son? Not only may the general corrupt character of the son be accounted
for by the general corrupt influence of the mother, but the particular
traits of the son's character may also be traced to particular
characteristics of the mother, as an effect to its legitimate cause. The
single fact that she was intemperate, and that her religion was confined
to her fits of drunkenness, would explain it all. Of course, the
education of her son was utterly neglected. No pains were taken to
impress his mind with the maxims of truth and piety. He was never warned
against the power of temptation, but was suffered to mingle with the
profane and the profligate, without any guard against the unhallowed
influences to which he was exposed. This, of itself, would be enough to
account for his forming a habit of vice--even for his growing up a
profligate;--for such are the tendencies of human nature, that the mere
absence of counsel and guidance and restraint, is generally sufficient
to insure a vicious character. But in the case to which I refer, there
was more than the absence of a good example--there was the presence of a
positively bad one--and that in the form of one of the most degrading of
all vices. The boy saw his mother a drunkard, and why should he not
become a drunkard too? The boy saw that his mother's religious
professions were all identified with her fits of intoxication, and why
should he not grow up as he did, without any counteracting influence?
why should he not settle down with the conviction that religion is a
matter of no moment? nay, why should he not become what he actually did
become,--a scoffer and an atheist? Whenever I meet him, I see in his
face, not only a reproduction of his mother's features, but that which
tells of the reproduction of his mother's character. I pity him that he
should have had such a mother, while I loathe the qualities which he has
inherited from her, or which have been formed through the influence of
her example.
The other case forms a delightful contrast to the one already stated,
and is as full of encouragement as _that_ is full of warning. Another of
my playmates was a boy who was always noticed for being
perfectly-correct and unexceptionable in all his conduct. I never heard
him utter a profane or indecent word. I never knew him do a thing even
of questionable propriety. He was bright and playful, but never
mischievous. He was a good scholar, not because he had very remarkable
talents, but because he made good use of his time--because he was taught
to regard it as his duty to get his lessons well, and he could not be
happy in any other course. His teachers loved him because he was
diligent and respectful; his playmates loved him, because he was kind
and obliging; all loved him, because he was an amiable, moral,
well-disposed boy. He evinced so much promise, that his parents, though
not in affluent circumstances, resolved on giving him a collegiate
education, and in due time he became a member of one of our highest
literary institutions. There he maintained a high rank for both
scholarship and morality, and graduated with distinguished honor. Not
long after this, his mind took a decidedly serious direction, and he not
only gave himself to the service of God, but resolved to give himself
also to the ministry of reconciliation. After passing through the usual
course and preparation for the sacred office, he entered it; and he is
now the able and successful minister of a large and respectable
congregation. He has already evidently been instrumental of winning many
souls. I hear of him from time to time, as among the most useful
ministers of the day. I occasionally meet him, and see for myself the
workings of his well-trained mind, and his generous and sanctified
spirit. I say to myself, I remember you, when you were only the germ of
what you are; but surely the man was bound up in the boy. I witness
nothing in your maturity which was not shadowed forth in your earliest
development.
Here again, let me trace the stream to its fountain--the effect to its
cause. This individual was the child of a discreet and faithful
Christian mother. She dedicated him to God in holy baptism, while he was
yet unconscious of the solemn act. She watched the first openings of his
intellect, that no time might be lost in introducing the beams of
immortal truth. She guarded him during his childhood, from the influence
of evil example, especially of evil companions, with the most scrupulous
care. She labored diligently to suppress the rising of unhallowed
tempers and perverse feelings, with a view to prevent, if possible, the
formation of any vicious habit, while she steadily inculcated the
necessity of that great radical change, which alone forms the basis of a
truly spiritual character. And though no human eye followed her to her
closet, I doubt not that her good instructions were seconded by her
fervent prayers; and that as often as she approached the throne of
mercy, she left there a petition for the well-doing and the well-being,
the sanctification and salvation of her son. And her work of faith and
labor of love were not in vain. The son became all that she could have
asked, and she lived to witness what he became. She lived to listen to
his earnest prayers and his eloquent and powerful discourses. She lived
to hear his name pronounced with respect and gratitude in the high
places of the Church. He was one of the main comforters of her old age;
and if I mistake not, he was at her death-bed, to commend her departing
spirit into her Redeemer's hands. Richly was that mother's fidelity
rewarded by the virtues and graces which she had assisted to form.
