powers of the two sexes, and the consequent style of education suitable
to each. Happily, the truth on this subject may be fully spoken, without
obliging me to exalt the father at the expense of the mother, or ennoble
man by denying the essential equality of woman. It is among the things
settled by experience, that, equal or not equal in talents, woman, the
moment she escapes from the despotism of brute force, and is suffered to
unfold and exercise her powers in her own legitimate sphere, shares with
man the sceptre of influence; and without presuming to wrest from him a
visible authority, by the mere force of her gentle nature silently
directs that authority, and so rules the world. She may not debate in
the senate or preside at the bar--she may not read philosophy in the
university or preach in the sanctuary--she may not direct the national
councils or lead armies to battle; but there is a style of influence
resulting from her peculiar nature which constitutes her power and gives
it greatness. As the sexes were designed to fill different positions in
the economy of life, it would not be in harmony with the manifestations
of divine wisdom in all things else to suppose that the powers of each
were not peculiarly fitted for their own appropriate sphere. Woman gains
nothing--she always loses when she leaves her own sphere for that of
man. When she forsakes the household and the gentler duties of domestic
life for the labors of the field, the pulpit, the rostrum, the
court-room, she always descends from her own bright station, and
invariably fails to ascend that of man. She falls between the two; and
the world gazes at her as not exactly a woman, not quite a man,
perplexed in what category of natural history to classify her. This
remark holds specially true as you ascend from savage to refined
society, where the rights and duties of women have been most fully
recognized and most accurately defined. Mind is not to be weighed in
scales. It must be judged by its _uses_ and its _influence_. And who
that compasses the peculiar purpose of woman's life; who that
understands the meaning of those good old Saxon words, mother, sister,
wife, daughter; who that estimates aright the duties they involve, the
influences they embody in giving character to all of human kind, will
hesitate to place her intellect, with its quickness, delicacy and
persuasiveness, as high in the scale of power as that of the father,
husband and son? If we estimate her mind by its actual power of
influence when she is permitted to fill to the best advantage her circle
of action, we shall find a capacity for education equal to that of him
who, merely in reference to the temporary relations of society, has been
constituted her lord. If you look up into yonder firmament with your
naked eye, the astronomer will point you to a star which shines down
upon you single in rays of pure liquid light. But if you will ascend yon
eminence and direct towards it that magnificent instrument which modern
science has brought to such perfection of power, the same star will
suddenly resolve itself into two beautiful luminaries, equal in
brilliancy, equal in all stellar excellence, emitting rays of different
and intensely vivid hues, yet so exactly correspondent to each other,
and so embracing each other, and so mingling their various colors as to
pour upon the unaided vision the pure, sparkling light of a single orb.
So is it with man and woman. Created twofold, equal in all human
attributes, excellence and influence, different but correspondent, to
the eye of Jehovah the harmony of their union in life is perfect, and
as one complete being that life streams forth in rays of light and
influence upon society.
* * * * *
A LESSON FOR HUSBANDS AND WIVES.
The following letter, addressed to a mutual friend, we rescue from
oblivion, containing as it does a lesson for husbands and wives, and
most gracefully conveyed.
_We_ shall certainly be pardoned if we take a more than ordinary
interest to preserve a memento of that "_hanging garden_," as for months
it was as fully seen from our own window as from that of the writer,
though a little more remote, yet near enough to feast our eyes, and by
its morning fragrance to cause our hearts to render more grateful
incense to Him who clothes the lily with such beauty, and gives to the
rose its sweet perfume. It is a sad pity that there are not more young
wives, who, like the writer of the following letter, are ready to strive
by their overflowing love, their gentleness and forbearance, to win
their husbands to love and good works.
Perhaps some good divine who may perchance read this article will tell
us whether the Apostle Peter, when he said, "For what knowest thou, O
wife, whether thou shalt save thy husband?" did not by this language
mean to convey the idea of a promise that if the wife did conduct
herself towards her husband on strictly Gospel principles, she would be
the honored instrument of saving his soul?
