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 ON 
 
INFLUENCE OF MOTHERS 
 
 CHARACTER, WELFARE AND DESTINY 
 
 INDIVIDUALS, FAMILIES AND COMMUNITIES, 
 
 ILLUSTRATED IN A SERIES OF ANECDOTES: 
 
 WITH A PRELIMINARY ESSAY ON THE SAME SUBJECT, 
 
 BY CHARLES A. GOODRICH. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY CROCKER AND BREWSTER, 
 
 47, Washington St. 
 NEW YORK— LEA VITT, LORD, & Co. 
 182, Broadway 
 
 1835. 
 
Eoteired according to Act of Congress, in the year 1835, by 
 
 Crocker and Brewster, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. 
 
 feOSTON : 
 
 t*rinted by Wm. A. Hall & Co., 
 
 192, Washington St. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Among the exciting subjects of the present 
 day, there is scarcely one, if indeed there be a 
 single one, of deeper interest than that of Ma- 
 terna Infliu nee. This influence has existed in 
 all times past ; and, although, in particular in- 
 stances, it has doubtless been fully and appro- 
 priately exerted ; ye% as a moral power, co- 
 extensive with our race, and which might bear 
 upon the happiness of mankind, with greater ef- 
 fect than most others — what has it accom- 
 plished ? 
 
 We ask not this question with respect to sav- 
 age and uncivilized nations. From the depress- 
 ed and degraded condition of woman among 
 such nations, her influence must ever be small, 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 even with a degree of knowledge and refinement, 
 far greater than she can be supposed to possess, 
 in such circumstances. But one can scarcely 
 avoid imagining, at times, what a different aspect 
 this world would have worn, had maternal influ- 
 ence been exerted, under the direction of the 
 word and Spirit of God, through the centuries 
 which have elapsed since sin began its reign in 
 this apostate world. What a difference would 
 it have made in the annals of tyranny and blood- 
 shed, had the mothers of Alexander, Caesar, 
 Genghis Khan, or Tamerlane, been qualified to 
 have trained them up for God? And what riv- 
 ers of blood might have been prevented — what 
 mockings and scourgings — what tears and 
 groans, had Nero, Domitian, and their equally 
 cruel successors been nursed in the lap of ma- 
 ternal piety I 
 
 But, passing the unenlightened and unchris- 
 tianized territories and ages of the world, and 
 taking a survey of tho se countries, where the 
 Bible has raised woman to her proper elevation, 
 what here has maternal influence achieved? 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In particular instances, it has indeed done 
 much. By means of it, many an individual has 
 been saved from infamy and disgrace — many 
 a one has been trained up for usefulness, honor 
 and heavenly glory. Many a son and daughter 
 will form a mother's *' crown of joy," in the 
 eternal world ; and when the final disclosures 
 shall be made of the means and methods em- 
 ployed, by a God of grace, to bring home his 
 ransomed sons and daughters, it will be found 
 that thousands and tens of thousands have a 
 dwelling on high through the prayers, and tears, 
 and counsels of godly mothers. 
 
 But in comparison with what this influence 
 might have done, what has it done i* — What is 
 it now doing? It is a lever which might raise 
 this world to a vastly higher moral elevation, 
 than it has yet attained. It is a power, which 
 might hasten the emancipation of a world, still 
 under the thraldom and bondage of sin — which 
 might speedily convey light, and life, and joy 
 to every habitation of cruelty on earth. Put 
 this power in exercise, in respect to a single 
 1* 
 
6 PREFACE. 
 
 generation of Christian lands — let those who 
 are one day to fill the places of power and au- 
 thority come under the influence of mothers, and 
 those mothers be consecrated to God — let the 
 mansions of the affluent, and the cottages of the 
 poor, each have a mother bringing up her chil- 
 dren in the '' admonition " of the Lord — let this 
 be true of those, who will one day occupy 
 thrones, and who will counsel kings ; who will 
 dispense justice from the bench ; expound the 
 law of God from the pulpit ; and open the foun- 
 tains of knowledge in the school, and the lec- 
 ture-room, — and what would be the result? Is 
 it too much to believe, that in a single score of 
 years '' the sound of the church-going-bells" 
 would gladden the Tartar in his solitude, and 
 cheer the spiritual pilgrim, where pass the cur- 
 rents of the Nile or the Ganges ? 
 