Though she recognized them all as the fruits of the Spirit, she could
not but know that in a humble, and yet very important sense, they were
connected with her own instrumentality.
Such has been the career of two of the playmates of my childhood. They
are both living, but they have been traveling in opposite directions,--I
may say ever since they left the cradle. And so far as we can judge, the
main reason is, that the one had a mother whose influence was only for
evil, the other, a mother who was intent upon doing good. Both their
mothers now dwell in the unseen world; while the one is represented on
earth by a most loathsome specimen of humanity, the other by a pure and
elevated spirit, that needs only to pass the gate of death to become a
seraph.
Mothers, I need not say a word to impress the lessons suggested by this
contrast. They lie upon the surface, and your own hearts will readily
take them up. May God save you from looking upon ruined children, and
being obliged to feel that you have been their destroyers! May God
permit you to look upon children, whom your faithfulness has, through
grace, nurtured not only into useful members of human society, but into
heirs of an endless glorious life!
* * * * *
Original.
REMINISCENCES OF THE LATE REV. THOMAS H. GALLAUDET.
BY MRS. G. M. SYKES.
There is a little legend of the Queen of Sheba and wise King Solomon,
which is fragrant with pleasant meaning. She had heard his wonderful
fame in her distant country, and had come "with a very great company,
and camels that bare spices, and gold in abundance, and precious
stones;" this imposing caravan had wound its way over the deserts, and
the royal pilgrim had endured the heat and weariness of the way, that
she "might prove the king with hard questions, at Jerusalem." This we
have upon the highest authority, though for this particular test we must
be content with something less. Entering his audience-chamber one day,
she is said to have produced two crowns of flowers, of rare beauty, and
apparently exactly alike. "Both are for thee, O wise king," said she,
"but discern between them, which is the workmanship of the Most High,
and which hath man fashioned in its likeness?"
We read of costly oriental imitations of flowers in gold and silver, in
pearls, and amethysts, and rubies. How shall Solomon the King detect the
cunning mimicry? Solomon the Wise has determined. He causes the windows
looking upon the gardens of his ivory palace to be thrown open, and
immediately the crown of true flowers is covered with bees.
Like King Solomon's bees are the instincts of childhood, sure to detect
the fragrance of the genuine blossom in human nature, and settle where
the honey may be found. It was a rare distinction of the good man whose
name stands at the head of this chapter, that children everywhere loved
him, and recognized in him their true friend. An enduring monument of
his love for children, and his untiring efforts to do them good is found
in the books he has written for them. His _Child's Book on the Soul_,
has, if I am not mistaken, been translated into French, German, and
Modern Greek, and has issued from the Mission-press at Ceylon, in one or
more of the dialects of India. It has also been partially rendered into
the vernacular at the missionary stations, in opposite parts of the
world. His _Child's Book on Repentance_, and his _Histories of the
Patriarchs_, published by the American Tract Society, are the result of
diligent study. The _Life of Moses_ may be specified, as having cost him
most laborious investigation; and it is true of them all that there is
in them an amount of illustrative Biblical research, and a depth of
mental philosophy, which more ambitious writers would have reserved for
their theological folios. But even his books, widely as they are known
and appreciated, convey but an imperfect idea of the writer's power to
interest and benefit children. They cannot present his affectionate,
playful manner, nor the genial and irresistible humor of his intercourse
with them. Mothers were glad to meet Mr. Gallaudet, but they were more
glad to have their children meet him, even in the street; for a kind
word, or a smile of pleasant greeting, told every young friend, even
there, that he was remembered and cared for,--and these things encourage
children to try to deserve favor.
