political institutions, where family religion and healthy domestic
discipline are strictly maintained. Disorderly and irreligious families
are the hot-beds of disorderly and irreligious citizens; on the other
hand, families in which God is honored, and the children educated under
the hallowed influences of family religion, are heaven's own nurseries
for the State and the Church. The considerations which should urge every
Christian householder to be strict in the maintenance of family religion
are therefore both patriotic and religious. The good results of such
fidelity and strictness on the part of parents are by no means limited
to their own children, as the experience of a pious tradesman, related
to his minister in a conversation on family worship, most instructively
proves.
When he first began business for himself, he was determined, through
grace, to be particularly conscientious with respect to family prayer.
Morning and evening every individual of his household was required to be
present at the domestic altar; nor would he allow his apprentices to be
absent on any account. In a few years the benefits of such fidelity in
daily family religion manifestly appeared; the blessings of the upper
and nether springs followed him; health and happiness crowned his
family, and prosperity attended his business.
At length, however, such was the rapid increase of trade, and the
importance of devoting every possible moment to his customers, that he
began to think whether family prayer did not occupy too much time in the
morning. Pious scruples indeed there were against relinquishing this
part of his duty; but soon wordly interests prevailed so far as to
induce him to excuse the attendance of his apprentices; and it was not
long before it was deemed advisable for the more eager prosecution of
business, to make praying in the morning when he first arose, suffice
for the day.
Notwithstanding the repeated checks of conscience that followed this
sinful omission, the calls of a flourishing business concern and the
prospect of an increasing family appeared so pressing, that he found an
easy excuse to himself for this unjustifiable neglect of an obvious
family duty. But when his conscience was almost seared as with a hot
iron, it pleased God to awaken him by a peculiar though natural
providence. One day he received a letter from a young man who had
formerly been an apprentice, previous to his omitting family prayer. Not
doubting but that domestic worship was still continued in the family of
his old master, his letter was chiefly on the benefits which he had
himself received through its agency.
"Never," said he, "shall I be able to thank you sufficiently for the
precious privilege with which you indulged me in your family devotions!
O, sir, eternity will be too short to praise my God for what I have
learned. It was there I first beheld my lost and wretched estate as a
sinner; it was there that I first found the way of salvation, and there
that I first experienced the preciousness of Christ in me the hope of
glory. O, sir, permit me to say, Never, never neglect those precious
engagements. You have yet a family and more apprentices. May your house
be the birth-place of their souls!"
The conscience-stricken tradesman could proceed no further, for every
line flashed condemnation in his face. He trembled, and was alarmed lest
the blood of his children and apprentices should be demanded at his
hands. "Filled with confusion, and bathed in tears, I fled," said he,
"for refuge in secret. I spread the letter before God. I agonized in
prayer, till light broke in upon my disconsolate soul, and a sense of
blood-bought pardon was obtained. I immediately flew to my family,
presented them before the Lord, and from that day to the present, I have
been faithful, and am determined, through grace, that whenever my
business becomes so large as to interrupt family prayer, I will give up
the superfluous part of it and retain my devotion. Better lose a few
dollars than become the deliberate moral murderer of my family and the
instrument of ruin to my own soul."
Now this experience is highly instructive and admonitory. It proves how
much good may be doing by family worship faithfully observed when we
little know it, and the importance, therefore, of always maintaining it.
It proves the goodness of God in reproving and checking his children
when they neglect duty and go astray. And it shows the insidious way in
which backsliding begins and grievous sin on the part of God's people.
May the engagements of business never tempt any parent that reads this
article to repeat the tradesman's dangerous experiment! But if there be
any that have fallen into the same condemnation, as it is to be feared
some may have done, may God of his mercy admonish them of it, and bring
them back before such a declension, begun in the neglect of family
religion, shall be consummated in the decay and loss of personal
religion, and the growing irreligion both of your family and your own
soul.
* * * * *
THE BONNIE BAIRNS.
This exquisitely touching ballad we take from the "Songs of Scotland,
Ancient and Modern," edited by Allan Cunningham. He says, "It is seldom
indeed, that song has chosen so singular a theme; but the _superstition_
it involves is current in Scotland."