"I would like to tell you how my husband and I amuse ourselves, and
contrive to have all we want. You will see that we illustrate the old
saying, that 'where there is a _will_, there is a _way_,' and that some
people can do things as well as others. We both love flowers extremely,
but we neither own nor control a foot of ground; still, we have this
summer cultivated and enjoyed the perpetual bloom of more than a
hundred varieties. You will wonder how this is done when you know that
we are at board, and our entire apartments consist of a parlor and
dormitory--both upon the second floor. Very fortunately our windows open
upon a roof which shelters a lower piazza, and this roof we make our
balcony. Last May we placed here eight very large pots of rich earth,
which we filled with such seeds and plants as suited our fancy. Now,
while I sit writing, my windows are shaded with the scarlet runner,
morning glory, Madeira and cypress vines, so that I need no other
curtains. Then, on a level with my eye, is one mass of pink and
green--brilliant verbenas, petimas, roses and oleanders seem really to
_glow_ in the morning light. Flowers in the city are more than
beautiful, for the language they speak is so different from everything
about them. Their lives are so lovely, returning to the culturer such
wealth of beauty--and then their _odors_ seem to me instead of voices.
Often, when I am reading, and forget for a time my sweet companions, the
fragrance of a heliotrope or a jessamine greets me, causing a sense of
delight, as if a beautiful voice had whispered to me, or some sweet
spirit kissed me. With this _presence_ of beauty and purity around me, I
cannot feel loneliness or discontent.
"Our flowers are so near to us we have become really _intimate_ with
them. We know all their habits, and every insect that harms them. I love
to see the tender tendril of a vine stretch for the string that is
fastened at a little distance for its support, and then wind about it so
gladly. Every morning it is a new excitement to see long festoons of our
green curtains, variegated with trumpet-shaped morning-glories, looking
towards the sun, and mingled with them the scarlet star of the cypress
vine. When my husband comes home wearied and disgusted with Wall-street,
it refreshes his body and soul to look into our "_hanging garden_," and
note new beauties the day has developed. I trust the time and affection
we thus spend are not wasted, for I believe the sentiment of Coleridge's
lines--
'He prayeth best who loveth best
All things, both great and small
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.'
But there is one circumstance that makes this garden precious, which I
have yet to tell you, and you will agree with me that it is the best
part of it. When we were married, my husband was in the habit of
drinking a glass of beer daily. I did not approve of it, and used to
fancy he was apathetic and less agreeable afterwards; but as he was so
fond of it, I made up my mind not to disagree upon the subject. Last
spring, when we wished some flowers, we hesitated on account of the
expense, for we endeavor to be economical, as all young married people
should. Then my husband very nobly said that though one glass of beer
cost but little, a week's beer amounted to considerable, and he would
discontinue the habit, and appropriate the old beer expenditure upon
flowers. He has faithfully kept his proposal, and often as we sit by our
window, he points to the blooming balcony, saying, 'There is my summer's
beer.' The consequence of this sacrifice is that I am a grateful and
contented wife; and I do assure you (I being judge) that since beer is
turned into flowers, my husband is the most agreeable of mankind.
Yours very truly."
* * * * *
Original.
NEVER FAINT IN PRAYER.
"Men ought always to pray and not to faint."
So important is a spirit of prayer to mothers who are bearing the heat
and burden of the day, that we give for their encouragement a few devout
meditations by Rev. W. Mason, on the above passage. And though penned
towards the close of the last century, they have lost none of their
freshness or fragrance.
Christ opposes praying to fainting, for fainting prevents praying. Have
you not found it so? When weary and faint in your mind, when your
spirits are oppressed, your frame low and languid, you have thought this
is not a time for prayer; yea, but it is: pray _always_. Now is the time
to sigh out the burden of your heart and the sorrows of your spirit.