In person, Mr. G. was rather short and slender, but with an erectness of
carriage, and a somewhat precise observance of the usages of refined
society, which gave him an unfailing dignity of appearance. A certain
quaintness of manner and expression was an irresistible charm about him.
Sure I am, that one little girl will always remember the kind hand
stretched out to seize her own,--and the question after the manner of
Mrs. Barbauld: "Child of mortality, whither goest thou?"
His most remarkable personal characteristic was the power of expression
in his face. The quiet humor of the mouth, and the bright, quick glance
of the eye, were his by nature; but the extraordinary mobility of the
muscles was owing, probably, to his long intercourse with deaf mutes. It
was a high intellectual gratification to see him in communication with
this class of unfortunates, to whom so large a proportion of the labors
of his life was devoted. It is said that Garrick often amused his
friends by assuming some other person's countenance. We are sure Mr.
Gallaudet could have done this. We remember that he did astonish a body
of legislators, before whom there was an exhibition, by proving to them
that he could relate a narrative to his pupils by his face alone,
without gesture. This power of expression has a great attraction for
children. Like animals, they often understand the language of the face
better than that of the lips; it always furnishes them with a valuable
commentary on the words addressed to them, and the person who talks to
them with a perfectly immovable, expressionless countenance, awes and
repulses them. In addition to this, our friend was never without a
pocketful of intellectual _bon-bons_ for them. A child whom he met with
grammar and dictionary, puzzled for months over the sentence he gave
her, assuring her that it was genuine Latin:--
"Forte dux fel flat in guttur."
To another he would give this problem, from ancient Dilworth:--
"If a herring and a half cost three-halfpence, how many will eleven
pence buy?"
Persons who are too stately to stoop to this way of pleasing childhood,
have very little idea of the magic influence it exerts, and how it opens
the heart to receive "the good seed" of serious admonition from one who
has shown himself capable of sympathy in its pleasures.
Those whose privilege it has been to know Mr. Gallaudet in his own home,
surrounded by his own intelligent children, have had a new revelation of
the gentleness, the tenderness and benignity of the paternal relation.
Many years since I was a "watcher by the bed," where lay his little
daughter, recovering from a dangerous illness. He evidently felt that a
great responsibility was resting upon a young nurse, with whom, though
he knew her well, he was not familiar in that character. I felt the
earnest look of inquiry which he gave me, as I was taking directions for
the medicines of the night. He was sounding me to know whether I might
be trusted. At early dawn, before the last stars had set, he was again
by the bed, intent upon the condition of the little patient. When he was
satisfied that she was doing well, and had been well cared for, he took
my hand in his, and thanked me with a look which told me that I had now
been tried, and found faithful and competent.
Not only was he a man made of tender charities, but he was an observant,
thoughtful man, considerate of the little as well as the great wants of
others. I can never forget his gentle ministrations in the sick room of
my most precious mother, who was for many years his neighbor and friend.
She had been brought to a condition of great feebleness by a slow
nervous fever, and was painfully sensitive to anything discordant,
abrupt, or harsh in the voices and movements of those about her. Every
day, at a fixed hour, this good neighbor would glide in, noiselessly as
a spirit, and, either reading or repeating a few soothing verses from
the Bible, would kneel beside her bed, and quietly, in a few calm and
simple petitions, help her to fix her weak and wavering thoughts on that
merciful kindness which was for her help. Day after day, through her
slow recovery, his unwearied kindness brought him thither, and
gratefully was the service felt and acknowledged. I never knew him in
the relation he afterwards sustained to the diseased in mind, but I am
sure that his refined perceptions and delicate tact must have fitted him
admirably for his chaplaincy in the Retreat.
