school, and after all the children had recited their lessons, the
superintendent rose and said that a good missionary was about to leave
his home, and go to preach the Gospel to the heathens far over the sea,
and that they wanted to raise a subscription and purchase Bibles to send
out with him, that he might distribute them among those poor people who
had never heard God's holy word.
He told them how the poor little children were taught to lie and steal
by their parents, and how they worshiped images of carved wood, and
stone, and sometimes killed themselves and drowned the infants, thinking
thus to please the senseless things they called their gods. He said that
children who could read and write, and go to church, ought to be
grateful to God for placing them in a Christian country, and they should
pray for the poor little heathen children, and do all they could to
provide instruction for them.
"I do not expect you to do much, my dear children," he said, "but all I
ask is, to do what you can; some of you have money given you to buy toys
or cakes; would you not rather know that it had helped a little heathen
child to come to God, than to spend it in anything so soon destroyed and
forgotten? And to those who have no money, let me ask, can you not earn
it? There are very many ways in which children may be useful, and God
will most graciously accept a gift which has cost you labor or
self-denial. You remember Jesus himself said that the poor widow's two
mites were of more value than all that the rich cast into the treasury,
because they gave of their abundance, but she cast in all that she had;
will you not, therefore, endeavor to win the Savior's blessing by
following the widow's example, and 'Go and do likewise?'"
The children listened very attentively to all the superintendent said,
and after school there was much talking among the scholars as to the
amount to be given, and how to obtain it. The following Sunday was
appointed to receive the collection, and all seemed animated with a
generous feeling, and anxious to do what they could.
"I have a bright new penny," cried little Patty Green, who was scarcely
six years old. "I didn't like to spend it, because it was so pretty,
but I will send it to the little heathen children to buy Bibles with!"
"And I," added James Blair, "have a tenpence that Mr. Jones gave me for
holding his horse; I was saving it to buy a knife, but I can wait a
while for that; uncle has promised me one next Christmas."
"You may add my sixpence to it, brother," said his sister Lucy. "I did
want a pair of woolen gloves, but it is long until winter, and I do not
need them now."
"Good!" exclaimed merry, good-natured Simon Bounce. "Ten and six are
sixteen, and Patty's bright penny makes seventeen; and let me see, I've
got fivepence, and John Blake offered me three cents for my ball, that
will make two shillings exactly, quite a good beginning. Why what a
treasure there will be if we all put in our savings at this rate!"
Thus talking, the children strolled away in groups, and Charlotte and
Annie walked slowly toward their homes. Annie looked thoughtful, and
Charlotte spoke first.
"I wish," said she, "that father would give me sixpence; but I know he
wont, for he never goes to church, and cares nothing about the heathen,
and as for mother, she would call me a simpleton if I was to ask her. I
am determined I wont go to school next Sunday if I can't take something,
it looks so mean; I will say I am sick and cannot go."
"Oh, Charlotte!" said Annie, "that would be a great deal worse than not
giving anything, for it would not only be a falsehood, but you would
tempt God to make you sick. I know you do not mean what you say."
"You always take everything so seriously," replied the other, laughing
and looking a little ashamed. "But what are you going to do, Annie? Your
mother cannot give you anything; but I am sure she would if she had it,
she is so kind, and never scolds. I wish mother was so always."
"I have been thinking," returned Annie, "that if I take the two hours
mother gives me to play in the garden, and card wool for her, as she has
more than she can do this week, perhaps she will give me two or three
pennies. I wish I could earn more, but I will do what I can."
"Maybe your mother will let me help her too," said Charlotte, eagerly;
"but I have so little time to play that I could not earn much, and I
would be ashamed to give so little. I would rather put in more than any
one, it would please the teacher and make the girls envy me."
"I am sure," answered Annie, gently, "the teacher would not like us to
do anything that would make another envy us, because that is a very
wicked and unhappy feeling, and though she might be pleased to see us
put in so much, yet it is God whom we are seeking to serve, and he looks
at the heart, and knows our feelings. He tells us not to give alms to be
seen of men, and you remember, Charlotte, what the superintendent said
about the widow's mite, which pleased Jesus, though the gift was so
small."