 Some such era, it is believed, will yet arrive. 
 The sleep of the Christian world, on this mo- 
 mentous subject, will yet be broken. Indeed, 
 indications are abroad, that the dawning time 
 has already arrived. Gleams of light are be- 
 
PREFACE. 7 
 
 ginning to appear — the precursor of a bright 
 and glorious day. Whatever tends to facilitate 
 its approach, will doubtless be regarded with 
 favor, however feeble and humble it may be. 
 The object of the present volume, it is scarce- 
 ly necessary to say, is to add somewhat, if it 
 may be, to die interest, which is beginning to 
 be felt on this important subject. The effort is 
 a humble one. But in the course of his read- 
 ing, the author has met with various striking 
 and interesting facts and scenes, relating to ma- 
 ternal influence ; and which he has here thrown 
 together, for the purpose of showing to moth- 
 ers, what mothers have done and suffered, and 
 which mothers now living may do in. similar 
 circumstances ; and where they may find wis- 
 dom and consolation, in seasons of similar trial 
 and difficulty. And the hope is indulged, that 
 the perusal of the volume may prove an incen- 
 tive to mothers to do '^ with their might," for 
 their children, in respect to spiritual training, 
 " what their hands find to do," since active ma- 
 ternal influence, as well as '' knowledge and 
 
8 PREFACE. 
 
 wisdom and device " will soon cease "in the 
 grave, whither they are going." 
 
 For the article )ii the " Influence of Moth' 
 ers,^^ the author is indebted to a valued friend, 
 whose name* alone is a sufficient surety of its in- 
 terest and ability. The remainder of the vol- 
 ume, it will be perceived, is a collection of 
 pieces on the subject of Maternal Influence, 
 which, in the absence of a more appropriate title 
 he has included under the general terra of "An- 
 ecdotes." He has designed to give credit, 
 where the author could be ascertained. Some 
 liberty has been taken in respect to the phrase- 
 ology ; but, in no case, has the original sense 
 been intentionally altered. The work has less 
 the aspect of uniformity than could be desired, 
 but greater changes, with this object in view, 
 were deemed inadmissible. 
 
 Mothers! what a responsibility rests upon 
 you ! — You hold a power of greater bearing, 
 than that of earthly monarchs. The very des- 
 tinies of a world are at your disposal. You are 
 
 * Rev. Royal Robbins. 
 
PREFACE 9 
 
 at this moment cherishing the monarchs, which 
 in future years will spread fire and sword, or 
 peace and joy over the globe! You are cher- 
 ishing those, who, as the ambassadors of God, 
 shall proclaim the tidings of , salvation in the 
 dark corners of the world, or, as the instruments 
 of the Prince of darkness, shall help to perpetu- 
 ate his cruel bondage over the enslaved miUions 
 of mankind. Mothers! the church itself is, in 
 a sense, in your hands, to accelerate, or retard, 
 the day, when it shall be said '' her warfare is 
 accomplished." 
 
 Look, then, with ceaseless vigilance, with 
 holy solicitude after your children. '' Corrupt- 
 ed, they are fountains of bitterness for ages. 
 Would you plant for the skies? Plant in the 
 live soil of the warm and 'generous, and youth- 
 ful ; pour all your treasures into the hearts of 
 children. What children are, neighborhoods 
 are. What neighborhoods are, communities 
 are, states, empires, worlds! They are the 
 elements of Hereafter made visible. Watch, 
 then, your children forever, by day and by 
 
10 PREFACE. 
 
 night ! Pray for them forever, by night and by 
 day ; and not as children, but as men of a smaller 
 growth, as men with most of the evil passions, 
 and with all the evil propensities that go to make 
 man terrible to his fellow-man, his countenance 
 hateful, his approach a fiery pestilence, and his 
 early death, if these passions and propensities 
 be not checked, " a blessing to his father and 
 mother," to the church, and to the world." * 
 
 * Token, 1835. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Introduction IS 
 