Now, though in broken accents, breathe your complaints into your
Father's ear, whose love and care over you is that of a tender and
affectionate father.
What makes you faint? Do troubles and afflictions? Here is a reviving
cordial. "Call upon me in the day of trouble, _I will deliver thee_, and
thou shalt glorify me." Ps. 50:15. Does a body of sin and death? Here is
a supporting promise. "Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord
Jesus shall be saved." Rom. 10:13. Do we faint because we have called
and prayed again and again to the Lord against any besetting sin,
prevailing temptation, rebellious lust, or evil temper, and yet the Lord
has not given us victory over it? Still, says the Lord, pray
_always_--persevere, be importunate, faint not; remember that blessed
word, "my time is not yet come, but your time is always ready." John
7:6. "Watch and pray, lest ye enter into temptation." Matt. 26:41. Note
the difference between being tempted and entering into temptation.
Perhaps you think your prayers are irksome to God, and therefore you are
ready to faint and to give over praying? Look at David; he begins to
pray in a very heartless, hopeless way, "How long wilt thou forget me, O
Lord, forever?" but see how he concludes; he breaks out in full vigor of
soul, "I will sing unto the Lord, because he hath dealt bountifully with
me." Ps. 13:6. Above all, look to Jesus, who ever lives to pray for you;
look for his spirit to help your infirmities. Rom. 8:26.
* * * * *
Original.
THE MOTHERS OF THE BIBLE.
HANNAH.
Imagination can picture no more animating scenes than those which were
presented to the beholder at the seasons of the year when Judea poured
forth her inhabitants in crowds to attend the solemn festivals appointed
by Jehovah, and observed with punctilious exactness by the people. Our
present study leads us to contemplate one of these scenes.
From some remote town on the borders of Gentile territory the onward
movement commences. A few families having finished all their
preparations, close the door of their simple home, and with glowing
faces and hopeful steps begin their march. They are soon joined by
others, and again by new reinforcements. Every town, as they pass,
replenishes their ranks, until, as they approach Shiloh, they are
increased to a mighty multitude. It is a time of joy. Songs and shouts
rend the air, and unwonted gladness reigns. All ages and conditions are
here, and every variety of human form and face. Let us draw near to one
family group. There is something more than ordinarily interesting in
their appearance. The father has a noble mien as he walks on, conversing
gaily with his children, answering their eager questions, and pointing
out the objects of deepest import to a Jew as they draw near the
Tabernacle. The children are light-hearted and gay, but the mother's
countenance does not please us. We feel instinctively that she is not
worthy of her husband; and especially is there an expression wholly
incongruous with this hour of harmony and rejoicing. While we look, she
lingers behind her family, and speaks to one, who, with slow step and
downcast looks, walks meekly on, and seems as if she pondered some deep
grief. Will she whisper a word of comfort in the ear of the sorrowful?
Ah, no. A mocking smile is on her lips, which utter taunting words, and
she glances maliciously round, winking to her neighbors to notice how
she can humble the spirit of one who is less favored than herself. "What
would you give now to see a son of yours holding the father's hand, or a
daughter tripping gladly along by his side? Where are your children,
Hannah? You surely could not have left them behind to miss all this
pleasure? Perhaps they have strayed among the company? Would it not be
well to summon them, that they may hear the father's instructions, and
join in the song which we shall all sing as we draw near to Shiloh?"
Cruel words! and they do their work. Like barbed arrows, they stick fast
in the sore heart of this injured one. Her head sinks, but she utters no
reply. She only draws nearer to her husband, and walks more closely in
his footsteps.
