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'■yyt-mt/if / /^•M ""' -"'"' — II ia /^J •iSOLDEN XhougHTS 1 >l^2-' O N J^^ C\>f' FnoM POETIC AND PROSE LITERATURE OF ALL AGES AND ALL LANDS, WITH AN introd;iction REV, THEO, L,"CUYLER, D, D. J^'^^ Home le hut a name. Tnat u« tno laM may gain : '■ ILLUSTRATED. A. J. Montreal. CLEVELAND & CO., i88: -V • / - i E B. TREAT, COPYRIGHT, 1878-1882. i ^J^TRO(l)lTCTlOJ^. BY R-v. THEODORE L. CUYLER. variety he l.», i„- f ''•'"= 8"»''«t rieliiicss and i..";.>.«i «-Me,ar:,J: i ::t;rr:;7 ';'r "-™ ""^ 'nam, his selections seem to have hp!, T , '^ -Atlantic. In tlie ™ling motive being to 1 oo t tl.n p /"' ' "'f' '^'^^'''' *««*« ^ ^'^^ P-ctical and the nros p o^le M "^J:;"'"^^ ""'^^^ '"^ *''^ "-t to us all-bnt that l^^t^tL I ""^ '^^^^ readers conn-no. on ho tV^otM I 'l '"' r^'"'" '^''^'^ '^^'^ -^^'- hold .-ords," ^nd e oS t of hi " 1 "" • ^"^ '""^ *^^^^ " ^— thoughts of standard vahelto wiL l' ^' *' """^' *''^^^ ^''-^ My friend who ori' n^flT '""m ^'"""''"^"^ "''^^^ tlH-ee grand then.e.TCt^t "T'f *'""^ ""''^ ^"^« ^-^--n each other as lightjiea and ^r • f ''•^''"*''""^^' '-^"^ "^t^^'lo^k tain-head of society a k o • the cl f IT^'- ^^'^ ^"'"^ '« ^^''^ f*^""" h' the universe contr bu s"S Lf 1 ' -'r ^"' '" "'«"^^"-« H.a^.^aH as the IIon:e ^Ihe ^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^'"^"'^ ""--^-^^ -"!« "'otl^erandlwiirrorvonV 1^ if *^"' one-show me the of Clod, the intlln :: l^tS te r ' '' '''\ ^^^^^^■>" ^-- most effective in n.oulchm. dZ . T ""^' '"^^ ^-^''^"^P'^ ^"^ the mouiuing cliaracter and shaping destiny. Litellec- ISTRO D vcTioy. iiilv on the niaterual sido. tual power oven de.ce,uU T^ eXvo'luKl',notl,o,-. of n.oro th»n ^'"^,;::r i^t'liiSiu o, .nor. training ».^t„c^v>.op,,,j^ „r aa,-.-or th.t the .nothc. i. most I'^^^X Wnt^ made liim a little coat. a">- c.„,-,i,pl who -« -« f t he taiiuly. llieieal btcuLuiii the cahm ol the . May,l„wo," or wl.ic I, -« "P '_ j' ' , '^^^ «„„.„. AH „,„■ ,1,0 ]I„g„o„ot o„ »-;:'','■';, l,,i,,,,-,o,,., »ml bost ol,„.-cl,-liro r"o"rta'*,!:t:i,^o,. Tl,o. «o.o ,l,e taproot o, ,l,o For one, I caro bnt l„,lo o » ° - ,,,,;,,, ,,,!„» il,e oigU, or ton i,„mo"» "' ^'^'"';' '! ' "°" ,, f,„,„l, „„d l:o.IIv. N'o stato«,„at,A,i. or log,A*on . .^ J^ ; „f „^ ,. Tl,o „,„ al,o.cs 0, '^"""■'■■'j'^^^, ;\"^ i,i„,,ll,,odi,willr,,i,,i,. homo r„los ,1,0 i,a„"". Ittleiiomo Wealtli i« "ot oiio Thoro are '^^:^::: Z^TZJl^^^y co„,o,„. of ,1,0S0 08S01„ials, fol 1" > •! »" ^ y,„ ,,„,.„ »;„„,„ ,„c„, dwells. 0,1, 0, suol, o«lj ^''"•'=^* cl,«>l»a,-dod fano „„. „.a,o,n oo„le., ,,,0,, a,, ,vo,,,.. ^^^^'^ ^ ^„,„„, .„e ,j,i„„i„.-wUeo , a,a, .^^ ^^^ r.an'^luocd i,„« ,na„y rural growi,,^' ,-of,„o,„o„t, ■• ; • J^:;'; ,,„^, „,„ iie „f to„ta. B„t let Zltll^^^^y . spot. Even '^^^^X::^^ e,„s do not BOom to find ,1„8 o„t. The ,os ,1 at ^^ ^^ .^^ „ ,,niiard.s«loon, ,1,0 olnb, the """"» ^ '> ;X^ It is too often ,1,0 l,o„,o, w& todraw away the sons and ,he da„gl,,o,=. seliold is iuul the cter from ■T was tlic n of tilt' ukIci' aii(! All om- luircli-life jot of tliu iresicles ut rules the ration can (jdly. Ts'o es become ;acy. The 1 ruin it. is not one ty content- ive sprung ardcd farm \\r greatest Eiries. The md praying The Bible, side. The many rural :s. But let and reline- rugality, do- ■eigns, but it hristian par- . theatre, the 3 "out-bid" [t is too often /.V7'/>>oz>rfr/o.v. t l^i^Jrt'to' «rr'^ '"'; '^"^'^^^' '^^^^ I^^-^*-^ -»- ^^^^-r -en- W, Tf 1 • "^''^ or disagreeable place in which he eats and eep. If h,s home were made more attractive lie would not see] l,■" Ti • 1- "J'cn iit Miote, tlicre IS 110 place like Uie salvahon or ruin of the soul "there is no pk 1 e 1 " L " It 13 because this volume contains so many valinbjo .,.„f1,- f liom, or some nch cluster of truths that shall be like a bnncb^' 11 LIST OF JlTTTHOfilS. PAGE AnnOTT, Rov. Dv. John S. C 3«i' Afk.M's, KlizabHli 41t. Aa(lis()ii,.)<)ScliU '' Aldiicli, Jamus AUhidi. T1k«. Bailey • ai< Alpxamlcr, J. A.Wison .• f^ Ak.xuiulcr, Huv. Dr. Jaraea W ^80 Bacox, Lord ff Biuii-y „, BaiUii-, Joanna _' • • Barbaul.l. Anna Lctitia -^ol. «"^ , , ,-, Ill Banks, U. t' ^^^ Barker, David ^^^ Barr, Mrs. Amelia E ~ Barton, Bernard Baxter, Bieliard • • • • • ■ • Beeel.cr, Henry Ward 81,323,328 Beers, Mrs. Ethel L 1||^ Birkins, Rev. II. II ^^^ Blair "g^ Blanchard, Laman ■ • • • Bonaparte, Xapoleou ^^^ Bonar, lloratius Booth, Rev. B. F •••• ^^^ Bowrinp, John Brainard, Mary U Broolvs, Uev. Phillips -^-^ Browninp:, Miss F. « ';' Bryant. William C •••■ *'„ Bnrchard, Rev. Dr. Samuel D l^» Burr, Mrs _„ Bu.hnell, Rev. Dr. Horace .^^^73 Byron, Lord 49 Camtbell, Thomas Carlyle, Thomas PAGE Cary.Phoebc ,^^ Cassauovia, E. L ' '-"'^t" 094 Chatlee, Ada A 7 Chapin. Rev. K. II '^^f^ Coolidge, Susan • • • Chesterfield, Lord 208,303 t'icero • ^25 Clarendon, Lord ~^^ Clay, Henry " Coltas, Sehnylcr ' Collyer, Rev. Dr. Robert 1-^ Cook, Rev. Joseph ^^^ Cook, Eliza ^^.ij Colton, Oeorse II ■ • • • • • • ~^ Cowper, William «3. 230, ~^;3 Crabbe, George '' Cromwell, Oliver ■•••••• ''^^ Crosby, Fanny J ••••''' Si Crosbv, Rev. Dr. Howard '^^^ Cummings, Rev. Dr. John. . . .^. • ■ • • 3J? Ciivler Rev. Dr. Theo. L <, !•>"- Cuylei,ue ggo^ 330, 30G, 411. 419 , , 74 P^"-Vr 135 Dane, U. »- ' ' . .„ Deems, Rev. Dr. Charles P 440 Dickens. Charles ~ '' Dickenson, Charles 1'^* Doxvninjr, Rev. Dr — ^^^ Drvden, John " ' '~ Dwight, Rev. Dr. Timothy -»>' EMEKSON. R. W 128.181 F..BER,Rev.Dr.F.W....270,417,435 Farman, Ella 13 ] I I I I J Ji LIST (,r ACTlloitS. TAUE . ... 288 , . . . 3(5 . ... 221 .... 294 .... 320 ....344 .208, 8G3 .... 225 .... 225 295 137 123 251 83 207 3, 230, 233 203 363 3, 115, 370 385 397 7, l.")0, 10, 411, 419 74 135 440 209 !!!!!!! 154 124 ....213,283 ... 267 Fi'n.,w.. H,.v. Samuel ""o^n F'"I'K .fames T .■.".■.■■■.Too iMiinklin, Uonjaiuin 0-.7 '^""- ::::::::: oJl PAOE <>AHIIEM). Jhh. a <"'"'.v, Jolin t'liulNtoiic, \V. E. (ioctllc •joii^'h, ,John B., 08,343 TO 287 ""«mhh, Oliver 138, "2O8, 21 7 ('uti.ric., Uov. Dr. Thomas". ." 3V1" (iuyon, Madame 382 3.54 85 327 108 148 413 30O 104 H.u.K, Mrs. Sarah J. . . IIhII. Hov. Dr. .Tolin. . . . Hiillcck, Fitz Urccno. .. Hiiiiiiltoii, Kov. Dr Hiiiiiilton, H. W Harris, Pev. ,J. L. . . Hiivfii, JJisliop Gilbert.. llavern;al, Frances Ridley. . 0^7 .-, nel|).s Sir Arthur - . ■ t Henians, Mrs. Felicia D. . Henderson, Kev. M. C. . . . Henry, I{ov. Dr. Mattliew Herriek, Holn-rt Her.-ielu'I, Sir John '' Hill, Rowland Hod^ro, Rev. Dr. A. A Holland, J. G Holm, Saxo Holmes, Oliver Wendell. 112,142, 161,353 ■ • .64, 188,'4.53 107 376 309 264 317 339 106 • .315,413 108 257 445 ...41,304 355 Jocelyn, Mrs. Elizabeth II 'jjj, Johnson, Dr .,' ,. Hood, Thomas Hojjkins, Jane EIlLs Horno, Bishop Houghton, Mary H. Humboldt Hunt, Leigh Hunter, William Ki:iii,E, John Ken, Hisliop Tliomas. King, Henry 140 388 350 199 '•iiium >„_ Huntington, C ' ,ZL Huntington, Bishop F. D.!.'..'.'.' „ „ 403 l^r. Ernst 4^- 336 Janes, Bishop E. S., Jay, Rev. William.., 403 850 853 353 173 30 L.VMH, f'liarh^s Lang,', Rev La.son, \. A Latlirop, Mary F. Lincoln, Abraham LonglelloNv, Henry WMOO^ 156, 385 S^l Lonsdale, Bi.shop „f, ':}„ Lover.S !. ..''■■ Lowell, .lames Ru.ssell. . ." ko off ^^"•"-'«'"- ::::3SSi MAcvftAv, Lord MacDonahl, George. . . .' ' Mackay.Cliarles Mann, Horace March, l{ev. Dr. Daniel.. i^Iarsh, Miss Mason, ,I,,],|, MatthewB, Rev. Dr. J. M ^f.■ Donald, Kev. Dr. James' M.".' MeLeoil, .A(ra, Georgio A. H. . . . Millman, Dean Mills, Mrs. Elizabeth Milton, John " " " Mitchell, John K Mont 00 333 383 180, 209 .854, 382, 449 398 3,-)2 43 433 332 403 434 358 320 tgonu.ry, James. . . .59, 110, 307 430 Moody, D,L ,.j.j .„,g Moore, Thomas 301, 439 436 More, Hannah „„„ Morns, George P. Muckle, Mary J. . Muhl.>nberg, Wm. A . .89, 103 . . . . 35 Mulock, Miss oQj" Murray, Rev. W. H. H. " 13 N^EAXDER, J. W. A Xewton, John Northrop, Prof. B. G...'. 450 364 184 453 393 386 LIST OF AUTHOBS. FAQE 379 Ohoood, Mrs. Frances S Osgood, Hev. Samuel ^'^^ Orrorj', Earl of OvUl 113 100 233 305 387 . 389 . 373 323 PaunkM-, Tlioums Pnxton, H'V. Dr. NV. M Payne, John Howard Peiiicc', William Pwui, William Penrose, Richard Perry, Mrs. S. T jj^^ Pioriiont, John *^^ Py^^y------ .■■:.'.■ 345 Phinclie, .). « gpg Pollock Hobert ■- Pope. Alexander.^. ' Prentice, lieorge D ^ ' Z^ Preston, Mrs Priest, Nancy A. W Proctor, Bryim W • • • ■ 341 444 304 RANDOLPn, A. D. F Eend, 'I'. Buchanan Reed, Kev. Dr. Alexander Rice, Mrs. C. T. •• Rdhertson, Rev. Dr. F. W o. 1 14i), 3o,J Rollers, Samuel ' _. Rounds, William M. F Ruskin, John PAGE . 50 . 208 . 381 Smith, Mrs. May Riley Smith, Sidney Socrates Southey, Robert 308,388 Si)riiuiie, Cluirles ••• sUU.H-C.U..134.332,2 7, 443 ". 203 384 Stillinjrs, lleiuricli Storrs, R. S Stoue, Mrs. H. B Swain, Charles "'■"" TALMAGE, Rev. T. De Witt. . 84, 214 235, 287, 293. 297, 3o3 Taylor, Bishoi) •• • Taylor.Rev.Dr.WilliamM....... ~6- Tennyson, Alfred •;:-i:?S Ti,nnson, James 130, 14o, 201, 303 Tillotson .,„„ Todd, Rev. Dr. John •^- --- Kev.Mark 100,10. 310 305 350 331 204 219 280 233 . ... 315 .293, 358 Trat'toii, Tupi'er, Martin F Turjjot ••• Twcedie, Rev. Dr.W. K. .142 Salwist o gangster, Margaret E l^J*' ''f^ Snxe, John (t ' Scott, Sir Walter lXv.ea;;:w™am:310,247,344.443 Sidnev, Sir Philip • ;; ~'* sUrney, Mrs. L. H ^3. 247, 3o8 Simpson, Bishop Victoria. Queen. 208 303 367 380 394 303 WADsWOirrn, Rev. Dr. Charles,.. Walker. Delia E Walker, Dr. James """ Watts, Rev. Dr. Isaac ■- '^^^^ Webster, Daniel ~~ • :„ West, Benjamin White, Henry Kirke .■•- Whittier, John U ISd, .-i Wilcox, Carlos ^ ^"^ Willis. N-athaniel P *^. ~«^ Williams, Rev. D wight -*- Wordsworth. Samuel. 48 89 m 308 137 Yeomass, William H. Young, Edward 187 352 14 COJVTJ^jVTS. 337 443 202 884 . 149 .... 267 i... 336 394 303 393 . .223, 426 48 89 3, 273, 319 308 . . .83, 282 425 127 187 .... 352 Poetical Selectio.ns ake indic; VTED BV Boi.n.FACE NCMDERS MOTtt£-B, A MoTir^n's Larqe Apitection. MV MOTIIEU MOTIIKH My Motiiek Deak MoTiir;i( MoTiiK', Home and IIe.wex. . . MoTinoii Thk ^r()•nII.:li AT Home. PAGE . .Lamnn Hlanehiird 30 .Ahmham Lincoln 30 .Fanny Vroshy 3;^ • S. LoKCi' .Joanna BuilUc . Mill/ J. Miiflde 35 .A'. L. ''msdnoriii. -jg 34 34 asHitnorin A Mot,, Ku's' Loir '"""^ ^""'''"'' ^''"""'^ 37 A MoniEK's II,.;AnT ^-''-'-c Holm 40 The L„ve Pri.n-cipi.e. . '. MncmiHan's Magazine 41 A AIOTHEJi's I.\,.T.UENCE I A. Ifodf/e, n.l). 41 A MoT,i,.:,rs Pkav,ok... . W "^ "^ Matthem, 1).]) 40 uioni/moii/^. 48 A MoTinoit's Kiss The MoT(i,.in TiiiED -MoTiiEiis T/iomas CampheU. Mothers op D.sTi'NGms.iED Men f '^^ ^">/ HUey Smith 50 Mothers and S„xs .... -ixoni/motw ^,, The xMoT,iE,rs Prater (^^'ristian TntelHgcnrer .-50 A M0T„r.:,{'s Love '^»*<^ "'''"'''■• Tn.m-TE TO A MoTnER Ge,^ffe P. Morri..... The Mother's Mission ^^^ ''^'"'"""^ WORKIXO AND W.UTIXO ^■i''"'.'^">OUS Mv MoTHEH-. IfAND. ^no»y,„ous Mv Mother's P,cTm,Co>rper How Mamma Plats -3- tc A Mother's Empire.. - ■ ■■ -Blla Farnm Fob lira Mothers Sake ^«'. ^. //• BwMns. . . Wife and Mother Anonymous Woman's Power. . . ^''"- '^'^'* ^''"f^"" 100 The Old Folks '"^ ^- ^""y^ow joo Mother, the Queen'of"-eu •■";; ('^Wegationalkt k.I My Mother's Bible J^ev Mark Troftou io2 '■■■ ■' Oeorge P. Morris 103 a8 taok 67 «8 CO 71 73 7;j 74 :« 78 7!t 80 81 82 83 84 85 80 87 87 88 88 91 &2 93 94 96 97 99 (■'OATEA-TS. Ml' MoTnnCfl BriiLE . wot Atv .M,n iiu;« U..AVE "'"'^' ^'■""''■' ^''"•'" 104 M" nrKHs, s,..v,a.: YotiusELves ?''" '''^ ^' '^^■"''^■'•*'''' m Mi -MOTHEU'SUKAVE,... ^l"<»'i^'«C«, j,^ I^OVEU AND PK.U8ED. . . "j"'"' '^ ^'''"''^"' »07 ''"« (//er/R UitlUck 108 tt M £ , Home . DOM,..TIC IIAPI.™.'.'.'. ^^'""' "'""'" ^"''^■^*' Home na Earl of Orrery jjo Home........ ".'.'. '.''."■ Fanny Crooby ^g Home Defined. '^'"""' ^""'^"""'•^ 116 '''".MIUME OK CHILDUOOD.'. »^ *>«-:. ^7 Home Songs... '"^muel U. Burclutrd, DM. us 'i'.iKOi.DHoME....'.'".' Anonymous ^^l Home Suadowh .. ' ^'^^■^^"^ Tnwyson 122 Home Adornmexth ^^'^''''' ■'''^'^''''- ^^ ^ 123 Scene, ok My Cnn.DuooD. ".*'".'" ?"" ^.'"•.."^'""'^ 124 127 Longings fou Home ^"'"'^ ^Vorthmnh Home fiovEn.sMENT- WhIt" is "it '' u7" ^'f " "° HOME UoVEHNMENX-r. 1^^.0.r^O^::Z- ^^^77' ''' Home Trainiw of Ciir,.n„.v. ^i^- ^ ^'""' I'-iO .Z>. L. Moody... ■ II. a Dane.... ■ James Thomson OF Children Home Affection Home Teaching Home Instruction 133 135 136 Home Infi.dencer. ..". : -Son. Schuyler Colfax 137 The Smiles of Home S=inyAoe. Ooveknment of Children The Beautiful Home Nut One Child to Spare Babies and their Rights The Children's Bed-Time The Evening Prayer Home and its Queen Coming Home from School The Paradise of Home To Our Girls A Plea for the Boy ■ Appletoii's Journal igg ■ Boston Post jgQ • Olit-er Wendell Holmes 161 162 Mrs. Ethel L. Beer .M. E. Sangster 1(54 .Jane Ellis Hopkins 157 . Anonymous jgg . Scribner's Monthly 1 79 ■ Miss F. G. Broiming 171 Henry Ware, D.D 173 Mary F. Lathrop 173 What I Live for f '1 "!'* ^"'"'""^ ^'"'- ' ' ^ '^ ,, (r. E. Banks 17-. OHLOREN OF THE RiCH AND PoOR, CONTRASTED V«W. liusscll Lo.elL. .' ! ' ' 179 Be Kind, Boys „ ., „„ ,, Horace Mann mn Good Manners. . . , '■^'^ -Anonymous if^i ■ Anonymous jgo J. O. Wiittier jsa Rce. W.HH Murray . . . 184 Friends' Intelligencer iso William H. Tcomans 1S7 Kind Manners at Home Our Lives are Albums. . Home Amusements A Cheerful Home ,. The Farmer's Home Home Memories c. ' Thomas Hood \aa Singing in the Family a Art in the Family. Anonymoris \qq Conversation!.... Baltimoi-e American 191 Churchman 193 20 CO NTENTS. Si-KAK CuEEHFf I. WoiiDS Anomjmom. None Livktii to Himself AuoHym.us. Speak a Ciuou Wohd AnonymouH. Smiles PAGE l'J4 195 196 Mrs. Burr 197 Joy BitiNGERS Anonymous lyg Okumblers Anonymous igg LovK TO Oiu Fellow Mek (Abou Ben Adhem). .Leigh Hunt 199 \Voin.s ro Bovs James T. Fields. . .'.'..'... oqq The Light OF Home Miss Mulock 20I Domestic Bliss James Thomson 201 TuE Power of Home us. Storrs, D.D oqo The Bright Side The Interior 203 Worth of Looklnxi on the Bright Side Dr. Johnson 203 The Evening Hearth-stone Aiionymous " " ' 204 Cheerfllxess Anonymous 005 COURTESY AT Home christian M'eekly 200 Christian CoFRTEsv Anonymous 2O8 Self-respect in Company L,„a Chesterfield 208 Models ^,. ,,,,., Oh-cer Goldsmith 208 The Morality of Manners rr.,..^„^ ^r " '"'' JJorace Mann 209 The Witchery of Manner Anonymous 210 Best Men, Moulded Out of Faults Shakespeare 21O Cultivate Patience Anonymous..: 213 Beware the Fury of a Patient Man John Dryden n'i A Woman's Cares T De Witt Talmage 214 Woman's Equality ^„,,^^^,,^ jj^^^^^^ ^ ^ ,^. Woman ,,. „^ ,, ,, otr Walter Scott 215 Tell Your Wife n •^onymou, ,,^ Example Phillips Brooks oo,, CiHE.VT Men IxspmED. . .". Lord Clarendon 005 paoe 223 223 223 To YoiNG Men , • Cicero. 226 228 Ability and Opportunity. ^' ^ ^^""'^^ H appixes« herald and Presbyter. . Domestic Happiness . .'. ^^kxander Pope 230 Family Life, a Test of pIety "'''""" ^''''^'"' 230 Aim AND Object IN Life 'Z'. ^"^'^'^>^ R'dc .g^ Selfishness ^' ^^ ^l»irrjeon oj.j Life and KeligIon' are' One ^' ''^'""* ^'"■^'"' 2*33 Make Yocr M vrk ^''"''^' -VacDonald o;j.. The Uses of Adverspty""' ';';";;;; Ji^"=ld Barker The Good are Uetter M vde by li t Folly op Fretting ^.-ue nut lalmage 035 ^EVER Mind. ... '^' ''• ''''**'"* '' Little Trot-bles. ^nonynun. 234 . Joseph Addison 235 236 ANXIETY IS THE PoiSON OF LlFE ^^J'" ^"'*' ^' '''''' ' Many Dishes «r,ng Many Diseases::;::;;:: ipj^;;:::;;;;;;;;;; - 336 238 239 243 Transient Trocbles " ^*°"'-"'^» PUny ^^^^ Working and Waiting Anonymous 045 Content Anonymom 246 Discordance ^^''*' ^ ^ ^igottrncy 247 Lkt Bygones BE b;gones: Shakespeare The Christian at Home Chambers' Journal RkuoionintheFamfiy ^inonymous Certainties in Religion ^"'"''' ^^ ^- ^"»^i"Oton . . Winning Socls ^^'"'' '^"''^^ ^""^ The Agencies for Good ^f^'"^^ ^^ ^' ^'""'•' ^ocR Mission ^'^'''^'' P"'i''r..r CI ^ A DF. ■ Ihw Si mm I ( FiHoir.i, D.D.. Model Homes Work, for Some Good Life's Rests ^^''^ ^''•^'"■^* '^' O.good. Study Economy Press on!. . 275 276 277 278 279 org John Unxkin ggo 280 Te.\H8 OF Symp.^thy ^'^ "''"'•'' 280 280 .liei-. SnnniH Ofi;/ood. I).D. Byrun foy-ri: XTS. PAOB John B. Goxigh gyj Lurd Uacuii N\U.M.\N AT IIUMK 'i'liK CiiAiiM Oh' Woman HOMK TIIK ^XCIKKD HliFUGE OF OUU LiFK. ']IIE lIo.MESTKAU Home The Poweu of Kimdxess P.r LE OF Conduct FlliEsiDE MrsiNGS EAIU.Y IxFI. FENCES PltEFEIiENCE FOU THE K'ldllT Ji Plea for Home A Worthy Ambition Common 'I'm: ihs The ScMMrr U ained bv Slow Deokees n. W. Lo.gfelOno .. o ,i MAKE Home LIKE BEAFTiKOL Pr,j:B.O.No,a.,^:.::: ^'^c Witt Ta',i„ifj,- W. R Gladstunc, M.P Drydai P/uvhe Vary 1\ Be Witt Talmngf ■ • • -W. Movlcy Piiii.^/wn. LLl). St'itcca ■■■■Ad.i A. Chdffn' .... Bishop SimpKon ;;92 Uenry Clay oyj ,, „ Theodore L. Cinilr, I) D "fi3 Make Some One ITai-pv 7. ,.,, ,,-.., „, / ' ' ^^^ -.f , „ I. nc Wilt litlmaqi-. . . '-'')-, Man « JKST PowEHs Po.nt II.m OoDWA.n R,.,, C. IT. Spuryeln t', Reveries (>:■ the Old Kiithen -i ' ' " ~ 281 ^'83 283 283 283 284 289 289 :i89 290 Pisaituintme.nt. The 'I'liiALs OF Home Sanctified Afflh tions 'Tis Retticu to Have Loved and Lost. I.mmortality l)E.mi, the Path TO (ioD Consolation Resionation Our Baby My Baby CnrLDHooD Our Dear Ones 'Tis a Blessing to Live Baby Bell Oi:r Dead Children iiiouymouH 20a . . Th'iiiins Jfiore ojj- . W. a: Tirccdic, D.I) 0,,^ . . Watchman and Riflctor. . 80J . . Mfred Tennyson ... 304 ■ .Robert PoVack 304 . . Thomas Parndl 304 • Mary II. Iloiujhton ijo.'j . //. ir. Long fellow 303 . A 1). F. liaiidolph 310 .Kr.iiigeUst 3n . John G. Whittier 315 .James Aldrich 3ig ■ John K. Mitchell 3i(j . Thomas Bailey AM rich 317 m,,^ T „ J^''''-f^-n.Ghapin.n.D.... !J20 The Little Children jj^^,.,^ „, Are All the Ciiildhen L\ ? '7/ W. Longfclloir 321 . „ .Mrs. 8. T.Perry 322 Are the Childre.v at Home ? Mrs. M. E 2i i M ''1 Sangster 323 rAOB .. 281 • 281 . 2J1 . t'82 . 283 . 283 . 283 . 284 . 289 . 289 . ;C89 290 ^91 291 292 29r, 29.1 203 29 r 2li8 302 304 304 304 iiO,-> 303 310 3U 315 316 316 317 320 321 322 }23 COATE.XTS. A Link Hetwekn Akcki.s and Men Martin F. Tapper Death ok (uinJitE.N Vhari,'^ \V,rl.siro,t:,, J). I). . 15lND I'l' TlIK HuOKEnHeaHTEU C. II. Sp'trj. UK QUIICT UtiKKl l-XKSS ,/„/„, 21,,,!^ J)j) _ Home Beheavements j[an-y Ward Ihedur TiiK A.NOEi, Child j/,.,,. c. L. liicr An A.NOEL Met My Gaze Jamen Rn.-s 11 LmrcU Emity Cr.'vDle.s M,;. G. A. n. McL,o,l My Child ,M„ j>„ ,-p„i.t SUNoH NE EOI{ TIIK SOIUIOWINO Th,u:!or, L Cilijlcr. 1)1). .. \\\: Kno-.v Not Wuat l^^ Ueioke U.s Mary G. Hnhiinrd I'AssiN.; Away m,.h. F. I). II, luaiu I5y-AND liY .!/,.,.(. PrrUon UuoKrix Ties ChrUti,!,, !!',<% The IIioheu and Beite:; Like ,/„„„.., ^i. a,irjk!,l New EvEUY MoiixiXG Snsa.; Coo'idr/e <'OMin T atiox ok Like. . . / «, p'anrh.. l>iKE's Ei'iTAPii r,m!irf Mn.n. Ouu Like a Sehmon How to Live God's Demand* I'AUB 6U J . 7'. /),' Wilt Tii'mnnc WilliKm C. Bryriiit . . AVr W:inni... The Voyage of Like ir / n '^ • Mid nil Oiitjon rmasviAN L.viNo ^ y 0^^;^,,^ False Piude in Life j,,, „ ^, ^„,,, Life Ueactino Upon Like ^. ;.„,„„,,, y^,/,^,„ . , Make the Best ok Life j„,,, ^r^,,^ ' MiTTUAL Dependence .Sciii'ca. 331 331 332 33(1 ;!:;a . 033 , 330 , 3<1 3 ! ; . o4'i . 345 34 t 350 O.^O 351 351 352 352 352 •:m 333 »)■;•> 354 ') . i 357 358 350 353 ao 1)0 THY Xkaukst Dl-ty QoM^ Tuii.N Amlv 2G 'O XTK.XTS. FAQB 358 •.m %3 363 363 363 364 364 tm 365 365 367 368 368 371 Thoughts of He wen Wiliam Pxirce REC«KiNITIOX IN IIlCAVKN I{,jl,crl SoHtli.y 1Ie.vve.slv Riccoonitio.n irshuj) Ti'iimKU Km Attuactions of Heaven Jiermnd Bartnn The Timtk End op Life Wdliam P,nn ENTJUtiNO Heaven l{ev. J. L. Ilanix TuE Wonders op Heaven John Neiclon Dkligiits ok Heaven Dr. Mac Watts lOJJORANCE OF THE FuTUUE LiFE Richard liaxtcr Be.\utiful Heaven Delia E. ^yalker Songs in Heaven ^v; T. B HT.MNS OF Heaven Thco. L. Ciiyhr. D.l) Echoes fuom Heaven j„hi, Vummino, D.D IIeaveis-i.y Reamties Misa Marsh The CiinisTiAN in Heaven ,Mn 8. C. Abbott, D.D The Land of Beulaii C. Huntington The Silent Shoke Charles Lamb The Death of the Righteous Dean Milhnan Heaven— Not far Away Anonymous There is no DE.mi Bulirer Lyiton Oru Friends in Heaven Anonymous GLiMreEs OF Heaven Eev. Tim. L. Cuyler Three Unchangeables Matthejr Henry, D.D The Path of Sorrow Leads to Heaven Will-am Coirper The St.xkless Crown j /; jj Bringing Our Sheaves with Us Elizabeth Akers ' The Shore of Eternity jr jp paber.D.D Hymns op Longing for Rest Then. L. C>n,ler. D.D.... . . Infants in Heaven ^g,, j^, MeDonald, D.D.. Rednio.n in HE..VVEN w. Movlei, Punshon, LLD. What Must it Be to Be There ? Mrs. Elizabeth Mills Joy m the Morning /?,,. D„ig,,t Williams My Responsibility to God Daniel Webster. . . . The Sunset Hour of Life Anonymous The Joy of Inoojipleteness Sunday Maynzine Tuere'9 Nothing True but Heaven Thomas Moore 27 PACE 387 383 383 389 38.) ;i'jo 393 393 394 395 ;j!)0 397 ;!98 ;!9!) 402 403 403 404 407 409 411 413 413 414 416 417 419 423 423 424 425 428 427 428 429 CONTENTS. Depahtltie op Friends James Montgomery Xo Sects in Heaven Mrs. Etu. 11. Jucclyn Ukaven F.W. Fiiber, D.D Anticipation of Heaven TlwmaH Moore A Home in Heaven WilUaui Hunter Those Mansions Above Parish Vixitor At Home in Heaven .Charles F. Deems, D.D. . . . Meetness for Heaven United Preshytt nan Foretokens of Heaven li. W. Hamilton Blessed are the Home Sick Heinrieh Stillings Jovs OF Heaven Nancy A. W. Priest Unvailed Heaven Ermt Lnnye, D D Three Steps to Heaven Rowland Hill. Immortality Oeorge D. Prentice Say not " Good Night " Anna Lttitia Barhauld Time and Eternity Horatius Bonar No NioiiT IN Heaven Anonymous No Sorrow There Daniel March, D.D Heaven Wm. A. Muhlenberg, D.D. The Consecration Mrs. F. R. Hatergal Farewell Life, Welcome Life Thomas Hood The End Anonymous Good Night J. W. A. Neander Benediction Anonymous PAOB 430 431 43!> 436 437 438 440 443 443 443 444 446 445 44a 446 447 448 449 450 451 452 453 452 454 28 If I [ I 'i i'jj I 1 ^'^''^^■^^'Sii^' P 29 M Tis a mother's large affection Hears with a mysterious sense, — ■ Breathings that escape detection Whisper faint, and fine inflection Thrill in her with power intense. Childhood's honeyed words untaught Hiveth she in loving thought. Tones that never thence depart. For she listens— with her heart. tAMAN DLANCHARD. All that I am or hope to be I owe to my mother. ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 30 I "THE MOTHEIf'8 TlfEjlSUIfY IvI OTHER. (WHITTEX EXPRESSLY FOR THIS WORK UY FANXY J. CROSBY.) HE Jighi, the spell-word of the heiirt, Our guiding star in weal or woe. Our talisman— our earthly chart- That sweetest name that earth can know. We hreathed it first with lisping tongue When cradled in her arms we lay ; Fond memories round that name ai-e Iiuul^ That will not, cannot pass awa\ . We hreathed it then, we breathe it still, More dear than sister, friend, or brother; The gentle power, the magic thrill. Awakened at the name of mother. 33 MY MOTHER DEAR. S. LOVEB. HERE was a place in childliood tliat I remember well, And there a voice of sweetest tone bright fairy tales did $• And gentle words, and fond embrace, were given with joy to me, I When I was in that happy place upon my mother's kliee. AVhen fairy tales were ended, "Good night," she softly said, And kissed, and laid me down to sleep, within my tiny bed,' And holy words she taught me then— methinks I yet can see Her angel eyes, as close I knelt beside my mother's knee. In the sickness of my childhood, the perils of my prime. The sorrows rf my riper years, the cares of ev'ry time, When doubt and danger weighed me down, then pleading all for me. It Avas a fervent prayer to Heaven that bent my mother's knee. MOTHER. "^Sj^riEN we are sick, where can we turn for r^ When we are wretched, M-here can we ( Joanna Bahj-ie. And when the world looks cold and surly on us, Where can we go to meet a warmer eye With such sure confidence as to a mother ? 34 succor ; complain ; MOTHER, HOME, AND HEAYEH. ^^^^ MakY J. MCCKLB. iHlf '^^'^'^'^ ''^^ ^^^^^^ ^^'^'"^'^ ^^^^^ sweetly blend, ^y^^*' "^^^^^ ^" ^^'^^ ''*^^'''^ ^^^ graven ; K^ '^ precious soothing balm tliej lend— i They're Mother, Home, and Heaven ! They tw'iie a wreath of beauteous flowers, Wliieh, phiced on memory's urn, Will e'en the longest, gloomiest hours To golden sunlight turn ! They form a chain whose every link Is free from base alloy ; A stream where whosoever drinks Will find refreshing joy! They build an altar where each day Love's offering is retiewed ; And peace illumes with genial ray Life's darkened solitude! If from our side the fii-st has fled, And Home be but a name, Let's strive the narrow path to tread. That we the Inst may gain ! 35 MOTHER, ^'. L. ('A8SAN0VIA. }in life's commotion— dismal leiirs— Mid cares ami woes, and floods of teai-s, How sweetly breaks npoii the ear Some word of comfort or of cheer; i Vet of our friends there's not another ^Vlio speaks as gently as our motlier. llcve tlisappointments crowd each day, Oh" brifyhtest hopes soon fade away, Ami friends long trusted oft deceive ; We scarcely know whom to believe. Yet, thougli we fear to ti'ust each other, We are not afraid to trust our mother. ' Yet here where there's so much deceit, Some friends we have we love to meet; There's love we know that will endure,' ^N'ot sordid, selfish, but all pure ; -But though beloved by sister, brother, There's none that love us like our mother. Among the names to mortals given, There's none like mother, home, and heaven ; For home's no home without her care ; And heaven, we know she will be there ; Then let us, while we love each other, Reuiember and be kind to mother. 36 THE MOTHER AT HOME, |K|JRCHBISII0P LEKIIITON sap, " Fill the bushel with good M^T^^a ^^iK^'fif) i"in out of her children's way to health and happiness. \o dirt, or dirty habits for example, should be permitted. Washing their luuids and faces many times in the day will often remove a sense of discomfort which makes them fretful, as also will giving them food at regidar I)eriods. Kagged dress, too, and broken fastenings, add a feeling of degradation, that a careful mother will preven as far as possible by keeping their clothes whole, neat, and clean. . iaking their own garments, we may here remark, gives useful employment to girls, and is an important aid in training them up to thrifty habits. Many families go in rags because they never learned to sew; while the same wages in the hands of those who know how to employ that useful " one-eyed servant," the needle, keep the household looking always resjjectable. 87 l«l ■ THE MOTH Kit AT U O M i: . Children slioukl also luivo time to j^laii. Happiness is a great promoter of liealth. The Bihle mentions <'l)oys and girls leaving in the streets," as one sign or national i>rosi)erity. They do not need exi)ensive toys. A little French ])riiioe turned from his new- year's present of tt)ys from an empress grandmother to watch some peasants making dirt i)ies, and, it is said, begged the (jueen his mother to allow him to join in the sjjort which seemed so charming to his childish eye, as olfering some scope to his ingenuity. A i'^w old bits of wood, or scra])s of broken crockery, stones, and oyster- shells, afford inexhaustible amusement, cost nothing, and do not spoil ; while if the mother will now and then put in a word to show an interest in her little ones' games, her own spirit will be refreshed and cheered by their light-heartedness. Children are wonderful imitators, so that it is comi)aratively easv to lead them early into good Avays. They are never so hai)py as when trying to do what they see older ])eople do. Their ])lavs chielly consist in copying elders. The little cottager "makes believe" to go to market, to jdaiit a garden, to make hay, to wash, to build, to cook, and to teach in school. The boys are never meri'ier than when playing at horses, or in some other way asi)ii'iug to be like their e'ders. Many of these games bring the bodily organs into e.xcellent exercise, and strengthen and build up the system wonderfully. These amusements, too, often really prepare the children for the actual business of life, so that they the sooner become heli)lnl to their parents. They should be watched and encouraged therefore in their i)lay to habits of thoughtfnlness and self reliance. Let it be remembered ali^o, that, while by all means it is well to send children to school, the largest portion of their education, whether for good or evil, is carried on at home, often unconsciously, in their amusements, and under the daily iniiuence of what they 38 am , : J 1 T n E M O T U E li A T 11 O M E . see and hear about tlioiii. Jt is there tliat "subtle brains and lis- som fingers" find scope, and learn to promote the well-being of the eoniiaunity. We cannot tell what duties our cliildren may b^' called to pertbrm in atter-lit'e; many <.f England's greatest men were born poor cottagers. But we oni, in a great niijasure, pi-eserve their ])rains and limbs troni injury; we can cultivate their faculties, and teach them to exercise all their senses— to use their hands diligently and skillfidly, to observe with their eyes, to listen to good instruction; in short, we can, by (Jod's help, teach them, as the I)rophet says, " to choose the good and refuse the evil." AVe can encourage them to be a;>t to learn, so that they may with readiness set about any duty whicii God may ])lace befoi-e them. Are the children naughty i Must they be punished ( " The Lord lovetii the son whom lie chasteneth ; " " xVs many as 1 love I rel)iike and chasten," are texts which will mitigate the anger of both father and mother, and teach them to adopt such means of correc- tion as shall improve instead of harden their children's minds. Is a littL daughter lame and sickly > Dues a son get into a hard place I *'Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear Il.im ;" "As one whom his mother comforteth, so M-ill I com- fort you,"' saith the Lord. Does work fail and removal among strangers seem inevitable? The children's conclusion that " Father will see about it," ".Mother will be with us," are phrases full of deeper meaning to their parents' ears as they raise their hearts to God, and remember, " Thou com- passest my path;" "Thou knowest my way;" "Though I walk through the midst of trouble Thou wilt revive me." " Within Thy circling p nver I stand. On every side I find Tliine hand : Awake, asleep, af hoim-, abroad, 1 am surrounded still hy Utd." 39 .1 MO Tin: US LOVE. And wlien strengtl. fails, and a dear child is languishin.v into another lite beyond the grave, who can tend the dying bed hke a i.iother^ In u-luun is there so much trust as in a father's love^ Talk abour duty to children, there is no pleasure sweeter than that ot tra.nn.g them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, re,)aid as it is by their fervent friendship in after-life, and the hope of presenting them washed in a Saviour's blood and faultless before the great white throne at the last dixy.— blather's Treamry. A MOTHER'S LOYE. (tyi'ical of god's I.OVK.) ^>, ^' IKE a cradle rocking, rocking, Silent, peaceful, to and fro ; Saxe Ho:,si. ||/^. Like a mother's sweet looks dropping ;ii; On the little face below, Hangs the green earth, swinging, turning, Jarless, noiseless, safe and slow ; Falls the light of God's face bending Down and M'atching us below. And as feeble babes that suffei-, Toss and cry, and will not rest. Are the ones the tender mother Holds the closest, loves the best : So, wlien we are weak and wretched. By our sins weighed down, distressed, Then it is that God's great patience Holds us closest, loves us best. 40 into ce a )ve^ that [)i'd, ope fore A MOTHER'S HEART. LITTLE dreaming, such as n.othoi-s know , I A little lingering over dainty things • A happy heait, wherein hope all aglow Stirs like a bird at dawn that wakes and sings And that is all. ' A little clasping to her yearning breast; A little musing over future vears • .> heart that prays: "Dear Lord, thou knowest best- But spare my flower life's bitterest rain of tears »- And that is all. A little spirit speeding through the night • A httle home grown lonely, dark and chill ■ A sad heart groping for the light ; A little snow-clad grave beneath the hill- And that is all, A little gathering of life's broken tliread ; A little patience keeping back the tears'- A heart that sings, " Thy darling is not dead, t^od keeps her safe through his eternal years »- And that is &\\.~MacmUlan'8 Magazine. The love principle is stronger than the force principle. ^r. A. A. Bodge 41 Jit* 1 i > A MOTHER'S INFLUENCE. J. M. Mathii:w8, 1). I), * I of some distinguished leader or leaders in wickedness, who im- l)ress their own (•orruj)t image on the generation in which they live. But if we trace the evils to their true source, we must go far- ther hack than to the men who stand thus prominent in pi'oduciug them. Had I time, I would here show, that all those great changes from bad to worse which liave rendered nations so corrupt as to consign them to ruin, have hcen cil'ected through the corrui)ting intluence of mothers, acthig on those in childhood, Aviio in manhood became the leading men of their day. Such, the Holy Scriptures inform us, was the real cause of that awful wickedness whicli Ijrought the waters of the deluge on the earth. It was n(»t till "the sons of (iod took to them wives of the daughters of men '' (thus contracting unhallowed and forbidden alliances), that the wickedness of man became so great in the earth, that it repented the Lord that he had made man, and he said, I will destroy man which I created from the face of the earth." And what is so marked as the inunediate cause of the wide-spread depravity which called for the destruction of a worl^l, is equally marked in other parts of the Scriptures, as the grand source of ruin to the nations whose history they record. Have you never observed how frequently they allude to the mothers of Israel and of Judah's kings, when in the days of the nation's decline the throne passed in 43 3. I I A M O T II K l{ • s I X /■• I. [■ I.; y ,./■:. swh ■api.l MU-coBsio,, tr„m «„o kinir to anotla-r, -' wlm .lid ,,,11 i„ ti,e s.gl.t uniH. Lor.1 r' The career .,f guilt and dcH-lensiu.! was son.e- tnne ..he. od by the -raisi,,. „i. ..f ..nc ...o,! l• his ...other's .uune was J..dediah ; " a name which at once annonnc' s iu.- l>.oty and worth. Ih.t see how tiie parentage of tho wicked and ulolatrons k,n,.s is noted. We are told of Ahijah, the .,-a,.dso„ of Solomon, who was ,.„.],.,. the first who tilled the land with idolatry that l,,s n.other's nan.e was Maachah. Of Aha.iah, the son of Ahah' who du evil ex,.ee,lino.Iy in the si^ht of the Lord, we are told that ...s .nother was Je.ohel, who stirred n,> his father Ahah to sin L> . ; '-'t...v, k.ngs, that p,.imarily and .nainly drew down the an^er of' ^-' ^ "'- was it till this insidious source of evil had been for Lner- at.ons at work, that hope tinally perished. But if maternal intluence is thus poM-erful for evil, it is ec,uallv p.-rf. fo. .cod, when rightly and wisely employed. Xor' I l^oheve the assertion at all too strong, when I sa;, that the grel! 43 1 A MOT II i: n • s I \ F I. V K ^' v k . nnd best of tlioso wliom wo ((niut umong tlio j^rcat and p(»od of our race, liavo ivlwuyH derived tlio elements of tlieir cliarai-ters from miiternal euro bestowed on tliom in cliildbood. If, in all the aimaU of tilt! lumian race, there bo an exception to our position, let it bo named; let ns be told where it is. It cannot bo found in the jiages of sacred historv. The testimony here, respecting those whoso mimes it has omltalmod for immortality, is all one way. Snch, it tell us, was the training under wliich the childhood of Moses was passed. The faith and pioty of his mother was so strong, that " she did not fear the king's wrath ; " tiUis showing herself a fit mother for a son who was to bo the deliverer of Israel from Egyptian bondage, and tlie lawgiver to the redeemed nation. And who d(»es not see the hand and design of God in that wonderful train of events which secured to the child of such high destiny, the care of a mother so pecidiarly fitted for her task ? Under a like hai)py intluence was the childhood of David passed, as he acknowl- edges in his subsequent days of power and fame: "() Lord, truly I am Thy servant ; I am Thy servant, and the son of Thine handmaid: Thou hast loosed my bonds. I will of^'er to thee the sacrifice of thanksgiving, aiid will call u2)on the name of the Lord:" thus in the days of his highest pro>iu'rity and greatest fane, recog- nizing his pious mother's influence, not only as having mainly contributed to elevate him to Israel's throne, but as having been the bright star which kept alive his hope in the darkest hour of his previous troidiles. To tte same cause, as already observed, in the case of Josiah, are we taught tt) attribute, in great measure, the wisdom and power which distinguished such of Judah's kings as " did *\\At which was right in the sight of the Lord." Again : John, the forerunner of our Saviour, is said to ha\e had none greater than himself of all who had been bom of women. But his mother was Elizabeth, a woman who "walked in all the commandments 44 I ^1 MOTIlt:jrii l.StLI'ESct!. and onlin.uu.c9 of tho Lord blanielesH." Again : aniong tho npoHtlea ot .mr L.,nl wa« ono diHtingui.lied as «'u .ua of thu.,,!,.,-- " and am.tl.fr prlvilc.ged to "lean on Ids Muster's l,.,son.," and to recc.vo very special tokens of ilis love. J{„t vvhe.. wo are tol.l of ti.e ,..et.v and lu.ly and.ition of their .notlier, we nniy ac-ount at least ni part, for their distinction among the twelve (Matt xx -(. 21). An.l not to n.entio,. others from the «acred Seriptnres, ai Tnnothy whose " unn.i,ned li.ith dwelt iirst in his grandmother Lo,s, and lus nu.ther Enruce;" on whon., let n,e ask, has the Savours n.antle ever fallen, or in whom has Ilis Spirit ever dwelt With pecnliar n.anifestation, who n.ay not he- added to the elo.ul of' witnesses on this point i In far-gone tin.es, look into the hio^raphies ot 1 olyearp, Augustine, Justin, (iregory, and others of the Fathers • and „. huter days, look to the ehihlhood of Matthew ILnrv' Ldwards, Dwight, Payson, an. ,e whole army of those, at hon;' and abroad, who are this L,y owned and hailed as the ehan,, .s ol tru h, and yon will find them all, without exception, ,o have been the sons of pious an.l faithful n.others. Nor is it onlv from ho great and illustrions in the C'hureh that we n.ay ^olleet u,h fact, Look around you, and see what are the families fton. winch reh,,on derives its most devoted and faithful friends From what dwellings come the saeran.ental host who fili the Lords table when it is spread, and not only there confess His name before n.en, but are the foremost .in efforts to spread Hi. name hrongh the world ^ Do they con.e iron, fanulies wLe the u.othe, though she .nay rnle as a queen of fashion, and is pe.-haps rich in every worldly endowment, yet loves ,.ot God, and ii.Kls no place fo. Inn. ,n her heart and her labors? Far fron. it. Thev come and co,..eal,nost exclusively, from households where tl.; fort 1 ' T T ' :'"" '" """"^ ^«^- '^'« '^^'^'y - - —rv for the ch..rch ; where the first lispings of childhood are accents of 45 III A M THE U ' S I XFL VEN CE . praj'er, and tlie first though ts of the heart thoughts of God aud of His Christ. "Just as the twig is bent, tlio tree's inrliiirtl." But who bends the ij;^ Who lias tlie mind or character in nand while it is yet so fiexible and ductile that it can be turned in any direction, or formed in any shape? It is the mother. From her own nature, and the nature of her child, it results that its first im])ressions must be taken from her. And she has every advantage for discharging the duty. She is always with her child — if she is where mothers ought to be — sees continually the work- ings of faculties ; where tiiey need to be restrained, and wliere led and attracted. Early as she may begin her task, let her be assured, that her Ld)or Mill not be lost because inulertaken too soon. JMiiid, from the first hour of its existence, is ever acting; and soon may a mother see that, carefully as she may study her child, y'/zVe as canifulhj in her child sfudi/iny Jur. Let her watch the varying expression of its speaking face, as its eyes follow her, and she will perceive its mind is imbibing impressions from everything it sees her do; and thus showing, that, before the lips have begun to utter words, the mind has begun to act, and to form a character. Let her watch on ; and when, under her care, the expanding facul- ties have begun to display themselves in the sportiveness of ])lay, how often will she be surprised to find the elements of character already fixed, when she has least expected it. She has but to watch, and she will finti the end)ryo tyrant or ])hilanthropist, warrior or peace-maker, with her in lier nursery; and then, if ever, her con- stant prayer should be, " How shall I order the child, and what shall I do unto him ? " For, what he is to be, and what he is to do, in any of these characters, she must now decide. It is a law of our being that makes it so ; a law that I could wish were written on every mother's heart by the finger of God, and on the walls of her nursery 46 •rx' A M OTII E It J S INF L UE ACE. m letters of gold, tliat the iniiul of childhood is like wax to receive, but like marble to hold, every impression made upon it, be it for good or for evil. Let her then improve her powei- as she ought, "being steadfast, unmovable, always abounding in the work" ■which God requires at her hands ; and let her know that her labor is not in \ain in the Lord. For, even though her own eyes may not be privileged to witness in her child all that is noble and gi-eat and good, she may at least save him when her course on earth is tinished. It is no i)ictnre of the imagination that I hold out, when I ask you to come and see the son of a faithful mothei-, who has long i)ursued his course of crime, till he seems hardened against everything good or true; yea, at times "sits in the seat of the scorncr," and scoifs at everything holy and good— but yet, hardened and dead as Lis heart may seem, as to everything else you may urge, there is one ])oint (.n which, till his dying day, he can be made to feel. You touch it when you remind him of what he saw and felt when a child under the care of a tender mother. His sensibilities there he never utterly loses ; and often, often, by that, as the last cord which holds him from utter perdition, is the prodigal drawn back and restored ; so that, though "dead, he is alive again," though once "lost, he is found." Suc'h are some of the illustrations of a mother's power to do good to those most dear to her, and of the responsibility that springs from it. There is no influence so powerful as hers on the coming destinies of the clun-ch and the world. She acts a part in forming the minis- ters of reMgion and the rulers of the land, without which all subse- quent training is comparatively vain. And to her, also, it falls to train those who are to be mothers when she is gone, and to do for their generation what she has done for hers. 47 A MOTHSR'2 PRAYER. I E sweetest sound heard through our earthly home, The brightest ray that gleams from heaven's dome, The loveliest flower that e'er from earth's breast rose, That purest flame tliat, quivering, gleams and glows, Are found alone, where kneels a mother mild, "With heart uplifted, praying for her child. The stream of tears can never cease to flow Long as life's sun shall shine on us below ; And many angels have been sent by God To count the tear-drops wept upon life's road ; But of all the tears that flow, the least defiled Are when a mother prays beside her child. Because it is to mortal eyes unseen, Ye call it foolishness, a childish dream, In vain, ye cannot rob me of that thought. That legend with such heavenly sweetness fraught, That blessed angels have for ages smiled To see a mother praying for her child. — Anoni/t/ioun. A KISS from my mother made me a painter. — Benjamhi West. 48 THE MOTHER. Thomas Campbkll. ! at the couch where infant beauty sl-^eps, ^ Iler silent watch the mournful mother keeps ; She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies, ^ Smiles <>.