joseph,
try now to compose yourself to prayer; to which he assented and closed
his eyes. During the day he remarked to me, 'I prayed for the teachings
of God's Holy Spirit that I might be made wise unto salvation; that he
would lift upon me the light of his countenance, and uphold me with his
free Spirit; give me more light that I may tell around what a precious
Savior I have found. I say, Precious Savior, wash me in thine own blood,
and make me one of thine own children. I come to thee just as I am, a
poor sinner.'" On Wednesday, the day before De Witt received the letter
from his uncle, Dr. Scudder, before referred to and quoted. "Joseph
wished me to read it to him, which I did. After I had finished, he
remarked, 'Before Uncle Scudder prays for me all his prayers will be
fulfilled,' but afterwards added, 'he thought his uncle would now be
praying for him, and sending a letter to him.'" After this he grew
weaker and weaker, and continued peacefully and patiently to wait his
coming death, giving expressions of fond attachment to his mother, in
acknowledgment of her pious care. On Saturday he was visited, as he lay
very low, by Rev. Mr. C., who held a plain and satisfactory conversation
with him. Passages of Scripture and hymns were read to him, which gave
him pleasure, and to the import of which he responded. He expressed to
him the blessed hope of soon reaching heaven. He sank during the night,
and died at half-past one o'clock, of the morning of the blessed day of
the Lord, January 11, 1852, surrounded by weeping but comforted
Christian friends. T.D.W.

TO BE CONTINUED.

John Newton one day called upon a family whose house and goods had been
destroyed by fire. He found its pious mistress in tears. Said he,
"Madam, I give you joy." Surprised and almost offended, she exclaimed,
"What! joy that all my property is consumed?" "I give you joy," he
replied, "that you have so much property that no fire can touch."

Original.

THE BENEFITS OF BAPTISM.

BY REV. WM. BANNARD.

_Son._--Father, how do you reconcile the distinction which the apostle
Paul makes in 1 Cor. 7:14, between children as "holy" and "unclean,"
with the fact that all the descendants of Adam inherit a corrupt nature?

_Father._--The distinction is not moral, but federal or ecclesiastical.
The apostle is speaking, you perceive, of the children of believers and
unbelievers. The one, he says, are "holy," the other "unclean." But he
does not mean by this that the children of pious parents are by nature
different from others, or that, unlike them, they are not tainted with
evil. He means that they stand in a different relation to God and his
church. "_Holy_," in Scripture, means primarily "set apart or
consecrated to a sacred use." Thus, the temple at Jerusalem, its altar,
vessels and priests, were holy. The Jews themselves, as a people, were
in covenant with God. They belonged to him, were set apart to his
service, and in this sense "_holy_." Now, the apostle is to be
understood as teaching that children of believing parents, under the
Gospel, are allowed to participate in this heritage of God's ancient
people, and hence are holy.

_Son._--But how can this be?

_Father._--I will tell you, briefly, though I cannot now go into detail.
In virtue, then, of their parents' faith in God's covenant, into which
he entered with Abraham, and through him with all believing parents,
their children, also, are brought into covenant with him and entitled to
its privileges and blessings. They are set apart and given to him by
their parents when they are sealed with the seal of his covenant in
baptism. In this manner, and in this sense, they become "_holy_."

_Son._--In what sense are all others "_unclean_?"

_Father_.--The children of unbelievers are "unclean" because they
sustain no such relation to God. They have not been consecrated to him
by their parents' faith in offering them to him in the ordinance of
baptism, and are not interested, therefore, in the provisions or
benefits of the Abrahamic covenant. They have, moreover, no special
relation to the church; no more title to its immunities, deeper interest
in its regards, than the children of the heathen. They may, indeed, when
they reach a suitable age, hear the Gospel, and upon repentance and
faith, be admitted to its ordinances, but they have no _special_ claim
upon its care, or right to its prayers and nurture.

_Son._--But, after all, is not this relation one of mere name or form?
Has it any positive or practical benefits?

