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NEVER GIVE UP; 
 
 OR, 
 
 HOW CHILDREN MAY BE HAPPY 
 
 EDITED BY 
 MRS. M. H. ADAMS. 
 
 Forth to the world, thou messenger of truth, 
 And peace, and love ! Thy benediction breathe 
 On hearts now waiting for thee ! Humbly speak 
 In Christ's good name, and in his spirit's power ; 
 And heaven shall own thy mission. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 PUBLISHED BY JAMES M. USHER, 
 
 No. 37 Oornhill. 
 1 850. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1848, by 
 
 JAMES M. USHER, 
 In the Clerk's Office oi the District Court of Massachusetts. 
 
^ JZ3H 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The attention, encouragement and support, which 
 our little Annual has received from contributors, read- 
 ers and patrons, have called for another volume, with 
 improvements on the past. May it follow its predeces- 
 sors wherever thev have gone, and go where they have 
 not been. 
 
 "We fully appreciate the disinterested labors of 
 our contributors, and here express our thanks for the 
 assistance rendered. A glance at the names of these 
 contributors, and the assurance we can give of their 
 interest in the improvement of the youth growing up 
 around us, we hope will inspire our young friends and 
 the public with fresh confidence in the moral power of 
 the little book. 
 
 At the time of the appearance of the Annual for 
 1848, the editor had supposed her earthly labors ended ; 
 But it pleased the Father of mercies to delay the angel 
 of death, and restore her again to her humble place 
 with mortals, where she would consecrate her feeble 
 powers anew in the cause of his holy truth. May his 
 approving blessing rest on this effort ! 
 
 M. H. A. 
 
 1* 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGS 
 
 Oberlin, 11 
 
 Scraps for Children, 24 
 
 The Little Adventurers, 31 
 
 The Careless Dart, ...... 36 
 
 The Red and White Rose, 41 
 
 A Short Story for Little Readers, ......... 44 
 
 The Brazen Serpent, 51 
 
 The Miracles of Christ, ............. 53 
 
 How do you know he 's honest ?......... 61 
 
 The Spirit Child, ................ 65 
 
 The Complaint, 74 
 
 How Children may be happy, 76 
 
 Ellen Grant, 88 
 
 Children in Trade, 100 
 
 The Christian's Reward, 104 
 
 Nature hath voices and speaketh wisdom, 106 
 
 Napoleon, 115 
 
 Our Bibles, 121 
 
 The Pool of Siloam, 133 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 My Mother's Voice, 135 
 
 Saturday Afternoon, 137 
 
 Heaven Here, 141 
 
 A Soldier of the right kind, 143 
 
 A Story of my Childhood, 146 
 
 Sunday Morning, 152 
 
 Hymn, 159 
 
 The Declaration of Independence, 161 
 
 Extract from an Address on the Death of a Child, . .164 
 Sabbath Morning, 169 
 
OBERLIN. 
 
 EY MRS. M. H. ADAMS. 
 
 To the boys who are striving for self-improve- 
 ment, the character of Oberlin will present a 
 beautiful and wonderful example of the excel- 
 lence to which young men and lads can attain, 
 by a steady perseverance, and firm trust in their 
 own power, attended by an humble reliance on 
 the assistance of God in every good enterprise. 
 You will learn, from his history, how by the 
 former you may be enabled to overcome difficul- 
 ties before which many falter and become dis- 
 couraged, and how, by a practical belief in the 
 goodness of God, you will be sustained and 
 borne through trials which cannot be avoided. 
 You will find in his life an example of purity, 
 holiness, piety, faith, and love, not often presented 
 to youth, worthy of your acceptance and imita- 
 tion. All that is taught us by the actual life of 
 a good man is as worthy of remembrance as 
 his words : the latter we call his precepts, his 
 theory ; the former his example, his practice ; 
 and you all know that theory without practice 
 cannot benefit you, that precept without example 
 
12 
 
 OBERLIN. 
 
 is worthless information, a dead letter. In this 
 sketch you obtain only a glimpse of his right- 
 eousness, simply an inkling of thoughts, habits, 
 and feelings which I would willingly transcribe 
 at length for your benefit, had I room. 
 
 JOHN FREDERIC OBERLIN. 
 
 This worthy man was born at Strasborg, in 
 Germany, August 31, 1740. He was one of 
 seven boys, and had two sisters. His father was 
 an educated, respectable man, in comfortable 
 circumstances, but not rich. He loved his 
 children tenderly, and devoted all his hours of 
 leisure to their instruction. The book education 
 which John Frederic received was no more than 
 any studious boy may obtain in the Grammar 
 Schools of New England. With what he did 
 obtain, however, he set out in life, determined to 
 be a ma?i. Perhaps the idea originated with 
 his parents, whose life and habits were intended 
 to influence itheir children in favor of virtue and 
 piety. 
 
 In the life of Frederic their wishes were 
 crowned with the most gratifying success. He 
 was an amiable, benevolent boy, noble in his 
 motives, and regardless alike of praise or censure, 
 when he knew he was doing right. Many 
 instances are given, in his history, where self- 
 
OBERLIN. 
 
 13 
 
 denial seemed to be the ruling principle of his 
 life, which was in fact a series of the most decided 
 and commendable acts of self-denial and gener- 
 osity. In many little acts of his childhood we 
 see the beginning of that truly Christian dis- 
 position that produced such remarkable fruits in 
 his after life. 
 
 When Mr. Oberlin's boys were small, he took 
 them every Thursday evening in summer out to 
 his family estate, not far from their residence in 
 Strasborg. He used to fasten an old drum 
 round his waist, while out there, and,, preceding 
 the seven blooming boys as their drummer, exer- 
 cised them in military tactics. This kindled in 
 Frederic's mind a strong desire to become a mil- 
 itary character. At every opportunity, he would 
 mingle with the soldiers, and march with them, 
 and really excelled in the evolutions. The 
 love for military exercises increased till checked 
 by his father, who told him it was time to 
 renounce child's play for study and serious labor. 
 His father wished him to follow a learned profes- 
 sion. He readily coincided in his father's views, 
 and devoted himself quite as earnestly to study 
 and books as he had done to his favorite amuse- 
 ments. 
 
 His biographers do not know what circum- 
 stances induced him to become a minister. 
 
14 
 
 OBERLIN. 
 
 Probably the first inclination was awakened by 
 the devotional habits of his pious and accom- 
 plished mother. She was a truly admirable 
 woman ; and Frederic often said he was indebted 
 to her for his love of " things that are excellent," 
 and his desire to be good to others. He was 
 ordained for the ministry soon after he was 
 twenty ; but it was several years before he was 
 settled as a pastor. His first engagement was at 
 the Ban de la Roche, situated in the north-east 
 part of France. 
 
 This ban or district was divided into two 
 parishes ; and one parish was made up of five 
 little hamlets, or clusters of houses. Oberlin 
 lived at Waldbach, the most central of these 
 little villages. I can give my readers but a very 
 meagre description of the condition of these 
 parishes when Oberlin became their minister, or 
 of the ignorance and obstinacy of the people 
 there. The barrenness of the land in some 
 parts of it may be understood, when you know 
 that the wife could carry home in her apron all 
 the hay which her husband could mow on a long 
 morning ; and the moral condition of the people 
 was equally deplorable. Surely no man would 
 have accepted this field of labor but one whose 
 singleness of heart would bid him forsake all for 
 Christ. 
 
OBERLIN. 
 
 15 
 
 On his arrival at Waldbach, he occupied the 
 parsonage house, a tolerably commodious build- 
 ing, having a yard in front, a garden behind, the 
 church quite near, and woody dells and gray 
 mountains all around it. He was soon con- 
 vinced that no ordinary difficulties lay between 
 him and the salvation of his people. It was 
 then his confidence in God was beautifully man- 
 ifested. He said he knew that strength would 
 be given him, if asked in faith, and it was really 
 right that he should effect such a result ; accord- 
 ingly, he employed all his attainments in science, 
 philosophy, and religion, for their improvement, 
 temporally and spiritually. Could you know one 
 half the difficulties that he encountered, you 
 would say that many men of any age of the 
 world would have forsaken the field and felt fully 
 justified. Preaching there was toil ; social in- 
 tercourse was toil ; domestic improvement could 
 scarcely be effected by the most patient and 
 incessant toil ; and all that seemed to offer itself 
 to the Christian Oberlin was a call for indefati- 
 gable toil. 
 
 From time to time he received letters from his 
 worthy predecessor, offering excellent counsel 
 and great encouragement to him to persevere in 
 his labors. These letters afforded him great joy, 
 for his friend could not but know how laborious 
 2 
 
16 
 
 OBERLIN. 
 
 his efforts must be, and if he could urge him on 
 surely, then, himself might trust and go on. 
 
 For some months, or years it may be, his 
 younger sister, Sophia, superintended his domes- 
 tic affairs, aided by his mother frequently. But 
 they failed to bestow that sympathy and cordial 
 devotion to the good of the people which he 
 believed he needed ; therefore he sought a com- 
 panion in his labors. He married Miss Mada- 
 leine Witter, July 6th, 1768. Mrs. Oberlin 
 became an invaluable assistant to her husband in 
 all his labors. To the arduous work of uproot- 
 ing the prejudices of an ignorant peasantry, these 
 worthy Christians consecrated themselves by 
 prayer to God, and a written covenant with the 
 Holy Spirit. 
 
 I can give you but a single instance of Ober- 
 lin's remarkable perseverance against the sus- 
 picions and resistance of the people in relation 
 to his plans. Their roads were actually impass- 
 able most of the year. He proposed to them to 
 build a new and substantial one to Strasborg. 
 He suggested, planned, answered objections, 
 proved its practicability ; but not a man in all the 
 parish would start, till he actually shouldered 
 his pick-axe, and with a faithful servant, broke 
 ground for the new road. Having, in repeated 
 instances, pursued a similar course, he at length 
 
OBERLIN. 
 
 established himself in their confidence, and could 
 the more effectually guide them in their spiritual 
 course. He felt an equal solicitude in all that 
 pertained to the pastoral office. His sermons, 
 his conversation, his Thursday lectures, his New 
 Year addresses, his Sabbath school labors, all 
 bear testimony to the scrupulously prayerful 
 devotion which he ever manifested for their 
 " growth in grace," and the knowledge of truth. 
 
 Oberlin was especially attentive to the children 
 and youth of his parish. He established infant 
 schools for the little ones, others for the older 
 children, a miscellaneous library for the use of 
 all, and reserved the religious education of the 
 children entirely to himself. He formed a 
 " Christian Society," and presented twenty-seven 
 precepts for the observation of the members. I 
 can only present you a few, as a specimen of the 
 character of the whole. " Regeneration. We 
 are all one in Christ Jesus. Bring forth much 
 fruit. Nourish the inner man by the Word of 
 God, by continued prayer, by the frequent use of 
 the holy sacrament. All the members ought to 
 watch over each for good ; to exhort and to warn 
 each other, with sweetness, charity, humility and 
 patience. Lose no time. Honest and exact pay- 
 ment. No artfulness or cunning. Provoke unto 
 good works." Its object was religious conversa- 
 
18 
 
 OBERLIN. 
 
 tion and prayer. It effected considerable good 
 during its continuance. 
 
 Mrs. Oberlin died in 1784, having passed six- 
 teen years of married life with her beloved hus- 
 band, and leaving seven children. He was for 
 some time quite overcome by the intelligence of 
 her sudden death ; but not for a moment did 
 he doubt the mercy of God. His patient 
 resignation in affliction was worthy the strictest 
 imitation. In 1793, his oldest son, Frederic, 
 entered the army, and was among the first who 
 were killed. Oberlin was strongly attached to 
 him, but his humble submission and even cheer- 
 ful resignation to this severe dispensation, seemed 
 fully equal to the love he cherished towards his 
 first-born, and his confidence in the unchangea- 
 ble goodness of God sustained him in this second 
 severe trial. The only change to be perceived 
 in his family, after these distressing events, was 
 an air of quiet seriousness, in place of that in- 
 spiring cheerfulness which before had place there. 
 Their usual manner of conversation was unin- 
 terrupted. They spoke of Frederic as one gone 
 before them to heaven, but not as of the dead. 
 
 During the rage of the French Eevolution, 
 clergymen stood in jeopardy everywhere. Tal- 
 ents, property, popularity, could save none ; yet 
 the benevolence, humility, and simple piety, of 
 
OBERLIN. 
 
 19 
 
 the Christian Oberlin saved him and his little 
 flock from imprisonment and interruption in their 
 pursuits. Indeed, his home became the asylum 
 for the terrified of every rank and profession. 
 This sketch will not allow me to insert a very 
 interesting document, called forth by the circum- 
 stances of that alarming period, which this faithful 
 pastor addressed to the young men of his parish. 
 Thus he made every event profitable in some 
 view to his dear people. During the Kevolution 
 he was denied his customary fee from govern- 
 ment, and was supported by voluntary contribu- 
 tions of his parishioners. The only uneasiness 
 he felt, was that his means of doing good were 
 limited. To enable himself still to devote three 
 tithes of all he possessed to religious purposes 
 and the poor, which he conscientiously believed 
 to be his duty, and that he might still aid the 
 institutions in his parish, he received into his 
 family several children of distinguished foreign- 
 ers to educate, and generously devoted his re- 
 munerations to those purposes. 
 
 He possessed much of the genuine missionary 
 spirit. At one time, in the early part of his 
 ministry, hp learned that a pastor had been 
 sought two* years, for a station in Pennsylvania ; 
 and, as he believed one might more easily be 
 obtained for the Ban de la Roche, he expressed 
 2* 
 
20 
 
 OBERLIN. 
 
 a readiness to go, just as the war between Eng- 
 land and America broke out. From that time he 
 was proof against requests to leave, from any 
 source. This extreme devotedness to his flock 
 caused him to be revered as a father, and loved 
 as a faithful Christian, by all ; his name was 
 affectionately called, his unexampled zeal in the 
 work of his divine Master applauded, in lands 
 far away from the quiet valley of the Vosges. 
 
 He entered with much delight into the plan of 
 operation of the " British and Foreign Bible So- 
 ciety," became a correspondent of it, aided in 
 distributing Bibles in the ban and vicinity, and 
 among Catholics. Happy would the event be 
 for humanity, if the tolerant spirit of the pious 
 Oberlin were more widely diffused among the 
 disciples of Christ ! He administered the sacra- 
 ment to Catholics, Calvin ists, and Lutherans, at 
 the same time, having different kinds of bread 
 on the plate, that all might partake and not be 
 offended. His only question was, — "Are you 
 a Christian ? If so, we are of the same re- 
 ligion. Follow the law of the Saviour ; all 
 other laws are of little importance." The same 
 spirit led him to extend Christian kindness to his 
 Jewish neighbors. 
 
 The population of the Ban de la Roche in- 
 creased from eighty families to five or six 
 
OBERLIN. 
 
 21 
 
 hundred, or three thousand souls, while Oberlin 
 lived with them. Various employments were 
 introduced, which yielded ample support to the 
 inhabitants until the introduction of machinery. 
 This threatened gloom and despair for these 
 good people. But such a consequence was 
 averted by the two kind-hearted sons of Mr. Le- 
 grand, who established a ribbon manufactory 
 there, distributing the looms about the cottages 
 for the children to work upon them, and still be 
 under the eye of parents. 
 
 As Oberlin became too infirm to discharge his 
 parochial duties, his son Henry came from Rus- 
 sia to reside near, and assist, his father. This 
 son died when Oberlin was seventy-seven years 
 old. Still the blessing of the God whom he 
 so faithfully served descended upon his parish ; 
 useful improvements increased, prosperity and civ- 
 ilization advanced. A traveller in the ban once 
 said he never before saw the people who were so 
 universally courteous and refined in their man- 
 ners, and at the same time so poor. He attrib- 
 uted it to the influence of the example of the 
 good old pastor. His son-in-law, Mr. Graff, suc- 
 ceeded Henry Oberlin, as assistant to the father. 
 
 His last illness attacked him suddenly, and 
 was short. On Sunday, May 28th, 1826, he was 
 seized with fainting and shivering. He was 
 
22 
 
 OBERLIN. 
 
 conscious at intervals for several days. At a 
 quarter after eleven on Thursday morning, June 
 1st, he died ; and the solemn tolling of the chapel 
 bell told the people of that rural valley that their 
 pastor was dead. The whole people wept. His 
 funeral took place on the 5th of June. As the 
 funeral procession started from the house, a cler- 
 gyman laid the clerical robe of Oberlin upon his 
 coffin, another placed his Bible there, and a civil 
 officer affixed the decoration of the Legion of 
 Honor, which Oberlin always wore, to the funer- 
 al pall. Twelve young females, standing round 
 the bier, then sung a hymn. At two o'clock the 
 procession left the parsonage. The oldest inhab- 
 itant of the parish walked before the coffin, 
 bearing a wooden cross to be placed over 
 his tomb, on which was inscribed, — PAPA 
 OBERLIN. 
 
 He was to be interred at Foudai, one of the 
 villages of his parish. The first of the procession 
 reached the church there before the last left the 
 house, at a distance of two miles. A new bell 
 at Foudai, prepared by the proprietor of the 
 ribbon manufactory, was heard to toll for the first 
 time, as the sad procession entered the village. 
 The burial ground was surrounded by Roman 
 Catholic women, dressed in mourning and kneel- 
 ing in silent prayer Three fourths of the 
 
OBERLIN. 
 
 23 
 
 people remained without the church in silence 
 and tears during the lengthy services. 
 
 A manuscript autobiography of the lamented 
 pastor was read in which Oberlin wrote most 
 affectionately of his family, his friends, and his 
 "dear parish;" expressed his faith in the good- 
 ness of God towards them all ; and commended 
 all to the guidance and mercy of that God whom 
 he had preached. One clergyman then read a 
 part of the 103d Psalm, and the 14th verse of 
 the 7th chapter of Revelation, which Oberlin had 
 selected as texts for his funeral sermon. At 
 the conclusion of the sermon the whole congre- 
 gation kneeled and repeated in concert a beauti- 
 ful prayer. A hymn was sung, and the body 
 taken to the grave-yard. He was buried under 
 the shade of a weeping willow, planted over his 
 son Henry. At the tomb a clergyman addressed 
 them most touchingly, and with much sincerity, 
 speaking at length of the virtues and untiring 
 devotion of the good old man. A physician then 
 pronounced a eulogy. The people turned sor- 
 rowfully and slowly away from the grave of one 
 so dear to them, whose whole life was an en- 
 deavor to get good from heaven, and do good to 
 men. Peace to thy spirit, sainted Oberlin ! 
 
SCRAPS FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 BY MRS. H. A. P. NYE. 
 
 NO. 1.— JESUS. 
 
 I have a question to ask of the little ones, 
 whose bright eyes are glancing over the pages 
 of this new Annual, in search of pictures, or, 
 perhaps, of some pleasing story. I own a fear, 
 that such as like pretty stories only, will " skip " 
 these scraps of mine. It may be that they will 
 consent to read on, when I promise to write 
 nothing but what is true. 
 
 You may have heard from parents or teachers, 
 at some time, questions like these: — "Who 
 was the wisest man? Who was the meekest 
 man ? The question I would ask, is this : — 
 Who was the perfect man ? Can you tell ? 
 
 He was born in Bethlehem of Judea, eighteen 
 hundred years ago, and in a manger, we are told. 
 Many good and great men have been born in poor 
 huts, and lowly homes. You have read, in 
 your father's great Bible, or have heard from 
 your mother's lips, of the star which guided the 
 wise men who went to worship the young child, 
 
SCRAPS FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 25 
 
 and to offer him their gifts ; of the angels who 
 sang of " peace and good will," to the shepherds, 
 as they watched their flocks by night. 
 
 Jesus was the perfect man. He was perfect 
 in love. " He went about doing good." Though 
 he had not where to rest his head, he sought 
 neither wealth nor ease, but the virtue and hap- 
 piness of those around him ; he healed the sick, 
 made blind men to see, the deaf to hear, and the 
 dumb to speak. Worn and weary, sometimes, 
 in his travels, he never refused aid to such as 
 desired his blessing ; poor men and sinful were 
 relieved by him. This kindness extended to all, 
 and no hatred ever changed his deep and univer- 
 sal love. 
 
 Jesus was perfect in virtue ; many men have 
 been virtuous, yet all, to some extent, have 
 sinned, save Jesus. He was tempted, as we all 
 are, (and what child knows not what is meant by 
 being tempted to sin ?) but he never did a wrong 
 act, nor spake an evil word. He injured none, 
 even those who were unkind to him. And when 
 dying, he prayed his Father to forgive those who 
 put him to the cruel death of the cross. 
 
 Our Saviour, Jesus, came to this world, to 
 teach us to be perfect as he is perfect. He 
 came also to tell us of a world beyond this, where 
 he now lives, and where, when we are pure as 
 
23 
 
 SCRAPS FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 he is pure, we shall also dwell. Jesus rose from 
 the dead to assure us that we, that our friends, 
 that all men, shall at last be as the angels are, — 
 sinless, spiritual, and forever happy. And now, 
 when we follow the bodies of our loved ones to 
 the tomb, we do not think them dead, but hope to 
 meet them again, to part no more forever. 
 
