had just got up, and stood in the door. I told him my business, and that
I desired to see his boys a few moments. He said his boys were in bed,
and as I was an old man, he did not wish to have me abused. 'You had
better go on and let my boys alone,' said he; 'they will most assuredly
abuse you if they get up, for I have got a very wicked set of boys.' I
told him the very reasons that he assigned why I should not see his
boys, were the reasons why I wished to see them, for if they were very
wicked boys, there was the greater necessity for their reformation; and
as to the abuse, that was the least of my troubles, for my Master had
been abused before me.
"'Well, sir,' said he, 'don't blame me, if you are abused.' He then
awoke his boys, and as they came out, I talked to them. Instead of
abusing, they listened attentively to me, and some of them were much
affected. They took my tracts, and I presume, read them.
"On leaving them, I remarked, that I supposed the most of them were
orphans, that I was the orphan's friend, and though I might never see
them again, they might be assured they had my prayers daily, that they
might be converted. There was one little fellow who, as I had observed,
looked very sober, and who at the last remark cried right out. As I
wished to take the same boat again, I stepped out of the station house,
but found it had left, and I was walking along, looking for another
boat, when I heard some one crying behind me, and turning round, saw
that it was the little fellow who wept so much in the station house.
"He said, 'Sir, you told me you was the orphan's friend; will you stop?
I want to ask you a question.'
"I asked him if it was because he had now discovered that he was a
sinner, that he cried, and wished me to talk with him.
"'No, sir,' said he, 'I knew that three years ago.'
"I perceived, from his answer, he was an interesting boy, and said to
him, 'Sit down here, my son. How old are you?'
"'Thirteen,' he replied.
"'Where did you come from?'
"He said, three years ago his father moved from Massachusetts to Wayne
county; he was a very poor man, and when they got to their journey's end
they had nothing left. His father obtained the privilege of building a
small log house to live in, on another man's land, but just as he had
got the house finished, he was taken sick and died. I asked him if his
father was a Christian, but afterwards regretted that I asked him the
question, for it was a long time before he could answer it.
"At length he said, 'No, sir, if he had been a Christian, we could have
given him up willingly. We had no hope for _him_; but my mother was a
Christian. My mother, a sister seven years old, and myself, were all the
family after my father died. I had no hope that _I_ was a Christian when
my father died; but my mother used to come up the ladder every night and
kneel down, and put her hand upon my head, and pray that I might be
converted. Often, when I was asleep, she would come, and her tears
running into my face, would wake me. I knew that I was a sinner, but I
hope God forgave my sins one night, while my dear mother was praying for
me, and I still hope I was converted then.
"'About a year after my father died, my sister was taken sick and died
in about two months. My mother was naturally feeble, and her sorrow for
the loss of my father and sister wore upon her until she was confined to
her bed. She lay there seven months, and last fall she died.'
"By this time the little fellow was so choked with grief that he could
hardly speak. 'Then,' said he, '_I_ was taken sick, and lay all winter,
not expecting to get well.' I shall never forget the appearance of that
boy, and the expression of his countenance, when he said, 'I am a poor
orphan, sir; I have nothing in this world except the clothes I have on.'
"All the clothes he had on would not have sold for twenty-five cents.
"What an example is here to induce mothers to be faithful to their
children. I wish to ask mothers if they have ever gone at the midnight
hour and awoke their children by a mother's tears while pleading with
God for the salvation of their souls?"
Many mothers--thousands of mothers--have done no such thing. They have
neglected their own souls, and the souls of their dear children--and
both have gone to the bar of God, unprepared for the solemn interview.
But some mothers have been more faithful, and what a rich and divine
reward have they received! Many a son, now in glory, or on his way
thither, owes his religious impressions to the prayers of a tender,
faithful mother.
Nor should mothers be soon or easily discouraged! True, they may not
live to see their prayers answered--but a covenant-keeping God will
remember them, and in his own good time and chosen way give them an
answer.
Though seed lie buried long in dust,
It shan't deceive our hope;
The precious grain can ne'er be lost,
For grace insures the crop.
The writer, perhaps, cannot better conclude this article than by another
extract from the work alluded to, much to the same purpose as the one
already cited.
"In conversing with the captain of a certain boat, I found him a very
amiable and companionable man, although he acknowledged, that he had no
reason to hope that he was a Christian. Said he, 'I ought to have been a
Christian, long ago,' without giving his reasons for such an assertion.