"You speak like a superintendent yourself," cried Charlotte, gaily, "but
ask your mother, Annie, and I will come over to-night and hear what she
says."
They had now reached Mrs. Grey's house, and bidding each other good-by
they parted. Charlotte hurried home to tell her mother about the
contributions, and was laughed at, as she expected; however, Mrs. Murray
said she would give, if she had it to spare, but charity began at home,
and it was not for poor folks to trouble their heads about such matters.
Let those who had means, and nothing else to do, attend to it.
When Annie told her mother what had been said in school, Mrs. Grey told
her that it had also been given out in church, and a collection was to
be taken up on the following Sunday, when the missionary himself would
preach for them.
"I shall give what little I can," she added, with a slight sigh. "I wish
it was more, but my earnest prayers shall accompany this humble offering
to the Lord."
Annie now unfolded her plan to her mother, and asked her consent, which
was readily given, and then Annie told her of Charlotte's request. And
her mother said that although she did not require Charlotte's help,
still she would not refuse her, as she liked to encourage every good
inclination. And when Charlotte came in the evening, Annie had the
pleasure of telling her that her mother had consented, and would give
them a little pile of wool to card every day, for which each should
receive a penny.
"And that will be sixpence a-piece, you know," continued Annie, "and we
can change it to a silver piece, for fear we might drop a penny by the
way."
"Oh, how nice that will be," cried Charlotte. "Do you think many of the
girls will put in as much? I hope, at any rate, that none will put in
any more."
Then, thanking Annie, she ran home, leaving her friend not a little
puzzled to know why Charlotte should wish to make a show.
The difference between the little girls was this; Charlotte only sought
to please others from a selfish feeling to obtain praise, while Annie
had been taught that God is the searcher of all hearts, and to please
him should be our first and only aim.
The next morning Annie was up bright and early, and it seemed to her
that the wool was never so free from knots before. After she had said
her prayers in the morning, and read a chapter with her mother, the
little girl ate her frugal breakfast, and seated herself at her work,
and so nimbly did she ply the cards, that her task was accomplished full
half an hour before the usual time. She was just beginning her own pile
when Charlotte came in; they sat down together, and worked away
diligently. Charlotte said that her mother laughed at her, but told her
she might do as she pleased, for it was something new for her to prefer
work to play, and availing herself of this permission she came.
Annie, who was accustomed to the work, finished her pile first; she then
assisted Charlotte, and they each received a penny; there was plenty of
time beside for Annie to walk home with her friend.
The two following days passed in the same manner, but on Thursday
Charlotte went out with a party of girls, blackberrying, thinking she
could make it up on Friday; but it was as much as she could do to earn
the penny with Annie's assistance, and Saturday was a busy day, so her
mother could not spare her, and Charlotte had but fourpence at the end
of the week. Annie had worked steadily, and on Saturday afternoon
received the last penny from her mother. She had now six cents, and
after supper went with a light heart to get them changed for a sixpenny
piece, at the village store.
On the way she met Charlotte. "I could not come to-day," said the
latter. "Mother could not spare me, and I cried enough about it. I might
have earned another penny, and then I would have changed it for a silver
fivepence. Is it not too bad? How much have you got?"
"I have six pennies," answered Annie, "And I am going to change them
now; but if you feel so bad about it, I will give you one of them, and
then we will each have alike; it makes no difference, you know, who puts
it in the box, so that it all goes for the one good purpose."
"How kind you are! How much I love you!" exclaimed Charlotte,
gratefully, as she took the money, and kissed her friend. "I will run
home and get my fourpence directly."
Annie went on with a contented heart; she had obliged her companion and
done no injustice to the good cause, since Charlotte would put the money
to the same use. The store-keeper changed the pennies for a bright, new
fivepence, and she went on her way rejoicing.
(To be Continued.)
* * * * *
Original.
THE RIDDLE SOLVED.