 NO. 2. — THE LITTLE CONSOLER. 
 
 " Mother, shall we not wish to see father 
 again ? " asked a little boy, as he looked for the 
 last time on the father whom he had loved, who 
 lay sleeping in death, unmindful of those who 
 stood beside him with tearful eyes. 
 
 " Yes, my son, we shall wish to see father, 
 but we never can again, while we live in this 
 world." 
 
 "Bat will not father rise again ? My Sabbath 
 school teacher told me that God raised up Jesus 
 from the dead. Say, mother, will he not raise 
 father too?" 
 
 The mother was deeply moved by the earnest 
 faith of her child, and her own heart was com- 
 forted, as she felt how blessed was that hope, 
 which could enable her to answer the anxious 
 look and question of her boy, by assuring him 
 of her firm belief that God would raise up his 
 
SCRAPS FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 2? 
 
 father, as he had raised his son Jesus, from the 
 dead. 
 
 " Father will not rise till the last day, will he, 
 mother ? " 
 
 To this question the mother replied, that when 
 the breath left his father's body, his spirit went 
 to God ; that his father was then in heaven. 
 
 " Then, mother, if he is in heaven, he is an 
 angel, is he not ?" 
 
 " Yes, George, your father is an angel now; 
 when we die, we shall be as the angels, children 
 of God, being children of the resurrection." 
 
 " Are not the angels around us, mother, and do 
 they not watch over us, and guard us when we 
 sleep ? It may be, if we cannot see father, that 
 he can see us, and that he will be near us, and 
 near our beds, to love us and care for us." 
 
 These were the words of a little boy of nine 
 years, as he stood with his mother beside his 
 father's shrouded form, about to be borne to the 
 tomb. I never think of him, of his simple, ear- 
 nest trust, but with a softened heart. 
 
 You, children, may have lost, or may yet 
 lose, your father, mother, or friend. Remem- 
 ber, then, they are not dead ; they are as the 
 angels in heaven ; neither can they die any more. 
 They are changed, but their spirits can never 
 die. 
 
 3 
 
28 
 
 SCRAPS FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 NO. 3. — " SUFFER LITTLE CHILDREN TO COME 
 UNTO ME." 
 
 " Mother, mother, where is the baby ? " I heard 
 a child ask yesterday of his parent. Again and 
 again the question was repeated, but he could 
 not understand where the baby had gone, nor 
 what it was to be dead. It was hard, he thought, 
 that his little sister could not come to play with 
 him. He had seen her lying still and cold in 
 her white robe ; she neither spoke nor moved ; 
 what could it mean ? His little heart could not 
 tell, nor why they should put his sweet sister in 
 the ground. And still he asked, "Mother, 
 mother, where is the baby ?" 
 
 Do my little friends remember that when 
 our Saviour was upon the earth, some one carried 
 young children to him, hoping they might be 
 blessed by so good a man ? His disciples bade 
 them go away, and not trouble their master ; but 
 Jesus said, " Suffer litttle children to come unto 
 me, for of such is the kingdom of heaven ; and 
 he took them in his arms and blessed them. 
 
 Jesus loves young children now, and when any 
 die, they are carried to his arms, there to be 
 blessed by his smiles and love. Children are the 
 lambs of his flock, and one of your hymns tell 
 you, that the lambs of his flock are his tenderest 
 
SCRAPS FOE. CHILDREN. 
 
 29 
 
 care. The eastern shepherd leads his sheep to 
 the green pastures in the summer time, and 
 there remains to guard his flocks from wolves, 
 and prevent their going astray. His sheep know 
 his voice and follow wherever he leads. If the 
 young lambs are weary, he carries them in his 
 arms. 
 
 Jesus called himself the " good shepherd." 
 The good shepherd, he said, layeth down his life 
 for his sheep. Jesus is our shepherd, now ; he 
 still careth for his sheep ; and now, in heaven, as 
 when he was upon the earth, the lambs of his 
 flock are taken in his arms ; some, when sick 
 and weary, are borne to the spirit home, and rest 
 ever in the green pastures, and by the still waters 
 of that world of endless peace and love. 
 
 For those children who have followed me thus 
 far, I have a few more words fo write. I have 
 told you that Jesus was perfect ; that his life was 
 spent in doing good, in healing the sick, and 
 preaching the gospel to such as would hear. To 
 bless others was the happiness of his life ; for 
 that only he lived, and for that only he died. 
 
 God the Father is also continually doing good ; 
 the Scriptures tell us that "he is good to all, and 
 that his tender mercies are over all his works." 
 In deep silence, at midnight as at noon-day, he 
 
30 
 
 SCRAPS FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 confers blessings upon the children of men. In 
 the goodness of God consists his highest glory. 
 When men wish to be like Jesus, and to be like 
 God, they strive to do good, to be kind, to relieve 
 and console those in suffering or sorrow, and to 
 improve all in knowledge and virtue. 
 
 And what, think you, can you do to become 
 the children of God? Commence by being obe- 
 dient to your parents. We read that Jesus, when 
 a child, was subject to his parents. Be kind and 
 obliging to your brothers, sisters, and companions. 
 Be ever gentle ; speak, no unkind nor evil words. 
 Begin, thus, to walk in the path which Jesus 
 trod. Forget not to pray to your Father in 
 heaven to aid you in becoming good. We read 
 that Jesus passed whole nights in prayer to God. 
 If Jesus, then, who was himself so good, needed 
 to pray, how much more should weak, erring 
 children ask the protection and guidance of him 
 who is ever near to help those who call upon his 
 name ! 
 
 If, then, children, you wish to be good, and to 
 do good, try to be followers of Jesus, the perfect 
 man. 
 
THE LITTLE ADVENTURERS. 
 
 BY MRS. E. A. BACON. 
 
 Our little Infant School vestry ! how I wish 
 you could see it, my dear little readers. So snug, 
 so comfortable and cozy it is, cuddled under one 
 corner of our good old church, with the morning 
 sun streaming across its bright carpet, its pictured 
 walls and smiling faces, and its little red covered 
 table, adorned with a vase of flowers, the morn- 
 ing offering of happy children. 
 
 Well, our little infant school vestry, on one 
 bright Sabbath morning, was filled with goodly 
 rows of boys and girls, who had just folded their 
 hands and quietly arisen to repeat their morning 
 prayer, when the door opened, and two little 
 strange faces peeped in. They received a wel- 
 come, and were led to the seat. They were 
 poorly clad, but were neat and clean, and I felt 
 sure that a mother's hand had done its best for 
 her darlings. Sunday after Sunday they came, 
 and their quiet, earnest faces drew our hearts 
 very near to them, and we resolved to know 
 more of them ; so, after the lessons were recited 
 
32 
 
 THE LITTLE ADVENTURERS. 
 
 one day, we drew the little matronly girl into a 
 lively chat. 
 
 " Where do you live ? " I asked. 
 
 " Oh, a little way down from the church, in one 
 of the cross streets," said she, pointing in the 
 direction. 
 
 " Do your parents attend church here ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am ! they are too poor to come." 
 
 " How did you find the. way ? " 
 
 " Why, brother and I wanted to go to your 
 Sunday school dreadfully ; so mother worked hard 
 and got us ready, and she told us to come down 
 this street, and we should find the school." 
 
 " Well, do you love to come ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! we never want to stay at home, 
 and when brother is n't well he cries to come." 
 
 " Have n't you little neighbors around you who 
 don't go to the Sabbath school ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, ma'am, and I try to tease them to 
 come, for, don't you think, they play all day 
 Sunday." 
 
 " Oh, that is very bad ; but why don't they 
 come ? " 
 
 " Why, they say their clothes are so bad." 
 
 " Well," I replied, "I should like to find some 
 of your little neighbors, for we have a circle of 
 kind young ladies who would love dearly to make 
 clothes for them, so that they might come to 
 
THE LITTLE ADVENTURERS. 
 
 35 
 
 school. But may I come and. see your mother ? 
 and then she may tell me, perhaps, where I can 
 find them." 
 
 " Oh yes, ma'am, do ! " and then she described 
 the place of her residence as well as she could. 
 Tbe school commenced singing, and our conver- 
 sation was interrupted. 
 
 After school, I noticed these children lingering 
 behind the others, and the little girl wore an 
 anxious expression. I soon gave her an oppor- 
 tunity to speak to me, and she looked up with 
 a beseeching gaze, saying, " Don't pray come 
 Monday or Tuesday to see mother, will you ? " 
 
 "Why not?" said I. 
 
 " Oh, because mother washes and irons on 
 thof e days, and she '11 feel bad because she will 
 not look nice." 
 
 " No, my dear," I replied, " I will come 
 Wednesday, if that is better." 
 
 "Oh yes, Wednesday," she said; "that is a 
 good day;" and her eyes brightened as she 
 walked away satisfied. 
 
 Wednesday came, and I started on my expe- 
 dition, and as I had threaded so many of our 
 lanes and alleys, I felt sure I could find our little 
 strangers; but " deary me," as the children say, 
 up this street and down that went I, through, 
 across, and every way in the direction she 
 
34 
 
 THE LITTLE ADVENTURERS. 
 
 pointed out, knocked at door after door, made 
 the dogs growl, the children peep, and spoiled 
 many an afternoon nap, but none the wiser was 
 L Nobody knew " Mrs. Martin." At last I 
 gave up in despair, and returned home. 
 
 The next Sabbath the children were in their 
 places as usual, and I determined to take more 
 accurate directions to their home, but, before 
 I mentioned it, the little girl came to me with a 
 sad face, and holding out her school books, said, 
 " I must give these up, ma'am, for we can't 
 come any more." 
 
 " Why not ? " I asked. 
 
 " We 're going to move into the country next 
 week." 
 
 To be sure we felt very sad to part with them, 
 but we made them each a present of a little book, 
 and parted good friends. 
 
 Now, my little friends, who are reading my 
 story, you are no more disappointed than myself, 
 that I did not find their home, and perhaps you 
 have pictured it like myself, — a clean, but spare 
 apartment, with a busy mother, a rosy baby, a 
 cat, a dog, and a few flowers. It might have 
 been a garret, however. But then a garret is 
 sometimes pleasant, when cheerful hearts are 
 there, and I know these children have a cheer- 
 ful mother. Besides, perhaps you will not be- 
 
THE LITTLE ADVENTURERS. 
 
 35 
 
 lieve me, but it is true, — one of the most tidy 
 and cheerful homes of the poor that I ever vis- 
 ited, was up in a garret, and I have thought a 
 hundred times, how neatly every household 
 utensil was arranged around that well scoured 
 room. 
 
 But you say it is too bad that I don't know 
 more of that little girl and boy — those little 
 martin-birds that flew into our box so gayly one 
 morning. Why, I think I know a good deal 
 about them. I know they wish to learn good 
 and holy things. I know they will not play on 
 the Sabbath. I know they will try to persuade 
 others to be good. I know they are thoughtfii? 
 of their parents. I know they are honest. Asia 
 is not all that a good deal? You think it is, 
 and so do I, and I wish I knew as much of every 
 one of you. 
 
THE CARELESS DART. 
 
 5 Come in, my daughter, close the door, 
 
 Shut out the driving storm, 
 Dry your wet garments — then drink tea, — 
 I 've kept it nice and warm. 
 
 We '11 have a pleasant, time to-night, 
 
 I 've had good luck to-day , 
 1 've washed for Mrs. Francis Smith, 
 
 And see, besides my pay — 
 
 She 's given me all this bread and meal. 
 
 And sent this cake to you ; 
 And at the store I bought this tea ; 
 
 A pound of candles, too. 
 
 When tea is over, sit by me. 
 
 Upon your little stool, 
 And I will read the pretty book 
 
 You brought from Sabbath school. 
 
 With three good places now to wash, 
 
 I 've many things in view ; 
 And first — when rent is paid — I '11 buy 
 
 That spelling-book for you. 
 
 Then you will soon know how to read, 
 And when I cannot see, 
 
THE CARELESS DART. 
 
 37 
 
 From age and weariness, my child 
 Shall read and work for me." 
 
 Thus spake a hopeful mother's heart, 
 
 Tc little Mary Blane ; 
 But e'en the promised spelling-book 
 
 No cheerful smile could gain. 
 
 The cake of Mrs. Smith, untouched, 
 
 Upon the table laid ; 
 In vain, with many a winsome prank, 
 
 Her kitten frisked and played. 
 
 Now Mary was a gladsome child, 
 
 No bird more blithe and gay, 
 No gentler being spared the worm 
 
 That in the pathway lay. 
 
 But grief s sharp arrow, barbed with shame, 
 
 Sped by a careless hand, 
 Was rankling in that little heart, 
 
 But late so free and bland. 
 
 Her mother marked the shade that dimmed 
 
 Those eyes so blue and mild, 
 Then took her to her heart and said,— 
 
 " What ails my precious child?" 
 
 She whispered, — " Nothing, but " — then swift 
 
 The gathering tear-drops rolled ; 
 Her voice was choked by stifling sobs, 
 
 That would not be controlled, 
 
THE CARELESS DART. 
 
 Her mother paused, then asked, with grief 
 
 That mothers only know, 
 " Will Mary to her mother tell 
 
 The cause of all this woe?" 
 
 She sobbed, " Whate'er you can afford, 
 
 I know you don't refuse ; 
 But, mother, if I could but have 
 
 A pair of nice new shoes ! 
 
 To-day I entered the new school, 
 
 My feet were wet and cold, 
 And when I put them to the fire, — 
 
 You know my shoes are old, — 
 
 Rich Sarah Blanchard smiled and said, 
 
 ' See there !' to Ellen Wood, 
 Who said — ' How awkward she does look, 
 
 Dressed in her mother's hood ! 
 
 Their home is in that mean old house, — 
 
 They 're very poor and low ; 
 Her father here is never seen ;' — 
 
 Deat mother, is it so 1 
 
 Oh, mother, if I could but die ! — 
 
 You said the poor and mean, 
 Who loved the Lord, in heaven should have 
 
 New garments, white and clean. 
 
 I asked, if I a father had, 
 
 When I his face should see ; 
 You said, in heaven — perhaps — and cried, 
 
 And turned your face from me. 
 
THE CARELESS DART. 
 
 39 
 
 If I should meet that father there, 
 
 Now say, do you suppose 
 He 'd kiss me, like the kind papa 
 
 Of little Lucy Rose ? 
 
 And buy me clothing nice and warm, 
 
 That none might laugh at me, 
 And say that I was mean and low, — 
 
 Mother, where can he be?" 
 
 A groan burst from that mother's heart, 
 
 She prayed in accents wild, 
 " On me, great God ! the vial pour, 
 
 But spare my sinless child ! 
 
 For I have borne, and still can bear, 
 
 With want, neglect, and woe ; 
 But oh, let not my stainless flower 
 
 Their blighting influence know ! 
 
 No ! rather take her to thyself, 
 
 Thou just and holy One ! 
 And I will school this breaking heart 
 
 To say, ' Thy will be done.' " 
 
 Her prayer was heard, — a few short months, 
 
 And little Mary laid 
 Close by her weary mother's side. 
 
 Beneath the willow's shade. 
 
 And when, around those lonely graves, 
 
 The village children stood, 
 They mourned the careless mirth that wrung 
 
 A heart so kind and good. 
 4 
 
40 
 
 THE CARELESS DART. 
 
 And promised never more in sport 
 
 The humble to deride, 
 Or judge, without compassion, those 
 
 For whom the Saviour died. 
 
 h. a. d. 
 
THE RED AND WHITE ROSE: 
 
 A FABLE. 
 
 BY REV. A. H1CJIBORN. 
 
 A red and white rose, whose parent bushes 
 had for years grown peacefully side by side, and 
 put forth their fragrant flowers* in harmony, at 
 length had a dispute as to the merits of each 
 other to be called beautiful. 
 
 " How presumptuous you are, Mr. Red Rose," 
 said the white, " to lay any claims to beauty ! 
 Why, you are so gaudy I am ashamed of you ; 
 you hold up your red face as bold as though you 
 were the king of flowers ; there is no modesty 
 in you, or you would hide a face that looks as 
 though ready to burst with wine. Your vanity 
 is intolerable, and, for my part, I cannot conceive 
 why you are allowed to grow, unless it be to 
 show, by contrast, how much more beautiful are 
 my own delicate leaves." 
 
 " Stop there, Madame White Rose," said the 
 red; " it is but fair that I should have a word to 
 say in a matter involving my reputation. Do 
 you not know that the palm of beauty has al- 
 
42 
 
 THE RED AND WHITE ROSE. 
 
 ways been given to me ? Doth not the warrior 
 gather me to adorn his crest, while you think 
 yourself lucky if you can rest in the hair, or on 
 the bosom of some love-sick maiden ? Were it 
 not so serious a matter, I would laugh at your 
 foolishness ; as it is, the crimson on my cheek 
 is deepened with blushes for your impudence." 
 
 There was much dispute of this kind passed 
 between them, which we will not here relate ; 
 but their disputing did not bring them one whit 
 nearer to agreement ; they even called each other 
 by harder names, and were on the point of set- 
 tling the dispute by a use of their thorns, when 
 a wise and modest lily, who was standing by 
 and listening to the controversy, thus addressed 
 them : 
 
 " I am pained that two friends whom I so much 
 esteem, and who, on other matters, manifest so 
 much sense, should be so foolish as to quarrel 
 about so insignificant a thing as their good 
 looks." 
 
 Upon this, the disputing roses turned to the 
 lily, and begged that he would be an umpire to 
 decide upon their respective claims. 
 
 " Cheerfully," replied the lily, " for, blessed 
 are they who restore peace between those who 
 quarrel. Know, then, that you are both beauti- 
 ful, when you are not marred by envy or pride. 
 
THE RED AND WHITE ROSE. 
 
 43 
 
 The great Creator has given to each the color 
 that pleased him best, and you are both needed, 
 to perfect the plan of his wondrous creation. 
 You both derive your colors from the same source ; 
 and it is indeed vain for one to boast over the 
 other. Learn, then, to be wise ; fulfil your mis- 
 sion by spreading the perfume and displaying the 
 colors which He who made everything beautiful 
 has given you ; and the deep crimson of one 
 shall be softened by the light hue of the other, 
 while the pale cheek shall receive a delicate 
 blush, reflected upon it by the companion it now 
 despises ; and thus shall you both be more beau- 
 tiful than now." 
 
 Moral. — Never despise the excellences, or 
 accomplishments of another, because they differ 
 from your own ; remember they are all needful 
 to fill up the divine picture of life. 
 
A SHORT STORY FOR LITTLE 
 READERS. 
 
 BY MRS. SARAH W. DESMAZES. 
 
 " Come, Helen and Adine, we have had a fine 
 ramble this morning. Your glowing- cheeks 
 almost, if not quite, rival the roses that we have 
 just gathered from the garden. Sit you. both 
 down beside me on this grassy bank, under the 
 shade of this beautiful cherry-tree, and while we 
 watch the little birds so busy building their 
 nests, we will have a pleasant chat." 
 
 " And will you tell us a story ? " 
 
 " Yes, you little chatter-boxes, you shall have 
 a story." 
 
 " A true story, cousin Sarah ; let it be a true 
 story." 
 
 " Certainly, it shall be a true story, and I wish 
 you to be very attentive, so that you may remem- 
 ber it." 
 
 " Oh yes, we will." 
 
 " Well, then ; many years ago, and in a country 
 far distant from this, there lived a king, who was 
 neither a just nor a good king ; for he treated a 
 
A SHORT STORY FOR LITTLE READERS. 45 
 
 part of his subjects very cruelly. He placed 
 task-masters over them, who compelled them to 
 do very laborious work, and often exacted of 
 them more than they had strength to perform. 
 In other ways he afflicted them grievously, so 
 that their lives became aweary burden. 
 
 " It is very unwise, as well as unkind, for a king 
 to treat his subjects in this manner, because he 
 soon loses their respect and good-will, and they 
 are, in consequence, much harder to govern than 
 if they were treated kindly. But, notwithstand- 
 ing their toils and privations, these people in- 
 creased very rapidly, and the king greatly feared 
 that they might rebel against him, and, uniting 
 with some other nation, take away his kingdom 
 from him ; but instead of pursuing a milder course 
 towards them, or even attempting to gain in 
 the least degree their love, he grew more cruel 
 and unjust. He made a law that all the male 
 children born among them should be thrown into 
 the river and drowned. By this barbarous act 
 he determined to reduce their numbers so as to 
 prevent them from ever making any successful 
 effort to regain their liberty. 
 
 " Now there lived in that country a woman, who 
 had a little baby boy, whom she loved very ten- 
 derly. She concealed him three months in her 
 house, and when she found that she could not 
 
46 A SHORT STORY FOR LITTLE READERS. 
 
 safely keep him any longer, she devised a plan 
 by which she hoped to preserve him from the 
 cruelty of the king. She gathered some reeds 
 from the banks of the river, and wove a little 
 ark or basket, which she covered with pitch, to 
 keep the water from getting into it. This made 
 a little boat. She then dressed her little boy 
 very neatly, kissed his rosy lips, and pressing him 
 to her bosom, laid him in the ark which she had 
 prepared, and placed it in the river near which 
 she dwelt. 
 