I retain a distinct impression of him as I saw him one day in a
character his benevolence often led him to assume, that of a city
missionary; though it was only the duties of one whom he saw to be
needed, without an appointment, that he undertook. How he found time, or
strength, with his feeble constitution, for preaching to prisoners and
paupers, and visits to the destitute and dying, is a mystery to one less
diligent in filling up little interstices of time.
I was present at a funeral, where, in the sickness or absence of the
pastor, Mr. Gallaudet had been requested to officiate. It was on a bleak
and wintry day in spring: the wind blew, and the late and unwelcome snow
was falling. There was much to make the occasion melancholy. It was the
funeral of a young girl, the only daughter of a widow, who had expended
far more than the proper proportion of her scanty means in giving the
girl showy and useless accomplishments. A cold taken at a dance had
resulted in quick consumption, and in a few weeks had hurried her to the
grave. Without proper training and early religious instruction, it was
difficult to know how much reliance might safely be placed on the
eagerness with which she embraced the hopes and consolations of the
Gospel set before her on her dying bed. Her weak-minded and injudicious
mother felt that she should be lauded as a youthful saint, and her death
spoken of as a triumphant entrance into heaven.
There was much to offend the taste in the accompaniments of this
funeral. It was an inconsistent attempt at show, a tawdry imitation of
more expensive funeral observances. About the wasted face of the once
beautiful girl were arranged, not the delicate white blossoms with
which affection sometimes loves to surround what was lovely in life, but
gaudy flowers of every hue. The dress, too, was fantastic and
inappropriate. The mother and little brothers sat in one of the two
small rooms; the mother in transports of grief, which was real, but not
so absorbing as to be forgetful of self and scenic effect. The little
boys sat by, in awkward consciousness of new black gloves, and crape
bands on their hats. Everything was artificial and painfully forlorn;
and the want of genuineness, which surrounded the pale sleeper, seemed
to cast suspicion on the honesty and validity of her late-formed hope
for eternity.
But the first words of prayer, breathed forth, rather than uttered, in
the low tones the speaker was most accustomed to use, changed the aspect
of the poor place. _He_ was genuine and in earnest.
The mother's exaggerated sobs became less frequent, and real tears
glistened in eyes that, like mine, had been wandering to detect
absurdities and incongruities. We were gently lifted upwards towards God
and Heaven. We were taught a lesson in that mild charity which "thinketh
no evil,"--which "hopeth all things, and endureth all things;" and when
the scanty funeral train left the house, I could not but feel that the
ministration of this good man there had been--
"As if some angel shook his wings."
We preserve even trifling memorials of friends whom we have loved and
lost; and even these recollections, deeply traced, though slight in
importance, may bear a value for those who knew and estimated the finely
organized and nicely-balanced character of the man who loved to "do good
by stealth," and who has signalized his life by bringing, in his own
peculiar and quiet way, many great enterprises from small beginnings.
Norwich, Ct.
* * * * *
Original.
THE IMPORTANCE OF FAMILY RELIGION.
BY REV. HENRY T. CHEEVER.
It is a very general remark, at the present time, throughout our
country, and the complaint comes back, especially from the great West,
through those who are familiarly acquainted with society there, that
there is a growing spirit of insubordination in the family, and, of
course, in the State; and it is ascribed to laxity and neglect in the
_Mothers_ as much as in the Fathers. Its existence is even made the
matter of public comment on such occasions as the celebration of the
landing of our Pilgrim Fathers, those bright exemplars of family
religion. And grave divines and theological professors, in their
addresses to the people, deprecate it as a growing evil of the times.