■ her shnnbering child with pensive eye's, A . .: aves a song of melancholy joy, — ' - < i ; image of thy father, sleej), my boy: No lingering hour of sorrow shall be thine; No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine ; Bright as his manly sire the son shall be 111 form and soul ; but ali ! more blest than he I Thy fame, tliy worth, tliy filial love, at last, Shall soothe this aching heart for all the past, With many a smile my solitude i-epay. And chase the world's ungenerous scorn away. "And say, when summoned from the world and thee, I lay my head beneath the willow-tree. Wilt thou, sweet mourner! at my stone appear, And soothe my parted spii-It lingering near ? Oh, wilt thou come, at evening hour, to shed The tears of memory o'er my narrow bed ; With aching temple on thy liand reclined. Muse on the last farewell I leave behind, Breathe a deep sigh to winds tnat murnmr low. And think on all my love, and all my woe ? " So speaks affection, ere tlie infant eye Can look regard, or brighten in reply, 49 •* Tin ED M T UE II S . But when the cherub lip hath learnt to claim A mother's ear by that eiulearing name ; Soon as the playt'il innoctmt can jirove A tear of pity, or a smile of love, Or cons his murmurinsj; tasks beneath her care, Or lisps, with holy look, his evening prayer, Or gazing mutely pensive, sits to hear The mournful ballad warbled in his ear ; How fondly looks admiring hope the while, At every artless tear, and every tmile 1 How glows the joyous parent to descry A guileless bosom, true to sympathy I TIRED MOTHERS. Mrs. May Riley Smith. I'tPlll LITTLE elbow leans upon your knee — Your tired knee that has so much to bear; A child's dear eyes are looking lovingly (laT From underneath a thatch of tangled haii". ) Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch Of warm, moist fingers holding you so tight ; You do i-ot prize the blessing overmuch — You almost are too tired to pray to-night. If But it is 1)iessedness ! A year ago I did not see it as I do to-day — We are all so dull and thankless, and too slow To catch the sunshine till it slips away. 50 TIRED M O 7 // A ,7 ,v , And now it st'eius t^iirpiissing Ktmiiuried, according to his directions, by the side of his mother, in the churchyai-d at Stoke. Aftei- his death her gowns and wearing apparel were found in a trunk in Ids a])artments, just as she had left them. It seemed as if he could never take the resolution to open it, in order to distribute them to his female rela- tions, to whom, by his will, he bequeathed them. Amos Lawrence always spoke of his mother in the strongest terms of veneration ajid love, and in many letters to his children and grandchildren, are found messages of affectionate regard for his nmther, such as could have emanated only from a heart overflowing with iilial gratitude. Her form, bending over his bed in silent prayer, at the hour of twilight, when she was about leaving him for the night, was among the earliest and most cherished recollections of his early years and his childhood's home. Sekgkant S. Prkntiss. — From his mother Mr. Prentiss inherited those more gentle qualities that ever characterized his life— qualities that shed over his eloquence such bewitching sweetness, and gave to his social intercourse such an indescribable charm. A remarkably characteristic anecdote illustrates his filial afl[ection. When on a visit, some years ago, to the North, but after his reputation had become wide-spread, a distinguished lady, of Portland, Me., took pains U) obtain an introduction, by visiting the steand)oat in which she learued he was to take his departui.' in a few moments. " ' li:.v. wished to see you," said she to Mr. Prentiss, "for my heart has often congratulated the mother who has such a son." " Eather congratulate the so7i on having such a mother^' was his 54 MOTirKRs or nisTixaursuicn men. instant and heartfelt reply. This is but one of tlie many instances in which the most distin.njuished men vf all a-es have been proud to refer to the early eulture of intellect, the promptings of virtue, or the aspirations of piety, and to the influence of the mother's early training. FuANcis MARioN.-General Marion was once a plodding young farmer, and in no way distinguished as superior to the young uion ..f the neighborhood in which he lived, excei)t for his devotedl.ve and marked respect for his excellent mother, and exemplary honor and truthfulness. In these qualities he was eminent from early child- hood, and they marked his character through Hie. ^\'o may remark, in this connection, that it is usual to affect some degi'ee of astonish- ment when we read of men whose after fan.e presents a strikino- contrast to the humility of their origin ; yet we must recollect that it IS not ancestry and splendid descent, but education and circumstances, which form the ma,.. It is often a matter of surprise that distin- guished men have such inferior children, and that a great name is seldom perpetuated. The secret of this is as often evident: the nujthers have been inferior-mere ciphers in the scale of existence. All the splendid advantages procured by wealth and the father's position, cannot supply this one deliciency in the mother, who -ives character to the child. "^ Sam Houston's mother was an extraordinary woman. She was distinguished by a full, rather tall and matronly form, a fine carriage, and an impressive and dignified countenance. She was gifted with' intellectual and moral qualities, which elevated her, in a still more striking manner, above most of her sex. Her life shone with puritN and benevolence, and yet she was nerved with a stern fortitude, which never gave way in the midst of the wild scenes that checkered the history of the frontier settlers. Mrs. Houston was left with the heavy burden of a numerous family. She had six sons and three 55 .V T II E li s A y n s o .v s . daiiglitciv, l)vit she was not a woman to sncenni!) to niisfortune, and she inado ample provision, for one in lier eirciimstaiux's, lor their future care and education. To bring up a large family of children in a proper manner is, under the most favorable circumstances, a great work ; and in this case it rises into su'-limity ; for there is no finer instance of heroism than that of one parent, especially a mother, laboring for that end alone. The excellent woman, says Goethe, is she who, if her husband dies, can be a father to her children. As wife and mother, a woman is seen in her most sacred and dignified character, as such she has great iuHuence over the characters of individuals, over the condition of families, and over the destinies of empires. It is a fact that many of our noblest patriots, our most profound scholars, and our holiest ministers, were stimulated to their excellence and usefulness by those holy principles which they dei'ivcd in early years from pious mothers. Our mothers are our earliest instructors, and they have an in« fluence over us, the importance of which, for time and eternity, surpasses the poT*\r of language to describe. Every mother should be a Sabbath School teacher. Her own children should be her class ; and her home should be her school- house. Then her children will bless her for her tenderness and care ; for her pious instructions, her fervent prayers, and the holy exam- ple. — Anonymous. MOTHERS AND SONS. ll^t^ OST boys go through a period, when they have great need of patient love at home. They are awkward and ■clumsy, sometimes strangely willful and perverse, and they are des- 56 / MOTUauS AJVJ) so AS. por,„c.|,. oo„,el„,,, of tl«.„«elv„^ and v„r^. ,en,i,ivo .„ ,l,e le„„ „.„rd ot c,..,„„-o or c*„( ,., ,.„,„„i,„. A„tl,oritvfae»ll,u,„. TLevno I..U ,„g ol,ildlu,o.i, k,t tl,oj l,„v„ ,„„ J., m.d.cd ,1,„ ,„Uo,- good c' ,e c..l,„p.,|,ey„d„|„ .ko,.„oal views, , Von, shoo,. .lo.,i,-o to ,,r„,, ,l,„t tl,.v »,■„ ■MdoiK.„,l.,„t, „„d ,,,„ do tlioir own tlnnking. Now i, ,|,„ :;: :" 'n- " ■'■ '■•: "™' "^- -" "- »■'■- "- '-^- i^-"' c...dli II..,- (,„or n,s,,.l„ ,„„] .,a.„o,. f„i,l ,yl,old M,„ ft,.,, and r " ,'"■"""" "" ="'-""^ "'"-'- ^^' "II "e„.» ,1, Ju "■■••'". """ "':" •""■>■ » "'-• »" .'" '■■■'■ i,ca- s „,„, ,1,.,. .. ,„„ ;, -,v„o„lvf,,„., |.i. ,„„,„,,,,, „,„ „.,,.„, ,„,„,„,,,,,..,, ;> '':"'"*-'■ '!,-^ -" <- '•" -l«' o kept ,1,0 ,•„,,„„, ,™ Z ::';''"'■ '^ ™H,a..u..,,n,.ow,,o,.i,.. , :„„; o. „.,„„, er. o Wl <.„,„,,1.,,„,„ when l.c i„„.oj„oo, l,e,. o ,,i. co,n,-:„l.„, know,,,,. „,,„ „,, ,„„„„, ,,„, - »■ "■' "''•■• ''• - «'-»«<"i. --»«■, „„.i ,„.,v,o,i-,.r Thoro , ; i i."Po .o,. „ H- who.. „o ad,„i,,. ,., ,„„„,„, „,„, ,„„„:;; o.„ wl,on .garde,, ,. „.o„,. ,„■ ,„,„,■„,.„„ i„,„„„„^, ^,.^ »'-J who,, .he wo,ld i. .p,.e,„|i„,. Inr,,. f„r it „„ every side Above all ,,,,„,.,, ,„„„,,,, „^^j ,_,.„^ Gen„ine,',.oartv levin, tn ,„ ,,od a l,fe of „,eek, „„d a.,„ie.oe„» ,„ 'l„. vvi, , d da, y .hrougb years in the present of sons, is .„ i^.^nse power They never can get away from fte swee. ,ne,norv that Cl.rfst ™ .he.r n,o.her's friend. There is a reality in that which \^Z Z i u 57 > (■m^ h THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. I' IT ill the wide world, somewlicro niiiiiiinp^ M j III tlio misty chill of tliis twilight <;loiuiiing, '/lir Uomok'SH and friuiidless, with only tlio care JlZ AVhidi Heaven provides for the hirds of the air ; ^^'ithout shelter or bread, Only sad stars overhead, And a heart overwheliiRMl with devouring despair- Out in the wide world soniewliero — somewhere. With garmenia all tattered, and filthy and worn ; With feet that are blistered, and shoos that are torn ; With eyes that are heavy, and drooping, and dim ; And a heart that is vailed in the dust of his sin, Besmeared with the slime Of evil and crime, You WvMild not think it, but down deep within, A door stands ajar, and you may go in. In the bygone hours of the old long ago, Before the winter of vice, with its ice and its snow, Had chilled that faint heart, I once held the key— This object of pity once sat on my knee ; I smoothed the fair head. And kissed the lips, so red ; O, cruel the hand that has taken from me This gem from my heart-life's sad mystery 1 58 A uori/hir s hn rf.;, O, wide world so miglitv, ho vast, and moh\ ! O, wide world so heartless, unlrieiidlv, and cold! Despise not this wretch, for onee ho was fair As the jewel which decks the young maiden's hair. (>, rescue this one, For ho is t/ii/ son, And God hath forgotten a nic in y'r, i»ra.>. •, As it wumlers world-wide sonit v.'nre— s nnowhero. T^iitn, the accursed, which evermore brings Its withering woe to jjcasant and kings. Hath hlighted this life, so gifted and rare, And left it a wreck, unsightly and bare. AVhile loving hearts must ache, And sometimes break, Will ITeaven not heed importunate pravcr ? And rescue the wandering aomcthne—sorrieichcre? — Anonymoua, n ^.4*i! A MOTHER'S L3YE, James Montoomeut. MOTIIEK'S love, how sweet the name ! AVhat is a mother's love ? A noble, pure, and tender flame, kindled from above. To bless a heart of earthly mould ; The warmest love that can grow cold ; This is a mother's love. 59 >\ THE MOTHER'S OPPORTUNITY, IJjI^l^j'OTllEKiS, you arc the divinely-appointed teachers and R T U N I T Y . with tlieni. If possible, go often to the scliool-room yourself— nothing gives eliildren so much encouragement. Always allow theni to tell you all that has happened to interest or annoy them while absent from home. Xever think anything which att'ects the ^ajipi- ness of your children too small a matter to claim your attention. Use every means in your power to win and retain their confidence.' Bo not rest satisfied without some account of each day's joys or sorrows. It is a source of great comfort to the innocent dii'd to tell all its troubles to mother, and do you lend a willing ear. For know you, that as soon as they cease to tell you all these things, they have cliosen other confidants, and therein lies the danger.^ mother! this is the rock on which your son may be wrecked at last. I '.har-^-e you to set a watch upon it. Be jealous of the first sign that he Is not opening all his heart to you. Boys who are thus cared for and trained find more to please and amuse them at home than away. They are thus saved from tempta- tion. But if they are neglected until they arrive at the age when they would wisli to go out evenings, there is small hope that m.v but arbitrary measures will prevent or secure obedience, and then it I'ardly can be called obedience. It is much more pleasant to applv the "ounce of prevention " than the "pound of cnrc- in such case^ When boys know that their society is valued highly at home and that all Its pleasures are marred by their absence, thev will willin.rlv stay It they can have something to occupy their Wxm.-Anoi .ymous In great crises it is woman's special lot to soflen our mistortune. — Napoleon Bonapa:ie. 61 -a^^ I I :| !l MOTHERS, PUT YOUR CHILDREN TO BED. Ij IIKKE in;iy bo some inotliors \vlio Ibel it to l)e a seli'-douial to leavo their parlors, t)r tirosidos, or work, to put their chil- ^j^S ^ \r a n y y,- / ,v ,s. . i.xportancr, con to tho babies of th. lloc.k; tlu, vo.y tones of tbc voH-e they la.t listened to n.ako an impression npon their sensitive o.-anization3. Mothers, ,1„ not think the tin.o a.ul stren^nh M-asted ^^■hu■h you spend in reviewing the day with vour little b<.v or -irl • d<. not ne.-leet to teaeli it how to pray, and pray for it in simple^'and ear.iest lan»-„a.-e, whicl,. it can nnderstand. Soothe and epher .1/ O T II E li S A y D THEIR VUl L D li K A . writer has said, "That is not obedience when you want to give a c'liild a reason tor your command; but that is obwHeuce wluii he yields because you eoninuiud.'' But should wo not be careful not to give too numy rules or commands i As the child develops, will he not see the rouvuiiableness of the commands, and honor the parent for giving such as conunend tliemselvt's to him as reasonable and riglit ? Truthfulness, too, in all our teachings and dealings with children, cannot be too sacredly observed or toa carefully guarded. And there is another trait, which if iicglected in early lite, Mill most surely mar the character in after years, and show to the world the defect of jiar- enta! training. I refer to kindness, courtesy, and true politeness in all our intercourse with our children, and with others in their pres- ence. Ti;t.'se ti-aits exert an intluence that shows perhaps more read- ily and truly in the conduct and bearing uf a child than even the others which ha'.e been mentioned, for they include the others and How from them. In ordei', then, in these as in all things, to lay the foundation of right character in our dear children, we see at once that the only way to do It successfully is to bo ourselves what ■we wish them to be. It is the influence of our acts more than our words which moulds and shapes them. Let us then, as parents, remember that jirecept without example makes no lasting impression for good ; and en- deavor so to live before and with our children that by example as well as precept we may train them for duty and usefulness and heaven. In view of these great responsibilities and their far-reaching effects, well may we exclaim, " "Who is sufficient for these things ? " But we will remember that He who lia, '< id n})on ns these duties has also said, " My grace is suflicient foi e," " Call upon me and I will supply all your need." — Christian tSecretai'tj. 6G OUR MOTHER, ^ Ull mother's lost lier youtlifulnegs, 10^ Ilor locks are turning gray, f^ And wrinkles take the place of smiles She's fading every day. I ^Vii gaze at her in sorrow now. For though we've ne'er been told We can but feel the weary truth— Our mother's growing old. Our mother's lost her youtlifulness, Her eyes grow dim Avith tcnrs, Yet still within her heart there shines Some light of other years; For oft she'll speak in merry toiu-s, Smile as in youth she smiled, As o'er her heart some memory steals Of when she was a child. Our mother's lost her youthfulness, The light step has grown slow, The graceful form has learned to stoop, The bright cheek lost its glow. Her weary hands have grown so thin, Her dear hand trembles now ; "Passing away," in sad, deep lines, Is traced upon her brow. 67 :■! 1 11 1 '' i! f ! 1 ) 1 k [. OUR MOTBER, Our mother's lost her youthfulnoss, Iler smiles are just as kind, Iler tones to us are soft as erst, — Where should we dearer tind ? But as we note the tremblinj' toncue. And mark the stooping form, A sad voice whispers to our hearts, — " Ye cannot keep her long."' Our mother's lost her youthfulness, We see it every day, And feel more drearily the truth. She soon must pass away. Ah ! oven now the " boatman pale " We fear is hovering nigh : Waiting with white sails all unfurled, lie will not heed our cry. But gently bear the wearied form Into the phantom bark, She will not fear — Chkist went before, The way will not be dark : And safe beyond the troubled stream. Her tired heart's strife o'er. Our angel mother, glorified. Will grow old nevermore. — RiiTol New Yorker. For the noblest man that Hves there still remains a conflict. — James A. Garfield. 68 PJ^nSKTAL AUTHORITY* 'HE very lieight of Imman wickedness is described in the Holy Book as " lawlessness." Subjection to the holy, just and good law of tlie Most High God is the essentiaU'on.li- tion of well-being here, and the essential element of glory here- after. Jn keeping with this, human beings come into this w.)rld in a state of dependence and subjection, and for about one-half ofthe average term of Imman life that is their proper and natural state. _ I cannot doubt that the great idea of the long pupilaije of man is .lust that the principle and liabit of ahc<.: immortal natnre to the trod of .iiisrule. In a religious point of view it seems to me just of the last importance that the ])areni should exercise over his children a sovereign authority. Tiiere must bo no permitted resistance to his will. Obedience must be the prinmry law of the family. Does this have a sound of liarshnt-iL^ Hut it is the Hible way! The con- tidence in regard to Ahrdi im was that ho would coiinmaid hi.s children after him. ("hildrcn arc bidden by the apostle to obey their parents. It is the essential reciuisite of a ruler in (iod's house that he should be able to rule in his own house, having his cliildren ill .tfihjt'ffioii. And authority is not tyranny. As the authority of God is not tyranny, neither is the autliority of a parent, rightly used. If it is rightly used, it will bo used under the feeling of tender love and atl'ectionate interest. The children themselves will more and more come to feel that; and feeling ih to render a willing and cheerful obedience to it. We parents siiould rule in love — in Christian love — but wk shoim) rii.k. Parental authority, like all authority, n, dr, a Wiae hand o. wield it. There is needed especially great wisdom in the exercise of it, when the boy is passing into the man. At thrw ''age of human life when you have the feeling of independence beginning to come — when you have so f)ften the passions of manhood to deal with with- out manhood's checks aiul sense — no one can tell what the blessl;.g is of havinsr. sav, a lather to whom a son has been in the h of look- ing with submissive reverence, and who has the wisdon u> u his influence aright. But altogether, \m may depend on it that there is nothing more ruinous than disobedience allowed in our little ones. I may even 70 \entnro to say, tlmt it is frront v.nwUy and groat sin in us t.. jK-mMt it, out ot; it may I.l«, an indolent eaniness of inin.l. or an unwiso soft- ness of disi,ositi,.n. The parent is to rule in hon.e, the wori.l .,f ch.ldhoo.1, as the (Jreat Parent rules in the world, the ho.ne of man- hood.— J/cVAtv-'^ 7Wasuiu/. COURTSSISG TO PARENTS. >vr. ':Jk ^IW^^'^^^^^ ''"'" "^'''" *'''''•• cliildron, and especially their sons, M^ """^'' '■""■"^'' ^'"'" '''t''^'- ^*' fl'C'" imagine. Their love is a ^1^ constant inspiration, a perennial tbuntain uf deli-ht, th.ni A whi.'h other lips may .luatf, and be (•(Mufoned then.l.v. It 't y he that the mother has been left a widow, dependin- on her . dy son for support, lie gives her a eomfortabl.. h.nne sees thai i, is well clad, and allows no .h-hts to aceumulate, and' that IS all. It ; -nsiderable, more even than manv sons do but there is a kck. 1., .Idoui thinks it worth -vhile to give her a caress • he has forgotten all those atfeetionate ways that kept the wrinkles fron) her tlice, and make her look so nuu-h youn-er than her year. • he is ready to put his hand in his pocket to gratifv her slightest re.ju'est buttogiveoftheabumlanr.eof hisheart is another thing entireiv' He loves his„,other? Of cour.se he does! Are there not proofs enough of his filial regard i Is he not .ontinuallv making sacrifices tor her benetit? AVhat more could any reasonable woman ask ? Ah, but it is the mother heart that craves an occasional kiss the support of your youthtul arm, the little attentions and kindly cour- tesies of life, that smooth down so many of its asperities, and nmke the journey less wearison.e. Material aid is good so far as it goe. butithasn.t that sustaining power winch the loving, sympathetic 71 If ' t » C <) V U T K S t H S T O P A n H .V TS . heart bustowa upon its .jhjVt. V,,,, thhik hIio Iiiih out-^'n.wn tl weaknerises rtkI follies, mid i.s conttMit with tl ICSU IV crust that is loft: but you are iiiirttakeii. Kvury b'ttle oHor of attention,— to church or concert, or for a quiet walk, brinfrs back tlie youth her heart; her cheeks jrlow, an.) licr eyen sparkle with pleasure, ajul oh I how proud she is of lier son ! your escort of Kven the father, occupied and absorlied ;is 1 Wllnl in( nil ic nuiv be, IS not crent to these tilial expressions of devoted h.ve. Ho may pretend to care very littl.. lor them, hut havinjr faith in their (sincerity, it would give hini serious pain were they entirely ;vitliheld. Fathers need their sons quite as miu-h as the sons need the fathers, but iii how many sa.v to ,„„flu.rs u-I.at a l.uly ,.|„„' ^ •'• II SroorRNt-v. Mil- Ik 'W W . ■-"'". amsuf 111,. Mcu-|,n <»ti()(| "" '*^'^^^' ^'^^^"•^ ^''" "-1.1 huH sown its unv.. I il 1 AUTHORITY OP PAHEI^TS. lem . HOIUCE BcsnNKI.I,. DO r r ' '"''"' "'""^'^' "^ ^"^^'-^^ ^'"'t -hat will n.al-, , ' , -, , -nphasis, the l,anl, «tonnv voice tJu • ' ""''"' 4f^ n-eaken authority. I« t not Lu , ""'■"'^' '"''•" ""'•^• f l-vioi^tteaiterharre:^::;:^^^^^^ «- i"..o «o„„-„, a4 „ :. ;'„t ' '■"""";"'*" "•■ ° '■ ■"»-«« «.«! w..rk, every m„,i„„ I ' "'"■ •'"'"■''•■■"' "•»"■-. "«.» that ,„« i„ Bilo„c/f "h "■'"■'"*■' '"^ ""■' '"""'• -"■ I'V ™*,,o„e of voieel I':;: "^,,"" <•.'''" »' «"• »- in ti.e ^n,,,:, 73 y I -I THE DYING MOTHER. A'^ J. A. Dacus. ijiyidc^. f&i'f^l AY tlio <;:em upon niv bosom, G.' t »\!1 qT 111/? I ]A>t luf feel the sweet, warm brcitli, ' For ii strange cliill a'er me passes, And I know that it is death. I would gaze upon the treasure Scarcely given ere I go; Feel her rosy, dimpled lingers Wander o'er my cheek of snow. I am passing through the waters, But a blessed shore appears ; Kneel beside me, iuisband dearest, Let nie kiss away thy teai's. Wrestle with thy grief, my husband, Strive from midnight until day, It may leave an angel's blessing When it vanisheth away. Lay the gem upon my bosom, 'Tis not long she can be there ; See ! how to my heart she nestles, 'Tis the pearl I love to wear. If, in after years, beside thee Sits another in my chair. Though her voice be sweeter music, And her face than mine more fair ; If a cherul) calls thee " father ! " Far more beautiful than this; Love tliy jirst-born, O my luishand: T uni not from tlie mother] ess. Tell her sometimes of her rnother- caii call hor by my ^y^w \ Shield her from tl !ie winds of sorrow If she errs, O gently bltimo ! J.ead her sometimes where I'm si I will answer if she calb ■ping, And my breath shall stir her rintrikes lirst ami mo>t fatally at the honu'. The evils most dangerous to social order dep -nd upon dram-driidiing tor their existence. Tiiis too is the scene of its most cruel and beastly devilisnis. Here it Muites, and stabs, and kills. The home must lie guarded against its outrages, or the comitry will l)e rained. T'he liest work against intemperance must be iloiie in this center and seat of power. Parents have it in their power to train their children to abhor that which is evil and cleave to that which i.s good : and th(y owe them this duty. They bring their chi' b-en into existence. They hold them under their hand till the young life lias taken a bias that will last through eternity. Usually the tiny, tilting eratt has its prow tiiriied toward lieaven oi' hell before the parent's hatid lets go the helm. This ought to startle careless people out of their indilfereiice. It ought to drive tbem to lives of piety ; for how eau they teadi that which they have not learned i How can they impart what they do not possess ( 70 visjT y l> r 1! I' A h' E.XTS. Parents must teach 1 >}■ exiiiiiplc. Precept lias no authority unless backed by example. h\n- the children's sake all 1 to be banished from the home. The st liquors in\ earned to drink at my fati icr table. My mother's hand lirst passed me the cup that is w..rkin.' my damnation." In every home there ought t.. he the ri-ht readin- on this, as on every by-sub,,Yvt. We are what we read-or we read\vhat sve are- as you will. One tliin- is certain; if we really cure much about this h,>rrible tratiic. we will see to it that our children Inive books and^ papers that will keep them in sympathy with the eHoHs made for its ])rohibition. I5y personal exan.j)le, by look, by readin-, and by praver, we may make an atmosphere that shall set and keep our househol.ls n.uht on this great question. Only thus can we hope t.. sa\e our- selves, and those whom God has given to he with us, fr.)m the tide that sweeps to destruction so many of the noblest and best. VISIT YOUR PARENTS, 'iH^' ^ ■' "" ^'' '' '" ^^"' "'""'' ^'^'''''^' ^""^ ■'■''"'■ '^^p' ^'^-^'" p^s^ji'ie l^lj ^l'»'b--a tu'iiiliar one in the old home : if you are miles M' away— yea. many miles away— make it your business to ^# go to yo„r parents. In this matter do not regard time or

hed over the telegraph, that your mother is gone, vou will" not th.id. them much, those hours of travel which at last bore you to the loved one's ^ide.—AiionijinoNK 77 1 ' il :! 1 ' '" 1 !^ a 13 I ) r i A A/ORD WITH PARENTS ABOUT THEIR CHILDREN. fe.1 ^ i .._l 3 jWHi^ hat pride is i'elt by parent;- in tlie lioiie^t success of flicir f'^t hovs. How tliov like to hear ot his 2;ood and niauh hc- P> liavior in scliool, in tlio countinji-hoiiso, or on deck, whore lives are to he saved or liberty preserved ! That parent has \ lived to some purpose who has liis children rooted and grounded in sound principles. Equip])inn' well the son or daughter for the vctyage of life, is a duty the neji'lect of which is sure to entail sorrow and shame. When a minister's iioy goes wrong, the whole world is informed of the fact with apparent glee, by those who have no taste for things religious. It is clearly expected, then, that the minister's family, like himself, should be living e])istles. known and read of all men. Then again, when the son or daughter of a religious family mingles freely with worldlings, in the liall-room and at the theatre, the finger of reproach is justly pointed at Christ's fol- lowers, and the majority are held responsible for the acts or neglects of a few. Ecligion and .science unite in positive language, that the defects of the parents are discoverable in the children. The only cure for this disorder — whatever it may be — is the grace of God, the love and friendship of Jesus. The parent, then- father or mother — who is conscious of dangerous personal ])roclivities, occupies vantage groimd above every other teacher, however quali- fied, in dealing with his child. He knows the besotting sin, and with heaven's aid, can overcome it. Those parents who leave the education of their children ahnost alto'^ether to the sacred or secular teacher, have intrusted the most important business of life to hands 78 w o 11 D \y I r ir pakexts AiiorT r 111:111 ciiildri:.\\ not fully competent to discharge it. The p;ood liourtcwitb bestows nuich care upon the curtains, the carpets, the pictures, and the >tatn- arv within the home; while the sons and daughters, with bad books, impure associates, and misleading l)lays, are gradually drifting, if not already there, on to dangerous ground. It is proper to remind these drowsy parents that stains on pictures and dirt (in curtains are niiiKir evils, unjustitial)le as they are, compared with the unmanly act of the boy or the frivolous amusements of the daughter. We are safe in assuming that the parents of Josepii, Samuel, and Timothy, were of superior stock, (rrace makes magniliccnt pictures when it lodges in good, ]iatiiral soil, in which there are, as we are taught, \arious degrees. Parents who expect nobK> children nnist themselves Iciid noble lives, lu tinu', and the sooner tlie lietter, wc will attacli more value to the law of lieredity. We will then try to do much for posterity by bequeathing l)lood and hal)its that will help and not hinder the race. Nice families! What a comfort and ornament they arc to society! There are pleasant homes with the poets and others witii orators, but the greatest joy is evening at home with cultured people who know much of Divine things, whose lives are attuned to words that cheer and deeds that ennoble. You are sure to find in such homes grandmotherly and motherly influence modeled after that which made Timothy an example for all the ages. AVe are not doing enough in the right direction for our children. If we Mould have more fragrance and fruit we nmst prune and pray, beginnilig within and working outward. — AixDii/rnuiis. The hand that rocks the cradle rules the \vorld. — fuhn Gray. T9 r fl THE MOTHER'S SORROW. V-\4A!^i ■•^%m^ il.0 xvatcrs roll in „n tlie sliore with ineessant tJirobs, ni-Iit 1^ iMi.l (lay, and alwiiys,— not alone when storms prevail, hut W '" ''''''"' ''^^ well -so it is with a mother's heart bereaved 'jf of her children. There is no grief like luito it.-Rad.ael I weeping for her children, and refusing to lie comforted, be- cause they are not ! With what long patience, what burden and suffering, does the mother wait until the child of her hope is placed in her arms and under the sight of her eyes! She rcniember- eth no more the anguish, for joy that a man is boi'n into the worl.l. AVho can read, or. if he saw, could utter the thonghtsof a mother during all the days and nights in which she liroods the helpless thing { Every true mother takes home the full meaning of the anger's word: that holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of (iod. The mother does not even wliis])er what she thinks, and the whole air is full of gentle pictures, every one on the liackgi'oimd of the blue heavens. The child grows,-grow8 in favor of God and man ; and cNei-y admiring h)ok cast upon it, even by a stranger, sends light and glad- ness t.> the mother's heart. Wonderful child ! The sun is brighter loi- it ! The whole earth is blessed by its presence ! Sorrows, pains, weariness, self-denials, for its sake, are eagerly s.aight and delighted in. Ihit tlie days come when the little feet ai-e weary; when tlie night brings no rest; when the cheek is scarlet, the eye changed, and the smile no longer knows how to shine. All day, all mght, it is the 80 r n E M o 'I'll !■: h • s s o u u o ir . mother's watc.],. Her very sleep h but a vailed wakin,.. Jov • the cluld IS eo.ning back to health ! Woe ; it is drifting cut a<.u.; au-.v tron. couseio,.s„es. and paiu It is lar, tar out toward-toward dari; iie.s:*. It disappt o! The .nother's heart was like a heaven while il lived ; now it has ascended to God's heaven, and the mother's heart is as the gloom of midnight. Wild words of self-reproach at lengvh l,reak out, as when a frozen torrent is set loose by spring days. She that has lavished her hte-forcc upon the child turns upon herself with fierce char.^es .f carelessness, of thoughtlessness. She sees a luu.dred ways in which the child would have Ur.d but for her! All love is turned mto self-crimination. Tears come at length to cp.ench the fire of pnrg.^tory. But grief takes new shapes every hour, till the nerve has lost Its sensibility, and then she coldly hates her unnatural and inhuman heart tiiat Mill not fed. A child dying, dies but once; but the mother dies a hundred imes._ ^^ hen the sharpness is over, and the dullness of an overspent brain is past, and she must take up the shuttle again, and weave the web of daily hfe, pity he,- „ot that she must work, must join again tlie discoruant voices, and be forced to duties irkson.e and hateful These all are kindly medicines. A new thought is slowly preparin./ It IS that m.movable constancy and strength which sorrow giv^s when It has wrought the Divine mtont.~J/e,/,odist >g()RROWS are often like clouds, wliidi, though black when .^ they are passing over us, when they are past become as if then- Mere the garments of God, thrown off in purple and gold along the sky.—//. W. Beecher. 81 ! THE OLD ARM CHAIR. Eliza Cook. ^''Mlli^ LOVE it — 1 love it, and who sluill dare i^pij^ To cliide lue for loving that old arm cliair? ||5^ ' I've treasured it long as a sainted prize — ^jj^ I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs ; V 'Tis 1)onnd by a thousand bands to iny heart, Not a tie will l)reak, nor a liidv will start. Would you learn the spell i a mother sat there; And a sacred thing is that old arm chair. In childhood's hour I lingered near The hallowed seat with listening car; And gentle woi'ds that mother would give. To lit me to die and teach me to live. She told me shame would never betide, With truth for my creed, and God for my guide; She taught me to lis]) my earliest prayer, As I knelt beside that old arm chair. I sat and watched her many a day, When her eyes grew dini and her locks were gray, And I almost worshii)ped her when she smiled And turned trom her Bible to bless her child. Years rolled on, but the last one sped — My idol was shattered— my earth star fled: I learnt how nnicli the heart can l)ear, When I saw her die in that old arm chair. 82 M A n y, T II K M Til i: /,- o /•■ ,/ a .s ^ s. *Ti.s past ! 'tis past ! but I i^tv/.c on it now AVith qiiiveriiiii- hi'eatli and tlirol)l,in''i'o\v he had suffered all. W They who now weep, remember tliat he wept. I The tempted, tlie despised, the sorr..win- feel That Jesus, too, drank (»f these cups of woe. And oh, if our joys be tasted less,— If all but one passed from liis lips away— That one,— a mother's ]o\e— by his partakinc;, I>i like a thread of hmren xpun ihroxyh our life, And we in the nntiring watch, the tears, The tenderness and fond trust of a mother, May feel a heavenly closeness unto God— For such, all human in its blest excess, Was Mary's love for Jesus. 83 rrsmmrrffo ■ -". MOTHER'S VACANT CHAin. T. Di: Witt Talmage. ^l^^r (i( ) ii little thrtlier on in your liou^e, iiiul 1 find the nicther's i^mSi <^'li'iii'' It it' very apt tt) bea roc'king-elmir. She luul so many 'Aw.' cureri and tronbles tu boothe, that it must have roekers. I ^ renieniber it well. It was an old chair, and the rockers were MJ almost worn ont, tor I Avas the v',: ugest, and the chair had rocked the whole family. It made ;• r- iking noise as it moved, but there was music in the sound. I' •• :-; ;,'i8t high enough to allow us children to put our heads into hci ■':.; That was the bank where we deposited all our hurts aiul worries. Oh, what a chair that was ! It was different from the father's chair — it was entirely different. Von ask me how ? I cannot tell, but we all felt it was different. Per- haps there was about this chair more gentleness, more tendei'ness, more grief when we had done wrong. When we were wayward, father scolded, but mother cried. It was a very wakeful chair. In the sick day of children, other chairs could not keep a\\ake; that chair always kept awake — kept easily awake. That chair knew all the old lullabies, and all those worldless songs which mothers sing to their sick children — songs in which all ])ity and compassion and sympathetic influences are cond)ined. That old chair has stopj)ed rocking for a good many years. It may be set up in the lott uv the garret, but it holds a queeidy power yet. When at midnight you went into that grog-shop to get the intoxicating draught, did you not hear a voice that said, " My son, why go in there ? " and a louder than the boisterous encore of the theatre, a voice saying, " My son, 84 M()Tiii:irs r.i/ .i.vr (iiAiii. what ilo vou Iicru^ " And wlu'H you wuiit iiit(» the Iionso of sin, a Voice sii_vin<^, " Wliat wouM vour iiiotlierdo if she knew vim were liere f " and ymi were jM'dVdked at \oiirself, and ynu eliai iimselt' witli sui»erstili(in and t'anaticisiii, and your head :.'(it Ikm iili yonr own tlionujlits, and you went Immc and yon went to l)ed, and no sooner liad yon touched the bed tlian a voice said. " What a inayer- less piHow ! " Man ! wliat is the matter^ This ! You are too near your niotlier's rockin^^-cliaii'. " ( )ii. |»haw I "" y^u say, " there's notli- inji' in tliat. I'm live iuindred miles oil' from wliere I was Iiorn- I'm tliri'c thoii-and nules oti" from the Scntcii kirk whose licU was the lir>t nuisie I evei' heard." I cannot lielp thai, ^du are too near your motlier's rockin^-clniir. "Oft!" you say, '• there can't lie anytliinjjr iu that; tliat chair lias lieen vacant a threat while.'' 1 cannot help that. It is all the mightier tor that; it is onmipotent, that vacant mother's chair. Tt whispers. It s])eaks. It weeps. It carols. It mourns. It pray.s. It warns. It thunders. A young man went oil' and broke hi- niotliei''s heart, and while he was a^ay from home his mother died, and the telegra]ih brought the son. and he came into the room where she lay, and looked upon her face, and crie(l out, "() mother, mother, what your life could not do your death shall effect. This moment I give my heart to (iod." And he kept liis promise. Another victory for the vacant chair. "With i-eference to your mother, the words of my te.xt were fulfilled : '' Thou Bhalt be niis.sed because thy seat will be inpty." '-^^.iPX WOXDROUS power! how little understood ! -t!^ Entrusted to the mother's mind alone, To fashion genius, form the soul for good. — Mi'K. Sarah J. Hale, 85 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I |55 IHHSBi !^ lis IIIIIIO 12.5 2.2 11.25 1.4 i.8 1.6 Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 k // {./ A v.. m\ ■^ V iV \\ ^9) V '^^ ^^ a^ 's. or. RESPECT FOR MOTHERS. |K1;^ '''^''^V days ago we heard a stripling of sixteen designate tlie If0i "'"^''"' ''■'"' '"""^ '""'" '^'^ f''^' ••'<• "■•""='"• By coarse Ini.- I^gf hands we liave lieard wives so ealled (jccasioindly, thongli ^|l in the hitter case tlie phrase is nu.rc often nsed enck-ai'iiiglv. I At all times, as commonly siH)ken, it jars npon the ears and shocks the sense. An old woman shonld he an oI)ject of rever- ence ahove and beyond almost all otiicr ].hases of hnnianitv. IKt very age should he her surest passjiort to courteous consideration. The aged mother of a gn.wii-np liunily needs no other certificate of worth. She is a moiunnent of excellence, approved and war- ranted. She has fouglit faithfully "the good fight" and come off conqueror. Upon her venei-ahle face she Iiears the marks of the conflict in all its furrowed lines. The most grievous of the ills of life have been hers; trials untold, ami known oidy to (iod and her- self, she has borne incessantly, and now, in her old age, her dutv done, patiently awaiting her appointed time, she stands more beauti- ful than ever in her youth, uiore honorable and deserving than he who has slain his thousands, or stood trimn[phant upon the ])roude>t field of victory. ^oung man, speak kindly to your mother, and ever courteously, tenderly of her. But a little time, and ye shall see her lu^ more for- ever. Jler eye is dim. her form bent, aiul her shadow falls grave- M-ard. Others may love you when she has passed away— a kind- liearted sister, perhai)s, or she whom of all the world you choo.^e for a partner— she may lo\e you warmly, passionately; children may love you fondly, but never again, never, while time is yours, shall the love of woman be to you as that of your old, trembling mother has hctin.^ Anoiti/9/wu.s. • 86 TO MY MOTHER. llExiiY KiKKE White 1*11^'^''^ <"""^f fli'"n iiiotlior, for a iiKunciit tliiiik ipS ^''''''^ ^^'^'' f''.^' ('I'ilIaii<'liiiiij: lioiiors on thy wearv head, ^ ( "uld Irom our host of duties ever shrink i j SiM.iier the sun from his high sjihere should sink, Tliiin \ve, uiijrniteful. leave thee in that dav. To pine in solitude thv life away, Or shun thee, totterino- on the - Within my bosom there's a gush Of feeling whicii no time can tame, A feeling which, for years of fame, I would not, could not crush. 