 " Oh, how sadly she must have felt when she 
 left him there, and how fervently she must have 
 prayed that God would preserve him from 
 danger ! 
 
 " Now it happened about this time that the 
 daughter of the king, with her maidens, came 
 down to the river to bathe ; and when she saw 
 the little ark or boat, she sent one of her maids 
 to bring it to her. 
 
 " How much surprised she must have been when 
 she found that it contained an infant ! We may 
 suppose that the princess, when she looked at 
 the little child, whose eyes were filling with tears, 
 as he saw strange faces around him, felt her 
 heart yearn towards him, for with love and pity 
 she immediately exclaimed, ' This is one of 
 
A SHORT STORY FOR LITTLE READERS. 47 
 
 the Hebrews' children ; I will adopt him for my 
 own !' 
 
 " The little child's sister, who had lingered near 
 to see what would become of him, and who had 
 witnessed this proceeding, now ventured to come 
 forward and ask if she might bring a nurse for 
 the child from the Hebrew women. The prin- 
 cess replied that she might. So she went and 
 brought the little child's own mother, and the 
 princess said to her, ' Take him home and 
 nurse him, and I will pay thee.' With what joy 
 she must have received her babe again ; and how 
 grateful she must have felt to her heavenly 
 Father, that his life was not only preserved, but 
 that she was to be permitted to bestow upon him 
 a mother's love and protection ! So the child 
 remained with his mother as long as the princess 
 desired ; then she took him to her own home, and 
 he became her son, and she called his name 
 Moses." 
 
 " 0, cousin Sarah, it was 'Moses in the bul- 
 rushes ! ' There is a picture of him in my little 
 Bible." 
 
 " Yes, it was ; and when he became a man he 
 assisted his poor, oppressed countrymen, and 
 delivered them out of the hands of the cruel 
 king Pharaoh. Aftei wards God made him a 
 ruler over his people, and gave him the ten com- 
 
48 A SHORT STORY FOR LITTLE READERS. 
 
 mandments and many other laws to teach to the 
 people." 
 
 "Well, what became of this wicked king? 
 Did he receive any punishment ! " 
 
 " Yes ; and I wish you to remember that the 
 wicked are always punished sooner or later for 
 their crimes. 
 
 " The Israelites asked permission to depart from 
 his country, bat Pharaoh refused until God had 
 sent upon him very severe afflictions, when he 
 reluctantly consented ; but after they had de- 
 parted he felt sorry that he had let them go, and 
 followed them with an army of, men, to capture 
 them and take them back again. He overtook 
 them upon the borders of the Red Sea; and here 
 it was that God, in a very remarkable manner, 
 interposed in behalf of the Israelites. He com- 
 manded Moses to stretch forth his hands, and he 
 did so, and the waters of the sea were divided, 
 so that Moses and his countrymen passed 
 through on dry land ; but Pharaoh and his host 
 following, the waters flowed back upon them, and 
 they were all drowned. 
 
 " The history of these events, and the journey- 
 ings of the Israelites through the wilderness, is 
 very interesting, and when you are a little older 
 you can read it from the Bible." 
 
BRAZEN SERPENT. 
 
THE BRAZEN SERPENT. 
 
 BY MISS E. DOTEN. 
 
 "And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even 
 so must the Son of man be lifted up, that whosoever believ- 
 eth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." 
 
 John iii. 14, 15. 
 
 Still over wandering Israel's way 
 
 The mystic pillar brightly glowed, 
 And still upon the holy ark 
 
 The presence of the Lord abode ; 
 And still, like drops of dew, there fell 
 
 The heavenly manna, pure and sweet; 
 And still the golden cherubim 
 
 "Watched o'er the blessed mercy-seat, 
 
 But faithless hearts and murmuring lips 
 
 Saw not the blessings round them shed ; 
 They mourned for Egypt's pleasant land, 
 
 And cast aside the heavenly bread ; 
 They asked of him who led them forth, 
 
 A band of trembling, toil-worn slaves, 
 " Why hast thou brought us here to die, 
 
 Far from our homes and fathers' graves?" 
 
 Then, like the messengers of wrath, 
 The hissing serpents round them came ; 
 
 They gathered o'er the wanderer's path, 
 In shining folds, with eyes of flame 
 
THE BRAZEN SERPENT. 
 
 The mothers clasped their little ones 
 And wildly shrieked for aid, in vain ; 
 
 And aged men, and blooming maids, 
 Sank down to perish in their pain. 
 
 Then came their faithful leader forth, 
 
 And raised the brazen serpent high, 
 And whosoever looked thereon, 
 
 In trusting faith, he might not die. 
 As if the pitying heavens dropped down 
 
 Its blessed dews, like healing balm, 
 A rest unto that host was given, — 
 
 A rest from fear, a peaceful calm. 
 
 Oh, prophet-like that serpent seemed, 
 
 An emblem of our holy faith, — 
 A type of that which hath redeemed 
 
 Our souls from darkness and from death 
 Dear Saviour ! Blessed Lamb of God ! 
 
 Since thou for us wast raised on high, 
 We turn our trusting eye to thee, 
 
 That through thy love we may not die. 
 
THE MIRACLES OF CHRIST. 
 
 A COLLOQUY. 
 
 BY REV. L. J. FLETCHER. 
 
 (Mother and eldest daughter upon the stage.) 
 
 Mother. Harriet, I deem the scenes of yester- 
 day quite wonderful. I know not what to think 
 of them, unless I say that Jesus is indeed the 
 Christ which the prophets have promised. He 
 was present at the wedding of Zimron and Re- 
 becca, and when there was no more wine, they 
 brought water in vessels and set it before him, 
 and immediately they drew out and bare to the 
 guests, and behold, it was better wine than before 
 we had tasted ! 
 
 Harriet. It was indeed wonderful. But, 
 mother, did you taste yourself, and know that it 
 was wine ? 
 
 Mother. Yes, child, we all drank and knew 
 there was no deception. 
 
 Harriet. And are you sure that Jesus made 
 it from the water that was brought to him ? 
 
 Mother. Yes, for many of the guests stood 
 by, and as Jesus came and looked upon the 
 5 
 
54 
 
 THE MIRACLES OF CHRIST. 
 
 water, it changed to a beautiful claret hue, and 
 what we drank was drawn from the same 
 vessels. 
 
 Harriet. Truly, it is very wonderful. It 
 must be that he is the promised Messiah. Did 
 he do any other wonderful work ? 
 
 Mother. None at the wedding; but I was 
 told that he had healed the sick and cast out 
 devils. 
 
 Harriet. Where is he now, do you suppose ? 
 I would go far to look upon so wonderful a per- 
 sonage. Will he not pass this way, as he goes 
 up to Jerusalem on the great feast-day ? 
 
 Mother. He may, or he may not ; for I am 
 told that the Chief Priests and Elders at Jerusa- 
 lem despise him, and have sought to slay him. 
 
 Harriet. Is he not a good man, then ? 
 
 Mother. Yes, there is no guile found upon 
 his lips or evil in his life. He goes about doing 
 good ; and because he blesses all classes of peo- 
 ple with his instructions and wonderful works, 
 our rulers despise him, and call him the poor 
 Nazarene. 
 
 Harriet. The more you speak of him the 
 more I wish to see him. How strange all this 
 seems to me ! I am confident I should believe 
 on him as the Christ if I could witness his mira- 
 cles, as he is said to perform them. But here 
 
THF- MIRACLES OF CHRIST. 55 
 
 come William and Martha. "Why do they make 
 such haste ? They must have news to tell. 
 
 (Enter William and Martha, in great haste.) 
 
 Mother. Children, why do you come in such 
 haste ? Have you news to tell me ? 
 
 William and Martha. Oh mother ! mother ! 
 Such a man as we have seen to-day ! I am 
 sure there is not another like him in all the 
 world. 
 
 Mother. ( Turns to Harriet.) Can it be they 
 have seen Jesus ? 
 
 Martha. Jesus ! Yes, that is his name. I 
 heard the people call him Jesus. 
 
 Harriet. Do tell me what he did ! Where 
 did you see him, children ? Where is he now ? 
 
 William. We saw him iti the highway which 
 leads towards Jerusalem. He came from Jericho, 
 and a great multitude came with him ; and what 
 do you think we saw him do ? 
 
 Mother. I know not, children. He is a great 
 and wonderful man, and he may have done a 
 very wonderful work. 
 
 Harriet. Do tell us — I am so anxious to 
 hear more of him. 
 
 Martha. You know old Bartimeus and Si- 
 mon, the blind beggars ? 
 
 Mother. Yes, they were born blind. 
 
56 
 
 THE MIRACLES OF CHRIST. 
 
 Martha. Well, they can both of them see 
 now, just as well as you can. 
 
 William. Yes, mother, Jesus cured them in 
 a minute, by just saying, Be of good cheer, and 
 touching their eyes with his finger. 
 
 Martha. Yes; it was just so, mother, for I 
 saw it myself, — and such a shouting and rejoic- 
 ing as there was you never heard 
 
 Mother. Is it possible, children, that what 
 you say is true ? Is it possible that old Barti- 
 meus and Simon are cured of their blindness ? 
 
 William. I tell you, dear mother, we saw it 
 done, not one hour ago. We were leading the 
 beggars up to the synagogue, when we saw Jesus 
 and the multitude coming; so we stopped by the 
 way-side while they passed by ; and when the 
 beggars cried for help to the people, Jesus stopped 
 and opened their eyes — 
 
 Harriet. What did the people say when they 
 saw it done ? 
 
 Martha. Some cried, Hosanna ! Some said 
 he must be a great prophet ; and I heard one say 
 that he must be the son of God. 
 
 William. Yes, I heard a great many say so ; 
 and I think he must be ; just think of it. He 
 cured two men of their blindness, who never 
 saw before in all their lives — - 
 
THE MIRACLES OF CHRIST. 
 
 57 
 
 Harriet. Where is he now? Why do you 
 not tell, that I may go and see him also ? 
 
 Martha. He is now on his way to Jeru- ' 
 salem, and Bartimeus and Simon have followed 
 him. 
 
 Harriet. Oh, mother, I know that he must 
 be the Christ whom the prophets have promised, 
 What would I have given to have seen him ! 
 
 Mother. Go, children, retire to your rest, and 
 think of the wonder you have seen. To-morrow 
 we will talk more of it. There can be no doubt 
 but Jesus is the greatest personage that ever 
 lived. We shall doubtless hear more of him soon. 
 
 Martha. I think he must be a very good 
 man, as well as a great man, for he placed his 
 hands upon our heads, and blessed us, and said 
 that all children who are kind to the poor, and 
 blind, and unfortunate, are beloved by God — 
 
 William. Yes, mother, Jesus blessed us, and 
 said, " Of such are the kingdom of heaven." 
 But here come James and Mary. They must 
 have met Jesus, as they have just returned from 
 Damascus with uncle Zebedee — 
 
 (Enter James and Mary.) 
 
 Mother. My dear children, I am happy to 
 welcome you home again. Do you bring us any 
 news ? 
 
 5* 
 
58 THE MIRACLES OF CHRIST. 
 
 James. News ! news ! Yes, I suppose it is 
 news, for we have to tell you the most wonderful 
 things you ever heard in all your life ! 
 
 Mary. Yes, mother, the most wonderful, cer- 
 tain, that ever were in the world — 
 
 Mother. What have you to tell so very 
 strange ? I am sure it cannot be more so than 
 what William and Martha have just related. 
 
 James. Oh yes, I am sure it is, for we have 
 seen a man raised from the dead — 
 
 Mary. Yes, dear mother, a man the people 
 were carrying to his grave ! 
 
 Mother. You surprise me, children, more and 
 more. But how was this marvellous work per- 
 formed, and who performed it ? 
 
 Mary. The people called him Jesus ! He 
 was a very beautiful man, and when he saw the 
 mourners weeping, he went up to the bier, and 
 took the dead man by the hand, and he rose right 
 up, and spoke to his mother, and walked with 
 her to his home — 
 
 James. It was just so, mother ; for we both 
 stood where we saw it done, and heard the peo- 
 ple shout when the dead man lived. 
 
 Harriet. We can doubt no more, I think, but 
 Jesus is the Son of God. No other being could 
 do such works. Oh, mother, how I wish he 
 could see our little Samuel ! I have no doubts 
 
THE MIRACLES OF CHRIST. 59 
 
 but if he could see him he would cure him of his 
 leprosy, by just looking at him. 
 
 Martha. Yes, ma, I know he would ; for I 
 heard the people that were with him say that a 
 woman was healed by just touching the hem of 
 Jesus' garment. 
 
 Harriet. Oh, do let us go to Jerusalem, and 
 carry Samuel, and bowing down and worship- 
 ping Jesus, ask him to bestow his healrng 
 power upon the child. Let us lose no time, 
 but go to-morrow, and see and know for our- 
 selves. For one, I can never rest satisfied until 
 I have seen that great, and, as I believe, holy 
 being. 
 
 Mother. Well, we will go. 0 how happy 
 we all should be, if Samuel could only be 
 cured of that dreadful disease ! I feel already 
 that much has been done for my family in the 
 blessing pronounced upon William and Mar- 
 tha. I can but think it was a blessing from 
 Heaven. 
 
 {Enter little Samuel, led by a neighbor's 
 daughter.) 
 
 Jane, whose child bring you hither ? Indeed, 
 he is a lovely boy ! He is as fair as an infant. 
 Is he your brother's child ? 
 
 Jane. Have you not seen this boy before ? 
 
60 THE MIRACLES OF CHRIST. 
 
 Mother. The form of his features seems 
 familiar, but I do not know that I ever saiv him 
 before — 
 
 Samuel. Why, mother ! I thought you would 
 never forget your little Samuel ! 
 
 Mother. My Samuel ! my Samuel ! Oh, it 
 is his voice, but it cannot be him. No, it can- 
 not be my Samuel I 
 
 Samuel. Yes, dear mother, it is me ! And 
 I have seen Jesus, and he has cured me and blest 
 me. Oh, is he not a good man, and ought we 
 not to love him ? 
 
 Mother. Samuel, my angel child, my blest 
 of Jesus, come to my arms ! (Mother embraces 
 him and kisses him.) 
 
 Harriet. Mother ! dearest mother ! Is not 
 this enough ? 
 
 Mother. Yes, Harriet, it is enough. Jesus, 
 blessed Jesus ! " Thou art the Son of God, thou 
 art the King of Israel ! " 
 
 Harriet. " Lord, I believe ; help thou my un- 
 belief." 
 
 Mother. Children, all the blessings of this 
 day, as well as of all other days, come to us from 
 God. No being could do the works which Jesus 
 has done except God be with him. Kneel, there- 
 fore, with me, before the Author of all theso 
 mercies, and let us in silence send up to him our 
 thanksgiving and our praises. 
 
THE MIRACLES OF CHRIST. 
 
 61 
 
 [All kneel, and remain in silent prayer for a 
 moment, after ivhich the mother says Amen ! 
 The children then say Amen, and all arise.) 
 
 Children, you have some of you received this 
 day the blessing of the Son of God. Perhaps you 
 need no more ; still you shall have a mother's 
 blessing as ever, and her prayer that this day's 
 scenes may long be remembered. Come, Sam- 
 uel, my blessed child, let us go. Children ; 'tis 
 time to retire, so I will bid you good-night. 
 
 All. Good-night, mother ; we all shall dream 
 of Jesus. 
 
HOW DO YOU KNOW HE 'S HONEST ? 
 
 BY REV. HENRY BACON. 
 
 A little boy was observed by his father to 
 have a new toy, and the father asked him where 
 he got it ? The boy mentioned the name of one 
 of his schoolmates, and said he gave it to him. 
 This excited the father's surprise, to think that 
 a plaything of that character should be bought 
 by a lad, and then immediately given away, and 
 he expressed his fear that the giver might not 
 have come honestly by the money he spent. The 
 circumstance was improved to impress on the 
 receiver of the gift, that if he should know or 
 think that another came dishonestly in possession 
 of anything, he ought not to receive it as a gift, 
 on any account. 
 
 " But," said the little boy who held the toy, 
 " I know he 's honest." 
 
 " I should be glad to think so," replied the 
 father, "and am ready to hear any reasons why I 
 should believe so. How do you know he 's hon- 
 est ? " 
 
 " Well, in the first place," said the young 
 
HOW DO YOU KNOW HE 's HONEST ? 
 
 63 
 
 philosopher, as though he were entering into a 
 grave debate in the old-fashioned style of 
 preaching. " In the first place, he never tells a 
 lie; and that shows he's honest, don't it ?" 
 
 The father readily allowed the infeience, and 
 the boy declared that all his schoolmates might 
 be asked if Charley Bliss ever told a lie, and 
 "they'd all say no, right off." 
 
 "Well, then," continued the young lawyer 
 making out his case, " he never steals anything 
 — not the least thing; and that shows he's hon- 
 est, don't it ? " 
 
 " I 've been with him," he continued, " many 
 a time in stores and other places, and when 
 other boys would hook a little here and a little 
 there, he 'd keep his hands behind him, or in 
 his pockets. And then, father, I 've known him 
 to go on errands ; and he 's very good to oblige 
 folks, and folks like him ; and I 've seen him 
 saw wood and get shavings; and I 've seen his 
 father, and folks round there, give him money, 
 and he take it to buy something to share with 
 the boys ; and is n't that honest ? " 
 
 The father owned that a pretty strong case 
 was made out, and he felt relieved in his mind. 
 
 If all children could give as good evidence of 
 honesty in those from whom they take presents 
 at times, as this little boy gave, and take no gifts 
 
64 how do you know he 's honest ? 
 
 unless they could do so, parents would have far 
 less anxiety than they now have, respecting their 
 children who are exposed to pernicious influence 
 ia the public town and city schools. Such 
 traits of character as were described by the little 
 reasoner, as he plead for the honesty of his 
 schoolmate, are admirable in any child. Where 
 such good qualities meet, there is a child with 
 whom any parent would be glad to have his son 
 asssociate. No matter if he is n't dressed as 
 handsome as some others. Let a boy never tell 
 a lie ; let him never steal anywhere, in reference 
 to the smallest things ; and let him be obliging, 
 generous, and willing to work as he is able, and 
 I cannot but think that he must be a happy 
 child, a joy in his home, a gladness to his par- 
 ents. "Even a child is known by his doings, 
 whether his work be pure, and whether it be 
 right." Prov. xx. 11. Can your schoolmates, 
 my young readers, know as good things of you 
 as this young reasoner knew of the doings of his 
 friend ? 
 
THE SPIRIT CHILD. 
 
 BY MISS E. DOTEN. 
 
 " To thee, sweet Eden, how dark and sad 
 Are the diamond turrets of Shadukiam, 
 Or the fragrant bowers of Amberabad I" 
 
 Paradise and the Peri. 
 
 Who has not heard of Fairy-land arid the 
 fairies ? of their beautiful cities, their pleasant 
 groves, their moonlight revels, and their love for 
 little children ? We love to think of such bright 
 and beautiful things, and feel almost sad when 
 we remember it is all a fancy ; but yet, there was 
 a child in a far eastern country, who saw fairer 
 and more beautiful things than were ever heard 
 of in Fairy-land. Her father was what is called 
 a paria. All the people around him worshipped 
 idols, but he would not, and so they drove him 
 from among them. He came, with his wife and 
 little one, to a lonely but very beautiful valley, 
 and there he built his cabin of bamboo, thatched 
 with palm-leaves, and lived contented and happy. 
 The child had no little playmates, and no one to 
 speak to but her father and mother. She was 
 very simple-hearted and innocent, and grew more 
 6 
 
m 
 
 THE SPIRIT CHILD. 
 
 gentle and lovely every day she lived. The 
 birds and flowers seemed like brothers and sis- 
 ters to her ; and oh ! it was a strange and beau- 
 tiful thing to see how her heart turned towards 
 God, and learned to love him, before she had 
 ever heard his name. Wherever the children of 
 the Great Father dwell, and however rude and 
 ignorant they may seem, they all have a sense 
 of something higher and holier than themselves, 
 and a desire to love and worship. Thus did the 
 spirit of this dear child, as if by instinct, see 
 strange beauty in all things around her, and 
 learned to love and worship God, although she 
 was never taught of him. She would often wan- 
 der away alone ; then it seemed as if the birds 
 and flowers talked with her, and the bright 
 waters smiled at the sound of her footsteps. 
 She felt so very, very happy — a joy that she 
 eould not express — that she would lay her hand 
 upon her heart, and say, "What is it? oh! 
 what is it ? " for she did not understand that 
 it was the holy spirit that God had given her, 
 that always fills the heart with love and happi- 
 ness, when it meets with aught of a kindred na- 
 ture ; and all the beautiful creations of God around 
 her were as pure as the spirit within; therefore, 
 while she held sweet communion with these, she 
 was happy. The inhabitants of the surrounding 
 
THE SPIRIT CHILD. 
 