 The Tract and Pocket Bible - Pastors Journal. 39 
 
 The Righteous Never Forsaken - - - - 43 
 
 Resignation - - - . Family at Home. 46 
 
 Poor Jack ... - Leigh Richmond. 47 
 
 Influence of Early Impressions Mother at Home. 48 
 
 Happy Effect of Mildness ----- 51 
 
 Early Discipline - - . Family at Home. 54 
 
 Philosophy of Woman's Religion - - - 55 
 
 The Widow's Son - - - Home Miss. Mag. 59 
 
 Mother's Gift 64 
 
 Woman Eng.Mag. 65 
 
 An Example for Mothers - New Hamp. Obs. 66 
 
 The Husband and Wife 68 
 
 The Effects of Prayer 71 
 
 A Wife's Prayer Blessed - Christian Index. 74 
 
 The Shipwrecked Mariner ----- 76 
 
 Anecdote of a Seaman - - . - - - - 78 
 
 Maternal Influence - - Jour, of Education. 80 
 
 The Persecuting Husband and his Pious Wife - 81 
 
 My Mother's Grave - - Juvenile Miscellany. 84 
 
 The Brother's Cluarrel - - - Cham. Jour. 87 
 
 Recollections of a Minister Christ. Adv. and Jour. 92 
 
 Prevalence of a Mother's Prayers Pastors Jour. 96 
 
 The Mother's Reward - - - Female Adv. 100 
 
 Maternal Piety - - - New York Obs. 101 
 
 Never Deceive Children - Mother at Home. 105 
 
12 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 The Collier Boy - . - - Jour, of Hum. 107 
 
 The Praying Mother 108 
 
 The Death Bed - - - Pastors Journal. 110 
 
 Mother, I will go - Lon. Neio. Sail. Mag. 112 
 
 A Warning to Wicked Parents - Pastors Jour. 113 
 
 Be ye wise as Serpents 115 
 
 The Church Conference 116 
 
 Affection to Parents rewarded - - - - 117 
 
 The Sailor's Faith - Christ. Adv. and Jour. 119 
 
 Prayer answered 120 
 
 Evil Effects of Indulgence - - N.Y. Evan. 122 
 
 The Converted Husband - - Mothers Mag. 125 
 
 Remarkable Providence 130 
 
 The Bereaved Mother - - - Emporium. 132 
 
 Parental Falsehoods _ - . Jjit. Gazette. 133 
 
 A Temptation . . . . Mothers Mag. 135 
 
 Recollections of a Mother 142 
 
 Conversion of a Captain - - Sail. Mag. 144 
 
 Family Love _ _ . The Pious Sister. 146 
 
 The Mother Telegraph. 150 
 
 The New Dress - - - - Mothers Mag. 153 
 
 Pray Without Ceasing 155 
 
 Conversion of a Sailor - - Christian Herald. 156 
 Secret of a Mother's control over the Conscience of 
 
 her Son ----- Mothers Mag. 159 
 
 Effects of Kindness 162 
 
 Exertions of a Pious Female . - - . \q\ 
 
 Affecting Example of Usefulness in Poverty - 166 
 
 A Mother's Difficulties - - Mother at Home. 168 
 
 Sorrow turned to Joy 171 
 
 Family Discipline - - Obs. and Chron. 173 
 
 The Fennel Leaves - - - Mothers Mag. 178 
 
 Maternal Irresolution - - Mother at Home. 179 
 
 My own History - - - Christian Mirror. 180 
 
 A Son leaving his Father's House Fire Side Piety. 183 
 
 The Mother's Privilege - - Mrs. Hemans. 186 
 
 A Common Change - - Family at Home. 187 
 
 Future Defenders of the Faith - Mothers Mag. 188 
 
IxNTRODUCTlON. 
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF MOTHERS. 
 
 Woman was designed by Him who made her, 
 to act an important part, and fill a wide space, 
 in the economy of the present world. The in- 
 dications of this truth are not at all ambiguous, 
 or uncertain. However common it has been 
 to ascribe a superiority of intellect to the male, 
 we view this opinion as the result of preju- 
 dice, rather than of sober sense. The fortu- 
 itous, or rather the providential circumstance, 
 that power is on the side of man, has led him 
 to indulge a degree of superciliousness on the 
 subject, as unworthy of himself, as it has been 
 pernicious in its effects, upon those who ought 
 to have been benefitted by that power. It has 
 induced him at times to deny that equal care 
 and attention to the sex, in respect to their 
 