* * * * *
The night has passed, and a cloudless sun looks down on the assembled
thousands of Israel. Elkanah has presented his offering at the
Tabernacle, and has now gathered his family to the feast in the tent. As
is his wont, he gives to each a portion, and hilarity presides at the
board. The animated scene around them--the white tents stretching as far
as the eye can reach--the sound of innumerable voices--the meeting with
friends--all conspire to make every heart overflow, and the well-spread
table invites to new expressions of satisfaction and delight. But here,
also, as on the journey, one heart is sad. At Elkanah's right hand sits
Hannah, her plate filled by the hand of love with "a worthy portion;"
but it stands untasted before her. Her husband is troubled. He has
watched her struggles for self-control, and seen her vain endeavors to
eat and be happy like those around her; and, divining in part the cause
of her sorrow, he tenderly strives to comfort her. "Hannah, why weepest
thou? and why eatest thou not? and why is thy heart grieved? Am I not
better to thee than ten sons?" That voice of sympathy and compassion is
too much. She rises and leaves the tent to calm in solitude, as best she
may, her bosom's strife. Why must she be thus afflicted? Severe, indeed,
and bitter are the elements which are mingled in her cup. Jehovah has
judged her. She has been taught to believe that those who are childless
are so because of His just displeasure. Her fellow-creatures also
despise her; her neighbors look suspiciously upon her. Wherefore should
it be thus? She wanders slowly, and with breaking heart, towards the
Tabernacle. The aged Eli sits by one of the posts of the door as she
enters the sacred inclosure, but she heeds him not. She withdraws to a
quiet spot, and finds at last a refuge. She kneels, and the long pent-up
sorrow has now its way; she "pours out her soul before the Lord." Happy,
though sorrowful, Hannah! She has learned one lesson of which the
prosperous know nothing; she has learned to confide in her Maker, as she
could in no other friend. It were useless to go to her husband with the
oft-told trouble. He is ever fond and kind; but though she is childless,
he is not, and he cannot appreciate the extent of her grief. All that
human sympathy can do, he will do, but human sympathy cannot be perfect.
It were worse than useless to tell him of Peninnah's taunts and
reproaches. It would be wicked, and bring upon her Heaven's just wrath,
if she did aught to mar the peace of a happy family. No; there is no
earthly ear into which she can "pour out her soul." But here her tears
may flow unrestrained, and she need leave nothing unsaid.
"O Thou who hidest the sorrowing soul under the shadow of thy wings--who
art witness to the tears which must be hidden from all other eyes--who
dost listen patiently to the sighs and groans which can be breathed in
no other presence--to whom are freely told the griefs which the dearest
earthly friend cannot comprehend,--Thou who upbraidest not--who
understandest and dost appreciate perfectly the woes under which the
stricken soul sways like a reed in the tempest, and whose infinite love
and sympathy reaches to the deepest recesses of the heart--unto whom
none ever appealed in vain--God of all grace and consolation, blessed
are they who put their trust in thee."
Long and earnest is Hannah's communion with her God; and as she pleads
her cause with humility, and penitence, and love, she feels her burdened
heart grow lighter. Hope springs up where was only despair, and a new
life spreads itself before her; even the hard thoughts which she had
harbored towards Peninnah had melted as she knelt in that holy presence.
The love of the Eternal has bathed her spirit in its blessed flood, and
grief, and selfishness, and envy have alike been washed away.
Strengthened with might by the spirit of the Lord, she puts forth a
vigorous faith; and taking hold on the covenant faithfulness of Jehovah,
she makes a solemn vow. The turmoil within is hushed. She rises and goes
forth like one who is prepared for any trial--who is endued with
strength by a mighty though unseen power, and sustained by a love which
has none of the imperfect and unsatisfying elements that must always
mingle with the purest earthly affection. Meek, confiding, and gentle as
ever, she is yet not the same. She meets reproach even from the High
Priest himself with calmness. She returns to her husband and his family
no longer shrinking and bowed down: "she eats, and her countenance is no
more sad."
Another morning dawns. Hannah, has obtained her husband's sanction to
the vow which she made in her anguish. Elkanah and his household rise
early and worship before the Lord, and return to their house in Ramah.