 67 
 
 country would often come to the valley to gather 
 fruit, and when they saw her sitting under the 
 palm-trees, or kneeling beside the running waters, 
 they would pass her by in silence, for they said, 
 " She sees spirits, and is talking with them ; 
 we will not trouble her." Therefore they called 
 her the Spirit Child. 
 
 One day, as she sat alone in the cabin, weav- 
 ing a little basket, a stranger entered. His gar- 
 ments were covered with dust, and he looked 
 very pale and weary. He wished to rest a while, 
 and begged her to give him a cup of cold water. 
 She brought him some fruit and water, and a 
 mat to lie down upon. After he was somewhat 
 refreshed, he began to talk with her. He said 
 he had travelled in many countries, that he had 
 known much suffering, met with many hardships, 
 and been in great danger ; but, through the 
 whole, he had been sustained and protected by 
 God, the Father and Friend of all, who had 
 never forsaken him. 
 
 " Where is he now ? " said the simple-hearted 
 child, as she looked around the cabin and out of 
 the door ; " what made him leave you ?" 
 
 The stranger smiled, and told her that " God 
 is a spirit." Then, in simple and earnest words, 
 he explained to her how nearly her own soul was 
 allied to God. He told her that she was one of 
 
68 
 
 THE SPIRIT CHILD. 
 
 the dear children of the great Father, and all her 
 moments of happiness, her holy thoughts and 
 pure impulses, came from the spirit of God 
 dwelling in her own little heart. The child lis- 
 tened to him with large and wondering eyes. 
 All the strange fancies and imperfect ideas, that 
 had long passed through her mind, now seemed 
 to come into beautiful and perfect form, and she 
 knew now what had often made her feel so 
 happy. But, oh! when he told her of the bright 
 and beautiful heaven, where the angels dwell, it 
 seemed almost too much for her to understand 
 clearly ; she only knew that she longed to go 
 there, and when the stranger left her, she sat 
 like one in a dream, wondering how she might 
 get to heaven, 
 
 The valley where she dwelt was surrounded 
 by mountains, some of which seemed to touch 
 the clouds, and the child thought if she could 
 only reach the top of one of these, she might 
 go directly into heaven, or, at least, hear the 
 sweet singing of the angels. She resolved, in 
 all the simplicity of her heart, not to say a word 
 to her father and mother, but the next morning 
 she would begin early to climb up the mountain. 
 She could scarcely sleep that night, her mind 
 was so wholly filled with this idea. 
 
 The next morning, at the first peep of day, she 
 
THE SPIRIT CHILD. 
 
 ■69 
 
 sprang from her bed, and opened the door of the 
 cottage. But, alas ! the rain fell in torrents, and 
 the heart of the child became very sad. Before 
 long the rain ceased, the sun came forth, and 
 high up in the heavens shone a beautiful rain- 
 bow. " Oh ! " exclaimed the child, as she 
 gazed at it in wonder and admiration, " what a 
 bright thing the Father has placed for me to come 
 up to him on. I will go quickly ; but first I will 
 gather some roses for little Zillah. I used to 
 play with her a long time ago, but she died and 
 is in heaven now. Fairer and sweeter roses 
 grow there, but she will be so glad to think that 
 I remember her. Far away, where the wate v 
 falls over the great rock, stands the end of this 
 beautiful arch; I shall reach it soon, and then 
 how gladly shall I go up to that blessed heaven 
 the good stranger told me of!" She gathered a 
 few half-blown roses, and hastened forward. So 
 earnest was she, and sure she should find where 
 the rainbow stood by the great rock, that she did 
 not once think to look up to the clouds ; but 
 when she reached the wished-for spot, there was 
 no rainbow, or the least shadow of one, to be 
 seen, and above her was a dark, frowning cloud. 
 
 Weary and disheartened, she sank down and 
 covered her face with her hands. Scarcely had 
 she done so, when she heard a soft, low voice say 
 6* 
 
70 
 
 THE SPIRIT CHILD. 
 
 to her, " Dear child, unto thee it is given to enter 
 into the kingdom of heaven. Ask and thou shalt 
 receive, seek and thou shalt find, knock and it 
 shall be opened unto thee. The pure in heart 
 shall see God." 
 
 The child raised not her head ; she sat still 
 and motionless, but her spirit seemed to rise up 
 like a joyous bird in the clear sunlight. The 
 mists that lay around her slowly gathered them- 
 selves up and rolled away, as the soft air, moving 
 to the melody of the golden harps, gathered 
 around her in a bright silvery garment ; and, lo ! 
 she stood beneath the tree of life, that grows 
 beside the crystal stream, that runneth from the 
 throne of God, in the midst of the holy city. 
 The odors of Eden fell sweetly around her ; the 
 loving angels looked kindly upon her, while, by 
 her side stood the blessed Lord Jesus, of whom, 
 the stranger had spoken. 
 
 " Dear lamb of my flock," he said, " what 
 w~ouldst thou ? " " Lord, that I may become more 
 like thee," said the gentle-hearted child. " Even 
 thus shall it be," he answered ; " the Father hath 
 sent thee into the world to do his will. Thou 
 must bear the bread and water of life to the 
 hungry and thirsting souls around thee. Thou 
 must become eyes to the blind, ears to the deaf, 
 feet to the lame, and joy to the despairing, 
 
THE SPIPtlT CHILD. 
 
 71 
 
 Patient in sorrow, perfect in meekness, trusting 
 in God. By doing this shalt thou assimilate 
 thyself to me, heaven shall ever lie around thee, 
 and God shall dwell in thy heart." Reverently 
 did the child kneel down at his feet, and clasp- 
 ing her hands, in all earnestness of spirit she 
 said, " I am ready to do the Father's will, even 
 unto death." As she uttered these words, a soft, 
 warm air, sweeter than the breath of roses, 
 seemed to rest upon her brow. Sensibly and per- 
 ceptibly came the presence of the Great Spirit 
 Father. She felt that he was near her, around 
 her, in her heart. There was joy among the an- 
 gels, and a song of praise was on every lip, for the 
 mighty hosts of cherubim and seraphim seemed 
 to be moved as one, by the all-pervading presence 
 of God. As if a new life and strength had been 
 given unto her, the child rose up. " Now am I 
 able to do all things," she said, " since the Father 
 hath entered into my heart ; and while his spirit 
 shall abide with me, I fail not, I faint not. I leave 
 you, bright angels, to do whatever I can of good 
 in the earth, and when my mission is ended, 1 
 shall come and dwell with you forever and ever. 
 Dear Father, strengthen me against temptation, 
 and deliver me from evil, and I shall yet do thy 
 will upon the earth, as it is done in heaven !" 
 Then, as if borne on the wings of a dove, sh' 
 
72 
 
 THE SPIRIT CHILD. 
 
 floated away through the pure air, while the 
 music of the crystal waters, and the sweet voices 
 of the angels, seemed to follow after her to cheer 
 her onward in her mission ; and when she raised 
 her head, and found herself still sitting by the 
 great rock, in the shade of the palm tree, that 
 melody was still in her heart. But this was not 
 a dream — no, it was not a dream ; neither was the 
 child carried up bodily, beyond the sunandstars ; 
 into an outward and visible creation ; but, when 
 she came with a spirit yearning after the holy 
 and beautiful, to seek for the rainbow, that she 
 might enter into the immediate presence of God, 
 and found it not, she heard the voice of the 
 Father calling her out of the depths of her heart, 
 to enter into that " kingdom of heaven" which 
 the Lord Jesus hath said is within us ; and as she 
 held communion with the high and holy thoughts 
 that came to her like the voices of angels, she 
 received more of the spirit of all good, and thus 
 she became strengthened for the duties of life. 
 
 There is an Eden of quietness and beauty in 
 every gentle heart, that truly loves the Father, 
 and strives to do his will. It is more peaceful 
 than the land of dreams, more beautiful than 
 the regions of fancy. There come the pitying 
 and consoling angels, to minister unto us in our 
 hours of trial and temptation, and there dwells 
 
THE SPIRIT CHILD. 
 
 73 
 
 the Spirit of the Great Father. Oh, could we 
 oftener enter into this holy place, and when we 
 say " Our Father who art in heaven," instead 
 of looking up to the blue ether, and the material 
 worlds above us, we could enter more truly into 
 this " kingdom within" us, then would we never 
 wish to grieve away the blessed spirits that dwell 
 there, by our sin and unthankfulness. Not only 
 would there be a heaven within us, but around 
 us, and heart joining with heart, love would no 
 longer become worn and wearied by unkindness, 
 and ^uger and resentment would become only 
 words to express things that were. 
 
THE COMPLAINT, 
 
 BY MRS. N. T. MUNROE. 
 
 There is no sign of clearing, 
 The sky is dark and gray. 
 
 And faster now 't is raining 
 Than it has rained to-day. 
 
 All yesterday was gloomy, 
 
 To-day is worse by far ; 
 T fairly long to see the sun, 
 
 Or e'en a single star. 
 
 But this continual dropping 
 Is death to schemes of mine ; 
 
 The sun is surely crossing 
 The equinoctial line. 
 
 I wish it could have put it off, 
 Or crossed with better grace ; 
 
 I 'm sure I do not see the use 
 Of such a cloudy face. 
 
 Some other time I should have liked 
 This long-continued rain, 
 
 But now I surely must confess 
 It gives less joy than pain. 
 
THE COMPLAINT. 
 
 75 
 
 I ofttimes like a rainy day, 
 
 Or even two together ; 
 But now, I did not calculate 
 
 Upon this gloomy weather. 
 
 There is no sign of clearing, 
 The wind is out dead east ; 
 
 I know, I 'm sure, that it will rain 
 A week or so, at least. 
 
HOW CHILDKEN MAY BE HAPPY, 
 
 BY CHARLES W. SWASEY. 
 
 The song of the nightingale is not so musical 
 as the artless prattle of a happy child ; and his 
 rosy cheeks and glowing countenance are more 
 lovely to gaze upon than the most beautiful 
 flowers of the garden. But children are not 
 always happy, and principally because they do 
 not always obey their parents. This is the 
 secret of many of their little crosses and vexa- 
 tions, and, indeed, of many of the greater mis- 
 fortunes of life. While, on the other hand, 
 those children who are obedient to their parents 
 in all things, generally grow up to be good men 
 and women. To illustrate this obvious, but im- 
 portant truth, we will tell our little readers a story 
 about the misfortunes of a lad who would not 
 mind his parents, and another about the good 
 fortunes of a boy who loved his father and his 
 mother, and was always ready to do their bidding. 
 
 Some thirty or forty years ago, there lived in 
 Frampton, in the county of Lincolnshire, Eng- 
 land, a lad named William L n. He 
 
HOW CHILDREN MAY BE HAPPY. 
 
 77 
 
 was the son of a farmer, and was at an early 
 age sent to the Sunday school, where he imbibed 
 a respect for the name and character of the Su- 
 preme Being, which, in after life, served to re- 
 strain him from crimes that he might otherwise 
 have committed. But he was indolent in his 
 studies, and excessively fond of amusement, 
 which often involved him in trouble, and ren- 
 dered him amenable to the laws of the land, 
 besides subjecting him to his father's displeasure. 
 His amusements were principally those of rob- 
 bing gardens and orchards, trapping game, and 
 hunting birds' nests. To this last named evil 
 he was so much addicted as frequently to expose 
 himself to the most imminent danger of breaking 
 his limbs and losing his life ; and he suffered 
 severely by climbing into thorn-hedges in pursuit 
 of his object, besides sometimes tearing his 
 clothes in rags. 
 
 I wish my young readers to remember that 
 
 William L n indulged these mischievous 
 
 propensities, as often and as far as circumstances 
 would permit, in defiance of the strictest in- 
 junctions of his parents to the contrary. Had 
 he obeyed them, and refrained from his sinful 
 pursuits, he would have escaped the censure and 
 severe punishment which he often received as 
 the consequence of his offences. These were 
 7 
 
78 
 
 HOW CHILDREN MAY BE HAPPY. 
 
 numerous, but we will riot stop now to mention 
 them. Suffice it to say, that he became a 
 source of painful uneasiness to his parents, who 
 deemed it necessary to put him out to service, hop- 
 ing that the instructions of experience would make 
 him a better boy. He was, accordingly, sent to 
 live with a respectable farmer some twelve miles 
 from his home ; but his master, not needing him 
 as a servant, William soon left and returned to 
 his father's house. 
 
 William was again put out to live, at a greater 
 distance from home; but his master was a pas- 
 sionate man, and would censure him for the 
 slightest offence. He became dissatisfied with his 
 treatment, by ; dared not utter a complaint. He 
 thought of home, yet feared to return there, for 
 he had offended his parents by his unruly con- 
 duct. Still he determined to leave this unpleasant 
 place of service, and seek employment elsewhere. 
 He engaged himself as a groom or horse-keeper, 
 to the landlord of a tavern ; but here, as in the 
 former case, his employer proved to be an ill- 
 tempered and fault-finding man, so much so that 
 his servants never remained long in his employ. 
 William's condition was now but little better than 
 that of a slave. Among his other toils, he was 
 obliged, on every Sabbath day, to take a horse to 
 a clergyman, four miles distant, and return on foot 
 
HOW CHILDREN MAY BE HAPPY. 79 
 
 before breakfast ; and in the evening to go on 
 foot and bring it back again. Besides this, his 
 food was unwholesome, consisting of a little meat 
 half boiled, and bread made of the coarsest ma- 
 terials, scantily baked, and full of coals. His 
 father, learning of his situation, sent to relieve 
 his wants and urge him to return home ; but, 
 needy as he was, he was proof against both the 
 kindness of his friends, and the love of his par- 
 ents ; and instead of obeying their request, he 
 went to work as a day-laborer in the outskirts of 
 the town. He remained in this occupation for 
 some time, but wages being low, and labor 
 scarce, it was with difficulty he procured a 
 scanty subsistence, which induced him to leave 
 the place and offer himself as a soldier. He 
 accordingly went to Horncastle, and requested 
 to be joined to the 2d regiment of Rifle Guards, 
 but was objected to as being too short. Deter- 
 mined not to be disappointed, he left this place 
 and went to Lincoln, where he offered himself a 
 second time, and was rejected on the same 
 ground as before, because he was not sufficiently 
 tall. 
 
 These repeated disappointments robbed Wil- 
 liam of his spirits, and made him the victim of 
 despondency ; hope forsook his bosom, and pros- 
 perity refused to smile upon him. In the Ian- 
 
80 
 
 HOW CHILDREN MAY EE HAPPY. 
 
 guage of the prodigal son, he said, " I will arise 
 and go to my father." The next Sabbath he 
 reached his home, where his parents received 
 him with joy and kindness, and his sorrows and 
 his wanderings were forgotten ; and had he con- 
 tinued to obey their loving counsel and advice, 
 many of his subsequent sufferings would have 
 been avoided. But, on the succeeding summer 
 he entered the employ of a gentleman in a neigh- 
 boring town, where his hard fortune followed 
 him. His master was passionate and cruel, and 
 twice whipped him most unjustly. He left; 
 but instead of going to his home, as he should 
 have done, he went to the town of Stamford, in 
 company with a dissolute youth, to gratify whose 
 intemperance he was obliged to sell his watch, 
 and expend his last shilling. William then aban- 
 doned this ungrateful companion, and again 
 offered himself as a soldier, but without success. 
 He was now without money, and compelled to 
 sell a portion of the clothing which he wore to 
 procure food to satisfy his hunger. He wandered 
 from place to place, with little to eat, with noth- 
 ing to do, and sometimes obliged to beg for food, 
 or starve Once more, and it proved for the last 
 time, he resolved to seek the shelter of his child- 
 hood's home, where he arrived on the Sabbath 
 day. He had. previously engaged himself to 
 
HOW CHILDREN MAY BE HAPPY. 
 
 Si 
 
 work with a gentleman in a town some miles 
 distant from Stamford, and returned the follow- 
 ing day, Monday, to fulfil his engagement. His 
 mother accompanied him as far as Boston, a town 
 adjoining his native village, where she purchased 
 him a suit of clothes. She then retired with 
 him to the solitude of the graveyard, and there 
 imprinted the last warm kiss of affection upon 
 his burning cheek — there took the last fond em- 
 brace of her wayward child — and there uttered 
 her last endearing words, — " Farewell, my son, 
 be a good boy ! " 
 
 William had lived at his new place but six 
 weeks, when his master called him one morning, 
 gave him one shilling, and dismissed him from 
 his employ. With this one shilling in his pocket 
 he left for Lincoln, where he sold such articles 
 of clothing as he could spare, to obtain means to 
 travel with. He vainly solicited employment in 
 several towns, until at last he was driven, by im- 
 perious necessity, to enlist as a soldier. After a 
 number of unsuccessful attempts, he succeeded in 
 joining a rifle regiment, stationed at Montreal, 
 on the river St. Lawrence, in Canada East. 
 Thus, on the 6th day of December, 1820, at the 
 
 age of only 15 years, William L n enlisted 
 
 for life, as a soldier in the British service. 
 
 It would be interesting to my young readers to 
 7* 
 
82 HOW CHILDREN MAY BE HAPPY. 
 
 enter into a detail of the hardships and sufferings 
 of a British soldier's life, at the time of which I 
 am speaking ; but I have not time to do this, and 
 can only tell you that they were subjected to a 
 round of unceasing toil, and never permitted to go 
 beyond the sound of the drum.. Martial laws were 
 very strict, and the punishment for their infringe- 
 ment very severe. If a soldier was found guilty 
 of stealing, he was punished with three hundred, 
 lashes upon the bare hack ; and for some crimes the 
 unfortunate victims were doomed to receive seven 
 hundred lashes ! These punishments generally 
 disabled the culprit for weeks or months, and 
 sometimes caused death. Yfilliam, however, 
 was so fortunate as to escape the martial whip, 
 though he endured many other hardships, such 
 as hunger, fatigue, cold, &c. 
 
 Let us now follow our young hero across the 
 broad Atlantic, until he arrives in Montreal, on 
 the American continent. Here he was duly 
 joined to his regiment, and here he renewed and 
 continued his life of toil and suffering. Seeing no 
 reason to hope that his condition would ever be 
 more tolerable, in about two years he conceived 
 the design of deserting his regiment and running 
 away to the United States. To effect this design, 
 he stole a horse from one of the officers, and 
 a small sum of money to obtain food on the 
 
HOW CHILDREN MAY BE HAPPY. 
 
 way ; and on a cold night in the month of Feb- 
 ruary, thinly clad, and without an outer gar- 
 ment, he commenced his escape on horseback. 
 The cold was so intense that he froze his hands 
 and feet, and, after travelling forty miles, he put 
 up at a tavern, and called for some refreshments. 
 While at this tavern, the landlord suspected him 
 of being - a deserter, took effectual steps to ascer- 
 tain the fact, and reported him to his officers. 
 To us it seems cruel that the landlord should 
 have done this : but he was an unfeeling man, 
 and betrayed the young soldier because he should 
 receive for it the sum of thirty dollars, which the 
 British army then paid for the detection of de- 
 serters. William was now conveyed back to 
 Montreal, where he was tried for the crimes of 
 desertion and theft, and condemned to die. The 
 juiy, however, recommended him to mercy, and 
 after lying in prison a few weeks, bound in irons, 
 the governor was prevailed upon to remit the 
 sentence of death, and to consign him to five 
 years' hard labor in the jail at Quebec. And 
 here, immured within the massive walls of a cold 
 and cheerless prison, compelled to subsist on 
 coarse and scanty food, and to pick thirty pounds 
 of oakum per week, we will take leave of our 
 young and unfortunate hero. 
 
 I have said that William was " unfortunate 
 
84 
 
 HOW CHILDREN MAY BE HAPPY. 
 
 but have my young readers reflected, that the 
 cause of all his misfortunes was disobedience to 
 his parents' commands when a boy and living 
 at home ? Such is the fact; and the story of his 
 sufferings I trust you will all remember, and be 
 warned by them to shun the example of his early 
 youth. 
 
 The other story which I promised to relate, is 
 of one whose name is familiar to every child. 
 
 At the age of fourteen years, George Wash- 
 ington felt a very strong desire to follow the sea, 
 and accordingly obtained a warrant as midship- 
 man in the British navy. His then widowed 
 mother was grieved at the thought of parting 
 with her loved and only son, and entreated him 
 to relinquish his design and remain with her. 
 George was a good boy; he could not think 
 of acting contrary to his mother's wishes, and, 
 therefore, resigned his commission, in obedience 
 to her request. "This act of duty," says one of 
 his biographers, " prepared the way for that 
 brilliant career of greatness which ended in free- 
 ing a nation, and earning for him the noblest of 
 all titles, that of ' Father of his Country.' " Had 
 George Washington been a wilful and disobedient 
 boy, he would have entered the service of the Brit- 
 ish navy, despite the entreaties of his mother ; and 
 
HOW CHILDREN MAY BE HAPPY. 
 