87 ^. f ^ TRIBUTE TO A MOTHER, Loud Macaui.ay. |kTHLI)inCN, lonk ill tlioso oyop, listen to that dear voico, J| notice the tbelinii- of even a siiito\vc(l ii|)oii you by that <;rntlo hand. Make much of it while V>? yet you have that most precious of all i^dod i;ifts, a iovin<>- I mother. Head the imfathomalile love of tho^e eyes; the kind anxiety of that tone and look, however slii^ht \dur pain. In after-life you may have friends, fond, dear, kind friends; Imt never will you have again tin' ine.\]>ressil)le love and iientleiiess lavi^lled ujxm you which none hut a mother bestows. Often do I ,-ii;li in my stru, d.,es the heart of the wateher go iKick to the hom's of her own youthful days when she, too, joine.l the busy workers and took no note of time! The hnVht, nirli,], days! How goldni fair they gleam .,ver the hills of memorv ! The.i there eome visions of days and nights of happy toil for li'er babes— s\\eet rec.jlleetions of baby kisses and dimpled linirers. Where are the ehildreii now i Some gone into the silent laud, others toil- ing in her place in the busy world. Let us eome i.earer to tlmse bowed with years and worn with life's struggle-the grandniothers left alone in their silent eorners; let us remend.er that their hearts are young yet, and that they long for a bit of merrin>ent, the sound of youthful voices speaking tender, loving words to them, thrillinff their hearts like chords of music, (father around the old arm-chairs'^, speak cheerily to the M-aiting ones; tell them that they are still life's workers and the world is better for their presence. So vou will make the gray twilight brighten i,it, i sunset of light ami liope until the angels take their waiting .pirits into a realm of eternal peace and rest. — Anoiujinoitn. ■■:.., .,,. ^,^..., ^,.^H•' I'li'Iv c'liiltl lil'r ; as years udvaneo, the Bcei»ter is divided y/^," and the teacher shares the swav. ''^ We ul'teii think, as wi' meet the earnest gaze of the interested 1 ]iu]>ii, and Avatcli the mind \vorkin<>; and tlie yonn<>; thoii^dit si apiui-; to the will, " Why is it that mothers so wilHnjjly yield to others tliis broail sphere of theii' domain, and are content to ioster the pliysical and external life of their children, leavine, she rules them with marvelous patience, winning tenderness and undyinif love. She so presents and exemplities divine truth, that it reproduces itself in the hap])iest development of chi'(lh(K)d— charac- ter ami life. Her niemorv is sacred while she lives, and l)econies a perpetual inspiration, even when the hri^dit flowers bloom above her sleeping- dust. She is an incarnation of jjfoodness to the child, and hence her immense power. Scotland, with her well-known reverence for motherhood, insists that " An ounce of mother is worth more than a pound of cler," said an aged M-oman wIk was present, ''Let me Hfis hi. ■ ■ >r his mothtf/" " Lei ine kiss him for his mother ! Ere M'; lay h*m with the dead, Far aM-ay ti-om home, another Sure may kiss him in her stead. How that mother's lips would kiss him Till her heart should nearly break ! How in days to come she'll miss him ! Let me kiss him for her sake. " Let me kiss him for his mother I Let me kiss the wandering boy ; It may be there is no other Left behind to give her joy. When the news of woe, the morrow, Burns the l)osom like a coal. She may feel this kiss of sorrow Fall as balm upon her soul. •' Let me kiss him for his mother ! Heroes, ye, who by his side, Waited on him as a brother Till the Northern stranger died,— 99 ; |i A] . 1 1 iiM.v.i .v'.s' /'oir/v-A'. Ilmliiiir not till' foul int'ectioii, Urt'tithiiiir in tho Ibvor-l.reatli,— Lvt nic, ot'iiiv own cloftion, Ciivc till' iii(.tlii'i-"8 kiss ill ili'ath, " Li't iiic kirts liiiii for liis iiiotlicr? " LoviiiiT tlioiiglit ;iik1 loviii«.- (U'ed ! Seek iior fear nor sigh to siiiotlier, o unto tlie man is woman : Tlioiiyh she bends him. slie obeys him ; Thouirh she draws hl.ii, yet she folh.ws; Useless eaeh without the other, — IT. W. Longfellow. That you m.iy be loved, be amiable.— 6>;,vV. 100 THE OLD FOLK Ignore tlioir taste and judgment. It nisiy be tliat in tlieii- early days, and in tlio cirole wliere tliey moved, tliey were as imich sought and lionoi-od as you are now ; and until you arrive at tliat place, you can ill iiuagine your feelings should you he considered entirely void of these qualities, he regarded as essential to no one, anping down tVom respectability as they (h'scend the hill-side of life. Always bear in mind that the customs of which you are now so tenacious may be e(]ually repugnant to the next generation. In this c(mnection I would say, do not notice the pronunciation of the aged. They speak as they were taught, and youi-s may be just as uncourtly to the generations following. I was once tau<>lit a lesson on this sul)ject, which I shall never forget Avhile meuKjry holds its sway. I was diniiig, when a father brought his son to take charge of a litorary institution. lie was intelligent, but had not received the early advantages which he had labored hard to procure for his son ; and his language was quite a contrast to that of the cultivated youth. But the attention and deference he gave to his father's quaint though wise remarks, placed him on a higher pinnacle in my mind, than he was ever placed by his world-wide reputation as a scholar and writer. — Comj relational id. Alone Shk moves, the queen of her own quiet home. — Rev. Mark Trafton. 103 MY MOTHER^S BIBLE, OEonoE P. Morris. I? HIS book is all that's left me now,— ,;i|j^^i Tears will unbidden start, — 'W^ ^^'itli faltering lip and throbbing brow 'k I i)ress it to my heart. I For many generations past Here is our family tree; My mother's hands this Bible clasped. She, dying, gave it me. Ah ! well do I remember those Whose names these records bear ; Who round tho hearthstone used to close After the evening prayer, And speak of what these pages said, In tones my heart would thrill ! Though they are with the silent dead, Here are they living still ! My father read this holy book To brothers, sisters, dear ; How calm was my poor mother's look Who loved God's word to hear ! Her angel face— I see it yet ! Wliat thronging memories come t -Again that little group is met Within the halls of home ! 103 ; li I ll My MOTHER'S U IB L E . Tlinii truest friend man ever knew, Thy constancy I've tried; When all were false, I found thee true, ]Mv counselor and ijuide. The mines of earth no treasures give That could this volume buy ; In teaching me the way to live, It taught me how to die 1 MY MOTHER'S BIBLE. Bisuop OiLiiEnT Haven. f X one of the shelves in my library, surrounded by volumes of fjjl^ll ''11 kinds, on various subjects, and in various languases, ^v^ stands an old book, in its plain covering of brown paper, y|^ unprepossessing to the eye, and apparently out of place I among the more pretentious volumes that stand by its side. To the eye of a stranger it has certainly neither beauty nor comeliness. Its covers are worn ; its leaves marred by long use ; its pages, once white, have become yellow with age ; yet, old and worn as it is, to mo it is the most beautiful and most valuable book on my shelves. Ko other awakens such associations, or so appeals to all that is best and noblest within me. It is, or rather it urns, my mother's Bible — companion of her best and holiest hours, source of her unspeak- able joy and consolation. From it she derived the principles of a truly Christian life and character. It M-as the light to her feet and the lamp to her path. It was constantly by her side ; and, as her steps tottered in the advancing pilgrimage of life, and her eyes grew dim with age, more and more precious to her became the well-worn pages. One morning, just as the stars were fading into the dawn of the 104 M y .1/ T // /■; A' • s n I II ,, f. 0( ..Ming Sal,l.atl,, tl.o age.) pilgrin. passed on Ix-vond th . - - . .^oiKl the stars and bevond the inurning, and entered int.. the rest of the eternal Sal,- l.atl,-to look u,)on the face of IJlni of whom the law and the prophets hud spoken, and whon,, not having seen, she had loved And now, no legacy is to n.e more precious than that ol.l Bil.le lears have passed; but it stands there on its shelf, eloquent as ever' «-itness of a beautiful life that is finished, and a silent monitor to the living. In hours of trial and sorrow it says, " Be not east down my son; for thou shalt yet praise Iliin who is the health of thy countenance and thy (iod." In moments of weakness and fear it .'^ays, " Be strong now, my son, and (piit yourself manfully." When sometimes, from the cares and conHicts of external li.e, /come l,ack to the study, weary of the world and tired of men-of men that are .0 hard and seltish, and a world that is so unfeeling-and the strings ot the soul have become untuned and disconlant, I seen, to hear that Book saying, as with the well-remembered tones of a voice Ion. silent, " Let not your heart be troubled. For what is vour life ' l" 18 even as a vapor." Then my troubled spirit becomes calm; ami the httle world, that had grown so great and so formidable, sinks into Its true place again. I am peaceful, I am strono-. There is no need to take down the volume from the shelf or open It. A glance of the eye is sufficient. Memory and the law of association sup,,ly the rest. Yet there are occasions when it is • otherwise; hours in lite when some deeper grief has troul>led the .eail some darker, heavier cloud is over the spirit and over the ! tl^ MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. liEv. M. C. Hendekson. 'riE n^ravo of luy mother is on an elevation tlmt overlooks a TaJi3..- ^^''"'^'*""^ ''''"S^' '''''^'"^ '""".^' '"1 •'">"• ^vas spent in study f^§,' and recreation, in days of boyhood. A marble slab marks •t^ the place where we laid her to rest, nearly a score of years ago. Occasionally, during these years have we stooear restiiive explores Till' wealthiest- isles, the most enehantiiiij; shores, ^'iews not a realm so honntiCnl and fair, IS'or breathes the spirit of a |)urer air; In ev(>rv clime the nia^'net of his sonl, 'J'ouehed h\ rememhrane(>, trembles to thatjwle; {•\>r in this land of heaven's peeuliar gruco, Tiie heritajfo of nature's noblest race, There is a spot of eai'th supremely blest. A M /•; n /; /' / .\ /■; i> . Aioiiml licr knees (lomcstie duties iiieef, And lircside pleasures jfjunbol iit lier feet. Where sliall tlnif liitid, tlint spot of eartli Ik; found < ArttlioM a niiin ^ apatriot,^ look aronml ; Oil, liioii slialt find, liowe'er tliv footsteps roam, 'I'liat, land /A// ('(juiitry, and tliat s|)ot f/iy lioine. HOME DEFINED, CiiAKLEH Swain. KOMK'S not nierelv funr square walls, Tiiou^^h with [jictures luiiiif and gilded: Home is where aHection calls, Filled with shrines the Iieart hath buildod I Home! go wuteh the; faithful dove, Sailing "neath tlic heaven above us ; Homo in where there's one to love ! Home is where there's one to love us! Home's not mei'ely roof and room, It needs something to endear it ; Honu^ is where the heart can bloom, Where there's some kind lip to cheer it! What is liome with none to meet, Xono to welcome, none to greet us? Home is sweet, — and only sweet — When there's one we love to meet us! 117 'Ifl^^ ' I TH3 HOME OF CHILDHOOD. Samuei, D. Uukciiard, D.I). II IIK most iiiq rcssive sorii'S ot' itictiires I liavo over seen are \>y Thomas (Idle, an American artist, iiiid termed "The \"(nage of Life." The first rejn-esents a eliild seated in a lioat amid varied and beautiful tlowers, and his guardian angel standing \>y to guard and protect the little vovager. The second represents the youth, .still on his voyage, guiding jiis own hark down the stream, his finger pointing upward to a hoautiful castle painted in the clouds. Tlie third represents the man, still in the boat, going down the rapids ; the water rough, the sky threatening, and the guardian angel looking on from a distance, anxiously. The fourth represents an old man, still in his boat, tlie sun goinf down amid floating clouds tinged M'ith gold, purple, and vermilion, the castle or House Beautiful in full view, ami the guardian angel with an escort of shining celestials waiting to attend him to liis home in glory. The pictures have suggested to me a series of articles on Lite's Great Mission and work for the grander life beyond. And on tliis sublime voyage to the land of inunortals, to the Palace IJeautiful in the skies, let us start frou) the dear old home of childhood, that home which, though it may be desolate, is still imperishable in memory. Home of my cliildliood, thou shalt ever be dear To the heart that so foudly revisits thee now ; 118 I p '/■///•; Hi, Ml-: (>/■• III I h I, II ,>(,ii. Tlie wr,.i,tlis .,r the jmst Hlilj cling to lay br.)w. ' Sjiiiit of mine, wli.v liiifrcr yr hoic; Why ciin- lo ih„s(. ho|MH M, fuiilc »M(I vain V (f<>, Hc(.|{ v,. 11 iioni." in that nuiiant sphiMv, W l.idi thn.ujrh clnmu;,. un.i time thoii .slia'lt ever retain. Lot .„,.• (kstined port h. tl.o huMio of the Llesscl-tho city which hath toimdatio.is, whose hiiildcr und maker is (J.,d ! "And thou Shalt bri,,;. thv father, and thv nx.ther, a.ul thy '•'•othroM, and thy father", household ho.ne unto thee.--,Ioshu; The Cliristian hon.e, implvinK n.arria.ire, mutual afilrtion, piety gentlcuoss, refinenu-nt, n.ec.Iathy, tellow- Bh.p and Mors np. It n.ay be hun.ble. unpretentious, exhibiting no .gns n.atenal wealth; but there is the wealth <.f n.utual atfeeHon, - neh hre cannot consnn,e, antedate heaven in peaee, refinen.ent and nu.tual loNo. IIow ,nany chddren are born to the heritage of vice, poverty nd c,.m.e, efl to drift upon the tide of cir^mstance: to "^ "»"ele.l u. the Wild a.id ano,.y storn,, to be chilled o,i the desolate 119 t a '/'// /■,' // (1 .1/ /; II /■■ (• II 1 1. 1> II () II II . nioDi' of lit'i! — to waiuliT amid the voids of liiiiiiaii svmpatiiv — tin' nolitiuic! and cstraiigeiiieiit of luiiuiiu society — the ehiidi'eii of dire ini.sfortiine — vietiiUH of viee and crime, polluted and puUiitiiiy iVoiii the first. How luaiiy fall, like blossoms i>reniatm'ely blown, nipped i»y the lingering frosts of winter antl sinking into the shadowed stream, or the sobbing soil of earth to be seen no more. Think of the dwellings of hard-handed, wearied, ill-re(|nited labor, where ignorance and discontent rt'ign snpreme,— where there is no recognition of (iod, who, in his all-wise Sovereignty, raiseth np one and casteth down another. Sneh homes, or raiher |i!aces of abode, there are all over the land, all over the dark and wide ri'aim of heathendom, the children of Avhich nuist be de\oted to sacritico to the horrors of the (binges or the Nile. L(H)k now to the other extreme of society, to the habitations of the millionaires, adorned with ail the Inxuries of wealth, the appli- ances of art, taste, l)eanty. wliose children are trained np to worship at the shrine of Mammcm, to exclude from their minds all thoughts of Ctod and the hereafter, to live oidy for this world, to feel that there is no society worth cnltivating except that of the rich, the i'/ifi; the wonld-be fashionable; that ail enjoynu'Uts are material, pensnous, worldly; that the chief end of man is to eat. driid<, and be merry. Such households do not furnish the best schools in which to educate children to wrestle with misfortune and to do the great work of life. They are liable to grow up elfeminate, lacking execu- tive strength, cold, i)roud, misanthropic, alienated in sympathy from the toiling masses. There can be no well-regulated home without piety, without the fear and love of God. And such homes are usually found in the middle walks of life, not among the extreme poor, nor the jiroudly afliuent, but among the mntnally loving — the reverently worshipful. 1:20 // o M /■: s I) .\ (,' ,s . It is to siicli lionR's tliiit the world owes its liif-licsf interests. 'I'lir ()itiaii era. (mm| le>tili,.d nf Ahrahaiii, (if Moses, of Samuel, and Joh liow trnlv thev eoni|ire- iiended the nuturo of that faniily institution, around nhieh eiu.-ter all the assoeiiitioMs of the first period of Ininian lite, A-id it has only been in the line and in the licrlit of the (1|iri>tiun revelation, that the hi-hest type of the household has l.een |.rodn(ed and preserved. And it is upon the application of ( hri.Mian prin<-iplos alone, that the structure ol' the Christian tiiniily and the Christian lionie can stand. The tJiuiily in its oriifin is divine, and ( iod has instituted laws for its regulation and pel petuity. and tliese laws must he scrupu- lously oiiserved and (•heyed or it ceases to he an ornament and a hlessiuii— the .ureat train inn'-s'liool for the Church and the State— the safeiiuard of society and a tyjie of heaven. !* •-;^-s-'-^K»J*?i*r>i-T'>rf^ HOME GONGS. fj^l; 'I; f^i'iji onco niori' those joy -jirovokin-j strains, p AVhich, half forii'otten, in my memory dwell! I They send the life-I)lood boundini;- throuiih my veins, And circle round me like an airy sjiell. I The soiifis of homo are to the human heart Far dearer than the notes that son,<,^-l)ir(ls pour, And of our inner nature seem a part; Then sing those dear, familiar lays once more — Those cheerful lays of other days — Oh, sing those cheerful lays once more \~Anonymous. Vii ^ THS OLD HOMH. >!i lVvyi«\'; Ai.FKKi) Tennyson. ^r^Wa" '' '"^''''"' well lii'ldvt'd jilacc ,ri »iwr j WIlCIT tirst Wl' ^jizcmI lipnll tliu kK'v ; •Ai^'iP '''"' "■""'•■^ ''lilt iH'finl (.iircai'lu'st cry, ^^ I' yo, liiit ('!•(> we (fn fVdiii home, As «l()\vii the uiiinK'ii-wiilks I move, Two spirits of ii diverse love ("oiitfiid fur loviiii; miisnTdmii. One wliispei's. '• Here tliv bcvliood sung I.oiiij: sinee, its iiiatiii suiiir, and lieard Tile low love-iaiiiinaije ot'tiie bird, In native hazels tassel-ininy." Tiie (itlier answers. " Yea, but Iuto Thy feet Iiave straved in after houiv. ^Vith thy best friend anionti' tlu' bowers, And this liatli mack' thi'ui trebly dear." These two have striven half a day ; And eaeh prefers his separate claim, Poor rivals in a losiii«r game, That will not yield each other way. I turn to go : my feet have set To leave the pleasant fields and forms : They mix in one another's arms To oiR' jinre image of regret. r.'-.' HOME SHADOWS. HdllKHT COMVI'.ll, I). D. Iicr we liiivi! any (|(t|) cniiscioiis- ^W/k '"'''^ "'*^''^' ^'""'""■■' "■•' '"•'• weaving' iihouf ..nr .-hiMivii in ^Jj^ till! hoim.; wlu'tlicr \vf ever ask ..iirsclv.-.s if, in il,,. i;„- M fiitiire, who., we aiv dcail and j,^..ni-, tlic ^ha(luw ...n- honic cantK i nnu- will Htrotdi over fliom (i.r l.anc .,r blo.ssin- it is possiLIu w.. arc riiil uf an.Ni..fy U, do .Mir hest, mid to make ..nr Imnios eaorod to flu. cl.ildivn. We want then, to <-.,.n.. np .-i^rl,,, t„ tii.'n ....t fro<.d irifn a.id w.....,.n, t.. h.- an hnn,,.- a...l j,.-aise to II... ho.nc ...it of wl.i<.|. thoy sp.-a„i.. Hnt ti.i> is ti„. pity „nd the dan-...-, that, wl.ik, wc i.my .lot CO...,. sl,o..t in a.iy .-cai .h.ty of fathci- a.i- Pictures are loop-holes of escape t * m HJIFPY CHILDHOOiJi. THE SCENES OF MY CHILDHOOD, (■1111') ol.l) OAKKN lilCKi;!'. I jjl 'p.'^V'y tf Samuei. Wokdswortit. Itf^^fcOAV (Iciir to tliis lioart iiro the scenes of my childhood, P-^^tIK ^^'1'^"" f<"i'l reeoUectioii presents tliein to view ! ^A>* Tiie orchard, the ineudow, tlu; (U'cp tannied wildwood, And every hjved sj)ot wiiich my ini'ancy knew I [ The wide-si)reiidi/i<^ pond and the mill that stood by it, The l.ri(l 1 i 1 ^i^!iit\^:::.^:^\.\'Jl£^-^^^i:ii.'i.-:i.L-i.3^i-if^^)La /. () .V (.■ / A a s /■■ o /.' // <) .1/ /•; . Not a full, Mushiiiij; gobk't oouid tt'Uipt 1110 to leave it, Tlio hriiflitorit that hcauty or rovt'irv si|).s. Ami now, tar roiiioved from tlio loved liabitatiun, Tlie tear of regret will iiit-,isively sv'ell, As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, And siii'hs for the bucket that hani:;s in the well ; The old oakiMi hncket. the iron-honnd bucket, The moss-covered bucket, that hanijfs in tlie well! DNaiNGS FOR HOME, Omvkk Goldsmith. all n, n wanderinsra round this world of car* 'mm ^'}MM(r In all niv mnefs — and (iod lias p the tlame from wasting, by repose; I still had hope?, for pride attends us still, Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill; Ari>und my fire an evening group to draw, i^.nd tell of all T felt, and all I saw ; And as a hare, whom hounds and horns pin-suc, Pants to the place from wlience at first she flew, I still had hopes, my long vexations past, Here to return — and die at home at last. The only way to have a friend is to be one. — li. W. Emei'son. 128 ariBi— ii HOME aOYERNMEMT-WHAT IS IT? ^r ,s no, .o u-at,.h ohi,,h... ,,u. , „,,,,,.,„ ,^,,, ^,, „^^^.,^ ^^^ 11=^ .!u. .uenT nutbnrsts ..f inn....cnt hilarilv, f, s,,,,.,,.. ,l„.i,. # •';■"•'" '"'^''''•'•' -'•'•'• '''-'•'io ex„.ava^an, „ a,.,.lie,l to a ,hnlt of ,en,ol.l enonnitv; or to >. risin.. of sin, and to repress t en. ; to eounteraet the ...//..^ workings of selfishness ; to repress the.A..M.egi„nings of rebellion against rightful authority; toU-aeh an nnpheit and unquestioning and ..l.eertul <,hedienc, to the w-11 of the parent, as the best preparation for a future alle-n. .ee to e recp„re,nents of the eivil n.agistrate, and the laws of the great Kuler and Father in heaven. It is to punish a fault because it is a fault, because it is sinful and contrary to the counr.and of God, without reference to whethe^ ■t ...ay or may not have been productive of in.mediate injury to the parent or others. ^ " 139 // o M /.; a ovic /,. .^• .,/ /. ^ r~i r s / 1/ /■ „ /.> y . 1 .v ( ■ a- . It is t(. ivpn.vo with <-iilinnuss and (■(.ini...siiri-, ami not with nno;ry imtatiuii -in a few wonis fitly ehust-n, an.l nut Avitli u tnnvnt ..faluisc; t., punisli as ..ften as v<,;i tlireaten, and to threaten only wiien y<.u intend and ean renienihei- to perform; to say wiiat you mean, and infallibly do as you sav. It is to p.vern y(,ur timiily a.s in the siglit of Ilim who gaNX' you authority, and who will reward y,.ur striet fidelity with such l)less- ings as he bestowed on Abraham, or punish your criminal neglect with such curses as lie visited on YAl— Mother's Treasury. HOME aOYSRNMEMT— ITS IMPORTANCE. ^^-^...^.y Hkv. 1?. V. Booth. |''W| HE imi.ortanee of sacredly guardiiig tlie family relation ean fe:4 "^'t well be overestimated. It is the foundation-stone of O '•'■' that is good and pure both in civilization and religion. Take this away, and the whole fabric must topple and fall. The first government on earth was patriarchal, and in it was contained the inception of all civil authority; and, indeed, all rightful civil govcrmnent to the present day is only an enhirged form of family government in a representative form, taking into consideration the wants an.l necessities of each individual family within its juris- diction. The imity and perpetuity of the family tie in purity and peace is the only safeguard to national iierpetuity, peace, and lionor. Demoralize the family and you thereby destroy both domestic and national hai)piness, and undermine completely the temple of virtue and hope, and prepare the way of moral and civil desolation. The first impidse of patriotism and morality is germi- nated, nurtured, and largely if not entirely developed in the family 130 i ^mbr; II M i: a (, 1 • /; /.> .^• .1/ y; y r~i rs / m vo u ta .v c i: . circle. Jt is liL'i-e tliut the lirst fruits of eventliiiiir Mliich is good and pure arc brought tbrtli. Hence the Jiutions that disregard the .sicrethie>s ot' tliis relation have 110 i)erinaneiit forms of <,'overnn>ent and anvtiiiny like cuuinion morality is nowhere to he found amcmg tlicm. And it is also worthy of careful m>te that just so far as any people depart from the true form of the family tie, just in that same ratio do they give evidence of it in their civility and morality. It is therefore within the family circle that the star of ho])e, of religion and civil rights is to be seen, and let it go down and all would be turned into the dismal darkness of midnight without moon or star to guide the weary pilgi'im on Ids way. This sjHjt is to be guarded iu the tree of life, with tlio flaming sword turning either way, i)erpetu. ally guarantying thus the most sacred bond of union and strength and the only remaining institution of man's primeval state. There may be, and (h)ubtless are, numerous abuses of the marriage state; but that does not argue against its imjxjrtance, neither does it detract from its absolute value and necessity. The family circle may be— ought to be— the most charming and delightful place on earth, the center (,f the purest attections and most de.sirable associations as well as the most attractive and exalted beauties to be tbund this side of paradise. Nothing can exceed in beauty and sublimity the qinetnde, peace, harmony, affection, and hai)piness of a well-ordered family, where virtue is juntured and every good principle foste-ed and sustained. From tlie well-ordered homes in this great, broad land of religious and civil liberty not only are great and good statesmen to come, and eminently pious and intelligent divines; but what is erpially important, from these homes must come the more common populace of the land, npon whose intelligence, patriotism, and purity depends the continuance of the rich blessings which are now common to all. If freedom is kept and sanctitied by the people; if the true spirit of Christianity is to 131 i // (1 .1/ /• ii II 1 /; /,• .V M /.; .\ 7' — / Ts 1 .1/ /• () i{ T A .V (' i:. lie cniilimu'il, in , 'ill ils f-acicil pni'it v, on Id our cliildrcii's cliildrcii, rv('!i to till" \\\[v>\ yciicnilioiis of iiicik f lit'v must he kc|it iiivioliitc in our I'aiiiilios niid in.iprcsscd in our lionics. 'i'licv arc liolli dciit'iidfiit upon till' t'aiuily cii'i'lc and tlii' traiuini;' iiiid order ndiiiinistcnMl tluTciii. Thcu tlii'V who would ilissolvc tlu' iiiarriai!,c riti'. with all its hallowi'd and liindiiii; intluoiiccs, woidd ovcrthnivv cvcrvtliiiii;- that i> worth living' tor, and turn society into a iK'dlain ol' confusion and moral degradation; tor it is the ciiain that hinds the entire net- work of human society toiit'ther. in all of its hii^hest prospects, holh for tiiiK' and eternity. 'I'here is no civilization eipud to it: in fact, there is none without it to the ('hri>tiaii, ami there is no C'hristian civilization without the marriau'i' ceremony, in all of its liindinij and unilini;- t'orce. In tact, domestic happiness is wholly dependent npou the satictity ot' the marriai;'e relation; is an exclusive trait ot' ClnaVlianity ; and Christianity is the only system in the world calcu- lated to advance the interests of eonnnou humanity, and insure to all (>(|iial rights, earthly bliss, and a sweet home forever beyond the narrow linnts of the (jiiiet tomb. Wliat was said concern iiiu,- Abraham may be said ()f every true Christian father: "For I kmiw him, that he will connnand his children and his household after liim ; and they shall keep the way i.^^ the Lord, to do justice iuid judgmont, that the Lord may brinjj; upon Al)rahaiu that which he hath si)oken of him." Happy is that nation whose children are brouirht up in families like this. There Iturity, virtue, and true manhood in every principle of justice and niorey will be pennanently soeured. What an inii)ortant place, therefore, does the family occupy in the sttcial, moral, and pt)litical worlds I Take tliis away, and the bond of sacred union is forever dissolved, and the most distressing and deplorable results must follow. Break asunder these centeiis of holy atiections of truth, honor, and purity, and you will till the land with every enormity, 132 »MWMaMi*ir««a«iiiUM flSfi'', II (t M /■; V /,• , I / A / ,\ a n /■■ c ii 1 1. i> ii /■; .v . 1111(1 dcKoliit inn, ilic iiinst liif rciicli iii^^ ;iiiil drc'idl'iil, will lill ils cnlirc Id'oadtli. Il is ld;;!ilv iiii|>((rtiiiit ;ind iicccsMirv imt mdv lo coiiliniic tli(! validity of the iiiiii'ri;i;,'i' rile, ii|>(in uliicli the trnc idc.i ol' the liiiidly is Itiiscd, I)iit t,n'c;it care slioidd \n\ cxcrcihcd to make iIu'm' lioiiKS all tliat tlicv can and slioidd In- made, — tlic nni.^t dclii;litliil and cMitii'in^' places nn cartli, wlici'c everything that is i^ood is encdnraircil. and everythini;' evil pointeil mil and diM'oiintenanceil ; I'nf as ciiildren leave the pai'enlal liunic they are, to a lar^(\ extent, mulded t'nr lil'e. Orders and correct morals shonld hen? receive iIh; ]iro|)(U' stani]) iijton the o|)eiiiM^ irdnd. Ves, everythin;:; we wish oar chililren to he, in time and eternity, shonld here lie tanirht ami enforced. Then "ail thy children shall he tanglit of the Lord, and j^reat shall he the [K'ace of thy children." HOME TRAINING OF CHILDREN. jj!L/r(lj|-^ IIAN'K no (loid)t some parents Inive ^^'•ot diM'oui'a"'ed and ,.|,fcia»i, (disheartened that tlay liave not seen their children hronyht |{(5'' ^" 'l'^' i^avionr as early as they e.\|i;'cted. I do not lver to work with when T know that a man has heon tanglit hy a godly fatli(,'r and mother; even if his parents died wlieii he was young, the imjiivssion that tliev died praying for him has always a great eti'eet through life. I find that such men are always so iimch easier reached, and tliough we may not live to sec all our prayers answered, and all our children hnjiiglit 133 i 1/(1 mi: ■/•/,• a /.\ /m; or (■ II I L i> i{ i:.\. into tlio fo](], yet \V(- sIionM h'licl. them (lili,:,nMitlv, and ,lo it i„ 1,,^.. TIicMV is wlicru ii^'oml many niakt' a mistake, l)y lu.t, tracliiiiu' tli.ii- cliiitlivn in L.vr In- (l..in,i; it c.l.Ily or liaislily. Many sen.! tlicm ofl to ivad the- I'.ihic hy tiifmsclv.-s for i.nnislnncnl. Why, 1 wonid put my hand in thr lire lu'toiv 1 wonhl try to teach tlicni in tlmt wav. ir we teach onr children as we ..u-ht to do, instead of Snnday hein'^- tlie (hvariof. (hdlest, tire.omest day of tlie NveeU to tlieni, it will Ik- the i)nV|itest, happie.^t day of the whole seven. What we want to do is to put reli-ious truths before ,)ur children in sucii an attractive form that the P.ihk; will he the most attractive of hooks to tlu.m. Children want the same kind of food and truth tliat we do, onlv wo nuist cut it u|. a little liner, so tliat they can eat it. I have o,vat respect for a father and mother who have l.nniiiht u|. a larj^e fandlv and trained them so that they have come out on the Lord's side. Sanetimes mothers are diseoura^'od and do not think thev have so larn-e a sphere to do .rood in as \\v have, hut a mother who has orouM'ht up a lar^v family to Christ need not consider her life a liiilure. 1 know one who has hrou^'lit up ten sons, all Christians ; lit up in that way from their earliest childhood, do not luive to spend their wlioli- life in forixettino' some old liabit. Let us be encouraged iu brino'ing our children to Christ. IIoMK is the grandest of all institutions.— r. //. Spurgeon. Bi'jx ww MBtM.lflJiai'.iriiXj.uiLa ■^atsr. HOME AFFECTION. I: il tioMK ri:.iriii.\n one t(. Iiis linirl iis liin wife, she sluili n>a|i tlic ^'oldcn fruit tlurcnf. Tlic! yoiiiij,' iiiiiii wild wa-. in the jmliit df enee of strangers. And that yoniin; nian wiio always handed his sister to her chair at tlie lahle, will ne\i'r ha\i' cause to hhish as he s<'es some •'•entieniau oxteiid to lii> uil'e tlie courtesy >he hiiows is due from him. Mothers and daiiij;hters, wi\fs and sisters, rememher that, and nMiu'ndx'i- ihiil you have the making; of the future of this uieat country, and ri^e at once to your liii;li and holy duty. Re nd)er that you mu>t make that future, uhethei- you will or not. We aro all what \(iu make us. .Mil throw .iwiix- \. mi- \v<>!il.-i.inii,r i",.li;.,^ ..f all what you make us. .Vh ! t fashion. an( you slioidd , • •-"• ■'irow away your weakeniui:; follies of fashion, and .soul-liunine. and rise to tlu' level whei'e (ic.d intended ••••.. ....'. ...,,, 1,1,,, ,11,. iiiKi 1 ir.1 III iiu: n>ii wiii'iu vi(.(i niieudcd you shoidd he, and mak(.' e\ery one of your homes, fnaii this dav, schools of tru(> politeness and tender alfection. 'lake thoM' little curly-headed lioys. and teach them all you woidd have men to he, and my word for it, they will he just such iiu!n, and will go forth to hlcss the world, and crown you with a glory such as (jueons and cnipressos never dreamed of Wield your power now, and you shall reap the fruit in your ripe age. HOMS TEACHINQ, .lAMffs Thomson. XT^HLKHITFTL task! to re.ir the tender t , ought, C.<^^ To veacii the yotnig idea how to shoot, To ])onr the fresh instruction o'er the tnind, To hri'athe the enliv'ning spirit, and to fix The generous pur])osc in the glowing breast. 136 HOME INSTRUCTION, r low to cultivato tliu «,'o(m1 side oI'iIk; iiaturo is the p-ciiti>st lossoii of life to tfiicli. Tench cliildivii tliiit tlioy load these two lives: the lite without, and (lie lite wifliin ; and that t'., Jum.' ■ must he pure in the eight ot'(iod, as well as ihi,' outside ! ii,,; sifrjit of men. There are live means of leniiii.,. These are: f )l).M'rvation, readiuL', eon\crsution, memory, retlectioii. Kdueiitors sometimes, in tln^ir anxiety to secure a wide raiiire of studies, do not sufHciently impress upon theii^ scliolai's the value of nuunorv Now, our memory is one of the most wonderful {.'ifts God has bestowed upi.,i us; and one of the most mysterious. Take a tumbler and ])our water into it; by-and-by you can pour no more ; it is full. It is not so with the mind. You cannot till it full of knowlod hewitching strain from the harp of memory : to tlic voun"- C'l^ it is a reminder of all that is near and dear to them. ''(^ Among the many songs Ave are Avont to listen to, there is not I one more cherished than the touching melody of ''Home, Sweet Home."' Will you go back with me a few years, dear reader, in the history of the ] last, and traverse in imagination the gay streets and gilded saloons of Paris, thjit once briglit center of the world's follies and pleasures? Passing through its splendid thoroughfares is one (an Englislunan) Avho has left his home and native bind to view the splendors and enjoy the pleasures of a foreign country. He has beheld with delight its paintings, its sculpture, and the grand yet 138 HOME I .V F L V E iV CES. graceful proportions of its buildings, and has yielded to the spell of the sweetest muse. Yet, in the midst of his keenest happiness, when he was rejoicing most over the i)rivileges he possessed, temptuticns assailed him. Sin was presented tu him in one of its most bewitch- ing garbs. He drank wildly and deeply of the intoxicating cu]., and his draught brought madness. Reason was overwhelmed, and he rushed out, all his scruples overcome, careless of what he did or how deeply he became immersed in the hitherto unknown sea of guilt. The cool niglit air lifted the damp lucks from his hoatiHl bn.w, and swept with soothing touch over his flushed cheeks. Walking on, calmer, but no less determined, strains of music from a distance met his ear. Following iu the direction tlie sound indicated, he at length distinguished the words and air. The song was well-remem- bered. It was "Home, Sweet Home." dear and sweet the voice of some English singer rose and fell on the air, in the soft cadences of that beloved melody. Motionless, the wanderer listened till the last note floated away ami he could hear nothing but tiie ceaseless murmur of a great city. Then he turned slowly, with no feeling that his manhood was shamed by the tear which fell as a bright evidence of the power of sonc. The demon that dwells in the wine had fled; and reason once more asserted her right to control. As the soft strains of " Sweet Home" had floated to his ear, memory brought up before him his own " sweet home." Jle saw his gentle mother, and heard her speak, while honest pride beamed from her eye, of her son, in whose noble- ness and honor she could always trust; and his heart smote him as he thought how little he deserved such confldence. He remembered her last words of love and counsel, and the teaiful farewell of all those dear ones who gladdened that far-away home with their presence. "VVe'l he knew their ])ride in his integrity, and the tide of remorse 139 T II E S M I L A' .S OF nO M K . swept over his sjiirit as lie felt wlijit their sorrow woukl he could thev have seen him an hour helore. Suhdued and repentant, ho retraced his steps, and with tliis vow never to taste of the terrililo draught that eould so excite him to madness was minified u deep sense of thankfulness for his escape from further degradation. The inllueiice of home had protected liini, tiiough the sea rolled hetween. Xone can tell liow often the commission of crime is prevented hy such nu'mories. It', tiieii, the spell of home is so powerful, how important it is to make it jileasant and lovable! .Many a time a cheerful home and snuling face ilocs more to make good men and women, than all the learning and ehi(|uence that can l)e used. It lias been said tliat the sweetest words in our language are "Mother, Home and Heaven;" and one might almost say the word home included them all ; for who can think of home without remenU)ering the gentle mother mIio sanctitied it by her presence i And is not liome the dearest name for heaven? We think of that better laud as a home wiiere brightness will never end in night. Oh, tlien, mav our homes on earth be the centers of ail our joys; may they be as green spots in the desert, to which we can retire when weary of tlie cares ami perplexities of life, and driidv the clear waters of a love which we knowrfo be sincere and always unfailing. — ISatardaij EvenvKj J'o«t. THE SMILES OF HOME. John Kedle. vC^WEET is the smile of home; the mutual look j^^ "Where hearts are of each other sure ; ■ Sweet all the joys that crowd the household nook, The haunt of all affections pure, 140 sm HOME COURTESY. |j|W|0 pleasanter sight is tlioro, tliaii u laiiiilv ot'yoiinr!: folks wlio ri^^lPt^ '""^ qiii^k to pei't'onii little acts of attention toward their 40- elders. The placing of the big arm-chair for niaiunia, run- ];, ning for a foots! ■■ v aunty, hunting up papa's spectacles, and i[ scores of little , how the tender sympathy of gentle hning hearts; hut if nianmia never returns a smiling, "Thaidv vou, dear;'" if papa's "Just wiiat I was wanting, Susie," does not indicate that the little attention is apjireciated, the children soon drop the haliif. Little people are imitative creatures, and ipiickly catch the spirit sui'rounding thcni. So if, when the mother's spool of cotton roll from her lap, the father stoops to pick it up, bright eyes Avill see tlie act, and (piick minds make a note of it. By example, a thousand times more quickly than by ])recc])t, can children be taught to s[)eak kindly to each other, to acknowledge favors, to be gentle and nnsellish, to be thoughtful and considerate of the comfort of the family. The boys, with inward pride of their father's courteous demeanor, will be chivalrous and helpful to their own young sisters ; the girls, imitating their mother, will be patient and gentle, even when big brothers are noisy and heedless. In the homes where true courtesy prevails, it seems to meet you on the threshold. You feel the kindly welcome on entering. No angry voices are heard up- stairs. No sullen children are sent from the room. No jieremptory orders are given to cover the delinquencies of house-keeping or servants. A delightful atmosphere pervades the house — unmistak- able, yet indescribable. Such a house, filled by the spirit of love, is a home indeed to all 141 \: I' ■aKJMMiiliteMaiiMi iiOMK OF orii c n r L I) noo n. ^vllo enter within its con-ecrated walls. And it is of such a home that the Master said, " And into whatsoever house ye enter, first say, I'eace be to this house. And if the Son of Peace be there, your peace shall rest upon it." Luke x. 5, 0. " Blpst arc the sons of peace Whose hearts and hopes are one : Whose kind designs to serve and please, Througli all their actions run. " Thus on the heavenly hills. The saints arc blessed above ; Where joy like morning dev,' distills, And all the air is love." —AnomjmoilS. THE HAPPY HOME. Martin F. Tupper. i HAPPY home ! O, bright and cheerful hearth Look round with me, my lover, friend, and wife, 'Al'f. ^■*" *''^^^ ^''■'^ ^^^ces we have lit witli life, If And in the perfect blessing of their birth, Help me to live our thanks fur so much heaven on earth. HOME OP OUR CHILDHOOD. Oliver Wendell Holmes. .jLJOME of our childhood! How aftection clings Cj-s And hovers round thee with her seraph wings! Dearer thy hills, thmigh clad in autumn brown, Than fairest summits which the cedars crown ; Sweeter the fragrance of thy summer breeze, Than all Arabia breathes along the seas! The stranger's gale wafts home the exile's sigh. For the heart's temple is its own blue sky. 142 / ^ •OSSn 5; .'/ n ^ Bk 0> 5] AN IDEAL H0M3, Samcel Rogers. IXE be ii cot l)csi(le tlie liill ; *>-->--/-% ^ bee-hive's hum shall soothe iiiv ear; '^'f^\ ^^ willowy brook, that turn,-, a mill, A AV^ith many a lull, ^hall linger near. The swallow oft, beneath my thatch, Shall twitter near her clay-huilt nest ; Ot't shall the pilgrim lift the latch. And share my meal, a welcome guest. Around my ivied porch shall spring Each ft-agrant tlower that drinks the dew; And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing, In russet gown and a})roii blue. The village church beneath the trees. Where iirst our marriage vows were iriven, With merry peals shall swell the breeze, And point with taper spire to heaven. HOME. Str TOME is the resort James Thomson. tis-*- Of love, of joy, of peace, and plenty, Mhere Supporting and supported, polish'd ftiends. And dear relations mingle into bliss. 145 HOHS RSIiiaiOH. ' '.:::, ;r'r" r;.°- •■ ™""--'- -" "«' »■"' -«' "'■ « I" ae very he,,,-, of the g„,„e,, ,,„,„, „,^,.^ „ ai ™,. fr„,„ „eed „„.«Mecl and "bopo de,l.,™l." I. „,! ' wl.e„ a man „f b.genui.v .As in vain .„ ,„„ ,„,e,.,o.. e ' ^d in„.» -^ ' ^ ^^^"- -^''^^f^ "i"8t be a piece want- Home -;vif ..t Divine presence is at best a moral structure witlx the central eioment Avantino- T),« ^fi i 'u»-uiie amih and re-arranged • they w f J '''"f^""^"*^ ™«^' ^^ --"?-! toc.ether"untiMt L . r '"''^^^ '^'' "«'' ^^ "^«'"P«^fc lo^emer, until it is obtained. We havp lioavrl ,.+• i . j , T}.Qf i.