_Father._--It is, indeed, too often disregarded, yet it is positive in
its character and fraught with striking benefits. If you will give me
your attention I will state a few of the benefits which accrue to
children from this relation. You, then, my son, and all children of
believing parents who have been consecrated to God in baptism, are
considered as thereby belonging to Him. You are set apart to his
service, in a sense that others are not, and consequently are "_holy_."
In this solemn dedication, your parents professed their faith in the
triune God, and their desire that you should be his servants. They took
him to be your God according to the terms of his covenant; they desired
that you might be engrafted into Christ, and claimed for you the promise
of the Holy Spirit to regenerate and sanctify you. Now this, in itself,
is an unspeakable blessing. On their part it was an act of faith and
obedience. In compliance with the divine direction, they claimed for
themselves and for you a privilege which has been the birthright of the
church in all ages. They commended you in the most solemn manner to
God--the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob, a covenant-keeping God,
who is rich in mercy, infinite in resources, and who has promised "to be
a God _to thee and to thy seed after thee_." It _is_ an unspeakable
blessing to be thus placed under his protection, to be brought within
the bonds of his covenant, and to be entitled to that pledge of mercy
which he has made "unto thousands of them that love him and keep his
commandments." If it were a privilege for children to be brought to
Christ to receive his blessing while he was on earth, equally is it a
privilege to be brought to him now that he is exalted to the majesty on
high, and "able," as then, "to save unto the uttermost." Though God has
a regard for all his creatures, both his word and providence assure us
he has a special interest in his people. His language is, "Jacob have I
loved, and Israel have I chosen." His elect are those in whom he
delights. Their names are in his book of life. "All things" are
overruled for their good. They are regarded with more than maternal
tenderness, for though a mother forget her infant child, God will not
forget his people. _And in this affection their children share._
Repeated instances are given in which the offspring of believers, though
wicked, were spared for the _sake of their parents_. The descendants of
David were not utterly banished from the throne for generations, _for
their father's sake_. Of Israel it was said, when oppressed for their
sins by Hazael, King of Syria, "the Lord had compassion and respect unto
them, because of _his covenant_ with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and
would not destroy them, neither cast he them from his presence as yet."
Even since they have rejected and crucified their Messiah, there is a
remnant of them left, according to the election of grace, who are
"_beloved for their father's sake_." The children of the covenant do
unquestionably receive manifold temporal and spiritual mercies, and to
this more than anything else on earth, it may be, they are indebted for
their present and eternal well-being. They are not forgotten when those
who bore them to God's altar, and dedicated them to him in faith, have
passed away. When father or mother forsake, or are called from them, the
Lord shall take them up. Though they stray from the fold of the good
Shepherd, and seem to wander beyond the reach of mercy, often, very
often, does His grace reclaim and make them the monuments of his
forgiving love. This covenant-relation is indeed one whose benefits we
cannot here fully estimate, for they can be known only when the secret
dealings of God are revealed, and we are permitted to trace their
bearing upon an eternal destiny. They do not secure salvation in every
instance, but who shall say they would not obtain even that blessing
were they never perverted, and were parent and children alike faithful
to the responsibilities they involve?

_Son._--These are, indeed, great benefits, but are there any other?

_Father._--Yes; besides sustaining this marked and honored relation to
God, the baptized sustain a different relation to his church from that
of others. They are members of the visible church. Their names are
enrolled among God's preferred people. They have a place in the
sanctuary of which David sung, "How amiable are thy tabernacles, O Lord
of hosts." Nor is _this relation_ without its benefits. They are brought
thereby within the supervision and nurture of the church. They become
the subjects of her care, instruction and discipline. In addition to
household privileges, to the prayers, examples and labors of pious
parents, they have a special claim to the prayers and efforts of the
church. They are remembered as "the sons and daughters of Zion." "For
them the public prayer is made." They can be interceded for not only as
needing the grace of God, but as authorized to expect it in virtue of
their covenant with him. With all faith and hope may they be brought to
the throne of mercy as those of whom God has said, "_I will be their
God._" They may claim, too, as they ought to receive, a special
solicitude on the part of ministers, officers and members of the church,
in their instruction, and in the tender interest which those of the same
body should feel in each other. They are to be watched over, sought out
and cared for in private and in public; to be borne with in their
weakness and reclaimed in their wanderings. They are "Lambs" of the
flock, dear to the good Shepherd, and to be loved and labored for,
therefore, for his sake. Though they become openly wicked it is not
beyond the province of the church to rebuke them for their sins, warn
them of their danger, and by all the moral means in her power to seek
for their reformation. And these considerations are fraught with
benefit. It was the lament of one of old, a lament that may be taken up
by numbers in our day--"No man careth for my soul." But the church does
care for the souls of her baptized children. She recognizes them as
within her pale, provides in her standards for their nurture, and though
not faultless in her treatment of them, she does seek their improvement,
through the influence of her ministers, and by urging upon parents their
responsibility.--There is in these facts, moreover, a tendency to draw
them to the church, to bring them within hearing of the Gospel and
within the scope of its ordinances. They will be attracted to the
sanctuary of their fathers and attached to the faith and worship of
those among whom they have been solemnly dedicated to God. How often in
after years do we in fact see them coming themselves and esteeming it a
privilege to bring their own children to receive, as they have received,
the seal of the covenant!--The baptized are, further, candidates for all
the immunities of Christ's house. They may come to the Lord's table as
soon as they have attained to the requisite knowledge and piety. It is a
distinguished honor, and exalted privilege, to be a guest at Christ's
table, to partake of that feast which is a type of the marriage supper
of the Lamb, and to this they are invited whenever they are ready
publicly to avow their faith and love as his professed disciples. They
are for the present excluded, as children in their minority are
forbidden to exercise the rights of citizens; or rather in virtue of
their power to discipline, as well as instruct, the officers of the
church may exclude them, like other unworthy members, from the
communion. But it is the aim and desire of the church that they may
speedily acquire the knowledge, faith and godliness that shall qualify
them for this delightful service.--Now, all this is happy in its
tendency and beneficial in its effects. It is a high honor to sustain a
covenant relation to God, and to be favored with the peculiar regard of
his people. It is a privilege to stand in a different relation to the
church of Christ from that of a mere heathen, and to share in the kind
offices and be objects of the prayers of those who are "the excellent of
the earth," and whose intercession availeth much. It is a blessing to be
under influences adapted to counteract the power of an evil heart and an
evil world, and thus be made meet for the glories of Christ's kingdom.
And though the baptized may be, in fact often are, insensible to these
benefits, they do in themselves constitute their choicest mercies. If
valued and improved, they will become effectual for their salvation. And
should they be brought ultimately to share in the blessings of this
covenant, they will praise God for the agency it exerted, and adore the
wisdom and beneficence of its arrangements.