 85 
 
 then, instead of immortalizing his name and his 
 memory, by the greatness and the goodness of his 
 after life, and being the chief instrument, in the 
 hands of God, of freeing this now great and happy 
 country from British oppression, he would in all 
 probability have fought against our liberties, and 
 perhaps have died unhonored in a foreign land. 
 But now, "there is no speech nor language" 
 where the name of Washington is not repeated 
 with reverence and respect. He is everywhere 
 regarded as a model of human greatness ; and 
 no higher aspiration can be cherished than to be 
 like Washington, the political saviour of his 
 country, unless we except a sincere desire to be 
 like Jesus, the spiritual Saviour of the world. 
 The secret of his greatness was his goodness, 
 and the secret of his goodness was filial obedi- 
 ence to his parents in his childhood, to his wid- 
 owed mother in his boyhood, and to his God in 
 manhood. On the 14th day of December, 1799, 
 at the age of 67 years, this good man died, and 
 was buried near his residence at Mount Vernon, 
 deeply mourned by millions of grateful and lov- 
 ing people. Should any of my young readers 
 ever be so happy as to visit the " Grave of 
 Washington," I hope they will remember and 
 there repeat the following beautiful lines, written 
 by Marshall S. Pike : 
 
86 
 
 HOW CHILDREN MAY BE HAPPY. 
 
 t; Disturb not his slubbers ! let Washington sleep 
 'Neath the boughs of the willow that over him weep 
 His arm is unnerved, but his deeds remain bright 
 As the stars in the dark-vaulted heaven at night. 
 Oh ! wake not the hero ; his battles are o'er ; 
 Let him sleep undisturbed on Potomac's fair shore ; 
 On the river's green border, so flow'ry dressed, 
 With the hearts he loved fondly, let Washington rest. 
 
 Awake not his slumbers ! tread lightly around ! 
 'Tis the grave of a freeman, 'tis Liberty's mound ! 
 Thy name is immortal — our Freedom it won — 
 Brave sire of Columbia, our own Washington ! 
 Oh ! wake not the hero ; his battles are o'er ; 
 Let him sleep, calmly sleep, on his dear native shore. 
 While the stars and the stripes of our country shall wave 
 O'er the land that can boast of a Washington's grave.'' 
 
 How lovely, how beautiful is this portrait of 
 Washington ! There are no stains to mar its 
 beauty, no shades of evil to dim its brightness. 
 Every feature is stamped with a dignity, and a 
 veneration which command our deepest respect. 
 And does it not induce a desire in my youn ^ 
 readers to be like "Washington — great, and good, 
 and beloved ? The first step to be taken,- then, 
 is to obey your parents, who love and care for 
 you so tenderly. Ancient history tells us of a 
 king who made a law against a certain crime, in 
 which it was enacted that the offender should be 
 punished with the loss of both eyes. The very 
 
HOW CHILDREN MAY BE HAPPY. 
 
 87 
 
 first transgressor was the king's own son. The 
 case was a distressing one, for the king was an 
 affectionate father, as well as a just magistrate. 
 After much painful reflection, the king com- 
 manded one of his own eyes to be pulled out, and 
 one of his son's. Here you see demonstrated the 
 power of parental love. To have taken both the 
 eyes of his son, would have rendered him blind 
 forever ; but, rather than bring upon him so great 
 a misfortune, and yet, to enforce the demands of 
 his own law, the king chose to share his son's 
 distress. This was an act of affection which 
 none but a parent could perform. If, then, they 
 love you so tenderly, is it too much that you 
 should follow their direction and advice while 
 young, and unable to act wisely for yourselves ? 
 
ELLEN GRANT, 
 
 THE DRUNKARD'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 BY MRS. MARY A. LIVERMORE. 
 
 Few children pass through as much trial and 
 sorrow as did Ellen Grant, during the first 
 twelve or fifteen years of her life. Few are as 
 heavily pressed with care as she was, or have 
 as many and as arduous duties to perform. 
 And yet few, with age and experience twice her 
 own, would have been more faithful in their dis- 
 charge, more uncomplaining, or more devoted. 
 Allow me, young readers, to narrate to you her 
 history, which, i assure you, is not fiction, but 
 with the exception of a few unimportant altera- 
 tions, is wholly true. 
 
 Ellen Grant and her young brother and sister 
 were so unfortunate as to have an intemperate 
 father. When not under the influence of ardent 
 spirits, Mr. Grant was a kind, industrious man, 
 and loved his little family, and sought to provide 
 for their wants — but when intoxicated, he was 
 unfeeling, indolent, and an object of fear. Mrs, 
 
ELLEN GRANT. 
 
ELLEN GRANT. 
 
 91 
 
 Grant, the poor wife, was in feeble health, and 
 was compelled to toil so hard to assist in main- 
 taining the family, that every year found her 
 paler, thinner and weaker. Had her husband 
 been a man of sober, industrious habits, her 
 labor would have been comparatively easy ; for 
 then good food and clothing would have been 
 furnished for herself and little ones, and her 
 household duties would have been so lightened 
 by the careful, dutiful Ellen, as to have rendered 
 them very slight. But the wages earned by Mr, 
 Grant were chiefly squandered at the bar-room, 
 and in the dram-shop, and Mrs. Grant, feeble as 
 she was, was therefore obliged to go out among the 
 families of the town, to wash, iron, clean house, 
 or sew, as she was needed, leaving Ellen to 
 attend to affairs at home. 
 
 The family were necessarily poor and desti- 
 tute. Their food was coarse and scanty, their 
 clothing poor, and insufficient to keep them com- 
 fortable in the cold weather, while their dwelling, 
 a rough, old house, unfit to live in, was meanly 
 furnished. Not only did they suffer from pov- 
 erty, from cold and hunger, but they endured 
 much from Mr. Grant's unkindness, when fren- 
 zied with liquor. Many an undeserved blow did 
 little Ellen, and her brother and sister, Susy and 
 Freddy, receive from the heavy hand of their bru- 
 8 
 
92 
 
 ELLEN GRANT. 
 
 tal father ; blows, whose dark marks were left 
 upon the tender flesh for weeks afterwards. 
 Even the pale-faced suffering wife, a slender, 
 broken-spirited woman, was sometimes confined 
 to her bed for days, by her husband's ill treat- 
 ment. 
 
 Yet no word of complaint ever came from 
 their lips ; no one ever heard them speak unkindly 
 or harshly of their drunken husband and father; 
 and despite his ill-usage, both wife and children 
 dealt with him kindly. A sadness seemed 
 always to rest upon them, and tears might often 
 be seen in the eyes of Mrs. Grant and Ellen, 
 who, being older, realized more their wretched- 
 ness than the other children — but reproaches of 
 him who caused all their trouble were never 
 heard. 
 
 Hard labor, trouble, and anxiety, wore more 
 and more upon Mrs. Grant's delicate constitution, 
 until she became reduced almost to a shadow, 
 and those who saw her, predicted that she would 
 soon depart from her cares and trials forever. 
 One morning, when Ellen was a little more than 
 ten years old, her mother rose as usual, to go 
 about her daily labor, but, as Ellen observed, with 
 a paler face, and more weakness than ever. 
 The dutiful child, ever awake to the cares and 
 sorrows of her feeble parent, assisted her as far 
 
ELLEN GRANT. 
 
 93 
 
 as she could ; but when she entered the rough, 
 ill-furnished apartment with a handful of sticks 
 she had gathered for the fire, she found her poor 
 mother extended upon the floor, apparently 
 lifeless. 
 
 Ellen did not scream, or run off for the neigh- 
 bors, leaving her mother alone, as many children 
 would, but opening the door that the fresh air 
 might come to her mother, and spreading 
 over her a blanket to prevent her taking cold, 
 she mingled camphor and water in a cup, and 
 tried to force some of it into the sufferer's mouth. 
 This had not the desired effect ; and bringing a 
 piggin of cold water, she sat down upon a block 
 of wood, which answered the purpose of a stool, 
 and lifting her mother's head into her lap, she 
 bathed her temples and forehead, and moistened 
 her pale lips until signs of life returned. 
 
 By this time, Susy, whom Ellen had despatched 
 for aid, returned with one or two kind women, 
 who summoned the doctor. He attended her for 
 a few days, but he could do her no good ; and 
 ere a fortnight passed away, the poor children 
 were motherless. It was a sad, sad time for 
 them ; she who had loved them dearly, and 
 w T hom they had loved, who had folded them to 
 her heart, and wept over them, was hidden from 
 their sight in the grave ; and as the poor little 
 
94 
 
 ELLEN GRANT. 
 
 creatures gathered closely together, and wept io 
 one another's arms, they felt lonely indeed. Poor 
 Ellen was the most to be pitied ; she was the 
 eldest, and realized their wretched situation, and 
 being very sensitive, it cut her to the heart. 
 
 The town's people were now very desirous to 
 remove the children from their father's tyranny 
 and bad example, and places would have been 
 provided for them in good families ; but Ellen 
 wept so bitterly when it was proposed to separate 
 Susy and Freddy and herself, and Mr. Grant 
 raved so fiercely at the proposal, that it was 
 abandoned. Ellen, young as she was, immedi- 
 ately stepped into her mother's place, and dis- 
 charged her duties. She cooked the food, made, 
 repaired, and washed the clothing, kept the house 
 neat and tidy, and besides this, found time to 
 braid palm-leaf hats for the hat and bonnet man- 
 ufactory in the town, and to teach Freddy and 
 Susy to do the same, by which they earned a 
 small sum each week. 
 
 During the winter and summer months, when 
 only a school was taught in the town, Susy and 
 Freddy were regularly sent to school, and Ellen 
 herself, in the midst of all her cares, contrived 
 to pass an hour or two each day in the school- 
 room, which the teacher kindly sought to make 
 as profitable to her as possible. Every one 
 
ELLEN GRANT. 
 
 95 
 
 praised the good girl's industry and thoughtful- 
 ness, and every one also pitied her that she 
 should be debarred from all the joys of her age, 
 and be oppressed with care. Yet few girls would 
 have been as happy as she, severely as she la- 
 bored, if her father had been a temperate man. 
 
 One — two — three — four years passed away, 
 and Mr. Grant became worse instead of better. 
 Every year he brought less and less of his earnings 
 to his family, and often came home at night so furi- 
 ous, that the children were obliged to flee for their 
 lives. Hard words and harder blows were con- 
 stantly dealt out to them by the unnatural father; 
 and yet the children, when questioned about the 
 bruises they bore on their arms, faces, and necks, 
 would always evade a direct answer, and simply 
 say " they had got hurt." 
 
 Ellen was too sensitive to be willing that all 
 her father's excesses should be known, and when 
 they had suffered the most from his cruelty, and 
 were weeping from the pain he had inflicted, 
 she would enjoin secrecy upon her brother and 
 sister, and charge them "not to tell anybody 
 about it." But oh, how the poor child thought of 
 her dead mother, and sometimes longed to lie down 
 beside her ! How she wept day and night, her eyes 
 raining tears, tears, tears, all the time ! How sad, 
 how very sad, grew her face, the tone of her 
 8* 
 
96 
 
 ELLEN GRANT. 
 
 voice, and even her manners ! Everybody said 
 " Poor Ellen Grant ! " but no one seemed able to 
 relieve her. Her father would not reform, nor 
 would he suffer his family to be broken up — 
 and what could be done ? 
 
 But about a year ago, a severe sickness came 
 upon the drunken father, which confined him to 
 his bed for many weeks, and so reduced him, 
 that no one expected his recovery. The physi- 
 cian came to see him, and some of the people of 
 the town, but, except his children, few hoped that 
 he would get well ; they thought it would be a 
 blessing to his family if he did not live. 
 
 But his good child, his dutiful Ellen, hung 
 over him as if he were the best of fathers ; she 
 bathed his swollen and painful limbs, cooled his 
 fevered brow, and spake kindly and gently to 
 him, even when he raved at, and cursed her. 
 But, by and by, the dreadful pain which 
 racked him. was stilled; and then, as he lay 
 helpless in bed, he noticed his excellent child's 
 industry, patience and forbearance, her gentle 
 attendance upon him, and her habitual sadness. 
 Every day he saw her going through a round of 
 duties, which would have fatigued an experienced 
 person, half a dozen years older, economizing, 
 laboring, guiding and advising Freddy and Susy 
 as a mother would, and attending to his wants 
 
ELLEN GRANT. 
 
 97 
 
 like a skilful nurse — and this, when she was but 
 fourteen years old. 
 
 He was a kind-hearted man, as I have told 
 you, when not intoxicated, and one day, as her 
 pale, sad face was bending over his pillow, while 
 her hands gently bathed his brow, and smoothed 
 his tangled hair, a tear sprang to his eye, and 
 he said gently and tenderly, — 
 
 " Ellen, you are a good girl, and when I get 
 out again, I '11 buy you a handsome present." 
 
 " Oh, no, father !" said Ellen sadly ; " I don't 
 want any present ; no, father, I 'd rather — " and 
 she stopped, and her lips quivered. 
 
 "Well, what, Ellen?" asked Mr. Grant; 
 " what were you going to say ? Speak out." 
 
 Looking into his face, and seeing the kind- 
 ness that beamed there, Ellen threw her arm 
 over her father, and burying her face in his 
 bosom, sobbed out, " Don't be angry, father, dorit 
 be angry ; but oh, I 'd rather you 'd sign the 
 pledge! That would make us all so happy!" 
 and the bed shook with her emotion. Mr. Grant 
 lifted her pale face to the pillow beside his own ; 
 the tears of both father and child mingled 
 together. He pressed a kiss on her wan cheek 
 — the first he had bestowed on her for years — 
 but he said not a word. A few moments, and 
 Ellen lifted her head from the pillow, and left the 
 
93 
 
 ELLEN GRANT. 
 
 room, to relieve her heart by a yet more copious 
 flood of tears. 
 
 That afternoon, when Susy and Freddy came 
 from school, he called the former to his bedside, 
 and in a low tone said, " Susy, I want you to 
 go to Mr. Comstock's, and ask him to come 
 up here this evening. Tell him to bring the 
 pledge with him." 
 
 Now my young readers must know that Mr. 
 Comstock was President of the Total Abstinence 
 Society, and that he had often vainly endeavored 
 to get Mr. Grant's name on the pledge. No 
 wonder, then, that Susy stared at her father as 
 though she thought him crazy, and that he was 
 obliged to repeat his request a second time. 
 Then, when she comprehended her father's wish, 
 she bounded from the room like a wild fawn, 
 treading on pussy, who was asleep on the floor, 
 overturning a chair, and tearing her dress on a 
 nail which caught it, and actually jumping up 
 and down for joy as she communicated the news 
 to Ellen and Freddy. Freddy jumped up a good 
 way from the ground, and gave a loud " hurrah ! " 
 boy-fashion, and then away they scampered to 
 Mr. Comstock's, hatless and bonnetless, outstrip- 
 ping horses and wagons in their joyful speed. 
 Ellen, poor child ! who was left behind, burst 
 out afresh, and was weeping when the little 
 ones returned. 
 
ELLEN GRANT. 
 
 99 
 
 Mr. Comstock came up, as desired, and Mr. 
 Grant, trembling- with weakness, wrote his name 
 underneath the pledge. Oh , how happy were his 
 children ! Susy climbed up on the bed to kiss 
 him, Ellen wept, and then laughed through her 
 tears, and Freddy flew round the room like a 
 spinning top, longing to "hurrah!" again, 
 catching up poor pussy, hugging Ellen round 
 the waist, and performing various other antics. 
 
 It is a year, nearly, since then, and Mr. Grant 
 has not broken his pledge ; and we now think the 
 reformation will be a lasting one. His family now 
 are comfortable, and happy ; and instead of fear- 
 ing their father, they love him. They have now 
 the comforts of life ; they have better food, better 
 clothing, and better furniture, in their house. 
 Mr. Grant says every day that he is as happy 
 a man as there is in town, and that for his 
 reformation, and his present happiness, he has 
 to thank his good child, his excellent daughter, 
 Ellen. 
 
CHILDREN IN TRADE. 
 
 BY MRS. M. H. ADAMS. 
 
 " Here, little boy ; I want to see you a min- 
 ute," said a boy of ten years to a little boy of a 
 group of three. The boy to whom he spoke had 
 a tin whistle, a bird-call, enjoying its shrill 
 sound ; and when the large boy called, he 
 took it from his mouth and went towards the 
 other. 
 
 " What will you take for that ? — I '11 give you 
 this," said the large boy, taking something from 
 his own mouth. 
 
 " What is it ? " said the little fellow. 
 
 " Pitch ; pitch to chew," said the crafty boy. 
 
 The articles were exchanged. A little boy 
 who was playing in a wagon near the boys, as if 
 he discovered the deception, began to cry out, 
 — "Burgundy pitch! Burgundy pitch!" His 
 friendly caution was not understood. The large 
 boy walked away, well pleased with his bargain, 
 and the little one broke a piece for each of his 
 companions, and began to chew his own. 
 
CHILDREN IN TRADE. 
 
 101 
 
 " It is bitter," said he ; "I don't like it ; I don't 
 want it." He turned to look after the crafty big 
 bo/, and walked on in silent sadness. 
 
 " Are you sorry you traded ? " said one of his 
 companions. 
 
 " Yes, I am. I have lost my whistle, and got 
 nothing for it." 
 
 Another large boy came up to the little trader, 
 and asked him what he had. 
 
 " Pitch," said one of the boys. 
 
 " Where did you get it ? " 
 
 " I gave a bird-call to John Blake for it." 
 
 " John Blake is a rascal to take it from you. 
 You have got cheated, Alfie. Be careful how 
 you trade with large boys," said Alfred's friend. 
 
 " I hope I never shall trade with a cheat 
 again," said Alfred. 
 
 But alas ! the world is full of cheats. There 
 are very many poor ^.Ifreds in the mercantile 
 world, and crafty John Blake watches at many a 
 corner, to entrap the unsuspecting. When a 
 simple-minded young trader offers himself, the 
 deceiver cries — " Here, young man ; I want to 
 see you a minute." The witnesses anxiously cry 
 out, " Burgundy pitch ! Burgundy pitch ! " but it 
 avails nothing; for a novice in trade, or an hon- 
 est-hearted youth, believes all as innocent as him- 
 self, and he makes a bargain of which he repents 
 
102 
 
 CHILDREN IN TRADE. 
 
 He looks round for the old merchant, but it is too 
 late ; he is gone. His friends tell him, what he 
 feels keenly enough already, that he has been 
 cheated ; and he hopes, in his pure heart, that 
 he " never shall trade with a cheat again." 
 
 There need not be — should not be, more of 
 craft, or fraud, or deception, or double-dealing, 
 in the commercial world than in any other de- 
 partment of business. But we are forced to 
 believe that a lie in trade is not considered 
 a departure from veracity, and that many re- 
 gard it as absolutely necessary to use some de- 
 ceit. How lamentable that such a state of things 
 exists ! 
 
 The world is full of cheats. But where do 
 they come from ? Ohio ? Texas ? Delaware, or 
 Maine ? The Irish tell us in what county, " at 
 home," their deceitful countrymen live ; where 
 the bold-faced liar corner from, and where the 
 licentious live ; but we will not go from our own 
 state to accuse the citizens of another. Let 
 us look at home, and cure the evil here. 
 
 Little children begin very early to deceive. 
 They make bargains, and by unfair words, and 
 even untrue ones, defraud one another. The 
 love of truth is not deep seated in their hearts. 
 The conscience is not kept sensitive to the least 
 deviation from strictest truth. They often act a 
 
CHILDREN IN TRADE. 
 
 103 
 
 lie, and think it no harm. Let our young friends 
 take heed. Truth is truth. Less than the whole 
 truth is not honest before God, and is worth but 
 little. Defile not your pure lips and hearts by 
 the dishonest word or dishonest thought. 
 9 
 
THE CHRISTIAN'S REWARD. 
 
 BY JAMES LUMBARD. 
 
 There is a glory which the warrior longs 
 To win, as to the battle-field he goes, 
 
 Where war's red banner floats above the throngs 
 Who meet, and perish mid convulsive throes ; 
 
 That glory may be his ; but it will die 
 
 As lightnings fade along the darkened sky. 
 
 There is a fame for which the statesman's soul 
 Toils earnestly through years of anxious though* 
 
 Until at length away the shadows roll, 
 
 And all is his for which he long has wrought ; 
 
 But ah ! how soon the hearts that he could thrill, 
 
 Are gathered to the charnel, cold and chill ! 
 
 The poet sighs for honor and renown, 
 
 And fain would earn a never-dying name ; 
 
 And though he live to see the laurel crown 
 
 Placed on his brow, and hear the trump of fame 
 
 Yet, when a few short, changeful years are gone, 
 
 Where is the crown that once so brightly shone? 
 
 The artist has such bright angelic dreams, 
 As fill his spirit with a strange delight, 
 
 And years of toil may bring a few faint gleams 
 Of what is real to his wistful sight ; 
 
 But all the brightness of his dreams shall fade 
 
 When time lias mouldered what his handshave made 
 
THE CHRISTIAN'S REWARD. 
 
 There is a glory that shall never die, 
 A glory that is not of mortal birth ; 
 
 Its fountain is beyond the azure sky, 
 
 And yet it may be seen by those on earth ; 
 
 And if they taste it while sojourning here, 
 
 It gives them glimpses of a higher sphere. 
 