^.,„ -11 1 . JJ'tveueaia ot iiaunted houses inat house will be hauntpd whh fi,„ i, ^ ^. """fth. ue iidunted with the ghost of an unrealized idea. It 146 f i iin.Mi-: K /: Lfd /ox. will seein to its most tl.oiightnil iniuatt-s at l.e.t l.i.t " tlie sl.a(i,>u- of some »o.k1 thin^^ to come;" and the l.m-in- for the .sub^taiiro will be the more intense, hecuuse the shadou-, as a providential prophecv is always there. In many a honse there is going on, by moans of those (luick spiritual siohs by whicli one above can read, v\hat ^ve n.av call a dialogue of souls, composed (•luetly of unspoken cpiestions, which, if articulate, nn'ght be something like the Ibllowing: -Jluwis it that we cannot be to each other as we wish, that we cannot do for each other what we try, even when it seems to be (p.ite within the ran-e of possibility i Why is there such a sorrow in our atiection ^ such a trembling in our joys? ,o great a fear of change, and so profound a sense of nu-ompleteness in connection with the very best we can do and Ije i " And what is the answer to such mute yet eager questionings? And who can speak that answer? That One above who hears The dialogue must take part in it ; and all must listen while lie .peaks and tells of another fatherhood, under which the parents must become little children, of another brotherhood which, when attained will make the circle con.plete. When the n,embers of such a house- hold, who have been looking so much to each other, sludl agree to give one earnest look above, and say, - Our Father, which art in heaven!" "our elder Brother, and Advocate with the Father'" then will con,e back, sweet as music, into the heart of that house these fulfilling words from the everlasting Father, " Ye shall be my sons and daughters;" from the eternal Son, "Behold my mother and sister and brother ! " Then the one thing that was lackino- will be present. The missing element will be in its place, and all the other elements will be assembled around it. It is a haunted house no more The ghost has been chased away. The house is whole- some. Mornings are welcome. Nights are restful. The aching I 147 ^ A iiAi'jy iioMi: jti:FixKD. sonwv has passed away now from the heart of that liome. Tlie long-sou^'lit .secret is revealed. Sold whispers to soul, "Eimuanuel, God with us." Home is home at h\^t.—Mot/ier''s Treamrij. KIND WORDS AT HOMS, |.PEAK kindly in the morning; it lightens the cares of the W*^ (liiy, iiiid makes the household and all other att'airs move along more smoothlv Speak kindly at night, for it may be that before the dawn some loved one may finish his or her space of life, and it will be too late to ask forgiveness. Speak kindly at all times ; it encourages the downcast, cheei's the sorrowing, and very likely awakens the erring to earnest resolves to do better, with strength to keep them. Kind words are balm to the soul. They oil np the entire machinery of life, and keep it in gocxl ruiming order. — Anomjmou.s. A HAPPY HOME DEFINED, Rev, Dr. Hamilton. *IX things are rerpiisite to create a happy home. Integrity must be the architect, and tidiness the upholsterer. It must be warmed by affection, and lightened up with cheerfulness, and industry must be the ventilator, renewing the atmo.sphere and bringing in fresh salubrity day by day ; while over all, as a protect- ing canopy and glory, nothing will suffice except the blessings of God. 148 HOME AND FRIENDS. Chatiles Swain. .' II I there's a power to make each liour As sweet m- Heaven designed it ; Xor need we ruuin to liriiig it iionie, jf Though few there be that tind it : We seek too high for tilings close by, And lose what nature found us, For life hath here no charms so dear, As home and friends around us. We oft destroy tlie present joy For future hopes — and praise them ; Whilst (lowers as sweet bloom at our feet, If we'd but stoop to raise them ; For things atar still sweott^t are When youth's briglit spell hath bound us; But soon we're taught the earth hath naught Like home and friends around us. The friends that speed in time of need, AVhere hope's last need is shaken, Do Jiow us still that, come what will. We are not quite forsaken : Though all were nigh, if but the light Froiri friendship's altar crowned us, 'T would prove the bliss of earth was this — Our homes and friends around us. 149 W3LL DONE! I!i;v. Tiii.oDoiii; L. Cuvi.Kit. it t KFSS from iny morhi'r imult" luc a iiaiiiter." huid tlit! vot- W^^ ^''""" '"'^'''^' "^'"j"'"'" ^^'^'''^ "I'tfi" I'l-' liiitl won lame ami 'ti!*^ Jiiinj-' hispictiimsin Itoval AfadciniL-s. AVlioii she looked li I |i^ at his hrst boy.sh f^ketcli she in-ained it ; if she liad been ft silly I or u sulky i)areiit she might have waid, " Foolish child, don't waste your time on such daubs," and ho have ([uenched the first Bpark of his and)ition. ('onunendation is a i)rodiraise bestowed at the right time is worth ii M-liole volley of scolding. Exei-ybody likes to be i)i'aisetl. When the tough of the struggle comes, a liearty word of encour- agement puts new mettle into the blooj, and carries us over the crisis. All my readers may recall the incident of the gallant fireman who ascended the ladder to re.NCue the child who was in an upper window of the burning buihiing. "When the flames burst into his face he faltered, "(iivehim a (7/r evening dew upon the grass, yet it would nt ( spring and J;r\- grow green by that constant and double falling of the dew, unless some great shower at certain seasons did su[)ply the rest ; so the customary devotion of jirayer twice a day is the falling of the early and latter dew. But if you will increase and flourish in works of grace, empty the great clou(i» sometimes, and let them fall in a full shower of ])rayer. Choose out seasons when prayer shall overflow like Jordan in time of harvc-t. ^i:^ps NO TIME TO PRAY. time to pray ! Oh, who so fraught with earthly care As not to give to humble prayer Some part of day i Ko time to pray ! What heart so clean, so pure within, That needeth not some check from sin, Xeeds not to pray i Xo time to pray ! 'jSIid each day's danger, what retreat Mci'e needful than tlie mercy -seat i Who need not pray ? No time to pray I Then sure your record falleth short ; Excuse will fail you as resort, On tliat last day. What thought more drear, Tlian that our God liis face should hide. And say through all life's swelling tide. No time to hear I — Anonymous. Always leave the home with loving words, for they may be the last. 153 THE CHILDREN. Chahles Dickknson. ^! II KX the lo.-^sons and tusks are all ended, ■sBsaiial And the school for the day is dismissed, - i ^Co^P And the little ones <;'ather aronnd me, ''nr '^''* '*''' "'^' li'ood-niii'ht and be kissed ; f) Oh, the little white arms that encircle My neck in a tendei- embrace ! Oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven, Shedding sunshine of love on my face ! And when they are gone I sit dreamins Of my childhood too lovely to last; Of love that my heart will I'cmember, "When it wakes to the pulse ot'tlie past, Ere the world and its wickedness made mo A i)artner of sorrow and sin ; "When the glory of (iod was about me. And the glory of gladness within. Oh I my heart grows weak as a woman's. And the fountain of feeling will llow. "When 1 think of the ])aths steep imd stony, AVIicre the I't'ct of the dear ones must i^'o ; Of the mountains of >in hanging o'er them, Of'the teinpest of fate blowing wild I Oh I there is nothing on earth half so holy As the innocent heart ot'a child. 15-± ■run VU I Lit HEX. Thev iirc idols of liearts and of liouselioKls ; They are angels ot'dod in disguise; IJis .sunlight still sleeps in their tresses, His glury still gleams in their eyes; Oh ! these tniants from home and froi heaven, They have made me !iiore maidy and mild And I know how ,Iesus eoidd liken The kingdom of (rod to a child. I ask not a life for the dear ones, All radiant, as others ^;ive done, But that life may have enough shadow To temi)er the glare of the sun ; I would pray God to gu'ird them fiv^m evil, But my ])rayer would come hack to mvself* Ah, a seraph may pray for a sinner, But a sinner wwv.A pr.iv for himself. The twig is so easily bended, I have hanished the rule and the rod. I have taught tliem the goodness (.f kn(,,vledc--e riiey Jiave taught me I he goodness of (-iod; ]\Iy heart i> a dung.'on of dnrkness, Wlu're I sliut them from hreakini;' a rule ■ My frown is suflicient correction; My love is the law of the school. I shall leave the old house in the autumn, To traverse its thivshold no more; All. Imw T shall sigh for the dear ones, That meet me each morn at tlie door, 1 a;-. " "'-— '"^"^^atJ.^--i-»»ia*.j^^:-^ Tin: rjiiLnuEy. 1 shall miss the ''good-nights" and the kisses, And the gush of their innocent glee, The group on tlie green, and th^ 'lowers That are brought every morning i nie. I shall miss them at morn and evening, Their song in the school and the street ; I shall miss the low hum of their voices. And the tramp of their delicate feet. When the lessons and tasks are all ended, And death says : " The school is dismissed," May the little oTies gat^'er around me, To bid me good-night and be kissed. THE CHILDREN. H. W. LONGFEIXOW. Ijj^^fll ! what would the world be to us If the children were no more . AVe should dread the desert behint :' Worse than the dark before. f ' What the leaves are to the forest, AVith liglit and air for food. Ere their sweet and tender juices Have been hardened into wood — That, to the world, are children ; Through them it feels the glow Of a brigliter and sunnier climate Than reaches the truidvs below. 156 *! ^3 THE RIGHTS OF CHILDREN. '^i^p'IIE child lias a right to ask questions and to lie faiily answered; not to be snuhbed as if he were guilty of an impertinence, nor ignored as though his desire for informa- tion were of no consequence, nor misled as if it did not signify whether true or false impressions were made upon his mind. The child has a right to his individuality, to be himself and no other; to maintain against the world the divine fact for which he stands. And before this fact, father, mother, instructor should stand reverently; seeking rather to understand and interpret its sigjiili caiice than to wrest it from its original purpose. It is not neces sarily to be inscribed with the family name, nor written over with family traditions. Nature delights in surprise and will not guarantee that the children of her poets shall sing, nor that every Quaker ])aby shall take kindly to drab color, or have an inherent longing for a scoop-bonnet or a broad-brimmed hat. In the very naming of a child his individuality should be recog- nized. He shoidd not be iuAcsted with the cast-otf cognomen of some dead ancestor or historical celebrity, a name musty as the grave-clothes of the original wearer — dolefully redolent of old asso- ciations — a ghostly index-linger forever pointing to the past. Let it be sometliing fresh ; a new name standing for a new tact, the sug- gestion of a history yet to be written, a ])rophecy to be fultillcd. The ass was well CTiough clothed in his own russet ; but when he would put on the skin of the lion, every attribute became contempti- ble. Commonplace people slip easily through the world ; but when we M'ould find them heralded by great names, we resent the incon- 157 .Sr//.'A/,'/.V(Vi,' O/' VUlLDITnon. P-^;, ami insist npon ,na!ne: t..r their sak. . .0 are apot,te,_the „nuo.,.v iu.pulse; .. .ather into our lives eveiy nobi: and heroic .piality, every tender .-J attractive o-raw We owe them ^.ratitn.le tbr the ^ that but tbr that caressing had furrowed into frowns. — LitteWs Living A(je. suFrsniNQs op chilehood. '^^r.^^i fllE sufferings of a bashful boy! Can torture-chan.ber be ^Pl nmre di-eadf ul than the juvenile party, the necessary parade Ci^^ of the Christnuis-dinner, to a shy boy ? I have sou.etin.es L^ taken the hand of such a one, and Lave found it cold and I «-laniniy ; desperate was the struggle of that voung soul, afraid •'M.c knew not what, caught by the machinery of societv, whi<.h niang.nl hnu at every point, crushed even- nerve, and filled liiui with hnntncss and Ibar. How happy he nught have been with that brood ot young pu,.pies in the barn, or the soft rabbits in their nest of hav ' How gran,! he was, p.ddiing his poor leaky boat down the rapids jnn.pmginto the river, and dragging it.ith his splendid strength over the rocks ! Xatnre and he M-ere frien.' ;.e was not afraicfof 158 1 S I' FFJJ li I.\a S OF IllII.IlUOOD. lier; she recognized her c-Iiihl and greeted him with sinik\*. The young animals loved him, and his dog looked up into his lair Idue pyes, iiud recognized his king. IJiit this creature must be tamed ; he must be brought into \m\n parlors, and dine with propriety ; he must dress himself in garments which scratch, and pull, and liurt him; boi'ts must be put on his feet which pinch ; ho must Ite clean. — terri- ble injustice to a faun wlio loves to rull down-hill, to grul) for roots, to follow young squirrels to their lair, and to polish old guns rather than his manner. And then the sensitive boy, mIio has a iiner grain than the majority of his fellows, suddenly thrown into the pandemonium of a public school! IS'ails driven into the llesh could not intlict such pain as such a one suffers; and the scars remain. One gentleman told me, in mature life, that the loss of a toy st(jlen from him in childhood still rankled. ILow much of the infirmity of human char- acter may be traced to the anger, the sense of wounded feeling, engendered by a wrong done hi childhood when one is heli)less to avenge I All this may be called the necessary hardening process, but I do not believe in it. We have learned how to temper iron and steel, but we have not learned how to treat children. Could it be made a money-making process, like the Bessemer, I believe one could learn how to temper the human character. Our instincts of intense love for our children are not enough ; we should study it as a science. The human race is very busy ; it has to take care of itself, and to feed its young ; it must conquer the earth— perhaps it has not time to study Jim and Jack and Charley, and Mary and Emily and Jane, as problems. But, if it had, would it not perhaps pay? There would be fewer criminals. Many observers recommend a wise neglect — not too much in- quiry, but a judicious surrounding of the best influences, and then 159 (I VE i{ y M f: .\ -/■ y cnri.n u e .v. let your young plant grow uj.. V.s ; I.ut it sl.ould he a very wise „c.glect-lt slioukl he a neglect whieh is always on the wateh lest B.Mne UKsidious luirasite, some unnotieed hut stn.ng hias of eharacter take possession of the ehihl and ni,.uM or ruin hin.. Of the ten' boys running up yonder hill, live will he failure., two will he moderate s.u-eessos, two will do hetter, one will be great, good and (listuiguished. \i sucli are the terrihle statistics-and I am tohl that they are so-who is to hhune '. Certainlv the parent or guardian or fircumstanee-and ^vhat is circumstance i~Appleto,Cs Jouniul. GOYEHNMENT OF CHILDREN. HERE were many ideas entertained by the Puritan settlers ""■'"™' 1 of Xew England that happily were not bequeathed'trthose who came after them, but in lixing proper relations between |- parents an I will give A house and land while you shall live, If, in rctnrn, J'n-m out your seven, One child to me for ave is iriven.'" I looked at John's old gai-nients worn, I thought of all that John had borne Of poverty, and work, and care, AVhicb I, though willing, could t share • I thought of seven mouths to feed, Of sev(ni little children's need. And tlien of this.—" Come, John," said I, " We'll choose among them as they lie Asleep ; " so, walking hand in hand, Dear John and I surveyed our band — * A father and inotlicr in straitened circumstanci's, with sever ildn ere offered by a wealthy, but childlcsp neighbor, a comfortable provision, on condition that they would give I.;;, one of their children. This beautiful poem tells the result. 162 KOT ONE CHILD TO H 1' A li H . First to tliu cradle lijilitly Htcpped, Wlicro Lilian tho lialtv nlept. A liUivy 'piiiist the pillow white; SSul'tly the lather stooped to lay His rc)ii^i;;h liuud down in loviiij; way, AVheii dream or whUper niaik- her stir, And huskily he said: '' Mot her. uol her." AVe stooped heside the triindle-hed And one long ray of lamplight shed Athwart the huyish f'aees there, In sleep so pitiful and liiir; T saw on Jamie's rough, red cheek, A tear unuried. Kre ,Iohn could speak, "lie's hut a baliy, too," said I, \nd kissed him as we hm'ried l)y. I'alc patient Kol)bie's aiigci tiu-e Still in his sleep bore surt'ering's trace. " No, for ." tliousaud crowns, not him."' He whisj 1, while our eyes were dim. Poor Dick ! bad Dick I our wayward bou, Turbident, reckless, idle one — Gould he be spared { " Nay, He who gave liid us befriend him to liis grave ; Only a mother's In art can be Patient enough for sucli as he; And s(.," said John, '' I would not dare To send him from her bedside prayer." Then stole we softly up above And knelt by Mary, child of love. " Perhaps for Ihm- 'twould better be," I said to John. Quite silently, 1G3 I He liftiMl lip a curl tliat h\y Acrosrt lier cliuok in willl'ul uav, And shook his lu-ml,'.\,,v,luv,', not tliec," The wliiio niv iirart I.cat iiii(lil)iv. Only out' nioiv, (.iir eldest hi,|, Trusty and triitiitiil, jr„od ^,,,1 ^\m]__ So Jiivu ills fatlier. '« X,,^ j„|,„^ „^_ I can not, will not, let him ^^,,,"' And so we wrote, in coiirtooiis way, We could not drive one chilil uwny; And afterward t(»il H«rliter seemed, Thinking of that of which we dreamed, Iliippy in truth that not one iaco Was missed from its accustomed i)lace; Thankful to work for all the seven. Trusting the rest to Ouq in heaven ! BABIE2 AMD THEIR RIGHTS. |B1 1-^15^' I'as a right, too frequently denied it, ia h. hi alone. IfPS ^^ ^"«''* '" '^^' '^ ''"•'^ i» the nursery never to disturb the m ">tant when it is happy and quiet. Older children, too, two ^ three, and four years of age, who are amusing themselves in a } peacetul, contented way, ought not to be wantonly interfered ^ with. I have often seen a little creature lying in its crib coo- ing, laughing, crooning to itself in the sweetest baby fashion, without a care m the world to vex its composure, when in would come mamma or nurse, seize it, cover it with endearments, and effectually break up 104 a A n t /•/ s . I v n r ii // / /.• /,• / (/ // t s . its traiiiiriii'iMM| tliiil it ^ut'll^t•d to be iso. It is liiibit Hiid tmiiiiiijj; wliifh niuki! littlu c-iiildrcn n-.stli'BB and t'rott'id, rutlicr than natural di.->|)(ihitiun, in a niultitiidi' of cuhe». A iK'altliy babe, coolly and loosuly (Iri'SM'd, Jiidifiou.-ly led, and f'i'('(|ui;iitlv Imtlied, will be jrood and niinturtalile il' it liavo not too nnicli atten- tion, lint when it is liable a dozen times a day to be f'an;,dit wildly up, boiineed and juni|ie(l abdut, -inotbei'ed witli kisses. |)oke(| bv facetious lin<.;ers, and [letted till it is thuroiiublv out of nirts, wliat ciitj be expected of it ? ILiw would t'atber.- and nuitliei's endure tlio niartyrdoni to whielj tliey allow tlie babies t(i tie subjected < Another riii'bt which every baby has is to its own nmther's caro and supervisieii. The mother may not lie stmiitr enoni,di to hold her child and carry it about, to go with it nn its «iutin;_'s, and to person- ally attend to all its wants. Very ulteii it is really better foi' both mother and child that the >tniiio' aims df an able-bodied wonuvn should bear it tlirouij,h its numtlis ul tl.e lmbie,s who are left to l.irelings. The former have a' sweeter, shyer, f^ladder look than the latte,-. Perhaps the babies Ml.o are born, so to speak, with silver spoons in their months, are K.tter oi than those who c-an.e to the heritage of a gold spoon. Ihe gold spooners have lovely eradles and vassinets. They war ^ aleneienT.es luce and end.roidery, an.l fashion dictates the' cnt of tl.or b,bs, and the lengtli of their Howing robes. Thev are waited ••iH.n by bonnes in pic-turesrp.e aprons and caps, and ti.e doctor is sent for whenever they have the eulie. The little silver-spooners on tlio other hand, a., arrayed in simple slips, whieh the mother n.a.le Jierself m dear, delicious honrs, the sweetest in their mvstle joy wh.eh happy woma.d.uod knows. They lie on the sota, or on two Hm.rs with a pillow plaml earefnlly to hold them, while she sin^s at lu'r work, spreads the snowy linen on the grass, n.oulds the bread ami shells the peas. The mother's hands wash and dress them the iather rocks them to sleep, the proud brothers and sisters carry them to walk, or wheel their little wagons along the pavement, 'rortu- iiiite babies of the silvei- spoon ! Alas and alack! for tlie babies M'ho have never a spoon at all not even a horn or a leaden one. Their poor parents love then., amid the squalid circumstances which hem them in, but they c/tn do little tor their well-being, and they die by hundreds in garrets and cellars and rVase tenement rooms. When the rich and charitable shall devise some way to care for the babies of the poor, when New York shall imitate Paris in founding an institution akin to La Creche, we shall have taken a long step forward in the direction of social 'and moral elevation. 166 THE CHILDREN'S BED-^TIME. Jane Kllis IIopkiws. 'IIE cLx'k titrikcs seven in the liall, The curfew of the chiklren's day, That calls each little pattering foot From dance and song and lively play ; Their day that in a wider light Floats like a silver day-moon white, Nor in our darkness sinks to rest, But sets within a golden ^s•cst. Ah, tender hour that sends a drift Of children's kisses through the honse, And cuckoo notes of sweet "■ Good night." That thouglits of heaven and home arouse, And a soft stir to sense and heart, As when the bee and blossom part ; ^\ud little feet that patter sk)wer, Like the last dropj)iugs of a shower And in the children's room ah^ft, What blossom shapes do gaily slip Their daily sheaths, and rosy run From clasping hand and kissing lip, A naked sweetness to the eye — Blossom and babe and buttertly In witching one, so dear a sight ! An eestacy of life and light. 107 T III: cm /, J) li /.; ,v 'S II E D-'l'l il E . Then lilv-drost. in angel white, To iiiuther'.s knee tliey troopiiiif fome. The soft. ])ahns iWld like kis-sing .shells, And they and we go singing home Their bright heads howed and worshi|.ing, As thougli some glory of the spring, Some datl'odil that moeks the day, Should fold his golden palms and pray. The gates of jiaradise swing wide A moment's space in soft accord, And tliose dread angels, Life and Death, A moment vail the tlaming sword, As o'er this weaiw world forlorn From Eden's seeret heart is boi-ne That breath of Paradise most fair, Which mothers call " the children's i)rayer.' Then kissed, on beds we lay them down, As fragrant white as clover'd sod. And all the upper floors grow hushed "With children's sleep, and dews of God. And as our stars their beams do hide. The stars of twilight, opening wide, Take up the heavenly tale at even, And light us on to God and heaven. That man lives twice that lives the first life well. — liohcri Her rich. 168 1 i THE EVENING PRAYER. ^ip^WLL day tlic cliildreirs Imsy feet ^&MMk lliid pattered to and fro; §M^ And all tlie dav their little liaiidrt '•llJA Had been in miseliiei' so, — u That oft my patience had been tried; But tender, l()vin<>; care Had kept them through the day froui liarnij Aiul sate I'loin ev'ry snare. But when the even-tide had come, The ehildren went up-stairs. And knelt beside their little beds, To say their wonted prayers. "With folded hands aiul rev'rent mien, "Our Father," first they say, Then, '• Now T lay me down to sleep," With cliildlike faith they pray. With eheeks njKm the pillow i)ressed, Tiiey jmous. -T^-T^ftfJ^pi-r-- -^ . HOME AIID ITS QUEEN. IIEIJE is prol)ahIy not an unpervertod man li womf ^^„ - J»& "J'^ does not feel that the sweetest consolations and r'^^ best rewards of life are found in the loves and delights of % home. There ar^ xery i^^^■ who do not feel themselves indebted I to the influences that clustered around their cradles for what- ever good there may be in their characters an, with rosy faces, Clothed in jackets brown and ^rav ; Dainty sac^ues of blue and scarlet, IMake the lassies warm and gay: With their satchels filled with chestnuts?, Or with apples red and gold ; Lunclieon-baskets filled with acorns, — More than tiny hands can hold : Come the hai)py, laughing children, In the e\ en clear and cool ; To a mother's heart of welcome They are conu'ng home from school. Ah I the world has many children "Who are sitting day by day Bending over tasks so tangled, Wearing their sad lives away. With their tear-dimmed eyes turned ever Toward the windows in the West, And theii- weary hearts so anxious For the eventide of rest. But the golden, crimson halos, •')f the glorious setting sun, Will illume those shadowed faces When the study hours are done. 172 TO r li aiRLs. They will close tlie l)()i)ks of trial With tlie blotri iij), ii the h'ln'e?, And will turn their i'ootsteps hoiiiewan!; Bearing with them ripened sheaves. Some have ' u'ned life's ])nzzled import, I'raeticcd well the "golden rule,"' — In our Father's many mansions. They, at last, are home from school. To Adam, Paradise was home. To the good among his de- scendants, home is paradise. — Ihunj IF'^/v, D.D. TO OUR GIRLS. Mary F. Lattirop. ^•i^pjf HE pastoi' of a chui'ch in one of our large cities said to me f" ^11 not lonu ago ; " I have officiated at forty weddings since I came here, and in every case, save one, I felt that the bride S was running an awful risk." Young men of had habits and I fast tendencies never marry girls of their own sort, but demand a wife above suspicion. So pure, sweet women, kepi; from the touch of evil through the years of their girlhood, give themselves, ■with all their costly dower of womanhood, into the keeping of men who, in base associations, have learned to undervalue all that lielongs to them, and then find no time for repentance in the sad after years. There is but one way out of this that I can see, and that is for yuu 173 A PLEA FOR TUB HOT. — tlie voinig woinoii ot" tlie country— to require in association and inarriago, i)urity for purity, sobriety lor sobi'iety, and honor for honor. There is no reason Mliy the young men of this C^liristian land should not be just as virtuous as its young women, and if the loss of your society and love be the price they are forced to pay for vice, they will not pay it. I aduiit with sadness that not all of our young women are capable of this high standard for themselves or others ; too often fi'om the hand of reckless beauty has the tempta- tion to driidv come to men; but I boHeve there are enough of earnest, thoiiglitful gii'ls in the society of our countiy to work won- ders ill the temperance reform, if tully aroused. Dear girls, Mill you help us in the name of Christ \ Will you, first of all, be so true to yourselves and God, so pure in your iTiner and outer life, that you shall have a right to ask that the young men with whom yon asso- ciate, and especially those you marry, shall be the same^ The awful gulf of dishonor is close beside your feet, and in it fathers, brothers, lovers, and sons are going down. Will you not help us in our great work ? A PLEA FOR THE BOY. IIK bov is an offense in himself. He must have soniethinir to do, and as his hands are idle the jiroxerbial provider of occupation for idle hands is always ready with instructions ^S for him. A boy makes noise in utter defiance of the laws of ' acoustics. Shoe him in velvet, and carpet your house as you will, your boy shall make such a luibbub with his heels as no watchman's rattle ever gave forth. Doors in his hands always shut M-ith a violence which jars the whole house, and he is certain to acquire each day the art of screaming or whistling in some wholly new and excruciating 174 n A PLEA. FOR 'III !■: U Y. way. Lovinjr liis niotlior po violently that his caresses deraiiire her iittire and seriously eiidan'^'er her bones, ready to die in her defense it' need be, he nevertheless tonuents her tVoni niornin;;' to niijht, and allows her no possible peace until clumber closes his throat and eye- lids, and deprives his hands and teet of their demoniac cunning. In public your boy is e(|uaily a nuisance. Collectively or imli- vidually he oifends the ])ublic in the streets. "Whatever he does is sure to be ^vroni^■. He monopolizes space and takes to himself all the air there is tor acoustical purposes. Your personal peculiarities interest him, and with all the frankness of his soul he comments upon your appearance, addressing his remarks tu his fellow on the next block. Nevertheless the boy has his uses. He is the material out of ■winch men are to be made for the next jjoneration. lie is not a bad fellow, — that is to say, he is not intentionally or consciously bad. There are sprini^s in his limbs which keep him in j)er])ctual motion, and the devil of uproar of which he is possessed utters the ear- piercing sounds which annoy his elders, but the utterances of which he can no more restrain than he can keep his boots or trousers from wearing out. In a ten-acre lot, well away from the house, the boy is a picturesque and agreeable yierson ; it is only when one must eome into closer contact with him that his presence causes suffering and suggests a statue to King Herod. It is in cities that the boy makes himself felt most disagreeably, and we fancy that the fault is not altogether his. As tlie steam which bursts boilers would be a perfectly harmless vapor but for the sharp restraint that is put upon it, so the effervescent boy becomes dangerous to social order only when he is confined, when an effort is made to compress him into smaller space than the law of his expansive being absolutely requires. We send him upon the war-path by encroaching upon his hunting- grounds ; we drive him into hostility by treating him as a public 175 .1 /' 1. 1: A ]■•() li r II /: no y. il enemy. In most of our doaliiiirs witli him in cities, our olKort is to Hiippress him, uimI it i> an unwis.. system. If his l)all-i)Ii.yin,ir in the streets hiromcs an annoyance, we simply forI)i(l iiall-phiyiiiy in the streets, and it is an inevitable eonsciiuence that, deprived of his li.dl, he will throw stone.) at street lamps or at polieemeii. What else k he to do { In Brooklyn, for example, whose streets are loiin' anressiou is a crude and tyrannical method of dealing with them. In r.oston, a city of notions, whose notions are sometimes surprisingly wise and good, care is taken to give the boys room. A sjiort whicli becomes annoying is not suppressed, but is given ample i-oom in w It . 1 r /- / r / yij A', ])laL'es where it will annoy least ; and wlieii, for fxanipli-, cci'taiii fitrcots are pnhliclv set apart for cdastinii', as tlicv are in iJo^tuu I'MTV winter, tlie police have no dilHciiltv in iircxentinii' coastiiiir elsewhere. The hoy who may ride !ii- Avd or his vidoeijtede to liin heart's content in one street will not cai'e to intrude niton ,r v. We need to adopt a like svsteni in our larger cities. The hoVf. ..iiist iiavo room in whicli to exercise and <:row. If we do not jrive it to them in one i»lace they will take it in another, to our sore iiieou- venience. — J\\iv York /:r< /li/iij J^o.st. WHAT I LIVE FOR a. E. Banks. I *• LIVE for those wlio h)vo me, jJi^^;^ ^''^'1" those 1 know are true, ^1^ I'or the heaven that smiles altove 4^fS' And awaits my spirit too; ih For all human ties that hind me, For the task hy God assigned me, For the bright hopes left beliind me, And the good tliat I can do. me. I live to learn their story, Who've snfliered for my sake, To emulate their gl a-y, And follow in their wake; Bards, martyrs, patriots, sages. The noblest of all ages, Wliose deeds crowd history's pages And Time's great volume make. I ^ (TA V>^ '^%^<^\. <^ O^M IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) 1.0 I.I ■- Ilia |56 13.2 122 2.0 IL25 ill 1.4 m 1.6 Photographic Sdences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 / :a # \ <\ ■\ m €^,, ^.*rofit hy atHietion, Reap truths from holds of tiction, Grow wiser from convi('ti(.n, And fultill each great design. I live for those Mdio hjve me, For those who know ine true, For the heaven that smiles ahove me, And awaits my sj)irit too; For the wrong that needs resistance, For the cause that lacks assistance, For the future in the distance, And the good that I can do. w \ ^I^^E live in deeds, not years ; in thoughts, not breaths ; In feelings, not in figures on a dial. r^ We should count time hy heart-throbs. He most lives, Wlio thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.— ^a/%, 178 CHILDREN OF THE HIGH AND POOR CONTRASTED. ll^B'^^^ '"'^'^i '"<»»''^ son inherits lands, ^f^^ ^^"d pile's of brick, and stone aiid gold, rQ^ ^^" ^ ^'""^ ^*''^'" '*"''^' ^''"* *^ " '"^"''^ manners form his fortune." ^^b,: Wlietlier this be reiilly so ur not, it is certain tliat his niiin- ti^i^ ners tonn las rei)titati(in— stani}) upon him, as it were, his current wortii in the circles where he moves. If his niauners 1 Y are the products of a kind heart, thej will please, though they he destitute of graceful polish. There is scarcely anything of more importance to a child of either sex, than good breeding. If parents and teachers perform their duties to the young faithfully, there will be comparatively few destitute of good manners. Visit a family where the parents are civil and courteous toward all within their household, whether as dwellers or as guests, and your children will learn good mannr-vs, just as they learn to talk, from imitation. But reverse the order of tilings concerning parents, and the children learn ill manners, just as in the former case they learn good manners, by imitation. Train children to behave at home as yon vvould have them act abroad. It is almost certain, that tliey, while children, conduct tl-emselves abroad as they would have been in the habit of doino- under like circumstances when at home. "Be courteous," is an apostolic injunction, whicli all should e^•er remember and obey. linally, " i)e ye all of one nu"ud, having compassion one of another, love as brethren, be jntiful, be courteous." 1 Peter, iii. 8. — Anniiijm(>u.s. Good manners are made of petty sacrifices. — li. ir. E7nct'son. 181 warn ssssBsrass^sse i KIND HAHNERS AT HOHB. i *j^^^| IFETvE are niatiy families, tlio momhors of wliieli are, without Ji (i(iiil)t, dear to each other. If sickness or sudden trouhlc sif*^" falls on one, all are attticted, and make haste to sympathi/.e, i§ help, and comfort. Ihit in their daily life and ordinary iiiter- 1 course there is not oidy no expression of atfeot'on, none of the pleasant and fond behavior that has, perhaps, little diijnity, but whicli more than makes up for that in its sweetness; but there is an absolute hardness of laufi^uage and actions which is shocking to every sensitive and tender feeling. lietween father and mother, and brother and sister, pass i-ough and hasty words ; yes, and angry words, far more frecjuently than woi'ds of endearment. To see and hear them, one would thiidc that they hated, instead of loved each other. It does not seem to have entered into their heads that it is their duty, us it should be their best pleasure, to do and say all tjiat they possi- bly can for each other's good and happiness. " Each one for himself, and bad luck take the hiiulermost." The father orders and growls, the mother frets, comjdains, aiul scolds, the children snap, snarl, and whine, and so goes the day. Alas for it, if this is a type of heaven ! — as " the family " is said to be — at least, it is said to be the nearest thing to hea\en of anything on earth. But tlie spirit of selhshness, of violence, render it more like the other place — yes, and this too often, even when all the members of the household are mend)ers of the Church. "Where you see — when you know it — one family M'here love and gentleness reign, you see ten where they only make visits, and this among Christian families as well as others. 182 'rimr^ K I .\ n MA .\ .V /; i: s . I '/' // o M E . Now, it is a nad and iiieiaiicliulj tliiiii!,- to " sit solitary "' in life l>iit give nic a cave in the bowels of eartli, give ine a lodge in any waste, howling wilderness, where foot nor face of Iniman being ever eanie, rather than an abode with ])aretits, friends, or kin(b-ed, in which I niii:,t hear or utter language which causes pain, ur where I nm^t see conduct which is not !>orii of htve. JS'o wealth, no advan- tage of any kind, would induce nie to live with people whose inter- course was of such a nature. The dearer they were to me, the less would I remain among them, if they did not do all they could to make each other happy. AVith mere strangers one might endure even under such circumstances, to renuun for a time; fbr Mhat thev say or do has but limited etl'ect upon one's feelings; but how mcu'i- bcrs of the same family, children of the same parents, can remain together, year after year, when every day they hear (juarreling, if they do not join in it, and when hard words lly on all sides of them, thick as hail, and the very visitors in their house are rendered u)icomfortable by them, is indeed a mystery. "Count life by virtues ; tlicsc will lust ^^'lu■n lit'o's lame, foiled, race is o'er; And these, when earthly joys are past, Slnll cheer us on a briijlitor sliore." — Anon II. I ijmoua. UR lives are albums written through "With good or ill. with false or true ; 1H«V'*~ "^'"^ "^ '^^'^' blessed angels turn if The ])ages of our years, I fiod grant they read the good with smiles And blot the ill Avith tears. — Jnlm G. Whlttier (in an album). 183 HOME AMUSEMENTS. \V. II. H. MriiRAY. CLOSE observer of American lite Siiid to lis the other day tliat a p-eat chaiii^e had come in the hist ten years to the f 1^"^ '^ home lite of the country. And in answer to our interroga- 'W tion, he jjroceeded to point out the character of this change. f One point which he made was that a great many games of sl brains to play chess eyen moderately well, and none but cleyer and thoughtful people would ever like it. We noticed also tiiat cards are no longer abjured as they once were in households. Whist and euchre are domiciled, to-day, in homes where, a decade ago, their names c(juld not have been spoken safely save in a whisper. Checkers are not perhaps more universal, but they are more fashionable. They have fought their way into high life; and whereas they once found their friends in the village tavern and in the farmer's kitchen, they are now admitted in the parlors of the wealthy and retined. The •rames plaved with historical cards are also numerous and many (jf them pleasantly exciting. And you find them in almost every house- hold. Now all this is very pleasant and hopeful. It reveals to the thinker the fact that home life is more vivacious and happy than it used to be ; that the long dull evenings are being enlivened with 184 U M /•; .1 .)/ / .v A' .1/ A' .V T S , sprightly and stinuilating anuiricnieiits. and that tlio homo c-inh' is charged with attraction.s wliidi it once sadly lacked. These games are helping to make the homes of the country happier, helping to make the children more contented with their homes, and in (h.in^^ this they are helping to make the country more intelligent and iii.,ie virtuous. By wise parents these games are looked upon as (i'looiii ovor tlie lioiise- li(il(', while a smile, like a j^leaiii ufsiiiisliiiu'. mav iijilit up the darkest and weariest hours. Like uuexpet'ted tlowers, I which spriiii^ up along our i)at]i, full of freshness, fragrance and Iieauty, do kind words and gentle acts and sweet disjtositioiis, make glad the home where peace and blessing dwell. No matter h(tw huiiii'le the abode, if it bo thus garnished with grace and sweet- 0110(1 v>ith kiiiduesa and smiles, the heart will turn lovingly toward it i'rom all the tumult of the world, will be the dearest spot l)oiioath tlie circuit of the sun. And the iatluenees of home perpetuate themselves. Tiie gentle grace of the mother lives in the daughter long ai'lor iu-r head is pillowed in the dust of death; and the fatherly kindness linds its echo in the nobility and courtesy of sons, who come to wear his mantle and to fill his place; while, on the other hand, from an un- liap]iy, misgoverned, and disordered home, go forth persons who shall make other homes miserable, and pei^petuato the sourness and sad- lu'ss, the contentions and strifes and railings which hmc made their own early lives so wretched and distorted. Toward the cheerful home, the children gather "as clouds and as doves to their windows," Avhile from the home which is the abode of discontent and strife and trouble, they tly forth as vultures to rend their prey. The class of men who disturb and distress the world, are not 186 I' HE i-.lJCMj.u.s //O.I/ A'. ,""'* ''"""""', ""-I •"■"■I 'I- i,„ii,„vc..i i„n n, „r n,ri..i,m >«"- ; 1... n„l,„r ,1,,,.. „l,„„ ,„.|j. life ,..„ ,,,„ „ „.,.,„, „, „.„ ™ a .1 vex,,„o„,-wl,„ !,„>. „„,,„, „.,„,,, ,, „„. ^^^ ' THE FARMBR'iS HOHS. _,^ , \\ II.I.IAM fl. YeOMANS g: '-"f ■■" ''f- --a«,hvdli„«, ,•.,„„ i,., „ 0i, ol u l„,,«L.,. „K.u„i„,.. TlKTo a,-c l.rilli,,,,, ami c.|.,-a„t If wan ?■ "',";""■ """■• ""■'■'■'■ "'"' ""■^■'■"'- »"J "» "■■" 4^. >a,n, anj semal, .,, „,„„. „,„„,,„. ,,„„,„„ ,„„, ,,,, ^ '""r'' ;""-^' "',"' '■' ^* ""■' '-■ 'l>a- Tl„,.c ar. la-i,-!,. I,„„i a..,l ,.|„„,,,,. 1,„„.., Tl,c.,.. arc. l„„„o» ,!,„, l,,,,.,-,. a,„i l,„s,le . ,,, , a ,n,.o«a,,i ia,,„, ,„„ „„„ „„„,„„.„,:,„„ ":■ ""- ''","■'■ "' ' ''■ ' »'^' "-ifl, ,l,i, la», vicnv. S.i™,,. l™ ,"-■ ""':'' "■ ■■'■"""'■ "- •l™l^--.v i.. .n„. I,„„c., i„„,,„,„,-,„. „„.e ::';:';■'■ ;'" ■■^''■»' '"■""■ " '"■-' 3 a „„v„„„„™,, ,„; . - .0 „ e„, ,„ ,„^, ,„ „^^ ,,^ ^^ ^^ '•.P|.J. IVo A,„I,I l,„,-o ligl,, i„ „„, ,„„„,,. ,,„„^,,,,^ ™.parc„. l,g„ I, „„„„, „„. „,,„„,„. ,„„„^. .^ ,, I . «n. l>nrplc., tf ,t ., „,„,. ,„,•„„,„ „,■ ,.,,^, ^,„.,^^^ ,^„„ ^^,_,^^_^^^^ ";; -"-''Y '-W ^^' »P.-ead with eve,,„,i„« p«, „,„, e,,,-,,.,. ha,; ,f ■; "™ '" '"""I--"'''" '» ».e perfec.,i„„, „,• ,. ...,„>,«, „.„„i„w,, „„J „,.„„„,,„ ™,,,e,.,cr„,vdi.,go,„ tl,o el,ild,.c.