14 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 education, which are alike due to their own ex- 
 cellence, and to the character of the proper 
 lords of the creation. But the abuse of which 
 man has been guilty, derogates not in the least 
 from the glorious workmanship of God. There 
 is every appearance of equal attributes and en- 
 dowments — of equal susceptibility of improve- 
 ment; and, save in the single circumstance, 
 that divine wisdom constituted man with great- 
 er strength of body, for the necessary pur- 
 poses of being the head, there is no reason to 
 deny the peculiar and commanding influence, 
 which woman is destined by her Creator to 
 exert. Her form, her stature, her features, 
 her beauty, her taste, her lively sensibilities, 
 her mental accomplishments — all indicate the 
 important destinies she is fitted to fulfil, and 
 declare her equality with man, in every object 
 to be obtained by their separate or mutual in- 
 fluence. Indeed, it would appear, from the 
 great diversity and peculiar character of her 
 endowments, that the mere want of physical 
 power was more than compensated. It would 
 seem, that as moral influence is vastly supe- 
 rior to brute force, woman was designed, on 
 the whole, to exert the greater influence of the 
 two. But however this may be, it is evident 
 from every characteristic of her nature, that 
 the wisdom of God has qualified her to bear 
 
INTRODUCTION. 15 
 
 her full and equal part in the great concerns of 
 life, and duty, and religion. To these indica- 
 tions of nature, revelation annexes its authori- 
 tative sentence. In the original formino; of 
 man, as narrated in scripture, we learn that 
 woman, as a production of the Almighty hand, 
 was designed to be a help-meet for him, and 
 thus to be a companion and participator of his 
 cares and toils — of his delights and sorrows. 
 And throughout the scriptures, we find the 
 most pointed allusions to the dignity and im- 
 portance of the sex — to the virtues of their 
 hearts — and to the responsibilities annexed to 
 their condition. But in respect to the rank 
 which revelation has assigned to woman, es- 
 pecially the place which she occupies under 
 the enactments of the new dispensation, we 
 shall have occasion to speak hereafter. On 
 the whole, it is a dictate both of nature and re- 
 ligion, that woman was made for purposes 
 equally important with those, and to exert an 
 influence equally controlling with that, which 
 her more favored, and more vaunted associate 
 has claimed. 
 
 While the theoretic consideration of the 
 subject is thus clear and satisfactory, we know, 
 as a matter of fact, that females, in many ages 
 and countries, have been far from shining forth 
 in the full glory of their nature. The privi- 
 
16 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 lege and the obligation, on her part, of exert- 
 ing a wide and sahitary influence, have often 
 been denied her, or rendered nugatory through 
 the pride, ignorance, and officious interference 
 of man. Among all nations unenlightened by 
 revelation, it has long been remarked, that wo- 
 man has sunk far below her proper level in so- 
 ciety. Under the besotting influence of sin 
 and lust, she has, in these circumstances, de- 
 generated into a slave, or a plaything. In. 
 savage communities, her degradation has ever 
 been proverbial. In this condition her sex is 
 the more uncultivated of the two, labors under 
 greater disabilities, and has a larger share of 
 burdens to endure. Every menial office and 
 drudgery is rudely laid upon her. And after 
 the performance of the most tedious and irk- 
 some services — services, which, in civilized 
 communities, are always assigned to the male, 
 she is, more commonly than otherwise, treated 
 with brutality and insolence, by her haughty 
 and unfeeling lord. But, even in communities 
 better informed, yet still unenlightened by the 
 word of God, there are too many proofs of fe- 
 male debasement and oppression. Through- 
 out the half civilized nations of Asia, among 
 few of whom the power of the gospel has been 
 felt, women universally are an inferior caste, 
 made such by the institutions of society. In- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 17 
 
 deed, it is the genius of Paganism and Mo- 
 hammedanism, the prevalent religions of those 
 countries, to strip females of those high and en- 
 dearing attributes, with which the Creator has 
 endowed them, and which fit them for the sta- 
 tion of wives and mothers, and mistresses of 
 families. Under these religions, they are no 
 longer the guardians of domestic peace and 
 purity, or examples of dignified virtue. Sub- 
 ject to the caprice, lust, or vanity of their mas- 
 ters, they have few or none of the prerogatives 
 of their sex, and are incapable of moulding for 
 their good, the beings to whom they give birth. 
 Society never improves under the influence 
 of Pagan, and Mohammedan mothers in the 
 East. The seraglio especially, though the 
 paradise of voluptuousness and beauty, is the 
 grave of intelligence and moral worth. If we 
 ascend, in our reflections, to more enlightened 
 Pagan nations, and even to the most enli^iht- 
 ened, we shall find still, that great injustice 
 was done to females, and that their merits and 
 capabilities of improvement were not duly ap- 
 preciated. Their degradation, however, was 
 not universal or entire. There were occasion- 
 ally, among these renowned nations, examples 
 of female excellence. The sex was not lost to 
 all its influence, when we read of one among 
 the Boeotian women, who, upon being question- 
 