Now, without entering into other specifications here, may it not be that
a chief reason for the _increase_ of family insubordination is to be
found in the DECREASE OF FAMILY RELIGION? By this we mean
Religion in the household; in other words, the inculcation and
observance of the duties of religion in American families, in their
organized capacity as separate religious communities. Family religion,
in this sense, implies the acknowledgment of God in the family circle,
by the assembling of all its members around the domestic altar, morning
and evening, and by united prayer and praise to the God of the families
of all flesh; by the invocation of God's blessing and the giving of
thanks at every social repast; by the strict observance of the Sabbath;
and by the religious instruction and training of children and servants,
and the constant recognition of God's providence and care. This
constitutes, and these are the duties of family religion--duties which
no Christian head of a family, whether father or mother, can be excused
from performing. They are duties which all who take upon themselves the
responsibilities of the family should feel it a privilege to observe.
The duty of family prayer, especially by the one or the other head of
the household, as the leading exercise of the family religion, should be
performed with seriousness, order and punctuality. John Angell James
very properly asks if the dwellings of the righteous ought not to be
filled with the very element of piety, the atmosphere of true religion.
"Yet, how few are the habitations, even of professors, upon entering
which the stranger would be compelled to say, Surely this _is_ the house
of God, this _is_ the gate of heaven! It may be that family prayer is
gone through with, such as it is, though with little seriousness and no
unction. But even this, in many cases, is wholly omitted, and scarcely
anything remains to indicate that God has found a dwelling in that
house. There may be no actual dissipation, no drunkenness, no
card-playing, but, oh! how little of true devotion is there! How few
families are there so conducted as to make it a matter of surprise that
any of the children of such households should turn out otherwise than
pious! How many that lead us greatly to wonder that any of the children
should turn out otherwise than irreligious! On the other hand, how
subduing and how melting are the fervent supplications of a godly and
consistent father, when his voice, tremulous with emotion, is giving
utterance to the desires of his heart to the God of heaven for the
children bending around him! Is there, out of heaven, a sight more
deeply interesting than a family, gathered at morning or evening prayer,
where the worship is what it ought to be?"
It is hardly to be supposed that any pious heads, or pious members, of
American households, are in doubt whether family worship be a duty. We
are rather to take it for granted, as a duty universally acknowledged
among Christians, nature itself serving to suggest and teach it, and the
word of God abundantly confirming and enforcing it, both by precept and
example. God himself being the author and constitutor of the family
relation, it is but a dictate of reason that He should be owned and
acknowledged as such, "who setteth the children of men in families like
a flock, who hath strengthened the bars of thy gates, and hath blessed
thy children within thee." Of whom it is said, "Lo, children are an
heritage of the Lord, and the fruit of the womb is his reward."
It is this great Family-God, whose solemn charges, by his servant Moses,
are as binding upon Christian families now as of old upon the children
of Israel--Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with
all thy soul, and with all thy might: and these words which I command
thee this day shall be in thy heart: and thou shalt teach them
diligently unto thy children, and thou shalt talk of them when thou
sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou
liest down and when thou risest up.
This is God's command, and He will hold every parent responsible for the
religious instruction of his or her children. In such an education for
God, which is the duty of the parent and the right of the child, the
habit of family worship constitutes an essential part. Nothing can make
up for the want of this. Neither the best of preaching and instruction
in the sanctuary or Sabbath-school, nor the finest education abroad, in
the boarding-schools or seminaries, will at all answer for the daily
discipline of family religion. This is something which no artificial
accomplishment can supply. A religious home education, under the daily
influence of family worship, and the devout acknowledgment of God at the
frugal board, and the godly example and instruction of a pious
parentage, are more influential upon the future character and destiny of
the child than all the other agencies put together.
The true divine origin of the domestic economy is to train children, by
habits of virtue, obedience, and piety in the family, to become useful
members of society at large and good subjects of the State, and above
all to be fellow-citizens with the saints and of the household of faith.
In order to this the strict maintenance of family religion is absolutely
essential. It is therefore laid down as an axiom that no State can be
prosperous where family order and religion are generally neglected. The
present condition of France, and the so far successful villainy of her
perjured usurper, are in proof of this position, which was understood by
one of her statesmen a few years ago, when he said with emphasis on his
dying bed, "What France wants is family religion; what France wants is
family religion."