„ isr // O M H M E M n H / E S . If you caniiof. liavo a larpo conservatory, have a small out', (iivo your childrt'ii pots, so tliat liy the caro and attention bestowed npon tlieni tlicy may learn the liahits ofain'mals. Of the (irnamentation about a house, although a broad lake lends a eharin to the seenery, it cannot compare with the babbling brook. As tile little streandet goes tumbling over the rocks and along the Bhallow, pebbly bed, it may be a marvellous teacher to the children, giving them lessons of enterprise and perseverance. In our homes we must have industry and sympathy. In choos- ing amusements for the children, the latter element must be brouirht in. To fully nuderstand the little ones, you must sympathize with them. When a child asks questions, do not meet it with, " Oh, don't bother me." Tell it all it wants to know. Never let your ann-ry passions rise, no matter how much you may be tried. For full and intelligent happiness in the home circle, a library of the best works is necessary. Do jiot introduce the milk and water fiction of the ])rcsent day, but bo(»ks of character. Our homes should have their ba!)baths and their family altars. Around these observances cliii" many of the softest and most sacred memories of our lives. HOME MEMORIES, Thomas Hood. ^^m KKMEMIJER, I remember, I'^jlj^i The house where I ^yas born, 'dl^' The little window where the sun Came pee])ing in at morn. He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day ; 188 1 1 // (I M h: M t: M II i; 1 1: s , But now 1 often wish tin- night Had l)ornc my breatii away I I renit'iuher, I renicinhcr, Tlio roses, rod and white. The vioh'ts and tiie lily-cuiw, — Those flowers made of liirlit I The lihies where the ruhin built, And where my brother set Tlie lal)nnuim on his birthday — The tree is living yet! 1 remember, I remember, "Where I was used to swinir, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the winir ; My sp'irit tlew in feathers then, That is so heavy now, And suunner pools eould hardly cool The fever on my brow! I remember, T ivmember, The fir-trees dark and high ; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky. It was a childish ignorance, 13ut now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther oft' from heaven Than when I was a boy. 180 SINCIKQ IN TH3 FAMILY. i ! ^f^;^,n/riVATE siiiffing in your fainily. Begin when the child •it^f^ii is not vet tliree veart^ old. The songs and hymns your fP childhood ^ang, bring them all back to your memory, and •fh teach them to your little ones ; mix them all together to meet \ the varying moods as in after life they couie over us so myste- riously at times. ^Many a time, in the vei'y whirl of business, in the sunshine and gayety of the avenue, amid the splendor of the drive in the park, some little thing wakes up the memories of early youth — the old mill, the cool spi-ing, the shady tree by the little school-house — and the next instant we almost see again the ruddy cheeks, the smiling faces, and the merry eyes of schoolmates, some of whom are gi-ay-h.eaded now, wliile most have i)assed from amid earth's weary noises. And, anon, "the soilg my mother sang" springs unbidden to the lips, and soothes and swecteus all these memories. At other times, amid the crushing mishaps of business, a merry ditty of the olden time In-eaks in upon the ugly train of thought, and throws the mind in another channel; light breaks from behind the cloud in the sky, and new courage is given us. The honest man goes gladly to his work : and when, the day's labor done, his tools are laid aside and he is on his way home, where wife and child and the tidy table and cheery fireside await him, how can he but have music in his heart to break forth so often into the merry whistle or the jocund song '. Moody silence, I'ot the merry song, weighs down the dishonest tradesman, tlie pertidious clerk, the unfaithful servant, the perjured pu'tner. 190 AJiT I .X T If K FA M ILT. "We accord," says a gentleman who has written mncli, 'S.ur unqualified indorsement of the above; and oven now, although we have passed our three-score years, the songs of our youth are often resurrected, and we love to hum them o\er again, and often do so, in the lone hours of the night, when there are none to hear save our- self and the di.^wsy ' gray spiders on the wall ; ' and while doing so, we feel less inclined toward ' treason, stratagem and spoils,' than at any other hour within the twenty-four. We fondlv look back to the days when we were as musical as a hand-org. and perhaps as 'cracked' as many of them, too-those days when we so li^ditly touched the keys to the measure of the songs we sang. We often regret time, .-i re um stance and advancing years have ^so effectually quieted our ^•ocal nmse ; still we revert to the ballads of yore, and mentally exclaim, Sing me the soup* tlint to me were so dear, Long, Idug ugo ; long, loug ago."' — Anonymous. ART IK THE FAMILY. fr Las been said that there is sure to be contentment in a home, in the windows of which can be seen birds or flowers ; and it nuiy also be added that there will be the same conditions wherever there are pictures on the walls. It is, of course, not ^1^ every one wlio is a judge of art, but even a contemplation of art will educate, and it is safe to say that a man cannot have a paint- ing in his room and see it day after day without sooner or later bcirin- ning to be able to tell its merits or defects, and thus being better titied to judge of others in the future. The engraWngs and chromos seen in 191 AJiT ly Tin: family. the homes of tlie poor may, if incasiired by tlie critical rules of art, be wretched daubs, but they at least show a loiii>'ing and an aspira- tion after beauty, while their presence helps to produce a repose of mind, and brings nothing with it but good. The loving manner in which children linger over pictures tells how deeply this feeling is implanted in the heart, and long before they can read, their dawning powers are gradually being strengthened by these silent educators. Nor is the intluence which tlowers have, any less than that of paintings. At all seasons of the year they are gladly M-elcomed. They are emblematic of both the joys and sorrows of life, and religion has associated them with the highest spiritual verities. Faded although they sometimes nuiy be, they have the power to wake the chords of memory lad nuvke us children again. At the sick-bed and the marriage feast, on the altar and the cathedral walls, they have a meaning, and the humblest home looks brighter where they Idooin. A few years ago, at horticultural societies in England, jirizes were oifered to villagers for the best etlbrts in cottage gar- dening, and the result was that a great change came over the home-life of the people. Instead of gardens iilled with rank grass and weeds, there could be seen flaming hollyhocks, blood-red roses and purple geranimns, and a spirit of friendly rivalry and emulation was created, leading to improvements in households, and aiding habits of cleanliness and industry. Let any one walk through our markets on these bright spring monungs and watch how tenderly some poor seamstress will liiiger over a tiny flower and bear it away proudly to cheer the loneliness of her scantily furnished room, and he will admit that if such a little thing can bring pleasure or satistaction, every efl'ort made to improve the taste of the masses and lead them to make home pleasant is to be conmiended as weakening the influ- ence of evil and diffusing a power which will prove a potent factor for good. — Baltiiiioi'c Anwrican. 192 CONVERSATION. i'M" 4l^^t MOXG lioiiie amusements the best is tlie good old huhit of conversation, the talking over the events of the dav, in ,.^,j^ ••'•'^'•'t and (iniek play of wit or fancy, the story which brings i^ the hu.gh, and the speaking the good and kind and true things, I which all have in their hearts. It is not so much by dwelling upon what members of the family have in common, as bringing each to the other something interesting and amusing, that home litb is to be made cheerful and joyous. Each one must do his part to nnike conversation genial and happy. We are ready to converse with newspapers and books, to seek some companion at the store, hotel, or club-room, and to forget that home is anything more than a phice to sleep and eat in. The revival of conversation, the entertainment of one another, as a roomful of peojde will entertain themselves, is one secret of a iiappy home. Wherever it is wanting, disease has struck into the root of the tree; there is a want which is felt with increasing force as time goes on. Conversation, in many cases, is just what prevents many people from relapsing into utter selfishness at their firesides. This conversation should not simply occupy hus- band and wife, and other older members of the family, but extend it- self to the children. Parents should be careful to talk with them, to enter hito their life, to share their trifles, to assist in their studies, to meet them in tiie thoughts and feelings of their childhood. It is a great step in education, when around the evening lamp are gathered the different members of a family, sharing their occupation with one another— the older assisting the younger, each one contributing to the entertainment of the other, and all feeling that the evening has 193 S P K A li V II E /•; H /■ I • L W It D S , jiiihscd only too rapidly away. This is the truest and best amuse- ment. It is the healthy education of great and nolile characters. There is the freedom, the breadth, the joyousness of natural life. The time spent thus by parents, in the higher entertaimnent of their children, bears a harvest of eternal Ijlessings, and these long evenings furnish just the time. — C'hurc?ima)t, ! I ill i SPEAK CHEERFUL WORDS. tiPF^l! ^^^ ^* '^^ ^^^^^ ^" many people keep all their ))leasaut thoughts Ijl^^r, and kind words about a man bottled and sealed imtil he f>^,^ is dead, when tliev come and break the bottle over his cofttn, and bathe his shroud in i'ragrance ^ Many a man goes IT through life with scarcely one bright, cheerful, enct liiiii in \y,\>i years, and of tlie treatment he had received. Tliere were enough kin.I thiii-s said (hirino- th." tvv.. or three somed out to., late. 'i"hc kindness came when the life could not receive its l.lessinus. — Alinii III II DUX, NONE LIVETH TO HIMSELF. l^ff ^^'^ ^'-'^ written upon the flower that sweetens the air, upon jMm^ ^''^' l"'^'eze that n.cks the flower up<.n its stem, upon the ;:|f rain-drops tliat swell the nuglity river, upon the dew-drops that refresh the smallest sj.rig of moss that rears its head in the desert, upon the ocean tliat rocks every swinnrier in its diannel., upon every penciled shell that sleeps in the caverns of the deep, iis well as npon the mighty sun which warms and cheers the mMlions of creatures that live in his light-upon all he has written, -iN-one of us liveth to himself." — AhonijiiioHs. 195 SPEAK A GOOD WORD. J^^^^F villi say anytliiiij:; iil)out a iR'ir (ir tVii'iid, or even a l^ai'r stranger, say no ill. It is a Christian and limtlierly charity |!^'' * to siijipress our knowledge of evil of one aiiothei', unless 5ip^ our iiigher public duty compels us to liear accusing witness. And 'jj if it be true charity to keep our kii(iirliy far the commonest ten- dency to suppress the good we know of our neighbors and friends. We act in thiri matter as thougb we felt that by pusliiiig our fellows down or back a peg we wei'e putting ourselves uj) and forward. W(^ are jealous of commendation unless we get the larger share. Social conversation, as known to every observer, is largely made up of what, is best understood by the term svninldl. It would be ditKcult to tind a talkative group, of either sex, who could s])en(l an evening or an hour together without evil speecli of somebody. " Blessed are the peaee-makers," is not the maxim by which we are chietly governed in our treatment of personalities, lietter a thousand times, stand or sit dumb than to open oiir lips never so ehxpiently in the disparage- ment of others. What we should do in this, as in all our human relations, is to practice the (Jolden Rule. If we do nnto others as we would that others sliould do unto lis, we shall be exceedingly careful not to volunteer ill words about them. "When other than a good word is to be s])oken, let it be spoken to the person concerned, that he may know your motive is not idle, cowardly and sinister, jmd that he may have a chance to defend himself. — Anonymouts. Ifld SMILES, Mhs. Bmn. ^P'F people M'lll only notice, they will be amazed to find how fSi ts^m r iiiiu'h a really enjoyable evening owes to smiles. Bnt few |l^' consider what an important symbol of tine intellect and tine ^il^ feeling they are. Yet all smiles, after childhood, are things of ip education. Savages do not smile ; coarse, brutal, cruel men nuiy laugh, bnt they seldom smile. The atHuence, the benediction, the radiance, which Filla the silence like a si)eecli, is the smile of a full apprec iative heart. The face that grows finer as it listens, and then breaks into sun- shine instead of words, has a subtle, charming intiuenee, nniversally felt, thoujih vcrv seldom understood or acknowledu'ed. Personal and sarcastic remarks show not only a bad heart and a bad head, but bad taste also. Xow, society may tolerate a bad heart and a bad head, but it will not endure bad taste; and it is in just such points as this that the conventional. laws which they have nnide, represent and enforce real obligiUions. There are many who would not cease from evil s])eak- ing because it is M-rong, who yet restrain themselves because it is' vulgar. Lord Bacon tells of a nobleman whom he knew — a man who gave lordlv entertaimnents, but alwavs suflered some sarcastic personality to " mar a good dinner," adding, " Discretion of speecli is more than eloquence ; and to speak agreeably to liira with Mhom we deal is more than to speak in good words ; for he that hath a satirical vein, making others afraid of his wit, hath need to be afraid of another's memory." 19T JOY BRINCSRG. ^.|l,^^|^()ME men move through life as a band of nnisic iiiovos down |i^Ps^ the street, tliiij^iii,:; nut ])leasure on every side through the /i'p' till the air with tiieir i>reseiiee and sweetness, as (.rchards in Y*" October days till the air with the i>erfunie of ripe fnut. Some women elin,i>-t() their own houses, like the honeysuckle over the d(i(ir, yet, like it, sweeten all tiie region witli the subtle fragrance of thc'r "'oodness. There are trees of riu-htenusness, which are ever dropping precious tVuit arouiul them. There are lives that .-liine like star-beams, or charm the heart like songs sung upon a holy day. How '"'reat a bounty and blessing it is to hold the royal gills of the soul, so that thev shall be music to some and fragrance to others, and life to all 1 It would be no unworthy thing to live for, to make the power which we have within us the breath of other men's joy; to scatter sunshine where only clouds and shadows reign ; to fill the atmosphere where earth's weary toilers must stand, with a brightness which they can not create for themselves, and which they long for. enjoy and appreciate. — Anonymous. QRUMBLEHS. fllERE are persons who are not satisfied in circumstances that .^„ to all but themselves seem to be the most favorable to their interests. Leigh Hunt— in one of his letters, we think— speaks of a day that could not midie any creature happy but a vender of 198 L V !•: TO o r I! /•' h: l h n w - v /; ,v . uiiibrelliiw. Vot a triuiid of ours, rcmoinlK'riiig tins utterance', availod liiiii.selt'ot'a (lay " of iiever-tiriii;^ rain" to conj^n-atnlatc! liis uiiilirclla inerehaiit, and ho sei'ured tlii.s roply : '• It's ail vcrv well, sir. so far as inv inuhrcllas are conceniod, but you see I'm not sellinu' a single parasol ! " lie would have had it wet on one side of the street, and .«torni_v upon the other, and since it was not, he was dissatisiied — a natural grumbler. — Aiwui/htoiiti. LlOKlll Ik-NT. LOYE TO OUR FSLLOW-MEN. (aiioi- 1!I:.\ aduem.) PJBOr BEX ADIIKM, may his trii)e increase, h Awoke one nii;ht from a deei) dream of peace, ;i-,;)."ji/ And saw within the inoonli<>ht in his room, ''liaT Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, I An anijel, writing- in a book of yold. Exeeeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in his room he said : " What writcst thon i " The vision raised its head, And with a look, made all of sweet accord. Answered, " The names of those that love the Lord." '• And is mine one ? "' said Abou. '• Nay, not bo," Eeplied the angel. Abou si)oke more low. But eheerly still, and Siiid, '' I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." The angel wrote and vanished. The next night lie came again with a great waking light, And showed the names whom love of God had blest, And, lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. I'J'J WORDS TO BOYS. Jamkn T. FiKi.ns. WorLD ki'op '* l)otter hours." if I wero ii liuv ajiaiii : fittaaiy tliiit is, I would "TO to 1)0(1 oiirlier than most hovs do. 1^ >>othing ^ives more mental and hodily vif^or than sound !& rest when jn-operly applied. Sleep is our j;reat replenisher, and if we negleet to take it regularly in childhood, all the worse for us when we grow uj). If we go to hed early, we ri|)en ; if we sit np late, we decay ; and sooner or later we contract a disease called insomnia, alknving it to be permanently fixed upon us, and then we begin to decay, even in youth. Late hours are shadoAvs from the gra\e. If I were a boy again, I would practise perseverance oftener, and never give up a thing because it was hard or inconvenient to do it. If we want light, we must conquer darkness. When I thiid< of mathematics T blush at the recollection of how often I "gave in" years ago. There is no trait more valuable than a determinatioji to persevere when the right thing is to be accomplished. We are inclined to give up too easily in dithcult or unpleasant situations, and the point I would establish with myself, if the choice was again within my grasp, would be never to relinquish my hold on a ])ossible success if mortal strength or brains in my case were adequate to the occasion. That was a capital lesson whic-h a learned Professor tauffht one of his students in the lecture-room after some chemical experiment. The lights had been put out in the hall, and by acci- dent some small article dro])ped on the tloor from the Professor's hand. The Professor lingered behind, endeavoring to i)ick it up. '* Xover nnnd," said the student, " it is of no conse(pience to-m'ght. sir, whether we tind it or no." '' That ij true," replied the I'ro- 200 h n M i:sr I r It I, i ss. f'L's.-ur ; '■ liut it i> of grave (•tiiis(.'(jui'in'(.' to iiil", us ii jn'iiicipk', tliat I iim Mot foiled in my (li'ttTiniiiiitioii to tiiid it." IVrsevcraiur can eoiuetiiiii's ecjual j^i'iiiiis in its results. "There are (»nly two crea- tures," says the Eastern jjroverb, " who can surmount the pyramids — the eagle and the snail." ,> DOMESTIC BLi:>S. James Tuomson. iffK.AI'PV they, the happiest of their kind, ?|Mas AVhoni gentler stars unite, and in one fate n^ 'J'heir heai'ts, their fortunes, and their beings blend. v(v "Tis not the coarser tie of human laws, I Unnatural oft and foreign to the mind. That binds their ])eace, hut harmony itself, Attuning all their })assi(>ns into love; "Where friendship full exerts her softest power. Perfect esteem, enlivon'd l)y desire Inetlable, and sympathy of soul ; Thouglit meeting thought, and will preventmg -will, "With I)oundless confidence. '^TD Y the fireside still the light is shining, (t^- The children's arms round the parents twining. From love so sweet, O, who would roam '. Ee it ever so homely, home is home. — J//**' Jfulocl: 201 THE POWER OP HOME. W!lf"'' I'"'"'*''""*' '""""" I'ttiK-'Iiiiicnt is as strung in American ;'-tWs ■-'"■'''•^ ^"-'l''.v "■■^ 't liii'* t'viT Ir'l'ii ill the past. Tliciv is a r J^ chaiiui', ii(.(i()iil)f, with the more iVt'iiuontivnioval (if faniilifs ll Ih.Mi .■lit- ivsideiicf to am.thcT, witli the more .i^'cnenil relations to >.„ V in which each hou^eholil has come to stand, anvl witii the earlier jiassaye, of tlu" h.hs espeeialk, out of the jjarentul household into homes (.f their own. And \v\ I I.elieve thai in the coiiiitry at lari^^e home is, perhaps, now more attraetive than it ever vas hefore. It lias more of literature, more of art, more mnsie in it than it had; and, while parental authority is hardly recopu/ed, ])crliaps, as distinctly as it used to he, i)arenta] iidlnonee is as strong as ever; while enforced ohedieiice on the j)art of ehihlren Is not as nniver^al. lilial confidence, iilial affection, the fn-e service of lilial liherty. have taken tli^^ i.l.icc of it, to the great advantage of honse- hold ami eommnnity. As long as a hoy is anchored to a ha])py Christian home, to the experieiiee of it in his youth and the remem- hranee of it in liis manhood, he is reasonahly safe for this life and the next. As long as a nation is anehorod to its homes, that mition is reasomd)ly secui-e of a eontimn'ng, deve]o])ing, and eonstantly more ].owerfiil spiritual foree. These," homes of New Etigland and" of tlie West, of the great Inferior a- i of the South, are the unseen si)ring8 mnong the hills out of whici; .: t +!.h- the vast, constant, command- ing currents of public moral pr^ p -ly an(; iife. ■.:(yi THE BRIGHT CIDE. I;'rp|^'()l)Tv outl,,. l.rioht H.le. If is the n-lit sM... TIio tii.u-s ^USM Mutyho ],aril, hut it will make ti„..n „.. ..aHcr t.. wrar a JJa^ til.iuin V and sa.l (•..uuteinnRT. It i. fl... simi^Iumi. a.i.l nut tl.c ± .•l.M.d tliat -ivcs heanty t.. tl.e lluwcr. TIiito is always Ldniv or [ arunn.l .is that which shcuKl cliwr and till thf hw.rt with wan.ifh and j,dadncss. The nky is l.lno ten thues where it k l.lack ..nc... ^ o„ have tiv.uhles, it may he. S„ hav.- ..thors. \„ne are tree tion, tlieni: and perhaps it is as well that none shoidd i)e. Thev -ive sinew and tone to life, fortitude and eonraire to man. That would Ih" a dull sea. and tlie sailor would never a.-.|uirc skill, where there is •lothin.u- to .listurh its surfaee. It is the duty of every one to extract all the happiness and enjoyment iieean within and without him; and "'"•""' ""' ''^' •■^''^"•'1 '< "" >l'^ I'H^ht side. Wliat thou-h thin-s do look a little The lane will Umu and the ni-ht will e,',d in broad day. In the h.ng run the ,i,wat balance n^hts itself What appears ill l.ecomes Mx-Il-that winch ai>i.ears wron-, W-ht. Men are i.ut alway.s to ban- the emotion of the soul. Let the children have the benelit of them-those little ones who need the sunshine of the heart to educate them, and would find •J05 COV n TE S Y A T 11 O M E . a level for their buoyant nature in the cheertiil, loviiii; lacos of those Mho need them. Let them not be kept from the middle-aged, mIio need the enooui'agement they bring. Ciive your smiles also to tiie aged. They come to them liiic the quiet rain of summer, making fresh and verdant the long, Aveary path of life. They look fur them from you, who are rejoicing in the fnllness of life. If your seat is hard to sit upon, stand up. If a rock rises up before you, roll it awav, or climb over it. If you want money, earn it. It takes longer to skin an elephant than a mouse, but the skin is worth something. If you want contidence, prove yourself worthy of it. Do not be content with doing what another has done— sur- pass it. Deserve success, and it will come. The boy was not born a man. The sun does not rise like a rocket, or go down like a bullet iired from a gun ; slowly and surely it makes its round, and never tires. It is as easy to be a lead horse as a wheel horse. If the job l)e long, the pay will be greater; if the task be hard, the more com- petent you n.ust be to do it.— J «oy/////,r;»6'. COURTESY AT HOME. ^tl^Sllj^^^^TESY is the perfume of Christian gi'ace. Its luster '■i^^i should be an expression of the best emotiuns of the soul. ^^' The word is derived from the I''rench, and is closely allied Vij therefore, in origin, with '"courtier;' which has an equivocal j' meaning. A corn-tier is supposed to jxissess elegant manners, cultivated however and used nniinly for seltish ends. ]\)lite- ness, wliich is the syiu)nym of courtesy, is <,f nobler birth. It comes ^'''' ^ C^Ywk term, signitying citizenship. As the divine kin-'dom 20G COURTESY AT HOME. is distinct in its laws, spirit, an.l purpose, from the kingdoms of tl.is earth, so too are its members held together by a supernatural life, ri.ey comitose one bo.Iy, ruled by one Supreme Head. Christian politeness is therefore the product of regeneration. Its roots are iu the heart. They are watered from above. All, then, who are sub- jects of Divine orace, should be gracious, kind, considerate, courteous and polite in their deportment, and show fortli the savor of the precious anointing they hiive received. How much a sincere and hearty politeness mav do for otliers is readily tested an//w/' Goldnmith. 208 THE MORALITY OF MANNERS. Ili)i!A( K Maw. 'AXNKRS ofis^ily and ra].i(l]y iiiatiiro into morale. As diildlumd advances to manlm.Ml, tl.e tnin^itiun tn.m l)ad l|.f%'' "'"i»»ei-rt to l.ad morals is almost imperceptible. Viil-rar 7\< ^ and obscene objects betbre the mind, engender im]Mire images iji the imagination and make nnlawt'nl desii'es prurient. From tlie prevalent state of the mind, actions jiroceed as water rises from a fountain. Hence what was originally only a word or l.hrase becomes a tli(jught, is meretriciously embellished by the imagi- nation, is intiamed into a vicious desire, g.;ins strength and Imldness by always being welcome, until at last, under some urgent tcmptatioii. it dares, for once, to put on the visilde form of action; it is then ventured u])on ;^<.'ain and again, more frequently and less warily, until repetition forges the chains of habit; and then language, iniagina- tion, .lesiro and hal)it bind their victim to the prison-house ot'sin. Ill this way i)rofane language wears away the reverence for things sacred and holy; and a child M'ho has been allowed to follow and mock and lu.ot at an intemperate man in the streets is far more likely to become intemperate himself tiian if he has been accustomed to regard lum with pity, as a fallen brother, and with sacre <"iii 5'ecall rtci.res of cas(?rt witliiii lii.s ii^4 lK Witt Tai.maok. mpIE .vuson I Imvo pmu-l.tMl ten sormons to n.n. .,.,1 uora- to |W| "••>"<■", is that the. Mo„„.M are better than n.en. I do not /C|N sav thKs out of con.plin.ent or in ^..llantrv ; ulthon.rh when Cl won.on are bad they are dreadful. Statistien prove this. Thev I liave tewer ten.ptations, are naturally reverential and lovin-^ and It J. eas.er tbr them to beeon.e ( 'hri.tians. " They are the major- ity .n Church on earth, and I suppose they will be three-fourths of the populat.on n. lleuven." In a beautiful hon.estead in liethanv I -idow was ett to take charge of the prennVes. The pet of " .'he house was Mary, a younger sister, who, with a book unde,- her arn, >ns no appearance of anxiety or perturbation. Cin-ist and several of MS tru.,ds arrned at the honse. They did not keep bin. waiting till they adjusted their dress, and after two or three knoekings, hasten to to door and say, "Why! is that you -' No. They wer^ ladies, and always presentable, though they nnght not have on their best If we ahv^ys had on our best, our best would not be worth putting on. They threw open the door and greeted (1n-ist with, "Good n.ornin. Bo seated. Martha went off to the kitchen ; while Marv, believin: "' chnsum of labor, said, "Martha, you go and cook, 'and I'll l^ good. Something went wrong in the kitchen. Perhaps the iire wou dn t burn, or the bread wouldn't bake, or Martha scal.led her hand. At any rate she lost her patience ; and with besweated brow and possibly with pitcher in one I,an■ I do Dot itm^^li wlieii this. They loving, and ' the major- iii-tlisof the l>othan_v, a ]>i't of >iic ■I' licr arm, I Bovoral of vaiting till , hasten to liKlics, and • best. If uttiiig on. nioriiinii'. believing id ril be s the fire ildod her fed brow, "he other, not care i i : i 1 1 ,53 ■4 I wo MA .V, lint Clirist ,«cnl(li(l not u wurd, He M'ciiifil tn .-itv, " ^^v 'Icar Wdiniiii. iloii't wdi'i'v. I.ft tlie (liiiiu'r fj;n. Sit dnwii on the (ittcniiaii Iit'sidi' Miirv, voiir 1iiiiii1)1l' .-istci'." Wlieii u luuii coiiics lioiiie tVoiii Imsiiifss and hol-s liis witi" worn out. lie thinks sliu ouirlit tn liavi' liocn in Wall stivft. and flicn >lit' would liavo xmietliin^' tn wcn-rv Ikt. lie duiv- lint kunw that >1k' cnndiicts a iinivei'sitv, a clnthini' c'stabii^hiiicnt, a restaurant, a lanndrv and a liin'arv; while ^he in ln'alth ntliciT, |)nli({' and in'csidcnt nf her residence. Thev have tn cnntend with severe e<'onnniv. Ninety-nine nut nf iv hundred are subjected to it. If a man smokes vei'v expensive eijfars and eats eostlv dinners in New ^'oi'k. he is exei'ediii'dv desir- ous of making five dollars do the work of seven at home, The wife is hanker in the houseliold ; >he is president, ca>hier, teller and liade By the lij:ht of (piiverinf; as])en made; 1 When pain and aniruish wring the lii'ow, A ministerinir anyel tliou I — Sir Walter Scott. C»e_Vr^ aL^ VE was made of a ril) out of the side of Adam, — not made out '"^T^ hilosophical students of the sex thus judge them. Their intuitions, or insights, are the most subtle. In counseling a man to tell Ins wife, we would go farther, and advise him to keep none of his aft'airs a secret from her. 'Many a home has been hapj-ily saved, and many a fortune retrieved, by a man's full conli.lence in his " bctter-hallV Woman is far more a seer and prophet than man, if she be given a tair chance. As a general rule, wives cimtide the mhiutesU.f their plans and thoughts to their husbands, having no in- volvements to screen from them. Why not reciprocate, if but for the pleasure of meeting confidence with confidence? We are certain that no man succeeds so well in the world as he who, taknig a partner for life, makes her the partner of his inn-poses and hopes. What is wrong of his impulse or judg.nent, she will check and set right with her almost universally right instincts. '' Help-meet " was no insignificant title as applied to man's companion. She is a help- meet to him in every darkness, difficulty and sorrow of life. And what she most craves and most deserves is confidence-w.thout which love is never free from a shadow.-P«c//?6- Rural Press. HOSPITALITY. Oliveu Uoi-dsmith. ■ ■- "I'sLEST be that spot whero cheerful ^niests retire To pause from toil, and trim their evening tire; M^^ ' I'lt^st that abode, where want and pain repair, ^^f And every stranger finds a ready chair: r.lest be those feasts with sini])le plenty crown'd, W'liero all tlie ruddy family around Laugh at the jest or pranks, that never fail, ( )r sigh with i)ity at some mournful tale, Or press the bashful stranger to his food, And learn the luxury of doing good. TRUE HOSPITALITY, Sin AiiTiu". Helps. ■/S^ PETvFECT host is as rare a being as a great ])oet, aiul for much the same reason, namely, that to be a perfect host requires as rare a combination of qualities as those which are needed to jiroduce a great poet. He should be like that lord in waiting of whom Charles II. said, that he was "never in the M-ay, and never out of the way." He should never degenerate into a shdwnrin. for there is nothing of which most people are so soon weary as of being shown things, especially if they are called upon to admire them. lie, the perfect liost. should always recollect that he •^\7 Tii r J-J 11 () s 1' I r A I. I T y . is ill liis own l)ouse, luul tliut his guests are not in theirs, conse- quently those local arrangements Avliich are familiar to him should lie rendered t'ainiliar to them. His aim should lie to make his liouse a home tor his guests, with all the advantage of novelty. If he entertains many guests, he should know enough aliout them to lie sure that he has invited those who will live amicaiily together, and will enjoy each other's society. . lie should show no favoritism, if possihle, and if he is a man who nuist indulge in favoritism, it should be to those of his guests who are more obscure than the others. lie shouhl be judiciously despotic as regards all proposals for pleasure, for there will be nnuiy that are diverse, and nuich time will be wasted if he does not take upon himself the labor and responsibility of decision. lie should have nuich regard to the com- ings and goings of his guests, so as to jirovide for their adit and exit every convenience. Now I am going to insist on what I think to be a very great point. He should aim at causing that his guests should hereafter become friemls, if they are not so at present, so that they might, in future days, trace back the beginning of their friendship to their having met together at his house. lie, the perfect host, must have the art to lead conversation without absorliing it himself, so that he may develop the best qualities of his guests. His expense in entertainment shouhl not be devoted to what is luxurious, but to what is ennobling aiid comfortable. The first of all things is that he should be an ati'ectionate, indeed, a loving host, so that every one of his guests should feel that he is really welcome. lie should ])ress them to stay, but should be careful that this ])ressiiig (hx>s not inter- fere with their convenience, so that they stay merely to oblige him, and not to please themselves. In considering who should be his guests, he should always have a thought as to those to whom he would render most service by having them as his guests, his jtooi-er brethren, his more sickly brethren. Those- who he feels would gain 218 TUK RULE OF U O S P l T A L r T V . most iulviuitagc by being his guests, sh(nild have the iirst place in liis invitations, and for his considerateness he will jje amply rewarded by the benetits he will have conferred. THH RULE OP HOSPITALITY. ^^j._ NV.M. M. F. RorxD. ^1 RTE hospitality is a thing that touches the heart and never fy| goes beyond the circle of generous inipidses. Entertain- iiient with the truly hospital)le man means more tliaii the ''(^ mere feeding of tli" body ; it means an interchange of soul gifts. 1 Still it should Lave its laws, as all things good must have laws to govern them. The obligation to be hospitable is a sacred one, emphasized bv every moral code known to the world, and a practical outcome of the second great commandment. There should never be a guest in the house whose presence rc(|uires any considerable change in the domestic economy. However much the circumstances of business or mutual interests may demand in entertaining a stranger, he sliould never be taken into the family circle unless he is known to be M-liolly worthy of a place in that sanctum miictorimi of social life; but when oiu-e a man is admitted to the home fireside he should be treated as if the place had been his always. The fact of an invitation gives neither host nor guest the right to be master of the other's time, and does not require even a temporary sacrifice of one's entire individuality or pursuits. A man should never be so much himself as when he entertains a friend. \ THE II r L I-: OF iroSPITALITY. To stay at rdingiy. These i'ow social maxims are by no means to be taken as a com- plete Cede i>;'laws. Others tpiite as important will s])ring up out of the personal experience of every reader of this article, and the jus- tice and equity of all may be tested by that infallihlt' standard of society — the (roldcn iinle. There can be no true hospitality that in practice is a violation of this rule ; and you may safely rest assured that you have given the fulk n. and most perfect measure of enter- tainment to your neighbor if you have done exactly as you would be done bv. . ,^H MAX should never be ashamed to own that he has been in r\^^ the wrong, which is but saying in other words, that he is wiser to-day than he was yesterday. — Alexande)' Poj.)e. 220 DON'T BE TOO SENSITIVE. HERE are people— yes, many people — ahvays lonkin; that some otfense is desiirned. '^ They are as touchy as liair-tri^^gers. If they meet an acquaint- I ance whohai)pens to l)e preoccupied with business, tliey attrib- ute his distractiDU in some mode i)ersonal to thenisi'lves, and talve umbrage accordingly. They lay on others tlu' fruit of their irritability. Indigestion makes them see impertinence in every one they come in contact with. Innocent ])ersoiis, who never dreamed of giving offense, are astonished to iind smnc unfortunate word (ir momentary taciturnity mistaken for an insult. To say the least, the habit is unfortunate. It is far wiser to take the more charitaljle view of our fellow-beings, ahd not suppose that a slight is intended uidess the neglect is open and direct. After all, too, life takes its hues in a great degree from the color of our own nund. If we are frank and generous, the world will treat us kindly; if, on the contrary, we are suspicious, men learn to be cold and cautious to us. Let a person get the reputation of being " touchy," and everyl)ody is under restraint, and in this way the chances of an imaginary otfense are vastly increased. — Anonymous. % TITIXK the tirst virtue is to restrain the tongue ; lie approaches nearest to the gods who knows how to be silent, even though he is in the right. — Cato. 321 THE HAPPIEST HOME, M. A. S. M. i HERE is tlio lm]i]>iest home on earth? I'l^ Tis not 'mid scenes of noisy mirtli; IK'"^^ l^iit where God's favor, sou^'ht aright, 3,^ Fills every breast with joy and light. The richest home ? It is not tonnd Where wealth and splendor most abound ; Bnt wheresoe'er, in hall or cot, Men live contented with their k)t. The fairest home i It is not ])laced In scenes with outward beauty graced ; But where kind words and smiles impart A constant sunshine to the heart. On such a homo of peace and love God showers his blessing from above; And angels, M-atching o'er it, cry, "Lo! this is like our home on high !" The intelligence of the people is the security of the nation. — Daniel Webster. Every man is the architect of his own fortune. — Sallust. I \ EDUCATION. >,«!_ ^ II. W. nF.K.niEn. ^f^^-'"^^'^'^^'^'^^' ^^ ^'"^ knowlcdii-e of how to use tiii' wliolo of |S| ^"^''^ •''•-'^^' ^f"' i"'^' ^ftt'" like knivi'.s with many l.ludcs; ®^^ they kuowlunvto open one, and only one; all the rest li- are bnried in the handle, and they are no better than they would J have been if they had been made with but one blade. ^VFany men u.se but one or two faeultie.s out of the score with wliicli they are endowed. A man is educated who knows how to make a tool of every faculty— how to open it, how to keep it sliaiij, and bow to apply it to all practical purposes. ADYICS TO A YOUNG MAN, ^''MtJ, John Todd, D.D. i ]\rAX who (oills it can go anywhere and do what he dcter- ■ mines to do. We must make ourselves, or come to nothini,^ 'j^ under us. I congratulate you on being poor, and thus com- j pelled to work ; it was all that ever made me what little I am. Jficte vlrtuh'. Don't tlinch, Huunder, fall, nor tiddle, ])ut grajiple like a man, and you will be a man. •ij|DEAS go booming througli the world louder than cannon. u>^ Thoughts are mightier than armies. Principles have achieved more victories than horsemen or chariots. — ir. M. Paxton, D.D. 223 1 j I COUNSELS TO THE YOUKQ* l|EVEK be cast down In- friHos. If a spider l^reaks his web ^ twciifv tiiiR.s, tucMitv times will he iiieiid it again. Make S-' ' lip your minds tod,, a tliiisg, and you wiU do it. Fear J\^, ""* '^' t»'"iil>lt-' t'onies upon you; keep up your spirits, fp though the day may be a dark one. " Troubles novcr lost forever ; The (liirkcst (lay will imfa luvay." If the sun is going down, look up to the stars; if the earth is dark, keep your eyes on heaven. With God's presence aud God's promise, a man <»r child may be cheerfid. "Ni'vcr (l('S|iiiir when fdir's in the nir, A siiiislrmy nioniiiifr will cDnif without wiiniingl" :Min*i TO YOUNG MEN. "Sowing Wild Outs," or Wlmt slmll tlic lIiirvoHt 1)P? FIX L Moonv. HEX a iiiuii sows in the natural world he o.\])t'C'ts to iva)). There is not a farmer ^vho goes out to sow, but expects W^r * '^ liarvest. Anotlier tiling— they all expect to reap more ;i^ than thej sow. And they expect to reap the same as they fr sow. It' tliey sow wheat, they expect to reap wheat. W they sow oats, they won't exi)ect to gather watermelons. If they iilant an ajiple-tree, they don't look for peaches on it. If they p!ant a grai)evine, they exi)ect to tind grapes, not pinni)ldns. They will look for just the very seed they sow. Let me say right here, that ignorance of what they sowed will make no ditference in the reaping. It would not do ior a man to say, "I didn't know but what it M-as wheat I was sowing, when I sowed tares." That makes no ditference. If I go out and sow tares, flunking tliat it is wheat, I've got to gather tares all the same. That is a universal law. If a man learns the carpenter's trade, he don't ex])ect to be a watchmaker, he expects to be a carpenter. The man who goes to college and studies hard, expects to reap for those long years of toil and labor. It is the same in the spiritual world. Whatsoever a man or nation sows, he and they must reap. The rea])ing time will come. Men may think Gixl is winking at sin now-a-days, and isn't going to punish sill, because he does not execute his judgments sjieedily ; but be not deceived, (iod is not mocked, and whatsoever a man soweth that shall he reap. I tremble for those young men who laugh in a scoffing way and say, " I am sowing my wild oats." You have got 226 *•.* "t \ TO y (I r .\ |- mid dreams of, but his life cannot be a failure. I never hoar f men eomi)lainiuj»; of the want of ability. The nu)st unsuccess- ful tliiuk that tliey could do j^reat things if they only had the ■chauce. Somehow or other soinetliing or sonieln)dy has always bicu in the way. Providence has hedged them in so that they could not carry out their plans. They knew just how to get rich, I>ut they lacked opi)ortunity. Sit down by one who thus complains and ask bun to tell you the story of bis life. Before be gets half through be will give you occasion to ask him, " ^Vhy didn't you do so at that time I Why didn't you stick to that piece of land and improve it, or to that busi- ness and develop it? Is not the present owner of that property rich? Is not the nuin who took up the business you abandoned .successful?" He will probably reply: "Yes, that was an opportu- nity ; but I did not think so then. I saw it when it was too late." In telling his story he will probably say, of his own accord, half a dozen times, " If I had known how things were going to turn I might have done as well as :Mr. A. That farm of bis was offered to me. I knew that it was a good one, and cheap, but I knew that it would require a great deal of hard work to get it cleared and fenced, to plant trees, vines, etc., and to secure water for irrigation. I tlid not like to undertake it. I am sorry now that I didn't. It was one of my opportunities." S38 ■ A II 1 1. 