Some years since, the pastor of a country congregation in a neighboring
State was riding through his parish in company with a ministerial
friend. As they passed a certain house, the pastor said to his friend,
"Here is a riddle which I wish you would solve for me. In yonder house
lives one of my elders, a man of sterling piety and great consistency of
character, who prays in his closet, in his family, and in public. He has
seven or eight children, several of whom are grown up, and yet not one
is hopefully converted, or even at all serious. Just beyond him, on the
adjoining farm, lives a man of the same age, who married the elder's
sister. This man, if a Christian at all, is one of those who will 'be
saved so as by fire;' he is very loose and careless in his talk, is in
bad repute for honesty, and, although not guilty of any offense which
church authorities can take hold of, does many things which grieve the
people of God, and are a stumbling-block to others. Yet, of his eleven
or twelve children, seven are valued and useful Christians, and there is
every reason to anticipate that the rest, as they grow up, will follow
in the same course. Now, solve me this difficulty, that the careless
professor should be so blessed in his family, while the godly man mourns
an entire absence of converting grace, especially as both households are
as nearly equal as may be in their social position, their educational
facilities, and their means of grace?"
"Let me know all the facts," said the pastor's friend, "before I give my
opinion. Have you ever considered the character of the _mothers_,
respectively?"
At once the pastor clasped his hands and said, "I have it; the secret is
out. It is strange I never thought of it before. The elder's wife,
although, as I trust, a good woman, is far from being an active
Christian. She never seems to take any pleasure in religious
conversation, but whenever it is introduced, either is silent or
speedily diverts it to some worldly subject. She is one of those persons
with whom you might live in the same house for weeks and months, and yet
never discover that she was a disciple of Christ. The other lady, on the
contrary, is as eminent for godliness as her husband is for
inconsistency. Her heart is in the cause; she prays with and for her
children, and whatever example they have in their father, in her they
have a fine model of active, fervent, humble piety, seated in the heart
and flowing out into the life."
The friends prosecuted the inquiry no further; they felt that the riddle
was solved, and they rode on in silence, each meditating on the wide
extent, the far-spreading results of that marvellous agency--_a mother's
influence_.
* * * * *
Original.
PRAYER FOR CHILDREN SOMETIMES UNAVAILING.
Matthew, in his Gospel (chap. 20th), has recorded a highly instructive
incident in relation to the disciples, James and John, whose parents
were Zebedee and Salome. The latter, it would seem, being of an
ambitious turn, was desirous that her two sons should occupy prominent
stations in the temporal kingdom, which, according to the popular
belief, Jesus Christ was about to establish in the world. That she had
inspired _them_ also with these ambitious aspirations, is apparent from
the narrative; she even induces them to accompany her in her visit to
Christ, and so far they concurred with her designs. On entering his
presence she prefers her request, which is, that these sons may sit, the
one on his right hand, and the other on his left, in his kingdom. The
request was made with due respect, and, doubtless, in all sincerity.
Now, it cannot be denied that there may be a just and reasonable desire
on the part of parents, that their children should be advanced to posts
of honor and distinction in the world. But that desire should ever be
accompanied with a wish that those honors and distinctions should be
attained by honest and honorable means, and be employed as
instrumentalities of good. If such wish be wanting, the desire is only
selfish. And selfishness seems to have characterized the desires of
Salome, and probably of James and John. We trust that they all, at
length, had more correct views of the character and kingdom of Jesus,
and sought and obtained spiritual honor in it, infinitely to be
preferred to the honor which cometh from men.
But at the time we speak of, the desires of the mother were narrow and
selfish. Yet, it is remarkable with what courtesy Christ treated her and
her sons, while at the same time he gave them to understand that they
did not know the nature of their request, nor the great matters involved
in it.
Passing from the contemplation of the prayer of Salome for the temporal
advancement of her sons to the prayers of many parents, at the present
day, for the salvation of their children, have we not reason to
apprehend the prevalence in them, if not of a similar ambition, of a
similar selfishness? I would wish to speak with just caution on a
subject of so much interest to parents, and one on which I may easily be
misunderstood. And yet a subject in reference to which the most sad and
fatal mistakes may be made.