The ladie walk'd in yon wild wood,
Aneath the hollow tree,
And she was aware of twa bonnie bairns
Were running at her knee.
The tane it pulled a red, red rose,
Wi' a hand as soft as silk;
The other, it pull'd a lily pale,
With a hand mair white than milk.
"Now, why pull ye the red rose, fair bairns?
And why the white lily?"
"Oh, we sue wi' them at the seat of grace,
For soul of thee, ladie!"
"Oh, bide wi' me, my twa bonnie bairns!
I'll cleid ye rich and fine;
And a' for the blaeberries of the wood,
Yese hae white bread and wine."
She sought to take a lily hand,
And kiss a rosie chin--
"O, naught sae pure can bide the touch
Of a hand red--wet wi' sin"!
The stars were shooting to and fro,
And wild-fire filled the air,
As that ladie follow'd thae bonnie bairns
For three lang hours and mair.
"Oh, where dwell ye, my ain sweet bairns?
I'm woe and weary grown!"
"Oh, ladie, we live where woe never is,
In a land to flesh unknown."
There came a shape which seem'd to her
As a rainbow 'mang the rain;
And sair these sweet babes plead for her,
And they pled and pled in vain.
"And O! and O!" said the youngest babe,
"My mither maun come in;"
"And O! and O!" said the eldest babe,
"Wash her twa hands frae sin."
"And O! and O!" said the youngest babe,
"She nursed me on her knee."
"And O! and O!" said the eldest babe,
"She's a mither yet to me."
"And O! and O!" said the babes baith,
"Take her where waters rin,
And white as the milk of her white breast,
Wash her twa hands frae sin."
* * * * *
Original.
MY LITTLE NIECE, MARY JANE.
This little girl was doubtless one of those whom the Savior early
prepares for their removal to his pure and holy family above. The sweet,
lovely, and attractive graces of a sanctified childhood, shone with a
mild luster throughout her character and manners, as she passed from one
period of intelligence to another, until she had reached the termination
of her short journey through earth to heaven.
Peace to thy ashes, gentle one! "Light lie the turf" upon thy bosom,
until thou comest forth to a morning, that shall know no night!
After the birth of this their first child, the parents were continually
reminded of the shortness and uncertainty of life, by repeated
sicknesses in the social circle, and by the sudden death of one of their
number, a beloved sister.
Whether it was that this had its influence in the shaping of the
another's instructions, or not, yet such was the fact, that the subject
of a preparation for early death, was not unfrequently the theme, when
religious instruction was imparted. The mind of the mother was also
impressed with the idea of her own responsibility. She felt that the
soul of the child would be required at her hands, and that she must do
all in her power to fit it for heaven. Hence she was importunate and
persevering in prayer, for a blessing upon her efforts; that God would
graciously grant his Spirit, not only to open the mind of her child to
receive instruction, but also to set it home and seal it there.
Her solicitude for the spiritual welfare, of the child was such, as
often to attract the notice of the writer; while the results forced upon
her mind the conviction, that the tender bud, nurtured with so much care
and fidelity, and watered with so many prayers and tears, would never be
permitted to burst into full flower, in the ungenial soil of earth.
Mary Jane had hardly numbered three winters, when a little sister of
whom she was very fond, was taken dangerously sick. Her mother and the
nurse were necessarily confined with the sick child; and she was left
very much alone. I would fain have taken the little girl home with me;
but it was feared that a change of temperature might prove unfavorable
to her health, so I often spent long hours with her, in her own home.
Precious seasons! How they now come up to me, through the long vista of
the dim and distant past, stirring the soul, like the faint echoes of
melting music, and wakening within it, remembrances of all pleasant
things.
I had been spending an afternoon with her in the usual manner, sometimes
telling her stories, and again drawing forth her little thoughts in
conversation, and was about taking leave, when I said to her, "Mary
Jane, you must be sure and ask God to make your little sister well
again." Sliding down from her chair, and placing her little hand in
mine, she said with great simplicity, "Who will lead me up there?"