1 T y A A II () I' r 1{ r iwiT r. The trutl) i'h, God gives to nil „f us ai.ilit.v uiid opportuiiitios viuni^rh to eimblc us to 1)u niodcTatciy suffCKsful. If wu fail, in niiR'ty-tive cases out of a lunidrcd it is our own fault. Wo ni'^'lect to improve the talents with which our Creator endowed us, or wo fuiled to enter the door that he opened for us. A nmn cannot expect that his whole life shall he made up of opportunities, that they will meet him at regular intervals as he goes on, like milestones by the roadside. Usually he has one or two, and if he neglects them he is like a man who takes the wrong road where several meet. The further he goes the worse he fares. A num's oi)portunity usually has some relation to his ability. It is an o])eiung for a man of his talents and means. It is an oi)eiuiig ft.r him t.. use what he has, faithfully and to the utmost. It re(piire8 toil, self-denial and faith. If he says, " I want a better opportunity than that. I am worthy of a higher position than it offers ; '' or if he says, " I won't work as hard and economize as closely as that oi.portunity demands," he may, i- or years, see the folly of his pride and indolence. There are young men all over the land who want t(j get rich, and yet they scorn such opportunities as A. T. Stewart and Conn.iodore Vanderbilt improved. They want to begin, not as those men did, at the bottom of the ladder, but lialf way up. They want somebody to give them a lift, or carry them up in a balloon, so that they can avoid the early and arduous struggles of the majority of those who have been successful. No wonder that such meu"fail,'and then com- plain of Providence. Grundding is usually a nuserable expedient that people resort to to drown the reproaches of conscience. They know that they have been fo(dish, but they try to persuade them- selves that they have been unfortunate.— /Ara^c/ and Presbyter. N •J on -• r HAPPINESS, Alexandek Pope. 5j^ f *IiDER is heaven's st law; and this confessed, Some are, and nmst be, greater tlian tlie rest ; More rich, more wise, but who infers from lience, That snch are liappier, shocks all common sense. Heaven to mankind, impartial, Ave confess. If all are equal in their happiness : But mutual wants this happiness increase, All nature's difference keeps all nature's peace. Condition, circumstance, is not the thing ; Bliss is the same in subject or in king. In who obtains defense, or who defend. In him who is, or him who finds a friend ; Heaven breathes through every member of the whole, One common blessing, as one common soul. DOMESTIC HAPPINESS, William Cowpek. ^^OMESTIC HAPPINESS ! thou only bliss Of paradise, that has survived the fall ! Though few now taste thee, unimpair'd and free, Or, tasting, long enjoy thee ; too infirm, Or too incautious to preserve thy sweets Unmixed with drops of bitter. A^ FAMILY LIFK A TEST OF PIETY. J- ^T is in the family life tliat a man's piety gets tested. Let the husband be cross and surly, giving a snap here and a cuti' tliere, and see how out of sorts everything gets I The wife grows cold and unamiable, too. Both are tuned on one key. Tliey vibrate in unison, giving tone for tone, rising in harmony or discord togetlier. Tlio children grow up saucy, and savage as young boars. The father becomes callous, peevish, liard, a kind of two-legged brute with clothes on. The wife bristles in self defense. They develop an unnatural growth and sharpness of teeth ; and the house is haunted by ugliness and domestic brawls. Is that what God meant the family to be— lie who made it a place for love to build her nest in, and where kindness and sweet courtesy might come to their finest manifestations? The divine idea can be realized. There is sunshine enough in the world to warm all. Why will not men come out of their caves to enjoy it ? Some men make it a point to treat every other man's wife well but their own,— have smiles for all but their kindred. Strange, pitiable pic- ture of human weakness, when those we love besi are treated worst ; when courtesy is shown to all save our friends ! If one must be rude to any, let it bo to some one he does not love— not to wife, sister, brother or parent. Let one of our loved ones bo taken away, and memory recalls a thousand sayings to regret. Death quickens recollection painfully. The grave can not hide the white faces of those who sleep. The coffin and the green mound are cruel magnets. They draw us 231 ATM AXD OHJECT /A' LIFE. farther than we would go. They force us to remember. A man never sees so far into human life as when he looks over a wife's or mother s grave. Jlis eyes get wondrous clear then, and he sees as never before wliat it is to love and be loved ; what it is to injure the feelings of the loved. — Golden Rule. »:t AIM AND OBJECT IK LIFE, Rev. C. H. SruTiGEON. ^ THAT we could wake men up to exercise the faculty of thinking, and then to direct, to regulate, and to control their thoughts ! But thinking is an occupation that a great many j)ersons altogether dislike. They are frivolous. "We cannot get them to think about anything. Many minds never iret on the winir at all. Js'ot a few men work so hard with their liands, and suffer such fatigue from bodily labor, that they are scarcely al)le to think much ; while there are others who dissipate their time and consume their lives in idleness, till they are utterly disqualified for any vigorous thought. They are lazy and sluggish. They have the dry rot in their very souls. Their brains do not work. They seem to live in one everlasting lethargy and day-dream. O that men were wise, that they were thoughtful ! Ask many a man whom you meet with, "Sir, what are you living for?" he would, perhaps, tell you what his trade or what his profession might be ; but if you pressed him with ^he question, ""What is the main object of life ? " he Avould not like to say that he was living only to enjoy himself— seeking his own ])leasiire. He would hardly like to say that he was living to grasp and grab and get a fortune. He would hardly know how to answer you. Many young men are in this condition ; they have not a definite object. Kow, you will not. 232 MM .s /; LFi s n i\ E s s . make a good captain if you do not know tlie ]iort you are sailing for. You will make a poor life of it, young nisiii, if you go out as an apprentice, and then afterwards out as a master, with no definite aim and end. 8ay to yourself, ''I can only live for two things. I can live for God, or I can live for the devil ; which, now, am I going to do ? " Get your mind well fixed and firiidy resolved as to which it shall he. I will ])ut it to you as boldly and badly as even Elijah did v/hen he said, "If Baal be God, serve Ilini; and if Jehovah be God, serve llim." Jf the world, if the flesh, if the devil, be worth serving, g(^ follow out the career of a sensualist, and say so. Let yourself know what you are at ; but if God be worth serv'Tir*. and your soul worth the saving, go in for that; but do no' ; -j.k through tiiis world really seeking yourself, and yet not ha\ii.g the courage to say to yourself, "Self, you are living for yourself." Bo have a definite and distinct object, or else your vital energies will be wasted, and your most industrious days will be recklessly squandered. Uik SELFISHNESS, AVm. C'dwpeu. J II, if the selfish knew hoM' much they lost, <5|ISil^ "What would they not endeavor, not endure, To imitate, as far as in them lay, Ilini who his wisdom and his power employs In making others happy ? M^'^T'HOEVER thinks of life as something that could be without ^' religion is yet in deadly ignorance of both. Life and religion are one, or neither is anything. — Geo. MacDonald. 233 MAKE YOUR MARK. David Babker. •X tlie quarries should you toil, §(r ]Make y.:>ur mark ; Do you delve upon the soil, Make your mark ; In wliatever path yon go, In whatever ])lace you stand, Moving swift or moving slow, With a firm and honest hand, Make your mark. Should opponents hedge your way, Make vour mark ; Work by nigltt or work by day, Make your mark ; Struggle manfully and well, Let no obstacle oppose ; None, right-shielded, ever fell. By the weapons of his foes ; Make your mark. t» f What though born a peasant's son, Make your mark ; Good by poor men can be done. Make your mark ; Peasants' garbs may warm the cold, Peasants' words may calm a fear ; 23i Va t» THE USES OF ADVERSITr. Better far tlian liuarding gold, Is the drying of a tear ; Make your mark. Life is fleeting as a sliade, Make your mark ; Marks of some kind must be made. Make your mark ; Make it while the arm is stronsr, In the golden hours of youth ; Never, never nuike it wronsr. Make it with the stamp of truth ; Make your mark. THE USES OF ADVERSITY. Joseph Addison. HE gods in bounty work up storms about us. That give mankijid occasion to exert Their hidden strength, and throw out into practice Virtues that shun the day, and lie concealed In the smooth seasons and the calms of life. %..y The good are better made by ill : — As odors crushed, p.re sweeter still ! — Samuel Eogers. Troubles are hard to take, though they strengthen the soul. Tonics are always bitter.— T. Be Witt Talmage. 2.35 , f FOLLY OF FRETTING* A. A. Lason. HE personal sin of fretting is almost as extensive as any other evil. It is not nniversal, ])ut very genei'al. It is as vain and useless a habit as one can harbor. Nothing so warps M man's nature, sours his disposition, breaks up the friendly rela- tionsliip in the domestic circle. It is a direct violation of the law of God. It is sinful in the beginning, in its progress, and sinful continually. The divine direction is, " Fret not thyself in anywise to do evil." David's knowledge of human nature was as large as it was exact. Scolding is contined to no age or clime. Some bad streak in one's constitution, a little mishap, or a score of causes, may stir and stimulate this irritable disposition. Such a spirit in the femily, in the school, or church, may become con- tagious, and result in great injury. It nuiy l)e quelled and con- quered. "Wiien we see its manifestation in time to take a second thought, a determined silence is sure to ward off the most iiery out- burst. It is difficult for a quarrel to continue long without ojipos- ing agents. Nothing so surj^rises an angry person as kind words. Let them be few and spoken in a loving manner. The milk of human kindness, like oil on an axle, lightens the load and eases life's heavy burdens. In the severe school of hard- ship and adversity— through which all humanity must pass— the law of kindness is the real antidote. Overwork and anxiety produce irritability. Domestic felicity is the oil of consolation. Fault-find- ing tends to division, rejection, and misery. True perennial happi- ness is the lot of few mortals in this inconstant world. The effects 236 FOLLY OF FJlBTTIAa. of scolding are twofold. They give color to one's own character, as truly as they do harm to society. Fretting becomes habitual, with some — all is unpleasant. A fretful habit finds frequent opportunities for indulgence, occasions literally multiplying as the habit increases in strength. Almost everybody displeases the fault-Under. Nothing seems to go right with the constant fretter. Circumstances control and conquer him. There is no self-poise in his soul — no controlling ])ower. Pretting weakens one's self-respect. It breaks asunder the bond of affections. It is impossible to love an habitual fault-finder. If a scolder should be loved through deception for a time, the affections must, sooner or later, be sundered. We might tolerate a person through ignorance, or for some weakness in his constitution, for a time. But a toleration differs materially from genuine friendship. A fretful disposition sours all the relations of life, is a most perni- cious acquisition, a dreadful inheritance. Such a habit, too fre- (piently indulged, has driven the best of husbands into dissipation, rendered the most affectionate wives miserable, schools ungoverna- ble, and made congregations noisy and disrespectful, it would fill the state with rebellion, and hell with inmates. One fretful parent would instill poison into every heart in the domestic circle. In after years the spirit of the early life will reas- sert its claim, and will insensibly fill other families witli discontent. Vice, like virtue, through all the channels of influence, is handed down from sire to son, from mother to daughter. There is no sense, no necessity for fretting. We are to let our moderation be made known. There is no kind of use, no real benefit to come from such a course. It is an injury to man, a curse on society, and a libel on God, who has endowed us with speech. It defeats domestic and school discipline. The great object of genuine government is a will- ing, ready, hearty obedience from personal choice. 237 ^^^BBRhi I XE y E It Miyo. All riglitfiil rulers seek to win the self-respect, the good will of those whom they are to control. Fretting fails to secure these ends. This ill-timed grace is founded in selfishness. Love cannot be won by it ; respect cannot be retained. There remains the love of nobil- ity in every man. To this natural sense of goodness we can not, in kindness, appeal in vain. Fretting resorts to fear, appeals to brute force, and in return awakens only dread and dislike. It is an evil force, that fosters the faults it seeks in vain to correct. " Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, , That to be Imted needs but to be seen. " -; NEVER MIND* " Casting all your care upon him ; for he careth for you." I. Peter, v. 7. Vi HAT'S the use of always fretting „!i^^:l At the trials we shall find J|^p Ever strewn along our pathway ? 'W^ Travel on, and never mind. Travel onward, working, hoping. Cast no lingering look behind At the trials once encountered ; Look ahead, and never mind. ^ What is past, is past forever ; Let all the fretting be resigned ; It will never help the matter — Li» your best, and never mind. 238 LITTLE TliOVIiLES. And if those wlio iniglit befriend you, Whom the ties of nature bind, Should refuse to do tlieir duty, Look to heaven, and never mind. Friendly words are often spoken When the feelings are unkind ; Take them for their real value, Pass them on, and never mind. Fate may threaten, clouds may lower, Enemies may be combined ; If your trust in God is steadfast ; lie will help you, — never mind. — Anonymous. LITTLE TROUBLES. MUS. A.MELIA E. Barr. n.TIIOU"GII general sympathy overlooks small miseries, indi- viduals find it worth their while to take them into account ; ^ _ for the whole history of some people is but a long record Y ot" ti-ifiing vexations and sufferings : trilling when taken singly, 1 but overwhehning when taken in the mass. It may not seem a great thing to have a constantly nagging companion, or boots that always hurt your corns, or linen that is never properly starched ; or to have to read crossed letters, or go to stupid parties, or consult books without indexes,— but to the suiferer they are very tangible oppressions, and, in our short space of working life, not to be made light of Of course, if we were all cast in heroic moulds we should despise 239 mmm LITTIjE T U O i: J I L K S . such petty a.^'gravations: but the world does not turn on heroic principles; it is uselcs, to tell a fretful, worried Uiun that Iub trials are " ,Asurd ; " and do not think you have eliected a cure when you have let that drop ..f boiling oil fall upon his wounds. " Absurd ' " His own common sense has already told him so, an.l that is tlie very thing that aggravates his annoyance. It is e(iually useless to remind such sufferers "tliat if they lived M-ith a i)roper estimate of the present and future before them ti.ey could bear these little trials with a calm and decent philoso'phy.'" Perhaps so ! but I have seen these same philosophers strongly moved by little disappointments in meals, or weather, that affected them- selves; nay, even by such trifling causes as cold shaving-water, or a want of buttons. Most platitudes of this kind are affectations; and the men who pretend to despise little troubles are the very men who exaggerate them. There are, indeed, some characters who have the cheerfulness of fine summer mornings; everything about them laughs and sin-s, even their tears have the lustre of a fresh shower. I5ut there iu-J other natures equally fine in a contrary direction, whose excessive sensibility makes them the instrument upon which every circum- stance })lays. I am going now to make a confession of one of these little troidjles— one which will doubtless seem puerile to many, but which I know tens of thousands suffer keenly from— [ mean the tvranny of the atmosphere. AVhen a foggy day or a spiteful east wind attlcks us, or when there is no blue sky to speak to us of heaven, we are depressed, and full of inexpressible languors. Our work falls from our hands, our inability irritates us, our whole human nature suffers with the physical world. '' What nonsense ! Man as an immortal soul ought to float above this terrestrial atmosphere." Ah, yes! but though we envy the ^40 J LITTLE TROUBLES, •trength of such natures as are always equable, wc cannot imitate them. And we do not want them to tell us that such depressions are " imaguiarvV' and "ought to be resisted;" we do resist them, and this very struggle assures us of their reality, for in it we feel Jie ditKculty of measuring ourselves against itsinHuence. Any system of philusoi)hy is too big for the average man— yes, for the Christian man- which overlooks the terrible reality of "little troubles." It la not the great boulders, but the small pebbles on the road, that bring the traveling horse on his knees ; and it is the petty annoyances of life, ever present, to be met and conrpiered afresh every day, that try most severely the metal of which we aie nuule. And when we are in the very thick of such a fight, how ofte.i are Ave met with that aggravating little bit of sympathy that " it will be all the same a hundred years hence." There is no comfort in a dictum so mocking and so untrue. It does not touch the question at all ; and it is not true. For nothing bai)i)ens for nothing; and whether we did or did not do a certain thing, or whether we got or did not get another, may have very important consequences, even a hundred years hence. Besides, this kind ofconsolation, carried out to its logical conclusion, would take every honest and honorable purpose out of life. A man could easily persuade himself by it, that whether he did his duty or not, whether he earned his bread or stole it, would be '• all the same a hundred years hence." We don't live for a hundred years hence, we are here to do to-dai/s duty, and whatever helps us best to-day is the help we need. What are we then to do with these ever-recurring little trials, from which we see no release this side of the grave ? Do not let us blink matters, ihiv friends grow loeary of them. Smitten by the same blows, we go on repeating the same cries, and this monotony is, 341 LlTTLt: TROUBLES. ii hard to bear with. FricndKliip that can overlunV- our faults wears out with our c'oiiii)hiiiit8. The sympathy that tiu(l^ u« every niurn- iuij; jtist as it leaves us every nij^ht, eau uo-uiore tnaiutaiu itrt lil'e than tianies cau burn in a ucuuin. '• To whom then shall we go ?" Go to that divine Friend whose pierced hands have so often raiseii us up. It was not to the unhappy Jesus foi'bade " repetitions." We may importune him without fear ; we may tell him all, and tell it every day. J3ut will he care for such sunill troul)Ios as harass our little affairs, and let out our life, as it were, by multitudes of pin-])rieks^ Yes, for our God is not a God who only occupies himself with weij^htv matters. He is no overtasked being who sits afar otf, and abandons the care of every-day trials and interests to inferior agents. He is a God to whom everything is little, and everything is great, who counts one poor hunuin soul of more value than a woi-ld, who num- bers the hairs of our heads, and counts our tears. AVe can never weary God, and nothing that gives us an anxious thought or a weary feeling is beneath his notice. These little trials are the soid's drill and discipline. We nuike our lives, as we sew — stitch by stitch ; often wearily enough, often faint and discouraged, but perseverance in well-doing always touches the heart of God, who seems to say at the last, " That lo'dl do ! '' NXIETY is the poison of life ; the parent of many sins and . t^f^ of more miseries. Why, then, allow it, when we know that all the future is guided by a Father's hand ? — Blair. Many dishes bring many diseases. — Pliny. 243 .u.( 1 1) 1 •. TRANSIENT TROUBLES. • 5^ J'OST of us liave liad troul)les all our lives, and eao]i day has brought all the evil that \ve Avished to endure. P.ut if we were asked to recount the sorrows of our lives, how many could Ave remember^ How many that ai'o six months old should we think worthy to be remembered or men- tioned ? To-day's troubles look large, but a week hence they will be forgotten and buried out of sight. If you would keep a book, and every day jmt down the things that worry you, and see what becomes of them, it would be "a benefit to you. You allow a thing to annoy you, just as you allow a fly to settle on you and plague you ; and you lose your temjier (or rather get it; for when men are surcharged witli temju'r they are said to have lost it); and you justify yourselves f„r being thrown off your balance by causes which you do not trace out. IJut if you would see what it was that threw you off your balance before break- fast, and put it down in a little book, and follow it out, and ascer- tain what becomes of it, you would see what a fool you were in the matter The art of forgetting is a blessed art, but the art of ovei-looking is .piite as important. And if we should take time to write down the origin, the progress, and outcome of a few of our troubles, it would make us so ashained of the fuss we make over them, that we should be glad to drop such things and bury them at once in eternal forgetfulness. Life is too short to be worn out in petty worries, frettings, hatreds, and vexations. Let us think only on whatsoever things are pure, and lovely, and gentle, and of good report. — Anonymous. 245 WORKING AND WAITING* HUSBANDMAN -who many years im^moM li'^d ploughed liis field and sown in tears, }^(S^ Grew weary with his doubts and fears: ''jiji " I toil in vain ! these rocks and sands "Will yield no harvest to my hands The best seeds rot in barren lands. My drooping vine is withering ; No promised grapes its blossoms bring; No birds among the branches sing; My Hock is dying on the plain ; The heavens are brass — tliey yield no rain ; The earth is iron, — I toil in vain ! " "While yet he spake, a breath had stirred His drooping vine, like wing of bird, And from its leaves a voice he heard : "The germs and fruits of life must ])e Forever liid in mystery, Yet none can toil in vain for Me. A mightier hand, more skilled than thine, Must hang the clusters on the vine, And make the fields with harvest Bhiiie. Man can lint work ; God can create : But they who work, and watch, and wait, Have their reward, though it come late. Look up to heaven I behold, and hear 246 1^ C STE XT. The clouds and thunderings in thy '?av— An answer to tiiy doubts and fear." lie looked, and lo ! a cloud-draped car, With trailing smoke and flames afar, Was rushing from a distant star ; And every thirsty flock and plain Was rising up to meet the rain. That came to clothe the fields with grain ; And on the clouds he saw again. The covenant of God with men, Rewritten with His rainbow pen : " Seed-time and harvest shall not fail, And though the gates of hell assail, My truth and promise shall prevail ! " — Anonymous. CONTENT. Mrs. L. H. Sigourney, HINK'ST thou the man whose nictnsions hold The worldling s pomp and miser's gold, Obtains a richer prize Than he, who, in his cot at rest Finds heavenly peace a wilhng gue. t, And bears the promise in his breast Of treasure in the skies ? OW sour sweet music is, s3^— When time is broke, and no proportion kept ! ,So is it in the music of men's lives. — S/uike-y)care. 247 »:^-3SH«W28BS:jr II ' LET BY-aONE' BE BY-GOKES. 1^ hT by-gones be by-goi,c-s. If b,y-g(,nes were clouded ^ 1^1 % 'i"glit that occasioned a pang of regi-ot, 0.. ,../f o, let them in darkest ublivion be shi'ouded ;' "Tis wise and 'tis kind tu foi-give and foi'get. I Lot by-gones be by-gones, and good be extracted From ill over ^vhicii it is folly to fre*,; Tlie wisest of mortal., liave foolisjdy acted— The kindest are those who forgive and forget. Let by-gones be by-gones. O, cherish no longer The thought that the sun of affection has set ; Eclipsed for a moment, its rays will be stronger, It you, like a Christian, forgive and for<>-et. Let bygones be by-gones. Your heart will be lighter When kindness of yours with reception has met; The Hame of your love will be purer and br - 1: ,, If, Cod-like, you strive to forgive and forget. Let bygones be by-gones. O, purge out the leaven Of malice, and try an example to set To othci-s, who, craving the mercy of heaven, Are sadly too slow to forgive and foro-et Let by-gones be by-gones. Remember how deeply To heaven's forbearance we all ai-e in debt; 248 T II !■: ( ■ II H I S T I A X AT II .M E . Tliey viiluc (iodV infinite guodiie^s too clu-aply AVlio heed not the precept, >' Forgive and forget." — Cliamlers' Journal. ded THE CHRISTIAN AT HOME. ^^jpUf IIIIISTIA^'ITY begins iv thr home. If not there, it is ^ij^f' no 'here. AVe may attend meetings, and sing hynms, and ||r ^ join dovontly in prayer ; we may give money to the poor, 1^ and "send missionaries and Bibles to the heathen ; we may ^^ organize societies (jf every description for doing good ; we may get up church fairs, and tea-paities and tableaux and picnics ; we may, in short, devote all our time and all our means to doing •rood, and yet not be the true and earnest Christians we ought to be, atler all. If they camiot say of us in the family at home: "He— or she— is a Christian, we know it, we feel it," if home is not a better and happier place for our living in it, if there is not an infiuence going out from us, day by day, silently drawing those about us in the right direction, then it is time for us to stop where we are, and begm to examine into our title to the name of Christian. Clnistianity. C/ir!.st-Uke7ie.ss. Is that ours? Are we possessed of that i Are we patient, kind, long-suffering, forbearing, seeking with all our hearts to do good, dreading with all our hearts to do evil< For if we are Christ's we shall be like llim ; and the first fruits, and the best fruits, of our daily living, will be in the '-tter and happier lives of those who are about us day by day .—Anon i/mous. 249 RELiaiOH IN THE FAMILY. Bishop F. D. HrNTiN' tos. .:^^S]- GIN, my friends, witl. your eliildren. Speak chc.rftilly, llllii but reverently and solemnly, to them of tUe righte. .isne^s |»*^ of God. Tell them lie is their father, and tell the.u lie V is their iudge. Show them His face of compassion; show f them His throne of .■embution. Teaclx them th.t He h^ves * the good; teu.h tho.n that !Ie hates lying, and Inst and all iniquity, and that, for His goodness' sake, He will sweep those who do not hate them finally into tribulation. Take care, yourselves o touch not the andean thing, so that your counsel to your sons and Lhters be not . mockery. Shake oft' the Hr.t d.shones pern., : : your lingers, as the apostle shook oft^ the venon.ous v.pe..,.o the fire. Stand in awe at your conscience; stand m a. o he Kin<. <.f kin.^s. Expect and welcome, from the ministry of Ch ... , ^:^i 'mLsage. Vray for prophets who will rebuke yoi. as their Jieient predecessors did Israel, for robbing man by any fraud oi :^ Ig God by keeping back the oftei-ings at His altar which he eouires at vour hands. And wh.n we, yoni- muiistei., are .eak, 7L our lip; stammer, or our courage f^tei. or our poor ives seem to empty our words of power, turn to old Isa.ah, and h.ten to the burden of his advent vision : „ , t j i „fi. "IIe„r, O heave, an.l give a.r, O eartl,, for the Lord hath „.oke„. have „ourM,e.l and brought „„ ehihken, a„. they have '^ *d „gah«t ,„e. Wash ,o„ ; u.aUe .- c.ea„ Cease^o o evil; learn to do well. Seek judgment; ..hevo he opp« ■ . right the fatherless; plead '- the widow. Z,«n shall he >ed,: . •250 CERTAIXTIES IN RELIGION. ^vith judgment, and her converts with righteousness. Say ye to the ri..hteous, it shall be well with them, for the reward of his hand sluiU be given him. The mouth of the Lord hath spoken it. ' rSTINCTON. K chturfiilly, ightei'USiie-s tell them He ission; show lat He loves lust, and all ep those who vourselvei, v.o •our sons and iionest penny ous viper into 1 awe of the try of Christ, > you, as their any fraud, for dtar which he crs, are weak, loor lives seem I listen to the ;lie Lord hath and they have Cease to do the oppre^ d -, II be rede . -'' CSRTAIKTISS IN RELIGION. Rev. Joseph Cook. LITTLE while ago we were not in the world— a little while hence we ^shall be here no longer. This is arith- ftf" nietic. This is the clock. Demosthenes used to say that % every speech should begin with an incontrovertible proposi- ti tioi/ Now, it is scientifically incontrovertible that a little ^vhiie a-o we were not here, and a little while hence we shall be here no inore. De Tocqueville said that you will in vain try to make any man religious who has no thought of dying. Now. the iir^sonance witli it. And so it is incontro- vortihlc that with whatever environment we cannot escape from, we nmst come int.. harmony, and 'that enviromiient consists of eon- science and of (xod, and of our record. Similarity of feeling with (iod, or a love of what lie loves, and a hate of what He liates, is an unalterable natural condition of j.eaee of soul in this life and in the next. WINNIHa SOULS, Bisiior E. S. Janes. OW in some way we can work and live and act for Christ. We can all of us be true soldiers under the great Captain ipW^"" of our salvation, and we may all of us in some way win ' "^"^ souls to the Master. I think this one passage of Scripture r (h is f is enough to prove this: " Let him know, that he which con- ^ vertetl/ the sinner from the error of his way, shall save a s.)ul from death, and shall hide a multitude of sins." What a work! What a result ! O, what an investment is this rational and immortal nature winch God has civen us. which qualities us for divine blessings aTul for eternal felicitv. What majesty, what interest, what value does this o-ive to our souls ! 0, how much pertinency there was in the ques- tion of the Saviour, " What shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul, or what shall a num give in exchauffe for his soul T' And now if our own salvation be so pre- cious and so importmit, the salvation of those poor degraded brethren that we see around us, inasmuch as they share this nature, is ot equal moment. They are not as cultured, perhaps, as we are-; they are not as cleanly in their person, they are not as happy in their condi- *,.' iib'i U- / -V A' / .V (; SOULS. ticn, their social state as well as their personal character is unlike ours, and yet, this immortality is in them ; this capacity for hearing the image" of God and enjoying the beatitudes of eternity is in tlicni ; consequently their souls are as precious as ours and their salvatio.i as important as ouis. And besides this, Jesus died for them as well as he died for us. They are just as nnich the pmrhase <.f his bluod and thev are as much redeemed of his love as we are. If we should Bucceed in acquiring the whole world and lose our ..wn souls, then it is a leuitiinate inference that their salvation is of more importance than alUhis world. It is a grander enterprise, it is a sublimer result to save a human soul through the mediation of Christ and through the instrumentality of grace than to make a world. No wonder, then, that the inspired writer said he that saves a soul is wise. It is the very highest of human wisdom because we choose the greatest interest, the sublimest and most sacred result, we choose the highest sphere of usefulness to accomplish the greatest and grandest of all lis residts: and if we seek to do this as Christians, by teaching men i God teaches us by his word; by influencing them as God influences us by his truth ; l>y influencing them as God permits us in invoking upon them the divine power and operation of the Holy Spirit— O, it we choose this greatest object of andjition, of eftort, of aspiration, and pursue it according to the teachings of the Bible, looking to God to crown our eftort with success, I repeat it, we are exercising the very highest of human wisdom. There is nothing to compare with it. When I think of the agencies which are ceaselessly at work to make this bad world better, I am thankful that I live. W. Morley Punshon, LL.D. •>53 n YOUR MISSION. Uanikl MAKcn, D-D- ||AEK, the voice of Jcsur crying,— " Who will go mid work to-duy? Fiolus are white and liar\-est waiting ! Who will hear the hheaves away i " Loud ;uk1 strong the JVraster calletli, Rich reward he offeiy thee; Wlio will answer, gladly saying, "Here am I ; send ino, send iiiel" If you cannot cross the ocean, And the heathen huuls ex].lore; You can find tlie heathen nearer. You can help them at your door. If you cannot give your thmisands, You can give tlie widow's mite; And the least you do for Jesus, Will be precious in liis sight. If you cannot speak like angels : If you cannot preacli like Paul ; You can tell the love of Jesus, You can say He died for all. If you cannot rouse the Avicked With the judgment's dread alarms, You can lead tlie little children To tiie Saviour's waiting arms. 254 f 1 1 YOUR Missioy. If you cannot be the watelinmn Stiindiiijr high on Zion's wall, Pointing out the path to heaven, Ottering lite and peace to all ; Witii your prayers and with your bounties You can do what heaven demands; You can be like taitliful Aaron, Holding up the prop))' '\s hands If among the older people, Vou iiiiiy not be apt to teach ; "Feed my hnubs," said Christ, our Shepherd, " Place the food within their reach," And it may be that the children You have led with trembling hand, Will 1)6 found among your jewels When you reach the itctter land. L«'t none hear yon idly saying, There is nothing I can (Uj," Wliile the souls of men arc dviiK'. Antl the Master calls for you. Take the task he gives you gladly; Let his work your pleasure he; Answer (jiickly when he calleth, ''Here am I; send me, send me! " r ) JO serve with lofty gifts the lowly needs Of the poor race for which the (lod-man died. And do it all for love— oh, this is great ! — J. G. Holland. 235 WHATEVER YOU DO, DO IT WELL» ¥^'iU?-,^ /. .]()]] sli^-littMl, bccaiiso it U ai)imi'ently uiiimpurtant, Inidfl f:30'i to hubitiial neglect ho that iiicii (lei-uiienite, inweiisihlv, into had worknitMi. *' That i.s u jfood roii<,di joh," said a furenum in onr hear- hv^, recently, and ho meant that it was a piece of work, not e]ei,'ant in itself, but strongly made and well pnt together. Training the hand and eye to do work well, leads individuals to form e(»rrect habits in other respects, aiul a good workman is, in most cases, a good citi/en. No one need hope to rise above bis ])re- sent situation who sutlers small things to pass by unimproved, or who neglects, metaphorically speaking, to ])ick u]) a cent because it is not a dollar. Some of the wisest law-iaakers, the best statesmen, the most gifted artists, the most merciful judges, the most ingenious mechanics, rose from the great mass. A rival of a certain lawyer sought to humiliate liini jmldicly by saying: " You Ijlacked my father's boots once." '• 'W's," replied the lawyer, unabashed, " aiul I did it well." And because of his habit of doing even mean things well, he rose to greater. Take heart, all who toil I all youths in humbli' situations, all in adverse circumstances. If it be but to drive the |>low, strive to do Mx'll; if only to cut bolts, make good ones; or to blow the bellows, keep the iron hot. It is attention to business that lit^s the feet higher up on the ladder. Says the good l^ook : "Seest thou a man diligent in his business, he shall stand before kings ; he shall not stand before mean men," — — Aiioni/iiioiis. 256 \\ y INDUSTRY. HKN.IAMIN FitANKMV, HE way to wcftlth i« ns jilaiii an the way tn iiiaiUtt. It ih'- \)omU cliielly nil two words, iiitliistry and frii,i,'ality ; that ..J^ in, wastt! neither tinio nor nioiiey, Imt niaice the best use of hoth. Witiioiit incUistry and frugaUty, nothing will do, and with them, everything. Sloth nndves all things dittienlt, hnt industry all easy; and he that riscth late rnnst trot all day, and nliall scan-e overtake ids business at niglit, while lazhiess travels so slowly that poverty soon overtakes him. Industry need not wisli, luid he that live.s ui)on hopes will die tasting. There arc no gains without ])ains ; then help, hands, for I iiave no lands ; or if I have, they are smartly taxeil. He that iiatli a trade hath an estate, and he that hath a ealling, hath an otUee of protit and honor, but then the trade must be worked at, and the call- inc followed, or neither the estate nor the otttee will enable us to pay our taxes. If we are industrious, we shall never starve; for, at the working-man's house, hunger looks in, hut dares not entt'r. Xor will the bailitf or the constable enter, for industry pays deljts, while despair increaseth them. Employ thy time well, if thou meanest to gain leisure; and since thou art not sure of a minute, throw not away an hour. Leisure is time for doing something useful ; this leisure the diligent man will obtain, but the lazy man never; for a life of leisure and a life of laziness are two things. Art is the application of knowledge to a practical end. — Sir John Ilerschel. 257 KNOW THYSELF. fl^i^ Mrs. L. H. Stgouenet. HEX gentle twiliglit sits |||^^!!', On Day'? forsaken throne, A^^n> Jliu tlie sweet liush of eventide, Muse by thyself alone, y^nd at the time of rest, Ere sleej) asserts its power, Hold pleasant converse witli thyself In Meditation's bower. Motives and deeds review By Memory's truthful glass. Thy silent self the only judge And critic as they pass ; And if thy wayward face Should give thy conscience pain, Eesolve with energy divine The victory to gain. When morning's earliest rays O'er spire anil roof-tree foil. Gladly invite thy Avaking heart Unto a festival Of smiles and love to all, The lowliest and the least, And of delighted praise to Him, The Givei- of the feast. ^58 A' -voir rUYSELF. Not on the outer world For inward joy depend ; Enjoy the luxury ot thought, Make thine ownself thy friend; Not with the restless throjig, In search of solace roani, But with an independent 5ceal Be intimate at home. Good coinpany have they, Who by themselves do walk, If they have learned on blessed themes With their own souls to talk ; For they shall never feel Of dull ennui the power, Not penury of loneliness Shall haunt their hall or bower. Drink waters from the fount That in tliy bosom springs, And envy not the mingled draught Of satraps or of kings ; So shalt thou find at last, Far from the giddy brain, Self-knowledge and self-culture lead To uneomputed gain. Teet are never alone that are accompanied with noble thoughts. — Sir Philip Sidney. 869 "T^ml^fi IMPORTAKCE OF CHARACTER. 'IIEIIE is a (lifterence between character and reputation. „' --— n ^ Character is what we reallv are. Reputation is wliat others W\^' suppose we are. .V inan may have a good character and a '^' had reputation, or lie niav luive a good reputation and a bad 1 characte)'. The reason of this is, that we form our opinions of men from what they appear to be, and not from what tlioy really are. Some men appear to be nnich better than they really are. while others are better than they appear to be. Most men are more anxious about their reputation than they are about their character. This is improper. A\'hile every man should endeavor to niaiutaiii a good reputation, he should esjiecially labor to possess a good character. Our true happiness depends not so much on what is thouiiht of us bv others, as on what we reallv are in our- selves. Men of good character are generally men of good repii- tation ; but this is not always the case, as the motives and actions of the best of men are sometimes misunderstood and misrepre- sented. But it is importaiit, aliove everything else, that we be right, aTid do right, whether our motives and actions are properly understood and appreciated or not. Nothing can be so important to any man as the formation and possession of a good character. The iniiuences which o]ierate in the formation of character are numerous, and however trivial some of them may appear, they are not to be despised. The most powerful forces in nature are those which operate silently and imperceptibly. This is equally true of those moral forces which exert the greatest intlueucoa on our 1 M r It T A .\ <: !■: of <■ ii a u a c te i: . minds, and give complexion to our characters. Among these, early impressions, example, and habits, are perhaps the most powerful. Early impressions, although they may appear to be liut slight, are the most enduring, and exert the greatest intiuences on the life. By repetition they accpiire strength, become deeply rooted in the mind, and give bent and inclination to its powers. " The tiniest bits of ojiinion sown in the minds of children in private life, atter- wards issue forth to the world, and become its puljlic opinion ; for nations are gathered out of nurseries." Examples, it is said, preach to eyes; and there are but lew persons, especially among the young, who can avoid imitating those with whom they associate. For the most part, this is so nnconscious that its effects are almost nidieedcd, but its inriuence is not on that account the less permanent. The models which are daily placed before ns, tend to mould our char- acter and shape our course in life. Habit results from the repeti- tion of the same act, until we become so accustomed to it, that its perfornuince requires no mental eflbrt, and scarcely attracts our attention. 