God in his providence has intimately connected parents and children. In
a sense, parents are the authors of their being; they are their
guardians; they are bound to provide for them, educate them, teach them
the knowledge of God, and use all proper means for their present and
eternal welfare. In all these respects, they are required to do more for
their children than for the children of others, unless the latter are
adopted by them, or come under their guardianship. It is doubtless my
duty and my privilege to seek more directly and more assiduously the
salvation of my children than the salvation of the children of others.
This seems to be according to the will of God, and according to the
family constitution. And, moreover, it is most reasonable and right.
And if parents have a just apprehension of their responsibilities, they
cannot rest satisfied without laboring for the salvation of their
offspring, and laboring assiduously and perseveringly for its
attainment. And among other things which they will do--they will _pray_.
The Christian parent who does not pray for his children, is not entitled
to the name of Christian. There is no such Christian parent, and we
doubt if there can be.
But it is obvious that the spirit of Salome, at least in the selfishness
of that spirit, may sometimes be even the governing principle of the
parent in his prayers for the salvation of his child. Knowing, as he
must know, something of the value of his child's soul, and the eternal
misery of it if finally lost, how natural to desire his conversion as
the only means of escape from a doom so awful! And we admit that the
parent is justified, and his parental affinities require him to make
all possible efforts to bring that soul to repentance. And he should
pray and wrestle with God, as fervently, as importunately, as
perseveringly as the object sought is important and desirable.
But, then, here is a point never to be overlooked, and yet is it not
often overlooked? viz., that the grand governing motive of the parent in
seeking the salvation of his child should be the glory of God--not
simply the honor of that soul, as an heir of a rich inheritance--not
simply the exemption of his child from misery--nor yet his joy, as a
participator in joys and glories which mortal eye has not yet seen, nor
human heart yet conceived. The glory of God! the glory of Jesus! that is
the all in all--the paramount motive, which is to guide, govern parents,
and all others in their desires and labors for the salvation of children
and friends!
I do not mean to intimate that parents _can_ ever, or _ought_ ever to
take pleasure in the contemplated ruin of their children. God takes no
pleasure in the death of him that dieth. But it is not enough for the
parent simply to wish his child _saved_. That desire may be selfish, and
only selfish. And that prayer which terminates there, may be as selfish
as was the desire of Salome that her sons might occupy the chief places
of the kingdom of Jesus Christ. The parent may, indeed, wish, and ought
to wish, that his child may be _saved,_ and for that he should labor and
toil--but in a way which will illustrate the marvels of redeeming mercy,
and which shall be in consonance with the established principles of the
Gospel.
The parent, then, who prays for the salvation of his child, irrespective
of all other considerations, excepting his exemption from misery, prays
in vain, for he prays with a heart which is supremely selfish. Where is
the parent who could not thus pray? Pray, do I say; such is not prayer.
Such pleas, however ardent, however long, however importunate, can never
be consistently answered. Prayer, to be acceptable and effectual, must
always have the glory of God in view, and be offered in submission to
the divine will. It must have reference not merely to what is good, but
to a good which shall consist with those eternal principles of justice
and mercy, according to which God has decided to conduct the affairs of
his spiritual kingdom. We may never wish our children to sit with Christ
in his kingdom to the exclusion of others. We may not wish them
introduced into that kingdom on other principles, or by other
instrumentalities, than those which God has recognized and appointed.
The great law which governs in relation to other matters is to govern
here. Whatsoever ye do or seek, do and seek, even the salvation of your
children, for the glory of God.'
And, now, in conclusion, allow me to inquire whether it be not owing to
this selfish feeling that so many parents, who nevertheless abound in
prayer for their children, fail in seeing those prayers answered? They
fail, not because they do not pray often and earnestly, but because they
desire the salvation of their children rather than a humble, holy,
self-denying walk with God on earth. They forget that the chief end of
man is to glorify God, and that the enjoyment of Him is an effect or
result of such a course.