* * * * *
A year passes, another and another, but Hannah is not found among the
multitude going up to Shiloh. Has she, the pious and devoted one, become
indifferent to the service of Jehovah, or have the reproaches and taunts
of Peninnah become too intolerable in the presence of her neighbors, so
that she remains at home for peace? No. Reproach will harm her no
longer. As the company departs, she stands with smiling countenance
looking upon their preparations, and in her arms a fair son; and her
parting words to her husband are--"I will not go up until the child be
weaned, and then I will bring him, that he may appear before the Lord,
and there abide forever."
* * * * *
Will she really leave him? Will she consent to part from her treasure
and joy--her only one? What a blessing he has been to her! Seven years
of peace and overflowing happiness has that little one purchased for her
burdened and distracted spirit. Can she return to Ramah without him, to
solitude and loneliness, uncheered by his winning ways and childish
prattle? Surely this is a sorrow which will wring her heart, as never
before. Not so. There she stands again on the spot where she once knelt
and wept and vowed, but no tears fall now from her eyes--no grief is in
her tones. She has come to fulfill her vow, "to lend her son to the Lord
as long as he liveth." Again she prays as she is about parting from him.
What a prayer!--a song of exultation rather. Listen to its sublime
import. "My heart rejoiceth in the Lord; mine horn is exalted in the
Lord." How did we wrong thee, Hannah! We said thy son had purchased
peace and joy for thee. Our low, selfish, doting hearts had not soared
to the heights of thy lofty devotion. We deemed thee such an one as
ourselves. In the gift, truly thou hast found comfort; but the Giver is
He in whom thou hast delighted, and therefore thou canst so readily
restore what he lent thee, on the conditions of thy vow. The Lord thy
God has been, and is still to be, thy portion, and thou fearest not to
leave thy precious one in His house. We thought to hear a wail from
thee, but we were among the foolish. Thy soul is filled with the beauty
and glory of the Lord, and thou hast not a word of sadness now. Thou
leavest thy lamb among wolves--thy consecrated one with the "sons of
Belial"--yet thou tremblest not. Who shall guide his childish feet in
wisdom's ways when thou art far away? What hinders that he shall look on
vice till it become familiar, and he be even like those around him? The
old man is no fit protector for him. Does not thy heart fear? "Oh,
woman, great is thy faith!"
Come hither, ye who would learn a lesson of wisdom; ponder this record
of the sacred word. Hannah returned to Ramah. She became the mother of
sons and daughters; and yearly as she went with her husband to Shiloh,
she carried to her first-born a coat wrought by maternal love, and
rejoiced to see him growing before the Lord. How long she did this, we
are not told. We have searched in vain for a word or hint that she lived
to see the excellence and greatness of the son whom she "asked of God."
The only clew which we can find is, that Samuel's house was in Ramah,
the house of his parents; and we wish to think he lived there to be with
them; and we hope his mother's eyes looked on the altar which he built
there unto the Lord, and that her heart was gladdened by witnessing the
proofs of his wisdom and grace, and the favor with which the Almighty
regarded him.