18 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ed why she did not wear ornaments, when all 
 other women wore them, answered, that her 
 husband was her ornament; and when we read 
 also of the Roman Cornelia, the mother of the 
 Gracchi, who, in default of jewels, such as 
 were the pride of others, pointed to her children 
 as her jewels. Indeed, in the earlier periods 
 of the Roman people, the females were virtu- 
 ous, though less attention was paid to their ed- 
 ucation than their merits deserved, and though 
 their privileges bore an unfavorable compari- 
 son to those of the men. In the days of Ro- 
 man voluptuousness and splendor, the female 
 character lost much of its purity; while the 
 sufferings of the sex were greatly augmented, 
 by the practice of polygamy, and the facility of 
 obtaining divorce. But the condition of Ro- 
 man women, uninviting as we should consider 
 it, was always superior to that of women among 
 the Greeks. The law of seclusion, with the 
 latter, was the badge of their bondage, and the 
 severe condition of their virtue. To go abroad 
 into society, or to shine in intellectual accom' 
 plishments, waste acquire a character of shame, 
 or of infamy. Among the ancient Persians, a 
 people who were not destitute of pretensions to 
 refinement and knowledge, women were suffer- 
 ed to grow up without the discipline of virtue, 
 and answered the end of their existence, in min- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 19 
 
 isteiing to the voluptuousness of society. Thus 
 in the most civilized and polite Pagan nations 
 ot^ antiquity, nothing like female education, as 
 known in these times, was ever considered as 
 either necessary, desirable, oi important. We 
 must look, therefore, to other institutions than 
 those of Pagan wisdom, for the proper devel- 
 opment of the talents and virtues of the sex. 
 The evident designs of Divine Providence, in 
 regard to women among all these nations, have 
 been frustrated or perverted; and she who was 
 ordained by her Creator, to be the equal and 
 dignified companion of man, has become the 
 victim of his cruelties and the slave of his 
 pleasures. 
 
 It is an occasion of eternal gratitude to God, 
 that in the religion of the Bible, woman is seen 
 as an object of transcendent importance, and 
 that in countries where this religion prevails, 
 and in proportion to its prevalence, she is re- 
 garded and treated as such. This was, in a 
 measure, the case, even under the Old Testa- 
 ment dispensation — a dispensation in all re- 
 spects of inferior light and privileges to those 
 which were to follow. Among the chosen peo- 
 ple of God, females were far more highly esti- 
 mated, and their virtues and endowments had 
 much greater sway, than in the surrounding 
 countries of paganism. This we learn, from 
 
20 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the several beautiful eulogiums contained in the 
 Old Testament scriptures, concerning the vir- 
 tuous woman, as well as from the examples 
 there recorded, of female excellence. But 
 Christianity has been peculiarly auspicious to 
 woman. It has restored her to her true place 
 and station in society. It has reinstated her, 
 in all her just and endearing prerogatives, as 
 she came from the hands of her Maker, in the 
 garden of innocence. The genius of the Gos- 
 pel is more fully exhibited in the revolution, 
 which it has accomplished in regard to woman, 
 and the consideration attached to her, than in 
 any other particulars touching the interests of 
 the human race. Its influence has been rela- 
 tively greater on woman, than on man. It had 
 more to do for her in view of her previous de-* 
 pression. It has especially noticed her in the 
 records of its early history. The Son of God 
 showed singular benignity towards the sex, in 
 condescendingly noticing the Marthas and Ma- 
 ries, the Joannas and Susannahs of Galilee; 
 and in graciously receiving and rewarding their 
 ministrations to his necessities. He showed 
 herein the estimation in which the character- 
 istic excellence of the sex should be held by all 
 mankind. Wherever the spirit of Christ has 
 prevailed in the world, a similar consideration 
 has been bestowed on woman. In the purer 
 
INTRODUCTION. 21 
 
 ages of the church, she has been the cherished 
 and honored vestal, especially charged with the 
 care of keeping alive the sacred flame of do- 
 mestic piety. She has aided, in the most ef- 
 ficient manner, by her more silent and unobtru- 
 sive influence, the colder champions of the 
 truth, in the other sex. 
 