Having explained to her as well as I could, that it was not necessary
for her to go up to heaven; that God could hear her, although she could
neither see him nor hear his answers, I reluctantly tore myself away.
Yet it was well for the child that I did so; for being left alone, the
train of her thoughts was not diverted to other objects; and she
continued to revolve in her mind, as was afterwards found, the idea of
asking God to make her sister well.
That night, having said her usual evening prayer, "Our Father," "Now I
lay me down to sleep," &c., the nurse left her quietly composed to
sleep, as she thought, but having occasion soon to pass her door, she
found that Mary Jane was awake and "talking loud." On listening, she
found that the little girl was praying. Her language was, "My dear
Father up in heaven, do please to make my little sister well again."
Before her sister recovered, she was taken sick herself. A kind relative
who was watching by her bedside one night, offered her some medicine
which she refused to take. The watcher said, "I want to have you take
it; it will make you well." The sick child replied: "The medicine can't
cure me--the doctors can't cure me--only God can cure me; but Jesus, he
can make me well." On being told that it would please God, if she should
take the medicine, she immediately swallowed it. After this she lay for
some time apparently in thought; then addressing the watcher she said,
"Aunty B----, do you know which is the way to heaven?" Then answering
the question herself she said, "Because if you don't, you go and ask my
uncle H----, and he will tell you which is the way. He preaches in the
pulpit every Sabbath to the people to be good,--and that is the way to
go to heaven."
Were the dear child to come back now, she could hardly give a plainer or
more scriptural direction--for, "without holiness, no man shall see the
Lord."
Before Mary Jane had recovered from this sickness, a little brother was
added to the number; thus making a group of infants, the eldest of whom
could number but three years and one month.
As the little ones became capable of receiving impressions from
religious truth, Mary Jane, though apparently but an infant herself,
would watch over them with the most untiring vigilance. One thing she
was very scrupulous about; it was their evening prayer. If at any time
this had been omitted, she would appear to be evidently distressed. One
evening while her mother was engaged with company in the parlor, she
felt something gently pulling her gown. On looking behind her chair, she
found little Mary Jane, who had crept in unobserved, and was whispering
to her that the nurse had put her little brother and sister to bed
without having said their prayers.
It was often instructive to me to see what a value this dear child set
upon prayer. I have since thought that the recovery of her infant
sister, and her own prayer for the same, were so associated in her mind,
as to produce a conviction of the efficacy of prayer, such as few
possess.
Being confined so much to the nursery, the mother improved the favored
season, in teaching her little girl to read, to sew and spell; keeping
up at the same time her regular routine of instruction in catechism,
hymns, &c. She had an exercise for the Sabbath which was admirably
adapted to make the day pass, not only pleasantly but profitably. In the
morning, unless prevented by illness, she was invariably found in her
seat in the sanctuary, with such of her children as were old enough to
be taken to church. In the afternoon she gave her nurse the same
privilege, but retained her children at home with herself. The moment
the house was clear, Mary Jane might be seen collecting the little group
for the nursery; alluring them along with the assurance that "now mother
was going to make them happy." This meeting was strictly in keeping with
the sacredness of the day. It was also a social meeting, each little one
as soon as it could speak, being required to take some part in it, the
little Mary Jane setting the example, encouraging the younger ones in
the most winning manner; and always making one of the prayers. The Bible
was not only the text book, but the guide. It furnished the thoughts,
and from it the mother selected some portion which for the time, she
deemed most appropriate to the state of her infant audience. Singing
formed a delightful part of the exercises. The mother had a fine voice,
and the little ones tried to fall in with it, in the use of some hymn
adapted to their tender minds.
These meetings were also very serious, and calculated to make a lasting
impression on the tender minds of the children. At the close of one, the
mother who had been telling the children of heaven, turned to Mary Jane,
and said, "My dear child, if you should die now, do you think you should
go to heaven?" "I don't know, mother," was her thoughtful reply;
"sometimes I think I am a good girl, and that God loves me, and that I
shall certainly go to heaven. But sometimes I am naughty. J---- teazes
me, and makes me unthread my needle, and then I feel angry; and I _know_
God does not love me _then_. I don't know, mother. I am afraid I should
not go to heaven." Then encouraging herself, she added in a sweet
confiding manner, "I hope I shall go there; don't you hope so too,
mother?"