13v the iuHuence of early impressions, the force of example, and the power of hr-.bit, the charactei- Ijecomes slowly and impercep- tibly, but at length decidedly formed ; the individual acquires those traits and qualities by which he is distinguished, and which bear directly upon his hap[)iness and welfare. It is very important, then, for every one, and especially for the young, to be very care- ful as to the impressions he cherishes, the example he imitates, and the habits he forms. These are important elements which go to constitute character, and if they are of an improper natui-e, the result will be ruinous. Character is everything. It nmtters not what a man's reputation may be, without a good character be can- not be i-eally happy. — Mithodld Recorder. 201 IKFLUEKCE OF CHARACTSR. \V. M. Taylor, D.D. 'HE iaHuence of character can never be over-estimated. We f^ call it influence, indeed ; but we might, perhaps--as 'Whately somewbere says — with more siyniticauce, style it (^/fluenec. ^ for it is continually radiating from a man, and then most of all I when he is least conscious of its emanation. We are moulding otliers wherever we are ; and if we were in every respect to live according to the gospel, we should be the noblest missionaries of the cross that the world has ever seen. Books are only powerful M-lieii they are read; sermons are only influential when they are listened to; Imt character keeps itself at all 'Jmes before men's attention, and its might is felt by every one who comes within its sphere. Other agencies arc intermittent, like the revolving light, which, after .a time of brightness, goes out into a period of darkness ; but reli- gious principle is continuous in its operation, and shines witli the steady radiance of a star. Hence, of all the ways by which Chris- tians may tell on the surrounding world, this is the most potent, and probably there are no means more blessed for the conversion of sinners, and the elevation of spiritual life among believers, than the liabitual deportment of the disciples of Jesus. Frequently a servant has been brought to Christ by the sight of the Christian consistency of her mistress ; and not seldom all the members of a household have been benefited by the piety of a humble maiden. I have known the young men of an office seriously impressed by the ster- ling principle of a fellow-clerk : and sometimes the holy walk of a simple-minded artisan has won not only the admiration, but also the 2n2 / .\ F I. r i: .\ (• /■: of <■ ii ar a <• te n . iinitfition of liis iieijililuirs. Xow. this is a inoiuis of usefulness uitliiu the reach of every one, and were we, thoroiiglilv alive to its iiui)ortance, we should 1)e more cari'ful than we are of our conchict, for id it not the case that, instead of connuonding Clu-ist by our lives, we too fre(iuently give occasion to the enemies of the L>rd to l)las|>lu'me, and mar the force of the truth hy nur incoiiMsteiu-y ^ Instead of udding new energy to the gospel l>y our conduct, we take away from it.s power by our inicpiities ; and men say, if the life of a Christian Ije such as we have manifested, they will be no Christians. Who can tell how many have been thus repelled from the word of truth i .\nd is it not a fact, that one of the strongest evidences of the divinity of (lur religion maybe derived from the cnii-ldefatinn thitt it has survived the injuries intlicted on it by the Christless con- d\u-t of its ])rofessed adherents? My brethren, is this iucnusistency to continue among us? Let us to-day resolve that, (lod helping us, we shall live more thoroughly in harmony with those noble princi- ples which Christ enf)rccd by his teaching, and adorned by his example. In the family, let us cultivate the graces of ])atience, for- bearaiu;e, love, aiul self-sacrifiee ; in the social circle, let us seek to manifest meekness and i)urity ; in business pursuits, let us show that we are actuated by justice and integrity; yea. wherever we are, let us endeavor to have our conversation so worthy of the gospel, that men may take knowledge of us that we have been with Jesus. A onLTY conscience is like a whirlpool, drawing in all to itself which would otherwise pass by. — Fuller, Life is not measured by the time we live. — George Crahhe. p 2fi3 ^mmmm ,!f[ lin S;f 5rig>r ■'■ ■ ■< STRENGTH OF CHARACTER. F. \\ . KODEKTSON, D.D. mistake strong feeling to be strong cliarueter. A nuin 1^;^ , wlio bears all before him — before whose frown dt)Uiestics ^}|;C_>^p tremble and whose bursts of fury nuike the children of ""1 r* ^^'*^ house quake — because he has his will obeyed, and his own I 1 wa}' in all things, we call him a strong man. The truth is, that he is a weak man ; it is his passions that are strong : Jie, mastered by them, is weak. You must measure the strength of a man by the power of the feelings he subdues, not by tlie powei' of those wiiich subdue him. And hence composure is very often the highest result of strength. Did we never see a man receive a Hat grand insult, and only grow a little pale and then reply (piietly? That was a man spiritually strong. Or did we never see a uian in anguish, stand as if carved out of the solid rock, mastering himself? or one bearing a hopeless daily trial, remain silent and never tell the ■world M-hat it was that cankered his home-peace ? That is strength. He wiio, with strong passions, remains chaste — he who, keenly sensi- tive, with manly power of indignation in him, can be provoked, yet can restrain himself and forgive — these are strong men, spiritual heroes. Only what we have wrought into our characters during life can we take away with us. — Humboldt. CiiARAOTEii, good or bad, has a tendency to perpetuate itself. —A. A. Eodije, D.D. 364 SON, D.D. jr. A man 11 tl()nie8tic's children of and liis own he truth is, strong : lie, reiigtii of ,1 le power of 'v often the eceive a Hat >ly quietly? i a man in ng himself? 3ver tell the is strength. :eenly sensi- 'ovoked, yet n, spiritual ing life can e itself. /e, D.D. ^HE HOJ^E OF qUEEJ, VIC^0I^r,7-,nncis. J'- Castle. i WORTH 07 CHARACTER. (JliO. II. COI.TON. HE two most precious tliiii<,'s tliis side the ji'nive are onr reputation and our lite. But it is to Ije lamented that the HKJst coutenij)til)le whisper may deprive us of tlie one, and tlie wealvcst weapon of the otlier. A wise man, therefore, will be more anxious to deserve a fair name tiian to possess it, and this will teach him so to live, as not to be afraid to die. EARNESTNESS OF PURPOSE. T1.MOTUY DwiGin, D.D. ' jjlIE earnest men are so few in the world that their verv earnest- ' Ai ness becomes at once the badge of their nobility ; and as men in a crowd instinctively make room for one who seems eafjcr to force his way through it, s() mankind everywhere open their raidis to one who rushes zealously toward some object lying beyond them. As sure as ever God puts His children in the furnace, lie will be in the furnace with them. — C. II. Spunjcon. -Ms. The brightest bow we only trace upon the darkest skies. — Frances Ridley Ileivergal. God sustain and comfort you as lie alone can. — Quee)i Victoria ; — CaUecjram to Mrs. Garfield. 267 WANT OF DECISION. SiDNEv Smith. ^fp^f GFtEAT (leal ot'lalM.i- is lust to thu \v(jrl(l for tlii' want of a ^;;MJ^4 little coura^i;. Kvi'rv day sends to their {rraves a number IJ''^^"""' of (ibsc'Uiv UKMi, wild have mily remained in obscunty be- "•jjaf cause their timidity has prevented them t'runi nuddiig a first effort, and wli(», if they had only been induced to bctrin, would in all probability have gone great lengths in the career of fame. The fact is, that in doing anything in the world worth doing, we nmst not stand shivering on the bank, thiidt':\ i ii nuiiiliur ricui'ity 1)0- liiig a first irin, would L'l' (if I'aiiu'. If. we luiist iliiiiger, l>nt 1 lint do to ■i; il did all rieiidis upon 1 live to see ■sent a man nd his ])ar- L'ars of age, cousins and leir advice, lit, that tlie ueli a man liad rule to alence done I sober cal- iliscovered a :lie ftiitli of DON'T BE DISCOURAGED. » B^^fe-F a man loses his pnntertv at thirty m- fnrty of ago, it ^^ BIh/ lii^- II-"' 'l^m(^ is only a sharp discipline generally, by whieh later he ll^ fomes to hirge success. It is all folly for a man or woman 4'j^ tu sit down in mid-life discouraged. The marshals of Napoleon Y eanie to their eonunander and said : " We have lost the battle and we arc being cut to pieces."' Kapoleon took his watch fnmi hi^ pocket, and said: "It is only two o'clock in the afternoon. Vdii have lost the battle, but we have time to win another. Charge upon the foe I" Let our readers who have been unsuccessful thus far ill the battle of life not give up in despair. With energy and (nil's blessing they may yet win a glorious \ktury.— Anonymous. INFLUENCE, ClTARLES DiCKF.NS. 'T^HERE is nothing— no. nothing— beautiful and good, that dies and '(:% is forgotten. An intant, a prattling child, dying in its cradle, will live again in the better thoughts of those who loved it, and play its part, though its body he burned to ashes or drowned in the deep- est sea. There is not an angel added to the hosts of heaven, but does its ]>lessed work on earth in those who loved it here. Dead ! Oil, if the good deeds of human creatures could be traced to their source, how beautiful would even death appear! for how much char- ity, mei-cy, and purified attection would be seen to have their growth in dusty graves! 369 V % ^X. ^\ c ^' ^ r" EARTHLY IKFLUSHCE. Thomas Carltle. ^T is a liigh, solemn, almost awful tlionght for every indi- vidual man, that his earthly influence, which has a com- mencement, will never, through ail ages, have an end ! What is done is done, has already blended itself with the bound- less, ever-living, ever-working universe, and will work there for good or evil, openly or secretly, throughout all the time. Tlie life of every man is as the well-spring of a stream, whose small be- ginnings are indeed plain to all, but whose course and destination, as it winds through the expanses of infinite years, only the Omnis- cient can discern. Will it mingle with the neighboring rivulets ?? a tributary, or receive them as their sovereign ? We know not : only in either case we know its path is to the great ocean ; its waters, were they but a handful, are here and cannot be annihilated or permanently held back. ■I M 1 i POWER OP INFLUENCE, F. W. Fabeh. ^^sVUR many deeds, the thoughts that we have thought, -t^o- They go out from us thronging e\'ery hour ; And in them all is folded up a power That on the earth doth move them to and fro ; And mighty are the marvels they have wrought, In hearts we know not, and may never know. 870 Ul 0MA8 CaRLTLE. ; for every indi- 'liich has a com- i, have an end ! 'with the bound- 11 work there for the time. Tlie wliose small be- and destination, only the Omnis- 's a tributary, or ily in either case were they bnt a 3rnianently held F. W. Faber. •e thought, lur; THE POWER OF IKFLUEHCS, INFLUENCE is the power we exert over others by our thoughts, words, and actions — by our lives, in short. It is a silent, a pervading, a magnetic, and a most wonderful tiling. It works in inexplicable ways. We neither see nor hear it, yet, consciously or unconsciously, we exert it. Xo one can tlunk or speak, or act — no one can live — without influencing others. We all sometimes seem unconscious of this very important fact, and appear to have adopted the strange idea that what we do, or think, or say, can affect no one but ourselves. You influence others and mould their characters and destinies for time and for eternity tar more extensively than you imagine. The whole truth in this matter might flatter you ; it would certainly astonish you if you could once grasp it in its full proportions. It was a remark of Samuel J. Mills that " No young man should live in the nineteenth century without making his influence felt around the globe." At first thought that seems a heavy contract for any young man to take. As we come to apprehend more clearly the immutable laws of God's moral universe we Pnd that this belting of the globe by his influence is just what every responsible being doas — too often, alas, unconsciously. Tou have seen the telepliione, that "vondorful instrument which so accurately transmits the sound of the human voice so many miles. II ow true it is that all these wonderful modern inventions are only faint reflections of some grand and eternal law of the moral universe of God ! God's great telephone — I say it reverently — is everywhere — filling earth and air and sea, and sending round the world with unerring accuracy, and for a blessing or a 271 I n- nil-: nnvER of i xfluence. curse, every thought of your heart, every word tliat tails though tt'ully or thoughtler;sly Ironi your lips, and every act you do. It is time you awoke to the convietiou that, whether you would have it so or not, } our influence is world-wide for good or for evil. Which '. There is another immense tact which you or I may as well look squarely in the face. An Influence necer d!<'.'<. Once born it lives forever. In one of his lyrics, Longfellow beautifully illustrates this great truth : "I shot an urrow in tlu; air, It tell to earth, I knew not wliere ; »»**•:■ I breathed a song into the air, It fell on earth, I knew not where; ■ ***** Lone;, long afterwards, in an oak I found the arrow, s'.ill uubroke; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend." Xo thought, no word, no act of man ever dies. '" -y are as immortal as his own soul. He will be sure to fln.l i written somewhere. Somewhere in this world he will meet their fruits in part; somewhere in the future life he will meet their gathered har- vest. It may, and it may nt)t, be a pleasant one to look upon. An influence not only lives for ever, but it keeps on growing as loniT as it lives. There never comes a time when it reaches its nianirity and when its growth is arrested. The influence which ymi start into life to-day in the family, the neighboi'liood, or the social circle, is perhaps very small now, very little cared for now ; but it will roll forward through the ages, growing wider and deeper and .stronger with every passing hour, and blighting or blessing as it rolls. — Christian Weekly. 373 Ui ; thonglittully >. It iri time Imvc it su or Which i • as well look born it lives llustrates this '"" "v are as 1 written their fruits in gathered har- ik upon. )n growing as it reaches its nee which you . or the social r now; but it 1(1 deeper and blessing as it DOING GOOD. Richard Penkose, |^Mt"ET some noble deed be thine Before the day is ended ; Ere the sun doth cease to shine, Ere on thy bed thou dost recline, Go where the fevered brow doth, pine, And see its wants attended, And learn that in its restless dream It craves the pure and limpid stream. And know that in its iitful madness It drains tiie cooling draught with gladness; And the parched lips will bless thee For the d-ed of kindness shown, Wliile some other tongue will tell thee 'Twas not done to one alone ; For an Eye that never sleepeth Beheld the actioi\ from his throne. Let some tearful eye be dried Before the day is ended ; Take the wanderer to thy side, But his sad folly ne'er deride ; A multitude of sins thou'lt hide, In some ])oor soul befriended, And learn that in his reckless race Ofttimes the pathway he Mill trace To some harsh words, unkindly spoken, And which his sobbing heart hath broken ; 273 I ^mmmm PHRl'ErilTY OF INFl.UENCE. Pour the balm of consolation ; While the listeniiifij ear is shown, "Wound it wot by ostentation ; Do thy Master's work alone, Remembering He ever keei)eth A laHhful record on his throne. Let some hungry child be fed Before the day is ended ; Go ! the orphan cries for bread, Where squalor reigns in all its dread, And M-here the widow's mournful tread Sliould wifji thy steps be blended, And see Mhere vile and misery haunt, Where shriveled babe and Avoman gaunt Are stretched on beds where tilth is reeking. And tottering age with ruffians greeting; Perhaps a word of tiiine may cheer Soine sad heart whose hope had liown, And bid it cast aside its fear For a love before unkudwn. Seeking Tlim -who ever meeteth A suppliant at Mercy's throne. PERPETUITY OF INFLUENCE. J. (J. WlIITTIEU. 'OTIIIXG fails of its end. Out of sight sinks the stone, r^' w In the deep sea of time, bui the circles sweep on, Till the low-i-ippled murnnn-s along tlie shores run, And the dark and dead waters leap glad in the sun. SYMPATHY NOT LOST* HE look ofsympatliy; the gentle word, Spoken so low that only ungel.- heard; The secret art of })iire ^elf-sacritico, "4" Tnseen by men, hnt nnirked by angel's eyes; These are not lost. The sacred music of a tender strain. Wrung from a poet's heart by grief and pain, And chanted timidly, with doubt and fear. To busy crowds, who scarcely pause to hear : This is not lost. The silent tears that fall at dead of night Over soiled robes that once were pure and white; The prayers that rise like incense from the soul, Longing for Christ to make it clean and whole : These are not lost. The happy dreams that gladdened all our youth, Wh.en dreams had less of self and more of truth ; The childhood's faith, so tranquil and so sweet, Which sat like Mary at the Master's feet : These are not Inst. The kindly plans devised for others' good. So seldom guessed, so little understood : 275 I^HM 1^ Tin .U.S. The quiet, steiult'ast love thiit strove to win Some wanderer from tlie ways of sin ; These are not lost. Not lost, O Lord I for in tliy city bright Our eyes shall see the past by clearer light, And things long hidd'Jii from our gaze below Thou wilt reveal, and we shall surely know They were not lost. — Anonymous. TRIALS. "W^Ss^ lilALS come in a thousand different forms, and as many avenues are open to their approach. They come from T/iw. physical appetites, ivsthetic tastes, social habits, bodily ills, ■^" the desire for gain, the love of luxury and of ease. They ct)me through every contact with the unrenewed mind of the Avorld, and from the assaults of Satan. They come with the warm throbl)ings of our youthful lives, keep pace with the measured tread of manhood's noon, and depart not from the descending footsteps of decrepitude and age. " Lead us not into temptation,'' should ever remind us of our utter weakness and absolute dependence u})on Almighty support. But we may not hope to be entirely free from either disciplinary trial or the fiery darts of the enemy, until we reach that land into which shall enter nothing that deceiveth or makelh a lie. " Coiirajje, my soul; tliy bitter cross In every trial here, Shall bear thee to thy heaven above, But shall not enter there." — AnonyinoHs. 270 u TRIALS, A TSST OF CHARACTER* Wm. Moui.ly I'lNsiiuN, LL.D. I^AIN are all the clibrts oi &hni\cv, jxr/moi, <,t/>/ t<. injure the fame of a goud iiuiu ! There is a cascade in a lovely Swi^s vullov which the tierce winds catch and scatter so soon as it pours over the suniuiit of the rock, and for a season the con- tinuity of the tall is broken, and yon see nothing but a feathery wreath of aprarently helpless spray; but if you look further down the consistency is recovered, and the Staubbach pours its rejoic- ing waters as if no breeze had bl.nvu at all. Xay, the blast which int'errupts it only tans it into more marvelous loveliness, and makes it a shrine of beauty where all pilgrim footsteps travel. xVnd so the blasts of ealun.uy, howl they ever so fiercely over the good man's head, contribute to his juster ai)preciation and to his wider fame. Wluit are circumstances,— I wonder, that they should hinder a true man when his heart is set within him to do a right thing ! Let a man be tirndy principled in his religion, he v v travel from the tropics to the poles, it will never catch cold on the j-.urney. Set him down in the desert, and just as the palm tree thrusts its roots beneath the envious sand in search of sustenance, he will manage somehow to find living water there. P.anish him to the dreariest Patmos you can find, he will get a grand Apocalypse among its barren crags. Thrust him into an inner i)rison,_and make his feet fast in the stocks, the doxology will reverberate through the dungeon, making such melody within its walls of stone that the jailer shall relapse into a man, and the prisoners hearing it shall dream of freedom and of home. 277 SUCCESS IK LIFB. A. D. F. ^J^^nETiE is little greatness that is worth the name, that is not Ji^pj[ founded ui)on and aceonipanied by sound, moral. Christian ^m^ principle. How poor, how vain, how unreliable the ''^ requirements of men, if no religious principle gives lone to the I impulses I How many have I known who gave brilliant promise, who have dazzled oidy to disappoint us because be- neath all outside grandeur there was the cankering iiiHuence of a corrupt heart. One of the most common errors we fall into in our ardent vigor and youthful wisdom, is to throw aside religion as a thing beneath us, forgetting it is a thing about and above us. All that we extol in our hind, are outgrowths of Christian prin- ciple, or ortsprings of Christian hearts. All the callings of life have need of men; and men are found in all the callings of life. If you ask what places arc vacant in professional life, 1 answer there are plenty of vacant plac(}s on the higher seats. There are plenty of common lawyers; there are a plenty of ordinary physicians ; there is an over-stock of mediocre preachers, 1)ut those who stand on the higher platforms are few. The hill of fame which, in some sense, is synonymous with the hill of success, is a tall and tapering cone, having, like pictorial represen- tations of the temple of Belus at Babylon, a pathway winding round and round, terrace above terrace, upward. Crowds set out for the top, and along the lower terraces multitudes crowd the way ; but as yon look np the company becomes thinner, till we behold a few daring strugglers going up, up, ,up ! and a still smaller number stand- 278 MO OKI HOMES. '\n\r on the apex. Friends, if you are in want ot' places, i;o up to the hijjiier termces of the i)yranii(l of suocess, Alexander ISelkirit, on liis lonely isle, could easily sin<.', " 1 am nionarcli of all I survey," fur he eould also sing, " My right there is none to dispute." A. D. F. luie, that is not iioral, Christian unreliable the ves 'lone to the gave brilliant us because be- iiiHuence of a all into in our le religion as a )ove us. Christian prin- men are found art vacant in t places on the •s; there are a ?k of mediocre forms are few. IS with the hill 'torial rcpresen- winding round set out for the he way ; but as 3 behold a few r number stand- m MODEL HOMES. Key. Sajhei- Fallows, D.D. ■■•*li'*l'- ESIDES model schools, let us have homes crowned with 1^ the clambering vine, amid the cooling shade of trees, sur- roun(let, l>iit tlicre is tlio iiiiikiiig of iimsic ill it. lu our wliolo lito-iiiL'lodv tlie iiiusic is lirokfii otr here iiiid there l)y "rests," aiul we fuolicihly think we ■^' have eoiiie to tiie end of the tune. God sends a time of foivi'd 1 leisure, siekiiesH, (lisappointed phms, frustrated etforts, an^in r. Samuel Osgood, D.D. The drying up a single tear has more Of honest fame than shedding seas of goxQ.— Byron. Press on ! for it is God-like to unloose the spirit and forget your- reelf in thought.— iV^. P. Willis. 380 John Rl'skin, tliu iiiiikin;; of imiisic is lirokt'ii ulislily think wu a time vi' Inrccd toil t'tiorts, iiiid )\ir lives, aiid we rt iiiissiiiji in tlie How dues the with \iiiviirviii,u' IS if lu) breaking (nir lives. Be '• rests. A WORTHY AMBITION. .IiilIN H. (iolOII. i()(TN(r iiiiiti ! 't' (»od htxs given you hniins, heart and voiee, s]ieak nut. Tliere are great reforms to he caii'ied on. The wiioli' nation needs awakening. Sjieak out, sir, and your si)eeeh will Ite weleome, wherever and on wliate\er particular hranrh of reforms you elioose t(» make yourself iieard. I.ift up your voice for that which is " honest, lovely, i.nd f»f good report." Not in mere wordy harangue, not in windy palaver, not in grandiio- (jueiit sjionting, nor in weary, drawling verbosity — not in the jal)i)er- iu"- garrulity which is heard only when the speaker must he delivered of a speech. I'.ut in words of true, sanctified earnestness, opening vour mouth l)ecause you have something useful to say, saying it with tiie genuine, unstudied elotjiu'uce wlii( h comes right from the heart, and in all eases closing >our mouth tlit> monicit you have done. too big for '.'Our dl but well-made ained experience, Osfjood, D.D. e. — Byron, ; and forget your- jiTl.T is not what men eat but what they digest, that makes them v^ strong; not what we gain, l)ut what we save that makes us rich ; not -what men read, but what they remend)er that makes them learned ; and not what we preach but what we practise that makes us Christians. These are great Imt common truths, often forgotten by the glutton, the ependthrift, the book-worm and the hypocrite. — Lord Bacon. Pk^Z'^ have not wings — we cannot soar, But we have feet to scale and climb, r^ By slow degrees, by more and more. The cloudy summits of our time. Q 281 -Longfelloxo. MAKE HOMEmLIFE BEAUTIFUL, ,,, PnoF. H. (J. NouTiri.or. p^kV^:-* ET nie say to parents : Make the hoine-lit'e beautiful, without SlEtEiiif fintl witliin, and thev will sow the seeds of gentlt'iiess, true W^^ kindness, honesty, and lidelity in the hearts of their chil- \^ dren, from which the children reap a harvest of hai)pine!^s and t virtue. The memory of the beautiful and happy home of child- hood is the richest legacy any man can leave to his children. The heart will never forget its hallowed intluonces. It will he an evening enjoyment, to which the lapse of years will only add new sweetness. Such a home is a constant inspiration for good and as constant a restraint from evil. If by taste and culture we adorn our homes and grounds and add to their charms, our children will iind the quiet pleasures of rural homes more attractive than the whirl of city life. Such attractions and enjoyments will invest home-life, school-life, the whole future of life with new interests and with new dignity and joyousness, for life is just what \xo make it. We may by our blindness live in a world of darkness and gloom, or in a world full of sunlight and beauty and joy ; for the world without only reflects the world within. Also the tasteful improvement of grounds and home exerts a good influence not only upon the inmates, but upon the community. An elegant dwelling, surrounded by sylvan attractions, is a contribution to the refinement, the good order, the taste, and prosperity of every com- munity, improving the public taste and ministering to every enjoy- ment. On the other hand, people who are content to dwell in huts a\A cellars gi-ow barbarous in their ideas. They become dirty and ragged in their dress, uncouth in manner, coarse in habits, brutal in 283 nOMAy AT llOMK. i character, Avltliout a:*piration tor a better life. There can be no pro- gress in civilization but improvement in their homes and grounds accompanies, if it does not directly produce the advance in civiliza- tion. Improvements, a beautiful village, a line park, are eft'ective instrnments of civilization and education, and there is protection, as well as education, in a fervent love of improvement, with its nndti- tude of associations. Attachment to t»ne's native soil is an antidote to the restless, roaming, and migratory spirit of oui- youth, as well as a safeguard from temptation. iS"obody without local attachment can. have genuine patriotism. WOMAN AT HOME, T. De Witt Talmage. HAXK (4od, O woman ! for the quietude of your home, and that you are queen in it. Men come at eventide to the home ; but all day long you are there, beautifying it, sanc- 't^ tifying it, adorning it, blessing it. Better be there than wear Victorias coronet. Better be there than carry the jiurse of a ])rincess. It may be a very humble home. There may be no carpet on the floor. There may be no pictures on the M-all. There may be no silks in the wardrobe ; but, by your faith in (^od. and your cheerful demeanor, you may garniture that place with more splendor thaTi the upholsterer's liand ever kindled. To be M'omanly is the greatest charm of woman. — Gladstone. Home is the sacred refuge of our life. — Dnjden. THE HOMESTEAD. Pn(EBE Cart. If UOM the old squire's dwelling:, gloomy and grand, 'i- IStretcliing awiU' on either liaiid, Lie tields of broad and fertile land. Aci-es on acres everywhere The look of smiling plenty wear, That tells of the master's thonghtfiil care. Here blossoms the clover, white and red. Here the heavy oats in a tangle spread, And the millet lifts her golden head ; And, ripening, closely neighbored by Fields of barley and pale white ryo, The yellow wheat grows strong and lii •'/ /■' •*>' 'I' /•-' -1 ^ • Ah ! yon might wander tar and wide, Nor find a spot in the country's side So fair to see as our valley's pride ! How, just beyond, if it will not tire Your feet to climb this green knoll higher, We can see the pretty village spire ; And, mystic haunt of the whippoorwills, The wood, that all the background iills. Crowning the tops to the mill-creek hills. There, miles away, like a faint blue line, Whenever the day is clear and iine. You can see the track of a river shine. iNear it a city hides unseen, Shut close the verdant hills between, As an acorn set in its cup of green. And right beneath, at the foot of the hill, The little creek Hows swift and still. That turns the wheel of Dovecote mill. Nearer the grand old house one sees Fair rows of thritVy apple-trees. And tall straight pears o'ertopping these. And down at the foot of the garden, low, On a rustic bench, a pretty show, White bee-hives, standing in a row. Here trimmed in sprigs, with blossoms, each Of the little bees in easy reach. Hang the boughs of the plum and peach. 285 i\ '!!■ ...^I I ji mvwMwnni ««--Ji?«9ttiia^j' ; j THE HOMESTEAD. At the garden's head are pophirs tall. And peacocks, making their harsh, k)nd call. Sun themselves all day on the wall, And here you will lind on every hand Walks and t'onntains and statues gi-and, And trees from many a foreign land. And tlowers, that only the learned can name, Here glow and hurn like a gorgeous Hanie, Putting the poor man's blooms to shame. Far away fi'om their native air The Norv,-ay pines their green dress wear; And larches swing their long, loose hair. Near the porch grows the broad catalpa tree, And o'er it the grand wistaria Born to the purple of royalty. There looking the same for a weary while— 'Twas built in this heavy, gloomy style- Stands the mansion, a grand old pile. Always closed, as it is to-day, And the proud squire, so the neighbors say, Frowns each nnwelcome guest away. Though some, who knew l:im long ago, If you ask, will shake their heads of snow, And tell you he was not always so, Though grave and ni A PLEA FOR HOME. ^fl<-.'^i.f liiKoiniHK L, Curr.Ei!, DD Sm"''''' ",'"' "'" '■■"'-'»■'■'"" <-™""K» i-«. ..,„„<, „^.,i„ I, « „ i|Ep| g...Kl ,„,,„ ,„ ,,„t i„ „. ,■„, /„„„„. .,,,,.^ ,^ ,1^^. r >« ,.,.,„. „.l.y ,i,e So„.,W, ,„.„„,„ „,„ „„,, ,,,„,„; I ;' ff ..any of ,,,,,. l..„„l,]e.. ™,„,.o,. ,,„,„ ,„t.,„ ,„. ,, ,,„„^ and iiffcrdsucli opportunities fur Study. ° Ti.ere Ls_ no country i„ the -dol.e -not oven oxeeptin. 15ritain- Nluch contains n.ore happy ^nd cultured hon.cs than our own Th. (.cnnans n.ake much of their don.estio life, observing, hirthday. mldmgs, anniversaries, etc., with ahundant n.errv.nakiu.s T ,J 1-K.h ove cafes and .w.ls. They have not the word'" iu.u.e" nitheu- lan.ua.e and not enough of the thin, itself in their social e^istenc. After peepin. into son>e of the snu.lcy, ill-fin-nished chalets of Nwtxerlancl this year, I could not l.ut ^'..^ , new pride and satisfaction in the hon.cs of the An.erican laborers and sn.all anners. .Some of the brightest and richest hon.es in our land are fonnd under the low, l.roa.l roof of the Yankee farn.-house I ook m a moment at the group which glows in the blaze <.f the hickory ^-•e. The old father is running the sharp ..uitcr of his n>ind ti'">.>gli a tough volun.e of science or theology or politics as steadily a^^ I.e put his plow through a stifi' sod last sunnncr. Mother lavs k'r " on the walls, wliicli tli'iir old jinititliiia worlu'd wlu-ii slu' was sweet sixteen. One of the voun^'i-r girls tonehes a lively tune from the piano before the winter eveninj;' is over. One of the older huU ;i;ets back from the Binjiini-'-school or an apple-bee in time for family prayer-. Thr old family Hible— with its chronicle of wedlock and births and bnrials-is read devonliy ; and prayer pnts its strong /»m aronnd tlie linished day's work. Tiiis is no mere fancy pietnrc. The real wealth and stability and virtne and fiitnre hope of onr repnblie lie in just such li..mes of mdustry and honest thrift. The best society roots there. Tiie church of God has its ro(.ts there too. If thousands of our \oung men in the rural regions truly appreciated the quiet joys and bless- ings of having such a home for themselves and tiieir children, they would n..t be in such hot haste to rush otf to the large towns to "seek their fortunes" and tind only u i)reeariou8 clerkship and a cokl fourth-story room in a boarding-lu>nse. If our hund)le voice would be heard and heedi-d, we woidd take \ip Horace Greeley's old refrain and cry aloud: " fc^tay out of the cities! They are too full already." And of nothuig are they more full than of evil haunts, broken expectations, lost characters, and ruin(>d lives. T.ut young men of ambition will pour int.. the cities in spite of all our notes of warning. Employers have a duty to them also which is too sel- dom discharged. It is the duty of thinking about the young clerk, or salesman, or book-keeper, whiM?. the store, the office, or the connt- injr-7'oom is locked up. Those vouni: men nuist either have a home or a— haunt. Their evenings must be spent sonu'where. The devil will light up his decoy-lamps all over town. Xow cannot our rich employers occasionally invite the young men in their employ to their own residences, and thus strengthen their own influence and put in a new tether to hold their young "wards" to personal and 293 m I i r. i'l i, A /■ /, AM fo A' // I) .\n social purity ; Tliore uro no more (lion.u-rliiy liomoloss cIuhs than till) thoiiMiiids (if youths t'roin the coimtry ; none apiirociiitt) more a Ineiidly invitation t(. the tahle or the fireside of a pleasant home. Church sociables, prayer nnrtinj^^s, Vonn^' Men's Christian Assneia- tions, lectures, lihraries, etc., are all excellent in their wiij. lint no one ..f them exactly tills the achinj,' void and satisries the luiii^'er for a ^dimpse of /hdhc. liusiiicss men themselves need to he nudi^a'd, too, in rejjard to the claims of home and household. Many of them live in an iitmos- l»here of excitement and hake their daily bread in a very hot oven, ^^any of you need the soothing se(hitive and cooling of the mind iiich oidy a (piiet home can give. When affairs go prosperously with you, here is an outlet for a portion of your gains. Afako your own homes attractive. ludidge yourself in the luxury of cheerful, open iires, instead of black flues in the Hoor. A glowing open lire is a "means of grace" to the children, ft makes a bright rallying- poiut for the whole family. Tom will not be so anxious io run olf to the theater, and ^^ary will not be so hungry for an invitation to the ball or the opera, and all the children will feel the visible influ- ence of one warm, clieerful heart-shrine. Before that ii re spend as many evenings as you can. If a bad day's business has made you sore and imhappy, let your daughter's piano be to your rufHed spirit what David's harp was to the distempered mind of Saul. Watch yonr boy as he piles his blocks on the carpet, ami see how easy it is to topple over the most ambitious stnictures when they get out of the perpendicuhir. Learn the lesson of some of your own failures from it, and how to Ijegin again and pile better. A good romp with your cMkhv;! .n- a halt-hour with them over their lessons will make them love yo- >!,.:) more, and will expel many a "blue devil" that foimd entranc*; '■.;• voi.. du. isx the dav. 294 .V .1 A' A' >■ o .'/ /•' " y !•■' " ■ ' I' '' '' To h) ui8t miiko it. Tlie IiiihIxiikI wlio for- lavo Hucli a hoiiu' you must inai' Biikcs l:ite houseliold tor liin I'veiiinjr Imuiitri flsewliorc doi's not df^'orvc to liiivo a liome in this world ; ho luatfriaiiy Icssfiia liin hope t'-i ajO'od homo in eternit.v. I'.e^hruw all duhs! Kvcrv tnio wife liatcs the very name of them. She \a jealous of such rivals with a "ffodlv jealousy." If there was a rij-hteous iiprisini;' of iudi^niaut wives to make a clean cniitlagration of every club-house and driidv- in«r-lniunt in our cities, I should esteem it ii noble e.xereise ot "women's rights" that ought not to provoke the interference of the fire department. (lod meant, when he nuule us, tluit we should live in families. It is the oidy way that the two sexes can come together without im- pairing virtue and purity. There is no such school of true religion on the globe as a happy, (lod-feariug home. No church is so ctl'ec- tivc for restraint from evil and for growth in all graces as "the ehun'h in the housi'." There stands the domestic altar. There Bpeaks the word of truth and authority on every day in the wliole seven. There is felt a religion wliicli acts and molds from the cradle clear on to the judgment-seat. It is a nursery for the noblest life. It is the earliest, the best, the surest preparation for the Home not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. MAKE SOME ONE HAPPY. T. I)E Witt TALM.vnE. fllAT is a good day in which you make some one ha])py. It is ,. ^^, astonishing how little it takes to make one happy. Feel that the day is wasted in which you have not succeeded in this. Maj^'s best powers point him (lodward. — Spurgeon. -•■?-*^?r?m'- ■ li REVERIES OP TEE OLD KITCHEN, f lS£'^^' ^^'"^^'^ '" "'■'' imisiiigs my thoughts have been cast %Wf ^"^ *^'^ ''*'* "''^'^'"^ *^'^ ''^'"'' ^*' '">' ^^"IfllJood were passed ; J^ '" I loved all its I'ooms to the pantry and liall, j/^ But that blessed old kitchen was deai-er than all. I Its chairs and its table none brighter could be, And all its surroundings were sacred to me To the nail in the ceiling, the latch on the door. And I love every crack on the old kitchen Hoor. I remember the fire-place with mouth high and wide, The old-fashioned oven that stood by its side. Out of which, each Thanksgiving, came puddings and pies, That fairly bewildered and dazzled my eyes. And then, too, St. Nicholas, slyly and still, Came down every Christmas our stockings to fill ; But the dearest of memories I've laid up in store Is the mother that trod on the old kitchen iloor. Day in and day out, from mornin"; till ni Ihst ,|.atl. l.ppeas in u l.o.uo it .peaks witl. . w :;::te;/T?''"'^- ''•-^-"-'^•-^■•'-''•■"-^ I, -. h,>t death. That bJow ti.lls up.m the verv heart .,n.| fl'""^I' faith .nay enable even a n.othor to elo.e ti, / />n.nittie one, ana .n.i,e th.-on,h heMea.: e^;;;:;:^ " M.v Saviour, I do this lor thoe ;" yet nature may be wrnncr »;fi, ,, ■ i fj . • , '^ anguhsli, even wiiile .a-ace enables the tried one to triunipli. " "-"'^'^'es And the pang is often rendered more acute, or the stroke n.ore -ere, by the n.serntable mysten- of a little i.itanl's death 7Z he terrd>,e ..nvulsions ? Why that low waii-that sn,ot red . '^ -• ---.<-• the parent to bear than a blo.v ^^ Why tl t itt^e -.ne pnnn. slowly aw,., while skill is baffled in its It " o ,., .fi . • ' '^ '^'^^''* or a moan, till even oi.or «.„,„.™es floes «■„,„ ,„e .,•,„„ „„,, „„ ,„„„„;„, J™ ;'■»' ■' -'"Id .K. ,. ndiof ,,,,,1,1 he. li„l.. s„tt-,„.,. ,,„ , ^„ ,,.^^, " » ■™.pvl.e„ tl,e li,M„ „„„ i» „,ffl,„,i, „„„ ,„„ ,„„„^ ,„; '" ■- ..n,o ,„ ,l,e ,„,„b, „.l., ,l,a, ,,,„,„ ,.e „|1 , Tl,„t li.elo ," -"■•«.. n,, l,.n!,H,.l,o.,«,, eve,. ,1,,,,,,1,, ,„..,,,,„, tl- ..v,„g „„1, ,„ ,li,_,|,, i,„,„„ ,,,,„,„,^ „,^,^ .^^^^^^^ ^^^^;_ -. THE TRIALS OF IIOMK. jjcravc ? Have my sins, a parent may ask, brouf^lit down this woe ? Is this the iniquity of the fathers visited on the children i Of this, at least, we are sure, " death passes upon all, for that all have sinned." " In Adam all die." Thus God shows the mystery, and bids us, when we cannot understand, be silent and adore. AVhat we know not now, we shall know hereafter ; and though our ritlod homes may cause the heart to ache, yet if such bereavements urge the parents more sedulously to prepare for glory, the present tribulation will deepen and prolong the future hosannas of the tried. And nature may symbolically teach us the same lesson, When we enter a mist-cloud as it drifts or liovers along the mountain-side which we are climbing, it sometimes dissolves around us so that the sunshine becomes undimmed. In like manner, if not here, at least hereafter, all the mist-clouds will clear away from before the ])arent who believes. Concerning his children torn from his embrace to the tomb, he may learn to say, — "For us tbey sicken and for us they die." Meanwhile, could parents remember that they are encountering their cares, and weeping their tears, and bearing their cross, and seeing their hopes deferred to-day, or blighted to-morrow, while attempting to train their children for God, they woiddbe stimulated to persevere, and not "faint in their minds." But there is one form of gri6f more intense than even this. The trials which crowd our homes are numerous, and no doubt, one of the reasons may be that some would make their home their heaven. Their atfections center there ; and their family is the Alpha and Omega of their exertions, their joys, and their hopes. Now to prevent such idolatry, a thorn is often placed in the nest, and men find labor and sorrow where they expected only sunshine and smiles. There may be poverty, and that is bitter, or some dis- B 299 ) i.i Til !