But though we know little of Hannah--she being many thousand years
"dead, yet speaketh."--Come hither, ye who are tempest-tossed on a sea
of vexations. Learn from her how to gain the ornament of a meek and
quiet spirit. Come ye who feel that God hath judged you, and that you
suffer affliction from his displeasure. Learn that you should draw
nearer to him, instead of departing from him. Come with Hannah to his
very courts. "Pour out your soul" before Him; keep back none of your
griefs; confess your sins; offer your vows; multiply your prayers; rise
not till you also can go forth with a countenance no more sad. He is
"the same yesterday, to-day, and forever." Come hither, ye who long to
know how your children may assuredly be the Lord's. Strive to enter into
the spirit of Hannah's vow, remembering, meantime, all it implied as she
afterwards fulfilled it. Appreciate, if you can, her love and devotion
to her God; and when you can so entirely consecrate your all to Him, be
assured he will care for what is His own, and none shall be able to
pluck it out of his hand. Come hither, ye who are called to part with
your treasures; listen to Hannah's song as she gives up her only son, to
call him hers no more--listen till you feel your heart joining also in
the lofty anthem, and you forget all selfish grief, as she did, in the
contemplation of His glories who is the portion of the soul. "_My heart
rejoiceth in the Lord._" Alas! alas! how does even the Christian heart,
which has professed to be satisfied with God, and content with his holy
will, often depart from him, and "provoke him to jealousy" with many
idols! Inordinate affection for some earthly object absorbs the soul
which vowed to love him supremely. In its undisguised excess, it says
to the beloved object, "Give me your heart; Jehovah must be your
salvation, but let me be your happiness. A portion of your time, your
attention, your service, He must have; but your daily, hourly thoughts,
your dreams, your feelings, let them all be of me--of mine." Oh for such
a love as she possessed! We should not then love our children less, but
more, far more than now, and with a better, happier love--a love from
which all needless anxiety would flee--a perfect love, casting out fear.
Ye who feel that death to your loved ones would not so distress you as
the fear of leaving them among baleful influences--who tremble in view
of the evil that is in the world, remember where Hannah left, apparently
without a misgiving, her gentle child. With Eli,--who could not even
train his own sons in the fear of the Lord--with those sons who made
themselves vile, and caused Israel to transgress,--she left him _with
the Lord_. "Go ye and do likewise," and remember, also, He is the God of
the whole earth.
* * * * *
Original.
"OPENING THE GATE."
I lately met with an account of a youth, under the above title, which
contains a volume of instruction. It is from a southern paper, and while
particularly designed for a latitude where servants abound, it contains
hints which may prove highly useful to lads in communities where
servants are less numerous:
"'I wish that you would send a servant to open the gate for me,' said a
well-grown boy of ten to his mother, as he paused with his satchel upon
his back, before the gate, and surveyed its clasped fastening.
"'Why, John, can't you open the gate for yourself?' said Mrs. Easy. 'A
boy of your age and strength ought certainly to be able to do that.'
"'I _could_ do it, I suppose,' said the child, 'but it's heavy, and I
don't like the _trouble_. The servant can open it for me just as well.
Pray, what is the use of having servants if they are not to wait upon
us?'
"The servant was sent to open the gate. The boy passed out, and went
whistling on his way to school. When he reached his seat in the academy,
he drew from his satchel his arithmetic and began to inspect his sums.
"'I cannot do these,' he whispered to his seat-mate; they are too hard.'
"'But you _can try_,' replied his companion.
"'I know that I can,' said John, 'but it's too much trouble. Pray, what
are teachers for if not to help us out of difficulties? I shall carry my
slate to Prof. Helpwell."
"Alas! poor John. He had come to another closed gate--a gate leading
into a beautiful and boundless science, 'the laws of which are the modes
in which God acts in sustaining all the works of His hands'--the science
of mathematics. He could have opened the gate and entered in alone and
explored the riches of the realm, but his mother had injudiciously let
him rest with the idea, that it is as well to have gates opened for us,
as to exert our own strength. The result was, that her son, like the
young hopeful sent to Mr. Wiseman, soon concluded that he had no
'genius' for mathematics, and threw up the study.
"The same was true of Latin. He could have learned the declensions of
the nouns and the conjugation of the verbs as well as other boys of his
age; but his seat-mate very kindly volunteered to 'tell him in class,'
and what was the use in _opening the gate_ into the Latin language, when
another would do it for him? Oh, no! John Easy had no idea of tasking
mental or physical strength when he could avoid it, and the consequence
was, that numerous gates remained closed to him all the days of his
life--_gates of honor_--_gates to riches_--_gates to happiness_.
Children ought to be early taught that it is always best to help
themselves."