Oh, who of our fallen race would ever see heaven, if sinless perfection
only, were to be the ground of our admittance there? True, we must be
free from sin, before we can enter that holy place; but this will be,
because God "hath made Him to be sin for us who knew no sin, that we
might be made the righteousness of God in Him."[A]
How much of the great doctrine of Justification by Faith in Christ this
little girl could comprehend, would be very difficult to tell. But, that
she regarded him as the medium through which she must receive every
blessing, there could be no doubt. He died that she might live; live in
the favor and friendship of God here, and live forever in his presence
hereafter.
Since commencing this simple narrative, I have regretted that more of
her sweet thoughts respecting Jesus and heaven could not be recalled.
Every thing relating to the soul, to its preparation for another and
better state of existence; to the enjoyments and employments of the
blessed, had an almost absorbing power over her mind; so that she
greatly preferred to read of them, and reflect upon them, to joining in
the ordinary sports of childhood. Yet she was a gentle and loving child,
to her little companions, and would always leave her book, cheerfully
and sweetly, when requested to join their little circle for play. But it
was evident that she could not as easily draw back her thoughts from
their deep and heavenly communings.
Whenever she witnessed a funeral procession, instead of lingering over
the pageant before her, her thoughts would follow the individual into
the invisible world. Was the person prepared for death? Had the soul
gone to God? were questions which she pondered with the deepest
interest.
A short time previous to her death, she was permitted at her urgent and
oft repeated request, to witness the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper. Her
mother was much affected to see the interest which the dear child
manifested on the occasion, and also the readiness with which she
entered into the meaning and design of the sacred ordinance.
The entire sixth year of Mary Jane was a period of unusual confinement.
Several members of the family were sick during that time; her mother
more than once; and she was often confined for whole days to the nursery
amusing the younger children and attending to their wants. Hence, when a
visit to the 'water-side' was talked of, the proposal was hailed with
joy. The prospect of escaping from her confinement, of being permitted
to go freely into the fresh air, to see the ocean, and gather shells and
pebbles upon its beach, was hailed with joyous emotion. Yet all these
delightful anticipations were destined to disappointment. The family did
indeed go to the 'water-side'; but they had scarcely reached the place
when their second daughter was taken alarmingly ill. When the dear child
was told that she must return home with her little brother, not a murmur
escaped her lips. Not that she cared nothing for the ocean, or the
treasures upon its beach; but she had learned the great lesson of
self-denial, although so young. A moment before, and she was exulting in
prospect of the joyous rambles in which she should participate, amidst
the groups of sportive children collected at the watering place. But
when the carriage was brought to the door, and her little bonnet was
being tied on, not even, 'I am sorry' was uttered by her, although her
whole frame trembled with emotion. With a hurried, though cheerful,
'good bye, mother,' she leaped into the coach and was gone.
The two children were brought home to me; and as day after day passed
and no favorable intimation reached us respecting the sick child, I had
ample opportunity to see how she resorted to her old refuge, prayer.
Often would the dear child return to me with the clear light shining in
her countenance, after a short season of retirement for prayer. I feel
my heart grow warm, now, after the lapse of a quarter of a century
nearly, as I recall _that look_, and that winning request, 'Aunty, may I
stay with you? the children plague me.' Her two little playmates were
boys; and they could not understand why she refused to unite in their
boisterous sports. She could buckle on their belts, fix on their riding
caps, and aid them in mounting their wooden horses; but why she would
not race up and down with them upon a cane, they could not comprehend.
She was patient and gentle, towards her little brother. It was a great
treat to her, to be permitted to take him out to walk. I have seldom
seen more gratitude expressed by a child, than she manifested, when she
found that 'aunty' reposed confidence enough in her, to permit her to
take him out alone. And how careful she was not to abuse that
confidence, by going beyond the appointed limits. Often since then I
have found myself adverting to this scene, as furnishing evidence that a
child who fears God can be trusted. I can see the dear little girl now,
as she arrived at a particular corner of the street, from which the
house could be seen, before turning to go back again, stopping and
gazing earnestly at the window, if perchance she might catch a bow and
smile from "aunty," expressing by her countenance more forcibly than
words could, "you see I am here."