■: rni.i r.s of iiomh. asler may tl.renton to strip o„r ],o„>os hare, I.„t it is wI.cm, rri.ls assume the character of retributions that thev c.nvulse a household tl.e most. It was har.l tWr David to k.unv that Ahsalo.n Mas no more; and that he perisl>ed a rebel ao^ainst his kinjj and ti.ther made the pan- n.ore poi-nant stilL I5ut if that father associated that death with his own Iiome nusdeeds, his sorrou- M-ould be the most acute that man is doomed to teei. His touchino- M-ail his characteristic Oriental outcry over his lost son, tiu.s 'Acquires a deeper meaning than before. "Would God 1 had die SA \("ri /■i /•: /) A /•'/■'/. lent) .v. Are our trialK Hoiiictinics j^reat? Great is our reward. Some- times the victims of (liwai)i)()iiitmeiit liero are tantalized i)y the Iiojie of often offered but Beldom tasted et him be of good eheer ; behind it all is coming up a brighter day. By the eye of faitli and the aid of revelation we ean already see its streaks. At times we ean almost feel the winds of that fresh morning breaking in npon us! Chris- tians, never despond in temptation, nor repine under losses, nor nnirmur in atllietions. Bear them with a smile, for the eternal joys of heaven far exceed the brief sufferings of earth. He who was in atHietions, distresses, tumults, labors, — -who was beaten, stoned, sliipwrecked, imprison(;d ; was in journeyings often, in ])crils of robbers, in perils in the city, in the wilderness, in the sea; who was in stripes, in prisons, and in deaths often, — could say, I take pleasure in infirmities, necessities, re2)roaehes, distresses, and persecutions. Why * For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are of no account in comparison with the glory here- after to be revealed in us. Now could that white-robed company be permitted to speak to us, we should hear them from the heights of bliss exclaim, in triumph, "Weeping may endure for the night, but joy cometh in the moraing. The night is already past, the day is at hand. Then lift up your heads, for the time of your redemption draweth nigh." And from the Captain of our salvation — made perfect through sufferings — there comes the exhortation, " Forasmuch as Christ hath suffered in the flesh, arm yourselves likewise with the same mind ; for if you suffer with him, you shall also reign with him. These 1303 1^ .V .1 .^• cTi /.- / /.; n A F Fi.nri o x. li^l.t alilietioMs which aro l.ut fWr a ,„o,nont, u-..,-k ,n.t a far .nore exoeodu,. au.l eternal weight ufglury ! " The cup which n.y Father K'veth ,ne, .hall 1 not drink ^ MVh, .houl.i 1 murnunV' «ai.l I-n;v ^lamn, in his last .ickness; •. weakness, peril, and pain are .ut .he nnn.stenn. angels wlu.se olHce it is t., conduct n.c to .lorv " 01., Mhat owe ir .avs Rutherford, •> to the lile. to the hanuner, to the t..rnace of my Lord Jesus!"- WaU/u.an and RrfL,tor. f I fj HOLD it true, whate'er befall, . I feel it when I sorrow most — 'Tis better to have loved anil lost Than jiever to have loved at all. — Alfred Tennyson. npriE stars shall fade away; the sun himself V\ Grow dim with a-e. and nature sink in years, But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, rnhurt amidst the Mar of elements. The wreck of matter and the crush of Avorlds. — Robert Pollocl'. DEATn's but a path that must be trod If nuin would ever pass to God. — Thomas ParneU. 304 CONSOLATION. Maiiv II. Ilorr.nxox. I^OT always can wo tell -when the most vivid li;ilitiiiii(' tiiid wliicli in prosju'ct we could not endure. J^itter, iudi'ed, would Ih' nil cliiisteninjr, if no f,'0()d came of it. WIkj biiiiil Hiiy that tlii^- I'uding of tiie soul, thin hrealviu;^ up of all the di'pths of our naturr, this strain ujion our cai)a(Mties for aiiiferiiig, is but the iuevitaiile chance-work of existence i What docs it mean i "That the trial of your faith lieiug much more precious than of gold thnt perisheth, thctugh it he tried with fire, might be found unto praise, and honor, and glory, at the api)eariiig of Jesus C'hrist." Were we perfect in sympathy '. Was our charity nnfuling^ Lacked we not in all directions thai symme- try of faith and purity of jmictice needed to ellect a resemblance t(^ the divine modeW Would we he strong^ We must often be put to the trial of our stvength. Covet wo the b'.'st gifts ^ 'J'hey are not granted to the undisciplined. We " rise on stepping-stones of our dead selves to liigher things." Ko one soul is so oliscure that (iod does not take thought for its schooling. The sun is the central light of the universe, but it has a nussion to the ripening corn and the ])urpling clu,sters of the vine. The sunshine that comes filtering through the morinng mists, with healing in its wings, and charms all tlie birds to singing, should have also a message from (lod to sad hearts. No ,so\d is so grief-laden that it may not be lifted to sources of heaveidy comfort by recogniz- ing the Divine love in the perpetual recurrence of earthly blessings : " Tho night is motlior of tl\o day, Tlio winter of tiir spriiifr; And even iiixin old decay Tlie {(reenest nioHscH clin^ Behind tlie cloud tlio utiir-lifrlit lurkB; Through whowers the H\nil)i'iuns full ; For (iod, who lovcth nil liiN works, Hath left his ho|M,' with all." 30 r I^i J RHSIGNATIOM. II. W. LONOFKIXOW. IIKKE is 110 Hock, however watched and tended, Jiiit one dead lamb is tlierel Thci'ii is no fireside howsoeVr defended, 15iit lias one vacant chair! The air is full (.f tiireweJls to the dying; And mournings for the dead ; Tiie heart <.f Rachel for her children crying, Will not he comforted! Let us he patient ! These severe afHictions Not from the ground arise, But ortentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapors, Amid these earthly damps; What seem to ns but sad, funereal tapers, May be heaven's distant lani])s. There is no Death ! What seems so is transition ; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Wliose portal we call Death. She is not dead,— the child of our affection,— But gone unto that school, Where she no longer needs our poor protection And Christ himself doth rule. 308 I,' h.S 1 il A. I 11 (> .\, In tliat preat cloirtterV stillness and scdnsion, iJy ji;iiar(lian aiij^cls led. Salt' t'roMi ti'inptatiuiis, sat'o t'nnii fin's |Mi||iiti(in, Slie livi's, wlioin wo t-all doail. Day atU'i' day wo tliinlv wliat slio is duiiig In tlioso Itn'^iit roalnis ut' air; Year at'tor yoar, lior tondor steps pursuing, ]ioIii)!(| lior ^^'own niuro fair. Thus do wo walk with her, and koop unbroken The bond which nature ^ives, Thinkiiiff that our romoinbranoe, though unspoken, May roaoli her whore she lives. Xot as a child shall we again behold her; For when with ra[ituro wild In our cntbraco we again enfold her, iShe will not lie a child ; But a fair maiden, in lior father's mansion, Clothed with celestial grace ; And beautiful with all the soul's expansion, Shall we l)elu)ld her face. And though at times impetuous with emotion And anguish long suppressed, The swelling heart lieaves, moaning like the ocean, That cannot be at rest. We will be patient, and assuage the feeling We may not wholly stay ; I3y silent sanctifying, not concealing, The grief that must have way. 309 . OUR BABY. A. D, F. I. Sefpembeu, 1858. Ifllf F all the darling children i| That e'er a household blessed, We place our baby for compare With the fairest and he best ; She came when last the violets Dropped from the hand of Spring; When on the trees the blossoms luuig— Tliose cups of odorous incense swung— When dainty robins sing. How glowed the ejarly morn i no- After a night of rain, AVhen she possessed our waiting hearts To go not out again ; " Dear Lord," we said, with thankful speech, " Grant we may love the more For this new blessing in our cup, That was so full before ! " ir. Septembek, 1860. This year, before the violets Had heralded the Spring, And not a leaf was on the trees, Nor robin here to sing, 310 Randolph. M r BAB r. An angel came one solemn night, Heaven's glory to bestow, And take our darling from our sight ; What could we. Lord, at morning light, But weep, and let her go ? How dark the day that followed That dreary night of pain ; Those eyes now closed, and nevermore To open here again. " Dear Lord," we said, with broken speech, " Grant we may love thee more For this new jewel in the crown Where we had two before ! " MY BABY* il^UCn a little break in the sod! So tiny to be a grave ! Oh ! how can I render so soon to God The beautiful gift he gave ? Must I put you away, my pet— My tender bud unblown — With the dew of the morning upon you yet, And your blossom all unshown ? My heart is near to break, For the voice I shall not hear, For the clinging arms around my neck. And the footsteps drawing near. 311 ,®'! -V y n A II r. The tiny, totteriiiir feet, Striving i'ov inuther's knee, For llie lit^ping tones so sweet, And tlie baby's, kiss to nie. For the ]irecious mother-namo. And the toiidi of the little hand, O ! am I so very niuch to blame II" I shrink from the soi-e demand i How shall I know her voice, Or the greeting of hw eyes, 'Mid the countless cherubs that rejoice, In the gardens of Paradise i How shall I know my own, Where the air is white with wings— My babe, so soon from my bosom Hown, To the angels' nuisterings i Ai:d this is tiie end of it all ! Of my waiting and my pain — Only a little funeral pall, And empty arms again. 0, baby ! my heart is sorp For the love that was to be, For the untried dream of love, now o'er, 'Twixt thee, my child, and me. Yet over this little head, Lying so still on my knee, I thank my God for the bliss of the dead, For the joy of the soul set free. 312 ■4 c in LD no <) n. 'Tis a Avearv world, at ln't^t, This world tliat slu; will not know. Would 1 waken her out of such pcrtbct rest, For its sorrow and strife i \h, no I w Escaped are its thorns and luirnis ; The only path she has trod Is that wiiich leads from the mother's arms Into the arms of God. — The Evunydid, CHILDHOOD. John (J. WiiiTTiEn. ^J13:J^EFOI?E life's sweetest mysteiT still The heart in reverence kneels ; The wonder of the primal birth The hitest mother feels. I ^1 ■?? We need love's tender lessons taught As only weakness can ; God hath his small intei-preters ; The child must teach the man. We wander wide through evil years, Our eyes ot faith grow dim ; But he is freshest from Ills hands And nearest unto Him ! And haply, pleading long with Ilim For sin-sick hearts and cold, 315 0C]{ UK AH ONES. Tlie angols of our cliiklliood still The Father's face behold. Of ouoh the kingdom ! Teach thus us, O Master most divine, To feel the deep significance Of tliese wise words of tliine ! The hanghty feet of power shall fail Where meekness surely goes ; No cunning find the key of heaven, No strength its gates unclose. Alone to guilelessness and love Those gates shall open t'all ; The mind of pride is nothingness, The child-like heart is all. OUR CEAR ONES. James Aldrich. ' OD gives 1 8 ministers of love, "Which we regard not, being near ; Death takes them from ns, then we feel That angels have been with us here ! \\ : i; 'Tis a blessing to live, but a greater to die; And the best of the world, is its path to the sky. —John K. Mitchell. 31G BABY BSJiL. TuoMAs Bailey AiDRicn. a|AVE you not heard the poets tell i[| How came the dainty Baby 13ell Into this world of ours ? A The Gates of Heaven were left ajar : I AVith folded hands and dreamy eyes, Wandering out of Paradise, She saw this planet, like a star, Hung in the glistening depths of even, — Its bridges, running to and fro, O'er -which the white-winged ungels go, Bearing the holy dead to heaven. She touched a bridge of Howers,— those feet, So light they did not bend the bells Of the celestial asphodels, They fell like the dews upon the flowers : Then all the air grew strangely sweet ! And thus came dainty Baby Bell Into this Avorld of ours. She came and brought delicious Ma^ The swallows built beneath the eaves; Like sunlight, in and out the leaves The robins went the livelong day ; The lily swung its noiseless bell : And o'er the porch the trembling vine Seem'd bursting with its veins of wine. s 317 11 .1 I! y 1! i: L I, . How sweetly, softly, twilif^ht tell ! Oil, earth was full of singing- birds And opening si)ring-tide tlowers, When the dainty Baliy Bell Came to this world of ours. Oh, Baby, dainty Baby Bell, How foir she grew from day to day! What woman-nature till'd her eyes, So full of meaning, pure and bi-ight As if she stood in the liirlit Of those oped gates of Paradise. And so we loved her more and more : Ah, never in our hearts before Was love so lovely born ; W^e felt we had a link between This world and that unseen— The land beyond the morn ; And for the love of those dear eyes. The love of her whom Ooi) led forth, (The mother's being ceased on earth W^!ien Baby came from Paradise),— For love of Him wlio smote our lives. And woke the chords of joy and pain, We said, Dea?' Christ !—om liearts bent down Like violets after rain. And now the orchards, which were white And red with blossoms, when she came. Were rich in autumn's mellow prime ; And cluster'd apples burnt like flame, 318 Ji A H Y B E L L . Tliesoft cheek'd peaches blusli'il and tell, The ivory chestnut luirst its shell, The grapes hung purpling in the grange ; And time wrought just as rich a change In little Baby IJell. Her lissome form moi'e perfect grew, And in her features we could trace In soften'd curves, her mother's face. Her angel-natm'e ripen'd, too : We thought her lovely when she came, I3ut she was holy, saintly now : — Around her pale, augelic brow We saw a slender ring of Hame ! God's hand had taken away the seal That held the portals of her speech ; And oft she said a few strange words Whose meaning lay box'ond our reach. She never was a child to us, We never held her being's key ; Wi-' could not teach her holy things : She was Christ's self in purity. I* came upon ns by degrees, We saw its shadow ere it fell, — The knowledge that our God had sent His messenger for Baby Bell. We shuddered with unlanguaged pain. And all our hopes were changed to fears, And all our thoughts ran into tears Like sunshine intc rain. 319 t,., ti IH! r : r I ; ■I i ! I O r R I) K A I) CHILD li i: N. "\\'e cried iilt)ii(l in our helirf, "Oh, siiiitf US gently, gently, (iod ! Teaeii us to hend and I• j,i, fears; He is onl) .1,1, k with the children, In the dear and peaceful years. And -till as the summer sunset Fades away in the west. And the wee ones, tired of playing, Go trooping home to rest, My husband calls from his corner, '•Say, love I have the childi'in come!"' And I answer, with eyes uplifted, •' Yes, dear 1 they are all at home ! " ■L^ I^ABE in a house is a well-spring of pleasure, ?^:^ A messenger of peace and love, A resting-place for innocence on earth ; a link between angels and men. — M. F. Tnpper. 325 .1; ■! TH- DEATK OF CHILDREN. ■^i^.^i'f ""m CiiAs. Wadswortii, D.D. t i^m^ ^^^'^ '"^^''^^ *'^''*-'^'^' ^'""^ <^^»'ltivates many tiowers seemin^i-'ly |M£ o"1j for their exquisite beauty and fragrance. For when IP"^ ^'^^^'^^^ ^" ^''^"^ sunshine they have burst into blossom, then m the Divine hand gathers them from the earthly fields to be l|^ kept in crystal vases in the deathless mansions above. Thus little children die— some in the sweet bud, some in the fuller blossom ; but never too early to make heaven fairer and sweeter with their immortal bloom. Verily, to the eye of Faith, nothing is fairer than the death of young children. Sight and sense, indeed, recoil trom it. The fiower that, like a breathing rose, filled heart and home with an exquisite delight, alas ! we are stricken with sore anguish to find its stem broken and the blossom gone. But unto Faith, eagle-eyed beyond mental vision, and winged to mount like a singing lark over the fading rainbow unto the blue heaven, even this is touchingly lovely. Tiie chiUrs earthly mmistry was well done, for the rose dcjes its work as grandly in blossom as the vine \\ith its fruit. And having helped to sanctify and lift heavenward the very hearts that broke a^t its farewell, it has gone from this troublesome sphere,— ere the winds chilled or the rains stained it, leaving the world it blessed and the skies through which it passed still sM'cet with its lingering fra- grance,— to its glory as an ever-unfolding flower in the blessed gar- den of God. Surely, prolonged life on earth hath no boon like this ! For sucli mortal loveliness to put on immortality— to rise from the carnal with so little memory of earth that the mother's cradle seemed 326 "^aj..^., i:[ UIXD UP TJia BH OKKy-HEAli TEU. to have been rocked in the house of many mansions — to have no experience of a wearied mind and cliilled atfections, but from a child's joyous Jieart growing up in the power of an archangelic intel- lect — to be raptured as a blessed babe througli the gates of Paradise — ah ! this is better than to watch as an old prophet for the ear of iire in the Valley of Jordan. ! BIND UP THE BROKEH-HEARTED. C. II. Si'UIKJEON. s^^^pT is a beautiful figure, this binding \\\) — as though the C'ru- lSffl('^' citied One took the liniment and the strai)i)ing and i)ut it ^i^^^fIa* lie' I ^jM round the broken heart, and with his omii dear, gentle hand %\& proceeded to close up the wound and make it cease to Itleed. ij^ Jesus never fails in his surgery. He whose own heart Avas broken knows how to cure l)rokeii hearts. If you have that broken heart within you, beloved, Christ came to cure you ; and he will do it, for he never came in vain; '"he shall not fail nor be dis- couraged." "Witii sovereign ])ower anointed from on high he watches for the worjit of cases. Heart disease, incurable by man, is Christ's specialty. His gos])el touches the root of the soul's ill, whence are the issues of life. AVith pity, wisdom, power, and condescension, he bends over our broken bones, and ere he has done with them he makes them all rejoice and sing glory to his name. ' iljjIIE maelstrom attracts more notice than the quiet fountain ; a (i^ comet draws more atteution than the steady star; l)ut it is better to be the fountain than the maelstrom, and star than comet, following out the sphere and orbit of (juiet usefulness in which God places us. — Jolm Hall^ D.D. 327 ii HOME BEREAVEMENTS,* ^Br^s'^^ x Henuy Ward Beeciieh. '^®IP ""'^J^'"^'* together, many of us l>v u cununou cxporic..!,-. -IMI ^^'"^' "*■ "^ ^''"■'^ '""^t "' ^>=^^'li ^'thers' l.o„.o. and .,. ... ffO ''^^'^'■'^' company on just such errands of grief and >vnn III eacJi la- m tl>y '-"Hi Cln-istia^i triuniph as tl.is. IIow many of us' have |T sent children forward; and how many of us feel to-dav that all things are for our sakes; and that those thin;-- which for the present are not joyous but grievous, nevertheless work in us the peaceable fruit of rfghteousness ! So we stand in what n.av be called a relationship of grief We are knit together and broM^ht ".ade Christian and blessed. ^ To be sure, if we were to ask this life what would be best there 18 no father, there is no mother, who wo.dd not plead with all the ^trength which lies in natural affection, " Spare n,e, and spare nn-ne " ^or the outward man this is reasonable and unrebukable; and yet If It be overruled by Ilim who loves us even better than He loves ii.s own hfe, then there comes the revelation of another truth- name y, that the things which are seen are the unreal things, and that the real things are the things which are invisible When our children that are so dear to us are plucked out of our arms, and carried away, we feel, for the tin.e beini,., that we have lost them, because our body does not triumph ; bn't are they taken from our inward man? Are they taken from that which is to be saved-the spiritual man ? Are they taken from men.orv ' Are they taken from love? Arc they taken from the scope and * Remarks made at the funeral of a child in Plymouth Cluuch Brooklyn. 328 HOME j{£I{ E A VEMEATS. reach of the imagination, M'hich, in its sanctified torn., is only another iiatne for faith i Do we not sometimes dwell witli them more intimately than we did when they were with us on earth ? The care of them is no longer ours, that love-burden we bear no longer, since they are with the angels of God and with God ; and we shed tears over what seems to be our loss ; but do they not hover in the air over our heads I And to-day could the room hold them all i As you ri'^oUect, the background of the Sistine Madoma, at Dresdev < ,.ome resjtects the most wonderful picture of maternal love M '';'•' uxists in the world), for along time was merely dark ; and an artist, in making some repairs, discovered a cherub's face in the grime of that dark background ; and being led to sus])ect that the picture had been overlaid by time and neglect, connnenced cleansing it ; and as he went on, cherub after cherub appeared, until it was found that the Madonna was on a background made up wholly of little heaveidy cherubs. JS'ow, by nature motherhood stands against a dark background; but that background being cleaned by the touch of God, and by the cleansing hand of faith, we see that the whole heaven is full of little cherub faces. And to-day it is not this little child alone that we Itiok at, which we see only in the outward guise; we h)ok upon a l)ackgrt)und of children innumerable, each one as sweet to its mother's heart as this child has been to its mother's heart, each one as dear to the clasping arms of its father as this child has been to the clasping arms of its father ; and it is in good company. It is in a spring-land. It is in a sunnner-world. It is with God, You have given it back to Him who lent it to you. Now, the giving back is very hard, but you cannot give back to God all tiiat you received with your child. You cannot give back to God those springs of new and deeper affection which were 320 r li 'iOJ/h- B EliEAVEMIjy'rs. awakened l.y tl.e ecu in-, of the little one. You cannot give back tu (xod tl.e experiences which you have had in dwelling with your darling. Ynu cannot give i,ack to God the hours which, when you look upon then, now, seem like one golden chain of linked happi- ness. ^ ^ You are better, yoi, are riper, you are riche,-, even in this hour of bereavement, than you were. God gave; and he has not taken away except in outward fonn. He holds, he keeps, he reserves, he watches he loves. You shall have again that which you have given back to hiin only outwardly. Meanwhile, the key is in your hand ; and it is not a black iron key; it is a golden key of faith and of love. This little child has taught you to follow it. There will not be a sunrise or .1 sunset when you will not in imagination go through the gate of heaven after it There is no door so fast that a mother's love and a father's love will not open it and follow a beloved child. And so, by its ;.iin.stration, this child will guide you a thousand times into a real- ..at.on ot the great sj.irit-land, and into a faith of the invisible, which will make you as much larger as it makes you less dependen; on the body, and more rich in the fruitage of the spirit. To-day, then, we have an errand of thanksgiving. We thank God for sendmg this little gift into this househohl. We thank God for the hght which he kindled here, and which burned with so pure a flame and taught so sweet a lesson. And we thank God, that, when this cluld was to go to a better place, it walked so few steps, for so few hours, through pain. Men who look on the dark side shake the head and say, '• Oh, how sudden ! " but I say, Since it was to go God be thanked that it was permitted to pass through so brief a period of suffering; that there were no long weeks or months of gradual decay and then a final extinction ; that out of the fullness of lieahh It dropped into the fullness of heaven, leaving its body as it 330 - -^.-..-r-.-^. . T---jmm_ THE AXGKL CHILD. lies before yon to-day, a thing of beanty. Blessed be God for such mercy in the ministration of sickness and of departure. I appreciate your sorrow, having myself often gone through, this experience ; and I can eay that tliere is no other experience which throws such a light upon the storm-cloud. "We are never ripe till we have been made so by suttering. "NVe belong to those fruits which must be touched by frost before they lose their sourness and come to their sweetness. I see the goodness of God in this dispen- sation as pointing us toward heaven and immortality. In this bereavement there is cause for rejoicing ; for such it is that you and your child shall meet again never to be separated. THE AMGEL CHILD. Mrs. C. L. Rice. ,«l^^ HE may not return, but to her thou shalt go, When thy days are numbered and finiaued below ; And it may to thy angel child be given ^^ First to meet and to welcome her mother to heaven ; And there, reunited to part never more. One song shall ye sing and one Saviour adore. \jl^ N angel stood and met my gaze -^^ Through the low door-way of my tent ; The tent is struck, the vision stays : I only know she came and went. Russell Loioell. 331 ?l i<. EMPTY CRADLES. V ggV,.._^ ^^'««- (^iEOHGIE A. II. McLKOD. SfSIr^' ^^'^ '^"'P^.^'' ''"il>0' t'radlt's, ijh^^ "^'^^'it ""'«t now be put awa'- if^"^ I''"'" t'le little ones will need them if^ Never more by night or day, j For the pure and dreamless sleepers, Xever more they'll j-ock to i-est, Their bright heads upon the pillows, Shall no more be softly prest ! In the still and solemn nighttidl, Death's pale angel noiseless sped, " I have gathered only Lilies, F(jr my Lord to-day," he said; Oh, the Lilies, the AVhite Lilies, That made earthly homes so bright. How many, many buds are missing. Since the happy morning light ! Waxen hands, with blossoms in them, Faces very white and fair, Curtained eyes, like hidden star-light. Silken rings of simny hair. Hushed and still, Ave gaze upon them And we scarcely know our loss ; But to-morrow -we shall feel it, Almost crushed beneath the crot'.;. 33si ' mnA'^^.. EMP T Y C If A n A ES. li Little robes, so richly lu'oidcretl, Wrought with so iniich love and pride, Dainty laces, ]ialo, pure ribbons, They inv.st all be laid aside; For in glorious robes of brightness Are the little ones arrayed, All unstained by earth the whiteness, Such a little while they stayed. Ah, the bivsy, busy mornings, And the nights of aux'ious care ; Now, there is no need of watching. There'll be time enough to spare. There's no baby's voice, we'll listen, Thinking that we hear it oft ; On our face Jio baby lingers, Toiiches like the rose leaves soft. Never mind tlie noisy household, Nor loud foot-falls on the stair, 'Twill Tiot wake the peaceful sleeper, There's no baby anywhere. In a casket, white as snow-ilakes, Nestling all among the flowers, Are the pure and spotless Lilies, That a little while were ours. In our dreams, 'midst dasizling brightness, And a rapturous burst of song, Through our tears, we saw above us, Oh ! the radiant spirit throng ! In their arms so softly cradled Our o'ATi little ones we know, 333 '■Ittl. is I ,«^'" .1/ }■ CHILD. And we hear tliem whisper ^t'litly, " The White Lilies from heh)w." Wide tlie Khiiiiiig rrates are opened, For tlie ehildren are ut home Back to us, come tlie sweet echoes, " Oh, sillier them to conie ! "' Put away the empty cradles, Keep we only in our sight That bright glimpse of the tair dwelling Which the children have to-night ! MY CHILD. John Pierpont. |- CANNOT make liim dead ! J|^«^ His fair sunshiny head JK Is ever bounding round my study-chair ; ^Ip Yet when my eyes, now dim y Witli tears, I turn to him, The vision vanishes— he is not there ! I walk my parlor floor, And, through the open door, I hear a footfall on the chamber stair; I'm stepping toward the hall, To give the boy a call. And then bethimv me that— he is not there ! I thread the crowded street, A satcheled lad I meet, 334 M y (II I L n. With tlie same lieaming cyos and colored hair ; And, as he's running by, Follow him witli my eye, Scarcely believing that — he id not there I I cannot make him dead ! When passing by the bed. So long watched over with ])arental care ; My spirit and my eye Seek him inquiringly, Before the thought comes that— he is not there ! Not there i Where, then, is he i The foriii I nsed to see Was but the raiuient that he used to wear. The grave, that now doth press Upon that cast-off dress, Is hut his wardrobe locked — he is not there ? He lives ! In all the past He lives ; nor, to the last. Of seeing him again will I despair ; In dreams I see him now ; And on his angel brow, I see it written, '• Thou shalt see me there ! " Yes, we all live to God ! Father, thy chastening rod So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear, That in the spirit land, Meeting at thy right hand, 'Twill be our heaven to find that — he is there ! " 335 Im-4 rrT~" SUNSHINE FOR THE SORROWINQ. I{K\ I'llKO. 1.. Cl Y1,EK. ll'.M^ONfr the reaflei-s of tliis paper tliorc imist he iiiiniy who '0TfrJ " ^^'*^'"'' '"""•■'''•iJJ'." Every minister, us he runs lii.s eye over hWJ his coiii'Teijation, sees the hhick hiulge of sori'ow in every jt ^"^'^ ^^ ^^^^ house. Vet many of the (h'ejjest and sorest griefs ] of the heart do not hoist any outward signal ot tUstress. For M-lio ever puts on erai)e for a family disgrace, or a secret heart- ache, or loss of character, or an acute contrition for sin, or a hack- sliding from Christ i Set it down as a fact that (lod sees ten-told more sorrow than the human eye ever detects. "\Vhat a clear streak of sunshine our Lord let into this reyion of sorrowing hearts when he pronounced that wonderful henediction: "Blessed are they that mourn!" Perhaps some poor (ialilean mother who came up that day to hear Jesus of Xazareth, with her eyes red from weeping over a lost child, whis])ei'e(l to herself: " That is for me ; I am a mourner." " Ah ! '' thought some pejii- tent sinner who felt the plague of his guilty heart, " that means me; I am in trouhle to-day." It did mean them. Christ's religion is the first and only religion ever known in tliis Morld which recoiini-ies human sorrow, and has any sunshine of consolation for ])roken hearts. Do eohl-hlooded infidels realize that fact when they attempt to destroy men's f;uth in the Gospel of Calvary '( AVe are apt to limit this henediction of Jesus to one class of sufferers. We take this sweet little text into sick-rooms, or to fu- nerals, or into the lonely group which gather around a mother's deserted chair or a little empty crih. It was meant for them. It has fallen upon such stricken hearts like the gentle rain upon the 330 o^ '- — s r .^■ .s // / A /■' /•■ " '•■ ■/• // !■: s i> /,• u " u / .-. (.■ . lU'W-niown when it enters, and ju>t how to sy npathize with our pe(>i>le in their hereavenu-nts. Somehow a ndiister i.- never fullv ready to cnut the frap'auce of sympathy for others until he has l.eeii hruised himself. There is a j,'reat laek iihout all Christians who have never sulVered. Paul ahouu'led in consolation liecause lie had known sharj) tribulations in his own experieiu-e. What a precious spilling of his great sympathetic heart that was when he overflowed into that sublime passage which ends the fourth and begins the fifth chapter of his Epistle to the Corinthians. The out- ward num perishing— the inward man renewed day by day. The atlliction growing "light" in proportion to the transcendent weight of the eternal glory! The old tent droi)i>ing to pieces and the heavenly numsion looming up so gloriously that iiis homesick soul longed to (piit the fluttering tent, and to "be ])resent with the Lord." These are indeed mighty consolations to liear with us into our houses of mourning. They are the foretastes which make us lono- for the fidl feast and the seraphic joys of the marriage-supper of the Lamb. We experience what the old godly negro, " Fncle .lohnson," did when he said: "Oh, yes, nnissa, I feel bery lonesome since my Ellen died, but den do Lord comes round ebery day and gibs me a t/i.sft' oh de Iu'ih/i/oni, }i\a' n^ a nus woidd wid de spoon; but oh, how I wants to get hold of> de whole dish! " 337 f ,,^'f fmm ■i WH KNOW NOT WHAT IS BEFORE US. • '^ M.^diSA ' Mahy O. Biiainaiid. Jra| KNOW „ot wlint 8]iall bctiil! uw, il^ ^''"^ ^^''l* ^" '".^' <»'>\var(I path '^F "•' iiiakes now scoiie8 to rise, 'p And even- joy IJu sends to me CoincH as a sweet sui'prise. T sec not a step before me As I ti-ead on another year, But the past is still in God's kcepinjr, The future IJis mercy shall cleiir. And what looks dark in tlie distaneo May brio-liten as 1 draw near. For perhaps tlie dreaded fntiire lias less bitter than I thiidc ; The Lord may sweeten the waters I'etbre I stooj) to drink; Or, if Mai-ah must be Marali, He will stand beside its brink. It may be lie has, waiting For the coming of my feet, Some gift of snch rare value, Some joy so strangely sweet. That my hps shall only treujble With the thanks they cannot speak. 338 Ill J' AS a I yd A » .1 )'. O, rentfiil blissful iffiiomnce ! 'Tirt blesrifd not tuknow: It keeps inc still in those aruiB Whii'li will not let me go, An8- Say four, and that leaves six-to. nhort, I vow, for -Uegrottnii.. past and making fre.h mistakes ' Meanwhile each l,onr dispels son.e fond illnsio,, Untd at length, ..,.. eyes, sum teeth, you may Have scarcdy .onse to eume to this conclnsion, You ve reachd fourscore, but haven't lived a day. LIFE'S BPITAPH. W ,°r f '"^ '"'^'-'-'V >™'■ """^■•«. !"■' in iV n T7""- ^""' "" "" '""'""8 "™'-^ -■™ ««■' people iT 1 read what we have „.,.itte„ when „.e are gone. S|'„L few and .h« """"^ " ""' "■*■ '"""^•' "■" ««™'y *"" t>y . few and that ren.en.hrance we are n,aking ™,.e of b, the tenor of hi ;• ""' *"?"'"" ™ "'" ""-P'i«- we are making on the he.„, of ,ho« .1,0 know, and who will snrvive ns. IVe do ,ro. leave 1 m offlee to othe... ^Ve are doing it „„,.elves. Otl>ers g ml.,, able. Ve eng,.ve ,l,e,„ on the mind of all ol»ervers. How >^ 1 they be read w,tl, joy or s„r,w ! Reme,nber the epitaphs „ »nte are no. for the marble that tell, where we lie, bnt t . memory of every one that knew ...-Cong,-e,at,,naU.l THE LIFE CLOCK* f HERE is a little mystic flock, No liuinaii eye hath seen ; That beateth on and beateth on, From morning until e'en. And when the soul is wrapped in sleep, And heareth not a sound, It ticks and ticks the live-long night, And never runneth down. Oh, wondrous is that work of art. Which knells the passing hour ; But art ne'er formed or mind conceived, This life clock's magic powe.'. Nor set in gold, nor decked with gems, By wealth and pride possessed ; By rich or poor, or high or low. Each bears it in his breast. When life's daep stream, 'mid beds of flowers, All still and softly glides, Like the wavelet's step, with a gentle beat, It warns of passing tides. When threatening darkness gathers o'er, And hope's bright visions flee, 347 rik-»«-« I i: Like the .sullen stroke of the nmffled oar, It beateth heavily. When passion nerves the warrior's arm For deeds of liate and wrong, Though heeded not the fearful'sound, Its knell is deep and strong. Wlien eyes to eyes are gazing soft, And tender words are spoken, Then fast and wild it rattles on,' As if with love 'twere broken. Such is the clock that measures life, Of tiesh and spirit blended. And tlius 'twill run within the heart Till that strange tie is ended.-A7ion'i/mous. LIFE'S BOUNDARY LIKS. (THE DOOMED MAX.) J. Addison Alexandeb, D.D. HERE is a time, we know not when, A place, we know not where, That marks the destiny of men, To glory or despair. There is a line by us unseen, That crosses every path. The hidden boundary between God's patience and His wrath, 348 I f LIFK'S noiWDARr LIXE. To pass that limit is to die, To die as if l>y stealtli ; Tt does not quoiidi tlie heaining eye, Or pale the jjhnv of health. The coiiscience may be t^till at ease, The spirits lif^ht and pay ; That which is pleasing still may please, And care l)e thrust away. But on that forehead God has set Indelibly a mark — Unseen by man, for man as yet Is blind and in the dark. And still the doomed man's path below May bloom as Eden bloomed — He did not, does not, will not know, Or feel, that lie is doomed. He knows, he feels that all is well, And every fear is calmed ; He lives, he dies, he wakes in hell, Not only doomed but dannied ! O ! where is this mysterious bourne, By which our path is crossed ; Beyond which, God himself hath sworn That he who goes is lost I How far may men go on in sin ? if !W long will God forbear ? "vru. re does hope end, and where begin The confines of despair ? 349 m^ i!?*\l l^t ia-l i ; i' nn i:\iTy of l/fk. Aji answer from tlie skies is sent,— '• Yu that from Cuh\ depart, Wliilc it is called to-dav cpent, And liardeii not your heart I " BREVITY OF LIFE. f Pjt£ llvE to the falling of a star, M^M Or as tlie flights of eagles are, Henry Kino. J(y ^'" '"'^^ *'''" ^^'^^^^ spi'iiig's gaudy hue, ^^ Or t^ilver drops of morning (lew, 1^ Or like a wind that chafes the flood, Or bubbles which on water stood— E'en such is man, whose borrowed light Is straight called in, and paid to-niglit. The wind blows out, the bubble dies, The spring entombed in riitunin lies, The dew dries up, the star is shot, The flight is pa.- 1 and ni:ui forg( ' THE RESPONSIBILITIES OF LIFE. tALKY DER REfOU, D.D. HIS world is a solemn fact; we are m it; let us try to under- ^ stand it, let us grapple with its m; ie 'et us tliink much of its responsibilities, let us pander the ,ug,,. of the inquiring •Hinds of past ages, let us prize all the light we have from man fi-om Uod, so that we may be guided aright amid its perils and changing experiences. 350 „ Luiii) Hyuon, yffll'kETWEEN two worldH life hovers, like u star 1^ 'Twixt iiiP. . Life, we\e heen long togethei'. Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 'Tis hard to ])ai't when friends are dear ; Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear ; Then steal away, give little warning, Cho" thine own time ; Say not Good-night, hut in some hrightor clime Bid me Good-morning. :}51 ^ J B0UKDARI3S OF LIPS. ^j^uu^^ OLrvEii Wendell Holmes. i|fij|''"J'^^'I'^KX two hivatlis what crowilotl mysteries lie— ife^S '^'^'^' ^''*^ *'""'* ^'"""l*' ^'"^ '""* *"'^ loii^r-ilmwn .sigh! ^f|jc Like ])lmiitniiis jmiiited on tlio magic HJide, if Forth from tiic darkiiens of the pai^t we "'lide t As living shadows for a moment seen In airy pageant on the eternal bcreen, Traced by a ray from one unehanging tlame, Then seek the dust and stillness whence we came. THE VANITY OF LIFE. Edw. Youno. Aoy What tliongh we wade in wealth or soar in fame ! Earth's highest station ends in '• Here he lies ; *' And "Dust to dust "' concludes her noblest sonjr. LIFE, A BOOK. Jp|f AN'S life's a book of histoiy ; •:4^^ The leaves thereof are days ; The letters, mercies closely joined ; The title is God's praise. ,950 John Mason. /^ OD (lemands an account of the past ; that we must render %r^ liereafter. He deniauils an improvement of the present, and tliis we nmst render now. — 11' 353 I OUR LIFE A SSRMQH. T I'K Witt Talmaok. h'K liirth is the text from which wo stiirt. Voiitii is tlu- iiitnxhictii'n to tlu- (iiscoiir.-c. Durinj,' mir miiniiood we hiy down a few ])roi)ositioii!* and prove them. Home of tiie j'V yixam'^vA are dull, an(^<^ li^'e that when thy summons comes to join jb-' The innumeral)le caravan that moves To the pale i-ealms of sliade, where each sliall take J lis chamber in tlie silent halls of death, Thou go not like the taiird and soothed By an mifaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About- him. and lies down to jileasant dreams. u<, !'i ii I'^f ^ f THE YOYAQE OF LIFE,* Madame Qpyon. WiVS my purpose, on a daj, T" embark and sail away, As I cliinbed the vessel's side. Love was sijorting in the tide ; I " Come," he said, " ascend— make haste, Launch into the Itoundless waste." Many mariners were there, Having each his separate care; They that rowed us held their eyes Fixed upon the starry skies; Others steered or turned the sails To receive the sliifting gales. LovK, with power divine supplied, Suddenly my courage tried ; In a moment it was night, Ships and skies were out of sight ; },i.,,*i,r'u r7"r'"" "'" •'"" "' -^^'^''"■"""••yon-a woman of great woalth gh nno lectual .u.lturo, and intense suffc-ri„g for tho cuus.. of fl.rJt. Sh. liv i o lumdre. ycurs ago, and was a z..alous nuMnber of tl.. Ro,„an Catholic 'in re crucified, and b1„. «ank into the perfect will of Ood. Surrounded by the darkness and superstition of papacy, and tempte.1 by all th,- hlandi.shnient.s whiL vea tl Tnd social position could offer, she reached a plane of Christian experience wl c Icon pai^^ly tew attain .unon, the Protestant Churches. " UoJ is Z :^^:Zi 354 ^i THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. m On tLe briny wave I lay, Floating ruslies all m\ stay. Did I with resentment bura At this unexpected turn? Did I wish myself on shore, Never to forsake it more ? Wo ! •' Mil soui;' I cried, " he still ; If I must be lost, I ■will.''' Next he hastened to convey Both my frail supports away ; Seized my rushes ; bade the waves Yearn into a thousand graves. Down 1 went, and sunk as lead, Ocean closing o'er my head. Still, however, life was safe; And I saw him turn and laugh ; " Friend," he c.-ied, " adieu ! lie low, While the wintry storms shall blow ; When the Spring has calmed the main, You shall rise, and float again." Soon I saw him, with dismay. Spread his plumes and soar away; !Nnw I mark his rajiid flight; Now he leaves m^- aching sight; He is gone whom T adore, 'Tis in vain to seek him liiore. How I trembled then, and feared, When my Love had disappeared ! 355 V J ?^' M f j ■I i 1 ■'* i ! M n ij Ml r ; 1 I THE VOYA a K OF LIFE, " Wilt thou leave mo thus," I cried, "Wlit'liiied beneath the rolling tide?'^ Vain attempt Id reach his ear! Love was gone, and would not hear. Ah : return and love me still ; iSee me sui)joct to thy will ; Frown with wrath, or smile with grace, Oidy let me see thy face ! Evil I have none to fear; AH is good, if thou art near. Yet he leaves me — ci'uel fate ! Leaves me in my lost estate; Have I sinned i Oh, say therein i Tell me, and forgi\ e my sin ! Xing and Lord, whom I adore, Shall I see t)iy tiice no more! 15e not angry — I resign Henceforth all my will to thine. I consent that thou depart. Though thine absence break my heart; Go. fJicN, (did forever too ; All h n knows ; e ? Ko life 9 3vere 'on. need the helj) id iiiikindness, • [ advantage. — Add!.so)i . I f-»i-l 11 I ii I ■^ F 4 '^