 It is for this the Christian nerves his heart, 
 And meets with calmness every ill and strife ; 
 
 It is for this he nobly acts the part 
 Assigned him in the changing scene of life. 
 
 It sheds a halo round him while he lives, 
 
 And when he dies a holier radiance gives. 
 
 And when admitted to that sinless sphere, 
 
 Which needeth not the brightness of the sun, 
 
 He sees with vision all undimmed and clear, 
 And finds existence has but just begun ; 
 
 And as the years of the Eternal move, 
 
 He grows in knowledge, blessedness and love ! 
 
NATURE HATH VOICES, AND 
 SPEAKETH WISDOM. 
 
 REV. L. J. FLETCHER. 
 
 " Come, Henry," said Mrs. Elwin to her son, 
 a lad of twelve summers, whose mind had already 
 attained a singular maturity, beneath the genial 
 influences of an intelligent and devoted mother's 
 care and culture ; " come with me, and let us 
 have our morning walk, and read our morning 
 lesson." 
 
 Henry needed but one invitation, and was 
 quickly prepared to accompany his mother ; for 
 he loved the sweet breath of morning upon the 
 hill-tops, and within the groves, where nature's 
 songsters breathed their early orisons of praise 
 to God ; and his soul was thirsting for new and 
 deeper draughts at the fountain of wisdom. 
 Nothing could satisfy that thirst like a morning 
 ramble, and a chat with nature, as he used to 
 say, could he but have his mother for a compan- 
 ion and interpreter. 
 
 The morning was beautiful, and hand in hand, 
 talking of many wonders which they saw around 
 
NATURE HATH VOICES. 
 
 107 
 
 them, they soon were standing upon the sum- 
 mit of a hill which they often visited, watching 
 the rising sun. Its prophecy had been upon the 
 sky since first they started from their home, and 
 now its orbed face of golden radiance arose 
 above the distant mountains, pouring a flood of 
 welcome light upon the joyful world. 
 
 " Sit down, my son," said Mrs. Elwin, " and 
 let us listen to a sermon from Nature's greatest 
 preacher. Yonder rising orb has taught me 
 many great and thrilling lessons, and now, as he 
 comes forth in renewed brightness and beauty, 
 he will discourse most eloquently of truths we 
 all should learn." 
 
 Henry was not surprised at this request, for 
 he had learned to talk with nature, until her 
 voice was quite familiar to his ear ; and he sat 
 with eager joy to listen. For a few moments all 
 was silent ; but when the mind was withdrawn 
 from all things else, the sun addressed them thus : 
 
 " Mortals, my ways contemplate ! I am an 
 emblem of the power that all things made ; God 
 is my Creator. Like as his love distils impar- 
 tially on all, I send my rays of light and heat 
 upon surrounding worlds. I change not. I ask 
 not if those who bask in my reviving beams are 
 worthy to receive them ; but upon the high and 
 low, the rich and poor, the bond and free, the 
 
108 
 
 NATURE HATH VOICES. 
 
 evil and the good, I shine the same. The world 
 is rolling round me, and every day some parts of 
 it are lost in darkness, and men do say of me, 
 ' The sun has set ;' but set I never do. I shine the 
 same at all times ; and the cause of darkness on 
 the earth is that it daily turns away from me. 
 
 " Learn, mortals, then, this lesson. Be constant 
 in the work by you to be performed, as I in mine. 
 And as ye see one sun to light the natural 
 world, remember in the moral there is the same. 
 Jesus in that, as I in this, doth shine. His rays 
 of gospel truth impartial are ; and if men live in 
 darkness, 'tis but because they, like the earth, 
 have turned away from light. 
 
 " Then turn towards the Saviour ; welcome the 
 cheering light which shines from him upon the 
 world, and guided by its rays, pass quietly along 
 the sea of life until you land within the port of 
 everlasting peace, and take your harps of gold to 
 sing redemption's song." 
 
 Henry sprang upon his feet, and as he grasped 
 his mother's hand in silence, an inexpressible 
 joy beamed from his countenance, and his heart 
 was full of the most gladsome emotions. 
 
 " That," said he, after a moment's thoughtful 
 silence, " that, dear mother, was the most en- 
 chanting sermon that I ever heard. How full of 
 instruction ! how full of tenderness and love ' 
 
NATURE HATH VOICES. 
 
 109 
 
 O, I could sit forever and listen to such words as 
 those. Let us wait still longer, mother, for 
 should he speak again, I would not fail to treas- 
 ure up the wisdom of his teachings." 
 
 Mrs. Elwin had listened with the deepest in- 
 terest to all the sun had spoken, and her heart 
 was not less joyful than that of her child ; but 
 she knew what he had never learned to realize, 
 viz., that a short sermon, treasured up in faithful 
 remembrance, was of more value than longer 
 sermons half forgotten ; she therefore turned 
 toward their home again, saying, " Remember, 
 Henry, what you have already heard, and con- 
 sider it faithfully — we then will come and listen 
 to other lessons which the sun is daily speaking. 
 Meanwhile, ponder diligently the doctrine of 
 this morning lesson, and learn therefrom that 
 God is not a partial being, but loves his children 
 all alike, and blesses all with equal blessings." 
 
 " Mother," said Henry, as they walked towards 
 their happy home, for such it was to all its in- 
 mates, " is not the moon a preacher also ? Can 
 we not learn of that, some lessons of instruc- 
 tion ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Elwin; "there is not an 
 object in nature which does not utter words of 
 wisdom. All which God has made can speak 
 his love, and praise him for his goodness. But 
 
110 
 
 NATURE HATH VOICES. 
 
 the moon has lessons full of richest interest to all 
 who give her audience." 
 
 The day rolled on, and when the sun had sunk 
 to rest behind the western hills, and the full- 
 orbed moon sent forth its herald rays upon the 
 eastern sky, Henry was seen hastening with 
 nimble steps to gain the summit of the hill where, 
 in the morning, he had listened to the sermon 
 from the sun. He gained his station just in time 
 to see the queen of night arise to take her walk 
 amid the constellations. Never before had she 
 appeared so beautiful ; and as he sat upon the 
 very mound where in the morning he had lis- 
 tened to the king of day, he loved not less the 
 milder beauties of reflected light, than the full 
 blaze of radiant glory. 
 
 The busy world was hushed to silence ; the 
 song of Nature's warblers had ceased, and all 
 around there reigned a sacred stillness which 
 soothed the spirit and prepared the mind to talk 
 with nature. 
 
 An hour rolled past, and Henry joined his 
 mother in the parlor to rehearse his evening les- 
 son. It was the first he had sought to learn from 
 Nature, without his mother's aid, and she had 
 waited anxiously to learn of his success. As he 
 entered, she saw the emotions of joy that filled 
 his heart, beaming forth from his dark blue eyes. 
 
NATURE HATH VOICES. 
 
 Ill 
 
 and noble countenance, and she knew that his 
 communion had been sweet and full of interest. 
 
 " Sit down, my son," said she, " and let me 
 hear the lesson which the moon has taught you. 
 What said the moon to you ? Your looks declare 
 her sermon welcome." 
 
 " It was, indeed," said Henry, " although she 
 spake not all to me. She spake to all who love 
 to follow Jesus." 
 
 " Can you remember all her words ? " said 
 Mrs. Elwin. 
 
 " Yes, all of them," replied the happy boy ; 
 " nor shall I ever cease to keep them in remem- 
 brance. This was her language : — 
 
 " ' I shine, 't is true, and cheer the world when 
 the bright orb of day has disappeared behind the 
 western hills. 
 
 " ' But of myself, I shine not. The sun, 
 although not seen by you, still throws his rays on 
 me, and, ever faithful to my trust, I lend them to 
 the earth. 
 
 " 4 And such should be the life of all who would 
 follow Jesus. To them my voice is speaking, 
 and those who hearken shall be blessed of God 
 and man. 
 
 " 'Shine with the light that Christ has given, 
 The light that cometh down from heaven ; 
 Reflect the gospel's brightest ray, 
 And drive the gloom of night away.' " 
 
NATURE HATH VOICES. 
 
 " This lesson," said Mrs. Elwin, whose heart 
 was rejoiced at what her son had accomplished, 
 " this lesson proves the truth of what I have so 
 often told you. The world is full of poetry, 
 which lives and speaks with every tongue that 
 God has given nature ; and those, and those alone, 
 who learn like you to hear and understand this 
 language, can ever claim, by right, the poet's 
 name. The lesson you have learned is great and 
 good. You have said well, ' it shall not be forgot- 
 ten.' Such remembrances are ever blessed — are 
 ever welcome to the faithful soul. But stop not by 
 remembering only ; this lesson should be prac- 
 tised. Strive to live near to Jesus, and allow no 
 intervening object to obscure the light you bor- 
 row from his gospel, and reflect on those who 
 walk with you amid the lights and shades of 
 time, 
 
 " f Shine with the light which Christ has given.' " 
 
 Years have gone past, and Henry is a man. 
 He stands each Sabbath at the sacred altar, and 
 proclaims the lessons he has learned of nature, 
 and from the written word of God. He preaches 
 God's impartial grace, and the full and free sal- 
 vation which is revealed in the light of Christ 
 Jesus. His mother is now quite old and feeble ; 
 but when she walks forth, leaning upon the arm 
 
NATURE HATH VOICES. 
 
 113 
 
 of her faithful Henry, as she calls him, the 
 voices of nature revive her drooping powers, and 
 animate her spirit, until she seems to cast aside 
 her weight of years, and live again in the full 
 strength of life's maturity. She does not doubt 
 but when her body dies, her spirit will commune 
 with nature still, and know, more perfectly than 
 now, of all the wisdom which her works display. 
 
 " I love to talk with nature," said she to a 
 young friend a short time since, " for then I 
 know I listen to the voice of God. This voice is 
 truth. Man cannot alter, man cannot corrupt, 
 it." And such, also, is the sentiment which her 
 son has learned to cherish, and which he gladly 
 proclaims to the world. 
 
 " Mother," said he, while supporting her in 
 the garden walks, and listening to the language 
 of the flowers, " when you have passed away, 
 and I shall walk alone to talk with nature, I shall 
 believe your spirit near me still." 
 
 " You may," replied the aged mother, " you 
 may believe me with you always. As you walk 
 among these flowers, or in the open fields, or 
 climb the mountain heights, I shall be with you, 
 searching still for higher truth, and learning still 
 diviner lessons of the love of God." 
 
 Let those who read this story know that na- 
 ture's voices utter their instruction to the under- 
 
114 
 
 NATURE HATH VOICES. 
 
 standing and spirit of man. The low, the grov- 
 elling, the sensual, do not hear them. He who 
 would enjoy the wisdom they impart, must purify 
 his thoughts, and lift his soul above the dust of 
 sensual things. 
 
NAPOLEON. 
 
 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 BY REV. JOHN G. ADAMS. 
 
 Matthew. Aha ! George, a book in hand again ? 
 Well, it seems to me you are getting to be quite 
 a reader in these days. What now so inter- 
 esting ? 
 
 George. 0, a grand book, Matthew ; a grand 
 book ! I have been reading till my eyes and 
 head ache ; but I hardly knew where to leave off. 
 
 M. Well done ! what is it ? 
 
 G. It is a book entitled " Bonaparte and his 
 Marshals." It is an American book. I have 
 often seen it advertised, and heard about it; so I 
 thought I would get it and read it for myself. 
 And it 's a grand thing, I do assure you. 
 
 M. A grand thing, indeed! Well, there is 
 where you and I differ. I do not wonder you 
 have the eyes-ache, and the head-ache, George. 
 I should think you might have the heart-ache, too. 
 
 G. Really, Matthew, what are you talking 
 about, so Quakerish and solemn ? Don't you 
 10 
 
116 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 think the book an interesting one ? for you 
 seem to speak as though you knew something 
 about it. 
 
 M. I do know something of it, George ; and 
 I mast again say that I do not agree with you 
 in your estimation of the work. 
 
 G. Why, pray ? It is one of the most popular 
 works of the day. I heard Lawyer Jones prais- 
 ing it the other day; and Captain Spear's son 
 James, in our house a few evenings ago, said it 
 was one of the best things to stir up the military 
 spirit in a fellow that he knew of. 
 
 M. You did ? Well, James Spear's reason for 
 calling it best, is my reason for calling it worst. 
 I have just about the smallest opinion of this 
 military spirit. 
 
 G. Why Matthew, you don't talk like most 
 folks. You never would make a soldier. Don't 
 you think Bonaparte a noble man ? 
 
 M. What do you mean by noble ? 
 
 G. Mean ? why, I mean a man who was 
 great like him ; who could lay such plans — 
 bring together and keep together such multitudes 
 of men, and fight such battles, and get such vic- 
 tories as he did. 
 
 M. This is your idea of nobleness, is it ? 
 Well, I have a different one. I have not thought 
 of questioning the great intellect of Napoleon ; 
 
NAPOLEON. 
 
 117 
 
 but as to his nobleness, I think he was too much 
 of a man-butcher to be called noble. So I shall 
 be unpopular enough to say he was not noble. 
 You are welcome to make it out that he was, if 
 you can. 
 
 G. You seem to talk very confidently. 
 What is your great objection to the man ? 
 
 M. Why, that he gloried in war as he did ; 
 that he caused so much misery among men ; that 
 he made such waste of human property and 
 human life. Only think of the numbers slain in 
 his chief battles ! Six millions of human beings ! 
 to say nothing of other evils, equal, if possible, 
 to the loss of life which he caused during his 
 mad career. I do not think much of such no- 
 bleness. I think we have called our great war- 
 riors noble men long enough. It is time we 
 were learning better fashions. I think there are 
 nobler men than warriors ever were or ever 
 can be. 
 
 G. Matthew, don't you call Washington a 
 noble man ? 
 
 M. Surely, George ; but do not, I pray you, 
 name Washington in the same hour with Bona- 
 parte, unless you mean to compare their charac- 
 ters. We do not most admire Washington because 
 he was a great warrior. He had virtues which 
 Napoleon had not ; and besides, he has given us 
 
IIS 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 his testimony against war, as Napoleon never 
 did. He loved peace far better than war. Na- 
 poleon loved war better than peace. So his life 
 says. And this is one great difference in the 
 men. Napoleon himself said, once, to an Amer- 
 ican, " The name of your Washington will live 
 when mine shall be lost." Washington was a 
 noble man ; but his being a general did not 
 make him so. 
 
 G. But do you not denounce all warriors ? 
 
 M. I denounce all war, and that is enough. 
 And when you talk about a noble man, whose 
 whole life has been one great battle with his 
 race, I tell you I don't think much of his noble- 
 ness. Folks may write books about him, and 
 you may admire them ; I cannot. 
 
 G. Well, Matthew, tell us what your idea of 
 a noble man is. 
 
 M. Certainly I will. A noble man is one who 
 uses the intellect and soul God has given him in 
 doing good to his fellow-men ; in leading them 
 to love and aid, and not to hate and destroy, one 
 another ; who keeps the truth in mind, that we 
 have all one Father, and that we should bless 
 and curse not, forgive rather than be avenged, 
 love even our enemies, and strive for the things 
 that make for peace ; who would render earth a 
 heaven instead of a field of blood, and suffering 
 
NAPOLEON. 
 
 119 
 
 and desolation. This is one idea I have of a no- 
 ble man. If Bonaparte had gone to work with his 
 great intellect to raise the means for relieving the 
 wants of the people of Europe that he raised to 
 destroy them, we might have had a better history 
 of his nobleness. Don't you think so, George ? 
 
 G. Well, Matthew, there is something, I con- 
 fess, in this view of the matter ; but then, you 
 know, men do not think so. We have always 
 had war in the world, and I suppose we shall 
 have more of it, till men grow better ; and so 
 we must have warriors. When men all become 
 Christians there will be no more fighting. 
 
 M. This is a precious confession, George. 
 When men all become Christians ! Now I wish 
 just to ask you what is to make them Christians; 
 preaching to them that they may practise war 
 till the millennium comes ; or that war is a sin 
 against God and man, and the millennium never 
 will come till men stop war — stop it in their 
 dispositions, in their talk, in their actions ? It is 
 a strange idea that fire will put out fire — that 
 we may keep on encouraging and practising 
 war till men get convinced it is wrong. If they 
 would give as much attention to their Bible as 
 you have to " Napoleon and his Marshals," they 
 might be convinced now that war is a sin and an 
 10* 
 
120 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 abomination, and that so long as men use the 
 sword, just so long will they be destroyed by it. 
 
 G. We will talk again on this subject, Matthew. 
 
 M. I hope so, George ; and before we part, 
 let me say one word. You have spoken of Na- 
 poleon's nobleness. Compare his disposition and 
 life with the disposition and life of the great 
 Master of Christians ; and tell me, when next we 
 meet, which you think had the true nobleness 
 in him. They are opposites. If one was no- 
 ble, the other was not. Which was ? That is 
 the question. 
 
OUR BIBLES. 
 
 BY MRS. M. H. ADAMS. 
 
 Usually there are more persons than Bibles 
 in a family ; but we are more blessed at this 
 home, and have more Bibles than people, for 
 there are but three of us and we have eight copies 
 of the sacred Scriptures in the house. Merely 
 possessing a Bible, however, is not a sure indica- 
 tion of true piety, and we who own many and 
 costly ones, may not possess as much religious 
 feeling as the poor man who owns but the smoked 
 and soiled fragment of an old-fashioned one, that 
 his father and grandfather used before him. 
 Neither can you safely judge by our having so 
 many, whether or not we read more, or obey the 
 precepts of the Bible better, than the sons and 
 daughters of the poor who have but a few scat 
 tered leaves of an old copy to divide among 
 them. No, my young friends, you cannot tell 
 who reads the Bible by knowing who has one in 
 the house ; or who is a truly God-like person, by 
 knowing who owns one ; for many Bibles lie 
 
122 
 
 OUR BIBLES. 
 
 unopened on the table from day to day, and 
 month to month, where many persons go in and 
 out ; and many fathers and mothers, sons and 
 daughters, read their pages without thinking that 
 the precepts thereat? written, were so written for 
 their instruction in goodness, that they might 
 read and go forth Jo practise. But I will tell you 
 of our Bibles, ana our lives will tell you what 
 use we make of them. 
 
 First, th^n, there is the little one, the parting 
 gift of a fauhful mid-servant, to the baby, when 
 she gave him her last kiss. " I have loved it,'' 
 said she, "and learned it too ; I hope he will do 
 the same and practise what he learns." Five 
 years have passed pway, and the boy is no longer 
 a baby. These years have borne the giver to a 
 home in the distant West, but with us she has 
 left a sacred memento ; Exnd shouM these words 
 meet her eye. she will know tnat she is still 
 remembered at our fireside, and her gift cherished 
 by her little friend. 
 
 And we have one which a younger sister used 
 as a school-book. It bears her name in the stiff 
 and precise hand-writing of an old and respected 
 teacher. I can tell little of its history, for we 
 were pupils in separate schools. I know, how- 
 ever, that she has been a learner of the Bible, and 
 hope that it was not used as a school-book alone, 
 
OUR BIBLES. 
 
 123 
 
 but that she regards it in later years as her text- 
 book, on which she will found many sermons of 
 her life, her guide-book to the paths of peace and 
 holiness, to the river of life, to the covert from 
 the tempest, to the light that gleams through the 
 valley of the shadow of death. 
 
 We have the Bible of my oldest brother ; a 
 gift from his pious grandmother in the year 1816, 
 It was his school-book then, and after he became 
 a man he laid it not aside. It had its place in 
 his trunk when he sojourned in the stranger's 
 home, and was read when he remembered the 
 injunction of his mother, " William, read your 
 Bible." When his days of absence from the 
 homestead were over, and he came back to leave 
 us no more, it had its place in his chamber, 
 Early and late have I seen him studying its 
 pages, and his life told how deeply its precepts 
 were implanted in his heart. He had no other 
 gods but God, bore no false witness, coveted no 
 man's goods, gave liberally to the poor. But he 
 is dead — and he died in the fulness of joy 
 which a knowledge of the Scriptures imparts, 
 and rested in its promises of life to all. 
 
 Next, I find one owned by a brother-in-law, 
 much worn and defaced. He is not as old as the 
 appearance of his Bible might indicate. But it 
 has been twice across the mighty deep, besides 
 
124 
 
 OUR BIBLES. 
 
 being used as a school-book. It bears numerous 
 inscriptions of idle boys ; the name of one, and 
 the marks of many. This book was the com- 
 panion of my brother when he left his native 
 land for a home in a foreign clime, an inexperi- 
 enced, unprotected youth, to start in the business 
 of life alone. There, for eleven years, this book 
 remained his companion ; a talisman of good, in 
 a land where the true God is ignorantly wor- 
 shipped by the zealous Catholic ; where Christian- 
 ity has but a name. It has come back with him 
 to this happier land, where God is honored, and 
 his truth spread wide among the people. May 
 its truths, which have remained unaltered 
 through all the changes of his early life, be bis 
 counsel in business, his delight in his home, his 
 blessing through the remainder of his life, his 
 hope and strength in death ! 
 