When the hour for prayer arrived, (I staid on his boat all night,) I
asked him for a Bible. He seemed to be affected, and I did not know but
he was destitute of a Bible. I told him I had one in my trunk, on the
deck, and that if he had none, I would go up and get it. 'I have one,'
said he, and unlocking his trunk, he took out a very nice Bible, and as
he reached it out to me, the tears dropped on its cover. 'There, sir,'
said he, 'is the last gift of a dying mother. My dear mother gave me
that Bible about two hours before she died; and her dying admonition I
shall never forget. O, sir, I had one of the best of mothers. She would
never go to bed without coming to my bed-side, and if I was asleep, she
would awaken me, and pray for me before she retired. Twelve years have
elapsed since she died, and five years of that time I have been on the
ocean, five years on this canal; and the other two years traveling. I do
not know that I have laid my head on my pillow and gone to sleep, during
that time, without thinking of the prayers of my mother: yet I am not a
Christian; but the prayers of my mother are ended. I have put off the
subject too long, but from this time I will attend to it. I will begin
now and do all that I can to be a Christian.'
"I hope those dear mothers, who may have an opportunity of reading these
sketches, will inquire of their own hearts, 'Will my own dear children,
those little pledges of God's love, remember my prayers twelve years
after my head is laid in the narrow house appointed for all the living?'
Oh, could we place that estimate on the soul which we should do, in the
light of eternity, how much anxiety would be manifested on the part of
parents for their children, and for the whole families of the earth. The
midnight slumber would more often be disturbed by cries to God, and
tears for this fallen, apostate, rebellious world."
Mothers! what do you think of such facts? And what are they designed to
teach you? Every one of them, as you meet them in the pilgrimage of
life, is a voice of encouragement from above. Has God been kind towards
other mothers? he can be kind towards you. Has he blessed their efforts?
he can bless yours. Has he heard their prayers? he can hear and answer
yours.
Say not that you have prayed, labored, watched, and all in vain! How
long have you thus toiled? thus wrestled? Years? Well, and may be you
will have to toil and strive years to come. What then! Your Heavenly
Father knows precisely when it is best to answer you, and how! Suppose
you pray and labor ten, twenty, thirty years--and then you
succeed--won't the salvation of your children be a sufficient reward?
How do worldly parents do? Take an example from them. _They_ spend
_life_ in laying up this world's goods for their children--treasures
which perish in the using. Surely, then, you may, with great propriety,
devote a few years to secure an imperishable crown of glory for your
sons and daughters. For what is the present world--its gold of
California or its gems of Golconda--what are its honors--its stars,
coronets, crowns--to an inheritance in the kingdom of God!
The time has not yet come when parents appreciate this subject as they
will do. Oh, no! and until they realize their duty, their privileges,
the purchase which they have on the throne of God by means of faith, and
their covenant interest in the blood of Jesus, there is reason to fear
that many children will perish, but who need not perish--who would not
perish were their parents as faithful and energetic as parents will be
in some more distant age of the world.
But why postpone what may be realized now? Why relinquish blessings of
vast and incomparable magnitude to others which you may enjoy, and which
it is no benevolence to forego for others, because when they come upon
the stage, there will be blessings for them in abundance and to spare?
Let the sentiment fall upon your hearts, and make its appropriate
impression there--"While God invites, how blest the day!"
* * * * *
If the candle of your earthly comfort be blown out, remember it is but a
little while to the break of day, when there will be no more need of
_candles_.
* * * * *
CHRISTIAN, wouldst thou have an easy death? then get a
mortified heart; the surgeon's knife is scarcely felt when it cuts off a
mortified member.
* * * * *
FROST.
BY MRS. JULIA NORTON.
The beams of morn were glittering in the east,
The hoary frost had gathered like a mist
On every blade of grass, on plant and flower,
And sparkling with a clear, reflected light--
Shot forth its radiant beams that, dazzling bright,
Proclaimed the ruling charm in beauty's power.
The god of day came forth with conquering glow,
When shrinking from his gaze the glittering show
In vapor fled, with steady, noiseless flight--
But left its blasting mark where'er it pressed
The tender plant that on earth's peaceful breast,
Still slept, unmindful of the fatal blight.
Thus sin oft gilds the onward path of youth,
Till straying far from virtue and from truth,
Heaven's bright, pure rays, in fearful distance gleam;
While on the mind the blasting, clinging shade,
With deathless power, refuses still to fade--
Till life's dark close unfolds the fearful dream.
* * * * *
The Fireside, is a seminary of infinite importance. It is important
because it is universal, and because the education it bestows, being
woven in with the woof of childhood, gives form and color to the whole
texture of life. There are few who can receive the honors of a college,
but all are graduates of the hearth. The learning of the university may
fade from the recollection; its classic lore may moulder in the halls of
memory. But the simple lessons of home, enameled upon the heart of
childhood, defy the rust of years, and outlive the more mature but less
vivid pictures of after days.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] 2 Cor. 5:21.
[B] The construction put upon this passage is taken from Bush's
Commentary on Exodus, which see.
[C] 1 John iv:16.
[D] We are glad to see that Mr. Abbott has recently revised and enlarged
this useful book. We recommend it to the careful perusal of all _young
people_, as well as parents.