TO BE CONTINUED.
* * * * *
Original.
HOW EARLY MAY A CHILD BE CONVERTED TO GOD.
In conversation with some Christian friends, a few days since, one young
lady remarked that she should never forget a sermon preached by her
father several years before, in which he remarked that Christian
biographers of the present day differed very much from those _inspired_
of God to write for succeeding generations, for _they_ did not fear to
tell the faults and expose the sins of primitive Christians who were to
be held up as examples, while those who now wrote took every possible
pains to hide the faults and make the subjects of their memoirs
perfection itself, not admitting they had a fault or flaw in their
characters. "Since hearing these remarks from my pastor," said she, "I
have never tried to cultivate a taste for memoirs and have seldom looked
into one."
"Depend upon it, my dear friend," I replied, "you have denied yourself
one of the richest means of growth in grace, and one of the most
delightful pleasures afforded the Christian; and while your pastor's
remarks may have been true of _some_, I cannot agree with him in
condemning all, for I have read most that have come within my reach for
ten years past, and have seen but two that I thought merited censure."
"But you will admit," continued my friend, "that those published of
children are extravagant, and quite beyond any thing seen in common
life."
"No; I can admit nothing of the kind, for let me tell you what I
witnessed when on a visit to a friend missionary's family at Pairie du
Chien: The mother of little George was one of the most spotless
characters I ever saw, and as you witnessed her daily walk you could not
but realize that she enjoyed intercourse with One who could purify and
exalt the character, and 'keep staid on Him in perfect peace the soul
who trusted in Him.' And should it have fallen to my lot to have written
her memoirs, I am quite sure it would have been cast aside by those who
think with you that memoirs are extravagant. I cannot think because
David committed adultery, and the wisest man then living had three
hundred wives, and Peter denied his Savior, that all other Christians
living in the present enlightened age have done or would do these or
like grievous sins. It has been my lot at some periods of my life to be
cast among Christians whose confidence in Christ enabled them to rise
far above the attainments made by the generality of Christians, indeed
so far as to be almost lost sight of, who would shine as brightly on the
pages of written Christian life.
"But, as I was going to say, little George was not yet four years old
when his now sainted mother and myself stood beside his sick bed, and
beheld the sweet child with his hands clasped over his eyes, evidently
engaged in prayer, with a look of anguish on his face. We stood there by
his side, watching him constantly for over an hour, not wishing to
interrupt his devotions, and at last we saw that look of distress
gradually disappear, and as silently we watched him we felt that the
influence of God's Spirit was indeed at work in that young heart.
"At last he looked up at his mother, and a sweet smile lighted up his
little face as he said, 'Mother, I am going to die; but don't cry, for I
am going straight to Jesus; my sins are all forgiven, mother.'"
"How do you know that, my sweet child?"
"Why, Jesus said so, ma."
"Said so; did you, indeed, hear any voice, my son?"
"O no, mother; but you know how it is. He speaks it in me, right here,
here, mother," laying his little hand on his throbbing breast. "I don't
want to live; I want to go where Jesus is, and be His own little boy,
and not be naughty any more; and I hope I shan't get well, I am afraid
if I do I shall be naughty again. O, mother, I have been a great sinner,
and done many naughty things; but Jesus has forgiven me all my sins, and
I do wish sister would go to Him and be forgiven for showing that bad
temper, and all her other sins; don't you, ma?"
"Contrary to expectation this lovely boy recovered, and a few days after
he got well I saw him take his sister's hand and plead with her to come
and pray. 'O, sister,' he said, 'you will lose your soul if you don't
pray. Do, do ask Jesus to forgive your sins, He will hear you, He will
make you happy; do, do come right to Him, won't you, sissy?' But his
sister (who was six years old) turned a deaf ear to his entreaties, and
it grieved him so, that he would go away and cry and pray for her with
exceeding great earnestness.