 The fifth one has been the companion, the 
 friend, the study of my husband for nearly 
 twenty years ; a little book, but full of mighty 
 truths ; a plain one, but through its teachings he 
 has beheld beauty and glory that exceed what 
 earth can give. He sought truth on its pages, 
 and God blessed him with knowledge. It was 
 his guide and instructor in his preparations for 
 the ministry, has furnished him with texts and 
 thought* since he entered it. When life has 
 seemed dark, he has found light here ; when 
 
OUR BIBLES. 
 
 125 
 
 perplexities surrounded him, he has found by his 
 Bible the true path ; when friends have proved 
 false, its teachings have brought peace and com- 
 fort ; and when life itself shall close upon him, 
 may its promises and doctrines bring "joy un- 
 speakable and full of glory ! " 
 
 A sixth one is the " Family Bible, the dear 
 blessed Bible," indeed. It was my mother's, — it 
 was my father's ; and it folds within its leaves 
 the names of all my brothers and sisters. We 
 were a happy family when, with this same Bible 
 upon her lap, my gentle mother called us round 
 her on each returning Sabbath eve, and taught 
 us from its sacred pages. My father would sit 
 in silent joy by the side of his faithful companion, 
 with ten happy children before him, to hear our 
 Scripture lessons recited, prompting when we 
 hesitated, encouraging when we failed. But my 
 father's voice can no longer prompt, my blessed 
 mother no longer teach us. They are gone, and 
 two sons and two daughters are gone too. 
 
 —"This leather-bound Bible, — 
 
 It taught them to live, yea, it taught them to die ; 
 I stood by their death-bed when dim grew the eye, 
 And the pulse fluttered faint, yet, oh, how serene 
 They passed through the closing of life's busy scene ! 
 Like the angels they mounted in spirit on high, 
 This leather-bound Bible well taught them to die." 
 
126 
 
 OUR BIBLES. 
 
 But here are four brothers and four sisters left, 
 for we were twelve in all, and here is the old 
 Bible, with its cover of plaid and its precepts 
 more precious than gold, with the self-same truths 
 that our parents taught, undecayed, unchanged. 
 The sweet voice of my angel mother still seems 
 to say, " Son, daughter, take up the lesson where 
 I laid it down, and teach your children as I taught 
 you. Bind the truths to your hearts forever. 
 They are eternal ! " 
 
 The seventh is my own precious Bible, the 
 gift of my oldest sister in 1830. It is a London 
 edition of the Polyglot Bible. Rich, indeed, are 
 the treasures it contains, and they are mine ; they 
 may be thine, reader. May the instructions of 
 my mother, the example of my sister, and the 
 earnest solicitations of the pastor of my youth 
 be not lost upon me. May they still lead me to 
 study its pages and love its teachings. Its doc- 
 trines have given consolation and support in many 
 severe trials of life. They have spoken peace 
 to my soul when I mourned the departed from 
 the family circle, and cares accumulated on my 
 young hands in my early home, and when, by 
 the will of our Heavenly Father, a precious babe 
 was borne away from my own little family ; when 
 I myself lay at the brink of the grave, too weak 
 to read, and too feeble to hear its truths uttered j 
 
OUR BIBLES. 
 
 127 
 
 then was my spirit calm and happy in the belief 
 of them. God be praised ! And thou, precious 
 book, still bless, instruct and guide me. 
 
 " When the morning is here, with its dew and its light, 
 When the star sparkles first in the blue arch of night, 
 I will turn to these leaves, and learn how to forgive 
 Each error in those who around me may live, 
 And pray that when death stills the throb of my heart, 
 I may smiling look upward, and sweetly depart." 
 
 Lastly, I would mention what may indeed be 
 called the book of books, the Bible of Bibles ; I 
 mean the large edition called Harper's Pictorial 
 Bible. It is the property of my husband. It 
 was a gift from his people, a token of the esteem 
 they cherish for him for his fidelity as a minis- 
 ter, and his cordial attentions during his resi- 
 dence with them as a pastor. He will love it as 
 such ; and his family will respect and remember 
 to bless the warm hearts and generous hands 
 who jointly presented it. I cannot tell you all 
 the emotions that fill my soul when I open that 
 splendid book. There are beauty and taste dis- 
 played without, but within its covers I know 
 there are holiest truths and loveliest teachings. 
 There are some most elegant engravings in it ; 
 'but when I open it, I pray that the precepts 3f 
 those sacred writers may be as beautifully en- 
 11 
 
128 
 
 OUR BIBLES. 
 
 graven on the heart of my innocent boy, who 
 loves to gaze upon them, indelible impressions 
 of all that is good and holy. The people of his 
 charge sent many good wishes and prayers with 
 it to him whom they would thus honor ; and 
 they have sent also a silent admonition that he 
 and his forget not to love the Holy Bible, and see 
 that its inspired teachings be ever and purely 
 taught at the family altar, in the public sanctuary, 
 in the visits of the pastor among his people, and 
 in his walk before the world. 
 
 And think you I remember only the fathers 
 and mothers when I look into it ? I can assure 
 you I remember most affectionately the children. 
 When I turn over its leaves, and see the pictures 
 of little children receiving instruction from pious 
 parents ; of little girls kneeling and being taught 
 to pray ; of little boys being warned against 
 temptation and sin by gray-haired sires ; and read 
 that the commands of God should be talked of 
 when we sit in the house, or walk by the way, at 
 night and in the morning, — it is then I think of 
 Mary and Catharine, Josephine and Harriet, of 
 Willie and James, of Charles and Samuel, and 
 many others of my little friends. And while I 
 think, I hope they hear these commands day by 
 day, and remember them on their pillows, and 
 practise them in all their sports and visitings 
 
/ 
 
 OUR BIBLES. 129 
 
 together. I pray that all the blessing which God 
 sends upon truly good children, may rest upon 
 these dear ones whom my soul so tenderly 
 loves. 
 
 As I pass along, I behold pictures of young 
 men bowing before the Lord, or humbly sitting 
 at the feet of venerable fathers for instruction, or 
 discharging the duties of their religion ; I see 
 young maidens, fair and beautiful, bearing the 
 sin-offering and burnt-offering, or gathered before 
 the public teacher of holy things, or listening to 
 the words of pious matrons, and cheerfully yield- 
 ing, for the honor and service of God, their mir- 
 rors, their bracelets, their rings, and all their 
 golden ornaments, and willingly " humbling 
 themselves in the sight of God, that they may 
 be lifted up of him." Then it is I think of the 
 young men and women who have risen up from 
 children, during the ministry of this pastor whom 
 the parents have thus honored, and most ear- 
 nestly do I desire that Zion may be strengthened 
 and built up in our goodly town by many humble 
 Christians from among them — that they may 
 be fully instructed in Scripture knowledge, and 
 ready to stand before the Lord, when their 
 fathers and mothers leave the places they now 
 occupy. 
 
 These, my dear readers, are our Bibles, and 
 
130 
 
 OUR BIBLES. 
 
 some of the pleasant thoughts that possess my 
 soul when I see and read them. And since 
 there are many young people whom I love, not 
 particularly referred to here, let me say that you 
 can give to your God no greater honor, to your 
 Saviour no stronger proof of discipleship, to our 
 world no better service, to yourselves no purer 
 pleasure, than by becoming devoted students of 
 the Holy Bible, and obedient followers of its 
 teachings. 
 
 We marvel that old men and women can repeat 
 so much of the Bible. They began in youth, 
 and have made it their study through life, — a 
 verse or a chapter, a sentiment or a sermon, at a 
 time ; for a moment in one day, an hour in the 
 next, a whole evening at another time, — with 
 prayerful attention, and a real desire for the kind 
 of knowledge which it imparts. Thus have our 
 old people become filled with knowledge of the 
 Scriptures, and thus only can our young people 
 obtain it. The Bible is not a narrative, it is not a 
 history, or a biography, or a poem, or a sermon, 
 a series of prophecies, or a book of laws ; but a 
 grand collection of all these different kinds of 
 writing, sacredly uttered, sacredly preserved, and 
 worthy to be made the study of one's life. 
 
POOL OF SILOAM 
 
THE POOL OF SILOAM. 
 
 Who, that has become familiarly acquainted 
 with Scripture history, has not been interested 
 in what he has learned of this remarkable place ? 
 It has been sought by the pilgrim, noted by the 
 traveller, sung by the bard of holy inspiration. 
 The fountain bearing this name came out under 
 the walls of Jerusalem, on the east, between the 
 city and the brook Kidron. It is supposed to be 
 mentioned in Josh. xv. 7 ; xviii. 16 ; 2 Sam. 
 xvii. 17 ; 1 Kings i. 9. Josephus, in his history 
 of the Jews, speaks of the waters of Siloam. 
 There was a custom of drawing water from the 
 fountain of Siloam, and pouring it out before the 
 Lord, in the temple, at the time of evening sac- 
 rifice. There is some allusion to this in John 
 vii. 37. 
 
 The following description of the fountain is 
 from the journal of Messrs. Fisk and King, of 
 date April 28, 1823. " Near the south-east cor- 
 ner of the city, [Jerusalem,] at the foot of Zion 
 and Moriah,is the Pool of Si)oam, (SeeNeh.iii. 
 15,) whose waters flow with gentle murmur from 
 under the holy mountain of Zion, or rather from 
 " 11* 
 
134 
 
 POOL OF SILOAM. 
 
 under Ophel, having Zion on the west, and 
 Moriah on the north. The very fountain issues 
 from a rock, twenty or thirty feet below the sur- 
 face of the ground, to which we descended by 
 two flights of steps. Here it flows out without 
 a single murmur, and appears clear as crystal. 
 From this place it winds its way several rods un- 
 der the mountain, then makes its appearance 
 with gentle gurgling, and forming a beautiful rill, 
 takes its way down into the valley towards the 
 south-east. We drank of the water both at the 
 fountain and from the stream, and found it soft, of 
 a sweetish taste, and pleasant. It was to this 
 fountain that the blind man went, and washed, 
 and came seeing. John ix. 7-11." 
 
 Stephens, in his " Incidents of Travel," writes 
 of visiting this place. He says, "Hundreds of 
 pilgrims were stretched on its bank ; and a little 
 above is the sacred pool issuing from the rock, 
 enclosed by stone walls, with a descent of two 
 flights of steps." Bartlett, a still more recent 
 traveller, represents the steps as being worn, by 
 the feet of the numerous visiters there, to the 
 smoothness of polished marble. 
 
MY MOTHER'S VOICE. 
 
 BY JONES VERY. 
 
 My mother's voice ! I hear it now — 
 I feel her hand upon my brow, 
 
 As when, in heartfelt joy, 
 She raised her evening hymn of praise. 
 And called down blessings on the days 
 
 Of her loved boy. 
 
 My mother's voice ! I hear it now — 
 Her hand is on my burning brow, 
 
 As in that early hour, 
 When fever throbbed through all my veins. 
 And that kind hand first soothed my pains, 
 
 With healing power. 
 
 My mother's voice ! It sounds as when 
 She read to me of holy men, 
 
 The patriarchs of old ; 
 And gazing downward on my face, 
 She seemed each infant thought to trace, 
 
 My young eyes told. 
 
 It comes — when thoughts unhallowed throng. 
 Woven in sweet deceptive song — 
 And whispers round my heart, 
 
136 
 
 MY MOTHER'S VOICE. 
 
 As when at eve it rose on high, 
 I hear, and think that she is nigh, 
 And they depart. 
 
 Though round my heart all, all heside — 
 The voice of friendship, love — had died ; 
 
 That voice would linger there, 
 As when, soft-pillowed on her breast, 
 Its tones first lulled my infant rest, 
 
 Or rose in prayer. 
 
SATURDAY AFTERNOON. 
 
 BY MRS. N. T. MUNROE. 
 
 It is Saturday afternoon. There has been a 
 shower, and the bright rain-drops still glisten 
 upon the grass, and a few clouds still lie around 
 the west, while the rest of the sky is of the deep- 
 est blue. And the water too is blue, stretching 
 far away in the distance ; and blue, too, are the 
 far off hills, while those rising nearer, upon 
 which a flood of sunlight is falling, are of the 
 bright, mossy green of the young spring time. 
 
 Silent, and ever pointing upward, rise the church 
 spires, and villages are clustered around, and 
 quiet homes look out from the green trees ; pleas- 
 ant dwellings lay bathed in the gorgeous sunlight, 
 and thousands and thousands of beating hearts 
 and busy brains find a home in the places that 
 lie so quietly and pleasantly stretched before us. 
 
 There is a confused noise and bustle borne to 
 our ears. This is a working world, and this is 
 one of its working days. There is the rattling 
 of heavy wheels, the voices of impatient drivers, 
 
138 
 
 SATURDAY AFTERNOON. 
 
 the shouts of merry boys, the blacksmith at his 
 forge, the hum of machinery, and blended with 
 these, the confused and indistinct noises from the 
 neighboring city, all rising to our ears, and seem- 
 ing to say that "this is Saturday afternoon, and 
 the great world has a deal to do ere the day of 
 rest comes." 
 
 And, chiming in with these harsh, discordant 
 sounds, like the soft voice of childhood, and the 
 din of wrangling and confusion,' come the sweet 
 notes of the birds, as they sit in their leafy 
 homes, and sing on while all the noise and bustle 
 pass unheeded. Short, soft, and broken, like the 
 tones of infancy, comes their music to our ears, 
 and cheerfully they sing, and the green leaves 
 rustle, and chime in with their melody, and their 
 bright wings glance from bough to bough. The 
 light breeze shakes a flood of snowy blossoms 
 from the trees, and the children clap their hands 
 in glee, and their glad laugh blends harmoniously 
 with the bird notes ; for it is Saturday afternoon, 
 and whole troops are at liberty, and they go run- 
 ing over the green fields ; they pluck the butter- 
 cups and the violet, and make curls of the long 
 stems of the dandelions, and run about till their 
 little feet are weary, and a Saturday's sun sets 
 upon many a little one, tired even of play. 
 
 A blessed time to our young hearts was Sat- 
 
SATURDAY AFTERNOON. 139 
 
 urday afternoon, especially in the summer time. 
 Out in the meadows hunting strawberries and 
 wild flowers, over the hills where the honey- 
 suckles grew, but stepping carefully, and looking 
 around, lest we should chance to tread upon a 
 snake, — out under the shade of the trees, with 
 their leafy rustling in our ears, making our 
 young hearts dreamy and quiet, — all these 
 pleasant things come rushing upon us as we think 
 of Saturday afternoon. And oh ! how tired we 
 were when darkness fell upon the earth, and the 
 birds sung their last twittering song, and the stars 
 came out in the clear summer sky. Yet tired as 
 we were, how reluctantly still did we leave the 
 freedom and freshness of the open air, for our 
 homes ! 
 
 And then the morrow was the Sabbath. No 
 other morning was like that morning; it had its 
 own peculiar stillness and joy. The earth was 
 dressed in Sunday garb. The very light and 
 air were different from that of yesterday, and as 
 we took our books and prepared for our walk to 
 the Sabbath school, we, too, seemed different 
 beings from those who yesterday were shouting 
 and sporting in wild and untamed mirthfulness 
 and glee. Yet, just as happy were we, only 
 more quiet and subdued, for we looked forward 
 to the pleasant Sabbath school with an eagerness 
 
140 
 
 SATURDAY AFTERNOON. 
 
 equal even to that of the long-wish ed-for Satur- 
 day afternoon. And ever when we see the hap- 
 py children roaming over the hills, ever when 
 we hear their merry shouts and boisterous glee, 
 and think what a joy to them is the free air, the 
 green earth and the sunshine, we say, blessed is 
 Saturday afternoon ! And when the quiet, holy 
 Sabbath comes, and we see the same bright, hap- 
 j)y creatures, only more softened and subdued, 
 sitting in the house of God, listening to his words 
 who called little children unto him and blessed 
 them, we thank God, and say, " Blessed be the 
 Sabbath and the Sabbath school ! " 
 
HEAVEN HERE. 
 
 BY REV. J. G. ADAMS. 
 
 " What shall I do, then ? Live wholly for this world 1 My 
 mind revolts at the idea. My spirit was not moulded to be 
 satisfied with such a life." — Letter from a Friend. 
 
 Art thou not satisfied with earth — its transitory 
 light : 
 
 Will it not yield thee happiness ; or are there skies 
 more bright 
 
 O'er which thy spirit longs to cast its ever-watchful 
 eye, * 
 
 And read the glory of a world where love can never 
 die ? 
 
 Mount upward, then ! but deem not that thy duties 
 
 here must end ; 
 Live to thy God, in spirit pure — yet thy free powers 
 
 still lend, 
 
 To make the way of others bright, and give them this 
 to know, 
 
 That duties all are best performed where God-like 
 virtues grow. 
 
 Mount upward ! yet forget not that this earth is still 
 thy home ; 
 
 12 
 
142 HEAVEN HERE. 
 
 And that thy God in peace to every humble heart will 
 come ; 
 
 And thou shalt see him, if to prayer and praise thy life 
 be given, 
 
 And know that here the Christian soul may find a 
 constant heaven. 
 
A SOLDIER OF THE RIGHT KIND. 
 
 BY MRS. M. H. ADAMS. 
 
 A little boy, dressed in a cap with a feather, 
 and a bright colored belt, with, a wooden sword 
 and a stick for a gun, went marching over the 
 house " too-too-tooing," as full of war and fight- 
 ing as any Mexican. He came up close to hit 
 mother to shoot her. She took no notice of 
 him. He pointed his gun, and hallooed to her 
 to take care or he should kill her. She kept 
 quietly sewing, and the little boy said, " Why 
 don't you fight, mother ?" 
 
 The mother replied, " Christ tells me not to 
 fight with the sword. He told his soldiers not 
 to use it ; and I wish to be Christ's soldier." 
 
 " What did Christ's soldiers fight with, if they 
 did not have swords, mother ? " 
 
 " With good and holy words, my son." 
 
 "Well, what did they fight with? Good 
 words would not kill men, mother." 
 
 " No, dear, they did not fight with men, but 
 with sin. Good words and good actions kill 
 sin 
 
144 
 
 A SOLDIER OF THE RIGHT KIND. 
 
 " Who were Christ's soldiers ? " 
 
 " His disciples ; those who believe and obey 
 Christ ; those who taught the people what Christ 
 had taught them." 
 
 " Is father Christ's soldier ? " 
 
 " Yes ; he teaches the people not to fight, but 
 to live in peace ; to love one another, and try to 
 forgive each other, instead of fighting and going 
 to war." 
 
 " How can I be Christ's soldier, mother ? " 
 
 " By trying to do no sin yourself, and telling 
 your little playmates, when they sin, not to 
 do so again, but be good and love one another. 
 You may be one by speaking against what you 
 feel to be wrong, wherever you are ; by being 
 good and pure yourself, and trying to make 
 others so." 
 
 " Well, mother, I think I will not play fight 
 again, like the naughty men, but I will try to 
 do as father does." 
 
 Will the war-spirit conquer the spirit of 
 peace in that child's heart, if such teachings 
 go with him up to manhood ? 
 
 Will it prevail in any child's heart, if it be 
 made to understand the spirit of Christ and his 
 gospel ? 
 
 If children be taught of Christ and the Holy 
 Spirit, will not many soldiers of the cross be 
 
A SOLDIER OF THE RIGHT KIND. 145 
 
 raised up to bless the world in future years, by 
 the most peaceful and benignant influences ? 
 
 Mothers, shall we not do it? Fathers, are 
 you of the Christian band, and will you fail to 
 do it ? Let us to the work ! 
 12* 
 
A STORY OF MY CHILDHOOD. 
 
 BY MRS. MARGARET M. MASON. 
 
 A story for the Annual ! Well, what shall I 
 write? A story for children? Yes, a story for 
 children, though older people, I find, read the 
 Annual with much pleasure. But, as it is de- 
 signed for children, I think I will write something 
 about childhood. 
 
 Many scenes of childhood I love to look back 
 upon. Who does not? Methinks there is room 
 in the heart of every human being for his birth- 
 place. Methinks, too, that there are some 
 flowers which blossomed on either side of the 
 pathway of childhood, which all consider well 
 worth preserving. 
 
 When I was about three years of age my 
 mother died. After this event, an old lady, who 
 had been much in our family, took care of me. 
 Being too young to feel the loss of my mother, it 
 was easily supplied by this aged woman. I be- 
 came much attached to her. My father was 
 poor, and toiled for a livelihood upon the sea. 
 At length he found it necessary to break up 
 
A STORY OF MY CHILDHOOD. 
 
 147 
 
 house-keeping, and to put me under the care of a 
 friend of his, in whom he placed confidence. 
 After my removal to the house of this new guar- 
 dian, my old friend would not forget me. She 
 visited me often, and I loved her next to my 
 father. Being old and poor, she was supported 
 by the town. She had sustained herself,. with 
 what little aid she could get from a few individ- 
 uals or families, as long as possible. 
 