The object of the writer is not to discourage parents in praying for
their children, not for a moment, only, dear friend, I show you "a more
excellent way." I would urge you to abound in prayer still more than you
do. Pray on--"pray always"--pray, and "never faint." But, at the same
time, pray so that you may obtain. AMICUS.
* * * * *
SUPERIOR REVERENCE FOR THE SABBATH IN SCOTLAND, as aptly
represented by the anecdote of the American geologist, who was walking
out for meditation one Sabbath day in Glasgow. As he passed near the
cottage of a peasant, he was attracted by the sight of a peculiar
species of stone, and thoughtlessly broke a piece of it. Suddenly a
window was raised, and a man's coarse voice reprovingly asked, "Ha! man,
what are ye doing?" "Why, only breaking a piece of stone." "An', sure,"
was the quaint reply, "ye are doing more than breaking the stone; ye are
breaking the Lord's day."
* * * * *
Original.
GLEANINGS BY THE WAYSIDE.--No. 1.
LOVE AND FEAR.
"Do with thy might whatsoever thy hand findeth to do."
I rose one morning, before six, to write letters, and hastened to put
them into the post-office before breakfast. It was a dark, lowery
morning, not very inviting abroad, for an April shower was then falling.
I had the privilege of depositing my letters in a box kept by Mr. D., a
thriving merchant, not very remote from my dwelling. As I entered the
store, Mr. D. expressed surprise to see me out from home at so early an
hour, remarking that he was sure but few ladies were even up at that
time, and much less abroad.
I told him in reply, that I had been accustomed from my childhood to
strive to "do with my might whatsoever my hand found to do." That
persons often expressed surprise that one so far advanced in life could
do so much, and endure so much fatigue and labor, and still preserve
health. I told Mr. D. that I had myself often reflected upon the fact
that I could do more in one day, with ease and comfort to myself, and
could endure more hardships, than most others. And when I came to
analyze the subject, and go back to first principles, I could readily
perceive all this had grown out of an irrepressible desire to please and
honor my parents.
My love towards them, coupled with fear, was perfectly unbounded, and
became the guiding and governing principles of my whole life. I could
not bear, when a very young child, to have either of my parents even
raise a finger, accompanied by a look of disapprobation, and whenever
they did, I would, as soon as I could, unperceived, seek out some
retired place where I could give vent to my sorrowful feelings and
troubled conscience.
That I might not often incur their censure, I strove by all possible
means to do everything to please them. My parents had a large family of
children; there was a great deal to be done, and our mother was always
in feeble health. I felt that I could not do enough, each day, in
sweeping, dusting, mending, &c., besides the ordinary occupation of each
day, that I might gratify my father, for he was very careful and tender
of our mother. I was not conscious of a disposition to outvie my
brothers and sisters, but when anything of consequence was to be done I
would exert myself to the utmost in my efforts to accomplish the largest
share. When we went into the garden or the fields to gather fruits or
vegetables, I was constantly influenced to be diligent, and to make
haste and gather all I could, so that on our return home I might receive
the plaudit, "Well done, good and faithful child." So it was in knitting
and sewing. That I might be able to accomplish more and more each day, I
would often induce one or more of my sisters to strive with me, to see
which could do the most in a given period.
So profitable did I find this excitement, that I often carried the
practice into my hours of study, as when my busy fingers plied the
needle. And often when I had no one to strive with me, I would strive
with myself, by watching the clock,--that is, I would see if I could not
knit or sew this hour more than I did the previous hour, if I could not
commit to memory more verses, or texts, or lessons, than I had the last
hour.
In this way I not only cultivated habits of vigorous efforts, but I
acquired that cheerful, happy disposition which useful occupation is
always sure to impart. In this way, too, I obtained that kind of
enthusiasm when anything of importance was to be done, that a boy has
when he is indulged in going out on a fishing or hunting excursion. A
boy thus situated, needs no morning summons. On the contrary, he is
usually on his way to the field of action before it is quite light; and
it concerns him but little whether he eats or fasts till his toils are
at an end.
Children, who thus early acquire habits of industry, and a love of
occupation, instead of living to eat in after life, will eat to live.