Original.

THE WASTED GIFT; OR, "JUST A MINUTE."

     "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy
     might."--ECCLESIASTES 9:10.

"Dear mother," said little Emily Manvers, as she turned over the leaves
of an elegant annual which she had just received, "Is not uncle Albert
very kind to send me this beautiful book? I wonder sometimes that he
gives me such costly presents, but I suppose it is because he sees me so
careful of my gifts."

Mrs. Manvers smiled. "That speech sounds rather egotistic, my dear. Do
you really think you are such a _very_ careful little girl?"

"I am sure, mother," replied Emily, coloring slightly, "that I take more
care of my things than many other girls I know. There is my wax doll, I
have had three years, and she is not even soiled; and that handsome
paint-box uncle gave me a year ago this Christmas, is in as good order
as ever, though I have used it a great deal; there is not one paint lost
or broken, and the brushes and crayons are all safe and perfect."

"That is as it should be, my daughter," returned Mrs. Manvers, "for
even in small things, we should use our gifts as not abusing them; but
what will you say when I tell you that you possess a treasure of
inestimable value, which you often misuse sadly, and neglect most
heedlessly,--a gift that properly employed will procure wonderful
privileges, but which I sometimes fear you will never learn to value
until you are about to lose it forever."

"Why, mother, what _can_ you mean!" exclaimed Emily, in astonishment.
"It can't be that costly fan cousin Henry sent me from India, that was
broken when I laid it down just a minute, instead of putting it
immediately away, or do you mean my pet dove that I sometimes have not a
minute's time to feed in the morning; you cannot surely think that I
will let it starve."

"No, Emily," answered the mother, "it is something far more precious
than either, although by your own admission you have two gifts of which
you are not at all careful. But I fear that if I tell you what the
treasure is, I shall fail in making you see clearly how much you misuse
it; I will therefore keep a little memorandum of your neglect and
ill-usage of it for one week, and that I hope will make you more careful
in future. I will begin on Monday, as to-morrow, being the Sabbath, I
have this gift of yours more under my immediate care."

Emily wondered very much what this wonderful treasure could be that she
used so badly, and puzzled her brain the whole evening in guessing, but
her mother told her to have patience, and in a week she would find out.

Emily Manvers was a kind, amiable little girl, between ten and eleven
years old; she was dutiful and obedient, but had an evil habit of
procrastination, which her mother had tried in vain to overcome. It was
always "time enough" with Emily to do everything, and consequently her
lessons were frequently imperfect, and her wardrobe in a sad state, as
Mrs. Manvers insisted upon her daughter sewing on strings, and hooks and
eyes, when they were wanting, thus endeavoring to instill early habits
of neatness. "Put not off till to-morrow what should be done to-day,"
was a copy the little girl frequently wrote, but she never allowed its
meaning to sink into her heart. It was this truth which her mother hoped
now to teach her.

On Monday morning, Emily jumped up as soon as her mother called her, and
seated herself on a low stool to put on her shoes and stockings; there
was a story book lying upon the table, and as her eyes fell on it, she
began to think over all the stories it contained, (some of them quite
silly ones, I am sorry to say,) and pulling her night-dress over her
feet, sat thinking about worse than nothing, until her mother opened the
bed-room door, and exclaimed in surprise,

"What! not dressed yet, Emily! It is full fifteen minutes since I called
you."

"I will be dressed directly, mother," said she, jumping up quite
ashamed, and she hurriedly put on her clothes, brushed her hair and
prepared for breakfast.

After breakfast she had to look over her lessons, but remembering her
mother's remarks, she stole a few minutes to feed her doves, and then
hurried to school afraid of being late. On her return home in the
afternoon, her mother told her to mend her gloves, which she had torn.
Emily went to her work-basket, but could not find her thimble.

"Where can my thimble be?" she cried, after looking two or three minutes
for it. "Oh, I remember now; I left it on the window sill," and off she
ran to get it.

She was gone some time, and on her return her mother asked, "Couldn't