 Mrs. M^^^, who had the care of the town's 
 poor, was a good, kind-hearted lady. So I felt 
 that my old foster-mother would be properly 
 treated. Poor old lady ! I never shall forget 
 how glad she was to see me the first time I vis- 
 ited her after she was settled in her new home. 
 How nice her little chamber looked! The low 
 but neat bed that stood at one corner of the room, 
 the small table over which hung a little lookina:- 
 glass, the fire-place with its clean red hearth, 
 and the closet into which the old lady was care- 
 ful I should look, — all these made me feel that, 
 although she was very poor, she was far from 
 unhappy, or without comfort. Oh, how many 
 happy hours I have spent with her in that little 
 chamber ! I always, when the weather would 
 permit, spent the Sabbath with her ; and the 
 friend with whom I lived, would often give me 
 some delicacy for her, or provide something, and 
 
148 
 
 A STORY OF MY CHILDHOOD. 
 
 send it to her by me, for her comfort, and I 
 always selected such books as I thought she 
 would like, and would read them to her. Oh, 
 those were, indeed, happy hours ! I delighted to 
 gaze upon that face, wrinkled as it was. It had 
 a charm to me that I could see in no other. She 
 always looked upon me in so kindly a manner, 
 and spoke to me with so mild and sweet a voice, 
 I could not be happier than when by her, or hear- 
 ing her speak. 
 
 She never seemed tired of answering my 
 questions about my mother, — that dear one, 
 whose countenance I could not remember, whose 
 voice I had forgotten, but whose features and 
 tones were so familiar to her. Over and over 
 she would describe my mother to me. And then 
 how I wished that I could remember my mother, 
 that I had her image on my heart, to carry it 
 with me through life, as an invaluable treasure ! 
 
 That mother slept in the grave-yard, not far 
 from where I lived. It was but a short distance 
 from the road on which I walked to school. 
 Whenever I walked alone, and was not fearful of 
 reaching school late, I visited my mother's grave, 
 and kneeling beside it, asked her to watch over 
 me and teach me to do right. Several times I 
 was punished for arriving late at school, because 
 I would not deny that I had stopped or played on 
 
A STORY OF MY CHILDHOOD. 
 
 149 
 
 the way, and could not tell the teacher that I had 
 been to my mother's grave. 
 
 I always felt that my mother was very near 
 me, and could see me, though I could not look 
 upon her. And this feeling of mine was strength- 
 ened by the old lady, who often told me that she 
 believed that the spirits of the departed could 
 visit and watch over us. 
 
 One night, having fallen asleep while thinking 
 of my mother, I thought I awoke, and saw a 
 beautiful being rising before me. As it ap- 
 proached me, I raised my arms to clasp the heav- 
 enly form. It looked smilingly upon me, and 
 then vanished away. After the morning, I 
 thought the angel was my mother. I had be- 
 lieved that she was with me wherever I went by 
 day, but I had not thought that she watched 
 over me when I slept by night. I told no one 
 but the old lady of ray vision. She, seeing it 
 made me so happy, did not tell me it was merely 
 a dream. 
 
 Oh, how I wished 1 had a home into which I 
 could lead the old lady, and watch over and wait 
 upon her through her remaining days ! for 
 when I looked into her dim eyes, I knew her 
 sight was fast fading-, that she would soon sink 
 into the grave, and I feared that she would be 
 unhappy. Bat she did not become so. She 
 
 ♦ 
 
150 
 
 A STORY OF MY CHILDHOOD. 
 
 became blind, and the light of our world was 
 shut out from her forever. Nevertheless, she 
 continued resigned and cheerful in God. When 
 she looked towards me with her sightless eyes, 
 or stretched forth her trembling hands to take hold 
 of something with which to support herself, I 
 could not keep from weeping. Then she would 
 try to sooth me, by telling me how much she had 
 left to herself to make her happy, and by speak- 
 ing to me of the beautiful home to which she 
 was fast hastening, where she would be no 
 longer blind, and pain and sickness would never 
 reach her more. 
 
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 -7v- -7f- Tv- -7C- -rf 
 
 It was the season of winter. For some days 
 the snow had been falling lightly, and the earth 
 was deeply covered with it. Through these 
 days I could not see the dear old friend. At 
 length the snow ceased to fall, and near the close 
 of a very cold day, a friend of mine called upon 
 *■ me to tell me that she was dying. Before many 
 minutes passed, I was on my way to her bed-side. 
 Oh, how my hand shook when I lifted the latch 
 of her door ! But the hope of seeing her alive 
 gave me strength, and I soon stood near her. 
 She was alive, but she had not spoken for several 
 hours. Yet, at the sound of my voice, she ex- 
 
A STORY OF MY CHILDHOOD. 
 
 1-51 
 
 claimed, "It is she — God bless her ! " Those 
 were her last words. 
 
 Many years have passed since I stood by her 
 grave ; but I shall not forget her. Nor will the 
 many good lessons that she taught me be for- 
 gotten. 
 
 My little readers ! listen to the teachings of 
 the aged and poor, and always be kind to such. 
 You cannot tell how acceptable your words of 
 love and your amiable manners will be to them. 
 It will be pleasant to you to hear them say, " God 
 bless you." 
 
SUNDAY MORNING. 
 
 BY MIS3 JULIA A. FLETCHER. 
 
 Dear Uncle Charles ! How we children all 
 used to love him ! I heard a young lady say 
 once, that nobody liked old bachelors, and I 
 thought if she had only seen Uncle Charles as 
 he used to sit in his library, and talk with the 
 little folks, she would have said something quite 
 different from that. Certainly all the boys and 
 girls in the neighborhood loved him, and they 
 would gather around him, listening and asking 
 questions many hours together. 
 
 One of these boys afterwards became an artist , 
 that is, he learned to draw and paint pictures, 
 and a short time since, 1 saw one in his room, 
 that made my heart glad even to look at it. I 
 have persuaded Mr. Usher to have it engraved 
 and published in the " Sabbath School Annual," 
 so that all our good children can see it ; for of 
 course they all read the Annual. 
 
 There is the very room where we used to meet, 
 and the same old-fashioned arm-chair, with its 
 high, broad back, and dear Uncle Charles him- 
 
SUNDAY MORNING 
 
SUNDAY MORNING. 
 
 155 
 
 self sitting in it. How natural he looks ! I 
 kissed the picture again and again when I first 
 saw it, for it seemed as if it must be the good 
 old man himself. How well he has painted that 
 pleasant smile, and those kind eyes, and the high 
 forehead, with the baldness which never looks 
 other than well to us, because it reminds us of 
 Uncle Charles ! Yet I remember, when I was a 
 very little child, he had light, soft, brown hair, 
 that curled all around his forehead, just as the 
 little boy's does in the picture. I mean the 
 boy who is standing behind the chair, gazing up 
 into the clouds. That is our cousin Albert, the 
 very one who afterwards drew the picture. 
 There is William, too, pointing eagerly to a bird 
 that seems coming to look at us. The birds 
 might have looked in, and the angels too, with 
 gladness ; for never were Sabbath mornings 
 spent more happily and holily, than in that little 
 library room. 
 
 We had no Sunday school to attend, for we 
 lived in a small village, and this was a great 
 many years ago, when there were very few Sun- 
 day schools, and those only in large places. So 
 Uncle Charles used to let us come to his room 
 every Sunday morning, and talk with us there. 
 
 You may be sure we used to come every Sab- 
 bath. We had no staying away because it was 
 13 
 
158 
 
 SUNDAY MORNING. 
 
 cloudy, or because we had the headache ; no, nor 
 even if it rained hard, for we used to put on our 
 over-shoes, and start off, with our old bonnets 
 and cloaks on. That is often the reason chil- 
 dren, and grown-up people too, are afraid of 
 going- to church in a storm. It is not that they 
 are afraid of getting wet themselves, but they 
 are afraid of spoiling their nice clothes. 
 
 We always had a pleasant word and a kind 
 welcome from Uncle Charles when we arrived, 
 and then the happy hours we passed with him ! — 
 I grow a very child again, when I think of them. 
 He had many books, from which he used to teach 
 us, and he would tell us many things which had 
 happened in his own life, describing places he 
 had visited, and people he had seen. He would 
 teach us some good lesson from everything 
 around us, and from every little incident that 
 happened to us. The flowers we gathered on 
 our way, the sky that smiled through the library 
 window, the tree that threw a soft shade over it, 
 all were to him subjects for our Sabbath lessons, 
 and holy lessons they furnished, too. 
 
 All the while he was talking to us, his dog 
 Carlo — good, faithful Carlo ! — would sit by his 
 side, and look up into our faces, as if he wished 
 us to understand it all, though he, poor fellow, 
 did not. And there, in the picture, is the very 
 
SUNDAY MORNING. 
 
 157 
 
 cane Uncle Charles always carried. We all 
 knew the history of that cane. It was an orange- 
 tree stick, cut from the groves of Florida with 
 his own hands, and he had never allowed it to 
 be spoiled by paint or polishing. Very beautiful 
 did it seem to us, and very curious to our young 
 eyes, which had not seen so many things then 
 as they have now. 
 
 A happy group we were those pleasant Sab- 
 bath mornings. There was Thomas, with his 
 earnest, thoughtful look ; and Charlie, the pet 
 namesake of our dear instructor ; and then there 
 was Mary, and George, and Harriet, and — why ! 
 I declare, Cousin Albert has quite slighted me ; 
 he has not put me into the picture ! He should 
 have painted me with my little chair close to 
 Uncle Charles' knee, like Carlo, contented to 
 sit there, and look up lovingly into his face, 
 whether I understood his words or not. I could 
 at least understand the love-language that was 
 written all over his countenance as he spoke, and 
 I have never since forgotten it. Many years 
 have passed away since then, and our dear Un- 
 cle Charles has gone to dwell with the kind 
 Father of whom he so often taught us. They 
 buried him by the river side, within sight of the 
 window in that peasant library room where we 
 used to meet. The blue waves pass calmly by 
 
158 
 
 SUNDAY MORNING. 
 
 his grave, and the happy birds sing around it , 
 but, for many years after, youthful heads were 
 bowed upon it, and tears fell from youthful eyes 
 for " dear Uncle Charles." 
 
 Even now that we have all become men and 
 women, and are dwelling far away from that 
 quiet village, and far away from each other, we 
 think often of him, and bless God for the lessons 
 he taught us. Every Sabbath morn, as we go up 
 to our places in the Sabbath school, — for we have 
 all become teachers there, though not in the same 
 school, ■ — we remember how kindly and earnest- 
 ly he used to talk with us. And we pray, then, 
 in our hearts, that we may be able to do good to 
 our pupils, as he did good to us ; that they, too, 
 may have their hearts filled with holy lessons, 
 and in after years have many pleasant remem- 
 brances of Sunday morning. 
 
 H5H 
 
HYMN. 
 
 BY MRS. S. E. E. MAYO. 
 
 [ I hope this hymn will be very precious to the 
 young readers of the Sabbath School Annual, 
 as it came from one who dearly loved children, 
 and eagerly contributed to increase the pleasure 
 of our school-festivals. I found it in looking 
 over her letters since her death, it having been 
 sent me for use at an " exhibition," but was re- 
 ceived too late, and afterwards was forgotten. 
 Mrs. Mayo, previous to her marriage, was a 
 teacher in the Sabbath school, and hallowed 
 must be the memories of her in the scholars who 
 were so fortunate as to have such a teacher. — 
 H. B N.j 
 
 O'er Zion's hill we tread, 
 A bright and youthful band : 
 
 No slippery rock we dread, 
 While clinging to thy hand — 
 
 Thou God of love, thou holy One, 
 
 Our staff, our refuge, and our sun ! 
 
 Distil thy gentle truth 
 
 Upon our hearts, dear Lord ! 
 13* 
 
HYMN. 
 
 And teach our wayward youth 
 
 The wisdom of thy word, 
 That we may meet the tempter's wile, 
 And turn away and proudly smile ! 
 
 Fondly we '11 learn to love 
 
 Our Maker, and our God, 
 As through the path we move 
 
 Where his dear Son hath trod ; 
 And on our bended knees, will pray 
 For purer spirits day by day. 
 
 Then shall we see his face — 
 
 The holy One on high !> 
 And feel his melting grace, 
 
 And know his presence nigh. 
 With joy we woo the chastening rod, 
 That makes us pure to see our God. 
 
THE DECLARATION OF INDEPEN* 
 DENCE, 
 
 AND THE BELL THAT ANNOUNCED IT, 
 
 BY REV. HENRY BACON. 
 
 Oh, 'twas a noble sight to see 
 
 That grand, heroic band, 
 As there in Congress grave they met 
 
 To pledge each heart and hand ! 
 Appalling were the scenes of blood, 
 
 Through which their course must lie ; 
 Yet bold for freedom and their rights 
 
 They vowed to live or die ! 
 To live or die as freemen all, 
 
 To burst the tyrant's chain, 
 And wake from freedom's harp and trump 
 
 The sweetest, loftiest strain. 
 Oh, 't was a solemn hour for them ! — 
 
 Yes, for the world of men, — 
 As there the Instrument unrolled 
 
 Lay by the ink and pen. 
 And will they sign ? aye, will they dare 
 
 To fling their banner out, 
 And wake through all the land around 
 
 Glad freedom's glorious shout ? 
 
162 THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 A Bellman on the turret high 
 
 Stood waiting for the call 
 That should assure the world the deed 
 
 Was nobly done by all. 
 'T was his to ring that olden bell, 
 That had a prophet's tone, — 
 " Proclaim," it said, " fair freedom's gifts 
 
 Shall to the land be known." 
 "Ah, will they sign ?" the old man said, 
 
 As by the bell he stood ; 
 " I fear me they will shrink from paths 
 Of battle and of blood !" 
 Each moment seemed an hour then, 
 
 As fear was in his heart, 
 Until, at length, he left the bell, 
 Impatient to depart. 
 " Hold on / " a little boy exclaimed, — 
 " I 'm sure they '11 sign it, all ! 
 I see them, one by one, write now, 
 For God is in that hall !" 
 
 The boy was right — the deed was done ! 
 
 America is free ! 
 They 've plighted all beneath the sun 
 
 To God and Liberty ! 
 The hero boy now clapped his hands, 
 
 And to the Bellman cried, — 
 " Ring! Ring ! ! " and lo ! the old bell rang 
 
 The glory far and wide. 
 The music of that grand old bell 
 
 Went through the lands afar. 
 
THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 163 
 
 And man and child looked out to see 
 The new-made nation's star. 
 
 Oh, were there now a bell so high, 
 
 So loud, for worlds to hear, 
 I ; d love to have the Bellman nigh 
 
 To ring it loud and clear, 
 When to the Temperance Pledge men give, 
 
 In earnestness of soul, 
 Their names, and vow to nobly live, 
 
 As did that valiant roll ! 
 
 Sign ! brother, sign ! the Bell of God, 
 
 Shall ring it far and wide ; 
 A good deed goes unseen abroad, 
 
 As wind goes with the tide. 
 
EXTRACT FROM AN ADDRESS ON 
 THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 
 
 BY REV. H. C. LEONARD. 
 
 No one lives alone and uncared for. The 
 most obscure individual in the land is loved and 
 prayed for by some of his kind. These behold 
 him as a kindred being ; and, as a near relation, 
 some respect is cherished for him. No one can 
 depart from earth unnoticed and unaided.' There 
 are always some who weep when a spirit ascends 
 to God who gave it. Rich and poor, the learned 
 and the ignorant, the aged, the youthful, and the 
 tender infant, pass away from the earth, and for 
 all is the tribute of tears sincerely bestowed. 
 
 That man is connected with man, and is not to 
 be separated from kindred, in this or the spiritual 
 world, is a great truth of the Christian religion. 
 There is no sword in the hand of God, which 
 cuts asunder the ties of relationship that bind 
 | and hold together the inhabitants of earth or the 
 spirits in heaven. And they are not only bound 
 by cords of relationship, but live, and move, and 
 have existence in God. They are all the off- 
 
ADDRESS ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD, 165 
 
 spring of God, sustained and protected by his 
 spirit. They all share the blessings which come 
 from his bountiful hand. " No one liveth to 
 himself, no one dieth to himself. For whether 
 we live, we live unto the Lord, and whether we 
 die, we die unto the Lord. Whether we live, 
 therefore, or die, we are the Lord's. For to this 
 end Christ both died and rose, and revived, that 
 he might be Lord both of the dead and the living." 
 
 It is a great doctrine of the Christian religion, 
 that all souls are the subjects of God's parental 
 government. This doctrine is more likely than 
 any other to induce us to live good and holy lives. 
 It is better than any other to strengthen and 
 prepare us for the hour of death, and give us 
 hope when our friends are led away from us by 
 the hand of death. 
 
 We are conscious that a Father's power will 
 do more than the largest human benevolence or 
 compassion will pray for. It is omnipotent. 
 There will be no opposing energy sufficient to 
 prevent it from accomplishing the great purposes 
 of the Most High. It will draw souls after souls 
 into the way of wisdom, goodness and heaven, 
 until the last child of God shall be brought into 
 the Father's house. 
 
 A little child has recently departed from our 
 midst. We have here with us the fair form in 
 
166 ADDRESS ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 
 
 which she moved. Its head is yet symmetrical 
 in shape, its face still wears a pleasant expres- 
 sion, and its dimpled arms and hands are still 
 beautiful. But these are dust. We shall affec- 
 tionately place the form into its grave, and cover 
 it with the mould and turf of the earth. In 
 coming days we shall visit its place of sleep, 
 and nourish the trees and flowers that will grow 
 around its little mound. But we will not think 
 that the being that once dwelt in this form, is yet 
 with it. We will believe that the thought and 
 affection of the child are raised to heaven, and 
 are in the care of angels. The soul does not 
 die. The rose-bud that was just opening its 
 green, outside leaves, and showing its inner 
 loveliness and beauty, is not permitted to unfold 
 itself wholly on the earth. The hand of Love 
 has transplanted it in the land of richer soil, 
 more nourishing showers, and milder, balmier 
 airs. In that bright land it will perfectly and 
 beautifully unfold its leaves, and be an ornament 
 in the garden of God. 
 
 When we shall contemplate the flowers around 
 the mound of this body's grave, let us be re- 
 minded by them of the immortality of the soul. 
 The flowers will spring up, and show themselves 
 for a while, and then they will die. But, in fu- 
 ture years, the same element that formed and 
 
ADDRESS ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 167 
 
 exhibited these flowers, will form and exhibit 
 flowers again. They will repeat their work of 
 love, and cheer the world with beauty, and fill 
 the atmosphere with fragrance. Thus, all that 
 has been really good and beautiful in the child 
 will continue to exist, and to be a blessing to us. 
 We have seen the child in our earthly year; 
 when we shall enter upon our eternal year, we 
 shall see her again in a more beautiful and 
 agreeable form. 
 
 The river will continually flow in its coursi 
 by the enclosure in which this form will be laid 
 Its waters will flow into the sea, for the sea if 
 their great source. Thus the river will remind 
 us, that the dust returns to dust as it was, and 
 the spirit to God who gave it. 
 
 But the lessons of the Great Teacher will 
 comfort us in the most satisfactory manner. 
 They impart to us distinctly, a knowledge of the 
 greatness, worth, and immortality of human na- 
 ture. They impart to us a knowledge of the 
 value of the minds of children. Said the Sa- 
 viour : " Suffer little children to come unto me, 
 and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom." 
 And he took little children into his arms and 
 blest them. Let the words of Christ be your 
 comfort and consolation, my friends, in this hour 
 of affliction and grief. He, the truth, the way, 
 
168 ADDKESS ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 
 
 and the life, will kindly teach and lead your 
 child in the bright paths of life, of holiness and 
 peace. 
 
 To the child, the days of sin, or danger, or 
 sorrow, or sickness, or pain, are not to be known. 
 She will live and unfold her faculties where 
 there are no temptations to lead astray, no dan- 
 ger to fear, no sickness to wear and take the life 
 away. 
 
 I beseech you, finally, to have confidence in 
 God, who is love, and whose ways are all benev- 
 olent. Everywhere and always he manifests 
 the spirit of mercy. He giveth and he taketh 
 away. Let us desire that his will may be done. 
 
SABBATH MORNING. 
 
 BY REV. J. G. ADAMS. 
 
 Sabbath morning ! Holy time ! 
 
 Let me hail thy presence now ; 
 In thy gospel light sublime, 
 
 At the Father's footstool bow. 
 
 Morn of beauty and of love ! 
 
 Opening heaven 'mid scenes of earth, 
 As we raise our hearts above, 
 
 To new glories giving birth ! 
 
 Morn of peace ! The world how still ! 
 
 Only echoing far away, 
 Over forest, vale and hill, 
 
 Church bells speak of praise to-day. 
 
 Morn of rest ! From toil and care 
 Bid our weary souls be free ; 
 
 Help us, if we would prepare 
 Thy great Source of light to see. 
 
SABBATH MORNING. 
 
 Morn of Christian truth and grace ! 
 
 Brighter shall thy radiance glow, 
 As God's children learn to trace 
 
 Christ's great mission here below 
 

 
 
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