 It is not to be inferred, however, that in all 
 the periods of Christianity, the sex has been 
 equally sustained in its rights and in its dignity, 
 or has been equally useful to the world. Dur- 
 ing the long ages in which Christianity was 
 shorn of her glory, and darkness and corruption 
 spread over the nations, man and woman sunk 
 alike under the power of the evil influences 
 which were so generally experienced. In the 
 ages of chivalry, woman indeed received suf- 
 ficient attention from the men, but it was an 
 attention, for the most part, dictated by a wrong 
 spirit, and bestowed for wrong purposes. She 
 became the idol of a disordered and wandering 
 fancy, inspiring no respect but in view of her 
 external charms, and of an ideal, unsubstantial 
 perfection. Her mind was uninformed and 
 undisciplined, left to suffer from vacancy of 
 thought, or given a prey to all the wild vaga- 
 ries of the brain. So far as chivalry was a be- 
 neficent institution — and it was better, perhaps, 
 than the rudeness which preceded it — so far 
 
22 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 she may claim the honor of sustaining it. But 
 nothing can justify the sort of adoration, which 
 it was then customary to pay to beauty and a 
 name. Immediately after the ages of chival- 
 ry, women, in several European countries, be- 
 came profoundly learned. Numbers of the sex 
 in Italy, Spain, France, and England, shone in 
 the first ranks of science and literature. They 
 became professors in law and philosophy, ac- 
 quired skill in the poetic art, and were adepts 
 in the learned languages. Such were Modes- 
 ta di Pozzi di Zori, of Bologna, an admirable 
 poetess — Cassandra Fidele, of Venice, a lec- 
 turer of philosophy at Padua — the two Isabel- 
 las of Spain, eminent as linguists and preach- 
 ers, and one of them honored with the title of 
 doctor of divinity — the three Seymours of 
 England, excellent in Latin studies — Lady 
 Jane Grey, an universal scholar — the eldest 
 daughter of Sir Thomas More, a great Latin- 
 ist; and several others, whose names cannot be 
 here mentioned. These, however, were indi- 
 vidual instances of greatness, while as yet the 
 state of female society at large was low and 
 depressed. In later times, as the influence of 
 the Gospel has become more conspicuous, es- 
 pecially since the period of the Reformation, 
 the importance of the intellectual and moral 
 culture of females has been more sensibly felt. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 23 
 
 and continues daily, in many countries, to re- 
 ceive more and more attention. As a conse- 
 quence, the character and influence of women 
 have been constantly rising, and now rank 
 among the mightiest means of producing those 
 great moral changes, that distinguish the age 
 in which we live. To enumerate the eminent 
 women of modern ages — persons, who have 
 shone in the accomplishments of the under- 
 standing and the heart, cannot be necessary to 
 give an idea of the advance of the sex, in the 
 scale of intellectual and moral worth. The 
 names are every day before the public. 
 
 If we look for the source of the influence 
 which woman now exerts, and which she was 
 originally fitted to exert, in forming the char- 
 acter and destiny of mankind — if we look for 
 the source of her influence particularly in the 
 relation of mother, we shall be able to trace it 
 to the following principles, among others. 
 
 1. The close companionship which she holds 
 ivith the junior members of the family gives her 
 a large share of influence. The mother — the 
 true mother, is emphatically at home. She 
 lives at home, and nowhere else. Here is her 
 dominion, and here are her cares, duties and 
 enjoyments. She is constantly employed about 
 the affairs of the family, directing and control- 
 ling them according to her will and judgment. 
 
24 INTKODUCTlOiX. 
 
 That minute inspection of domestic concerns — 
 that assiduous attention to the wants, conduct, 
 pleasures, and griefs of the children — that su- 
 pervision of their unfolding intellects, and that 
 forming of their moral principles, which, by the 
 ordinance of Heaven and the consent of all 
 ages, have been assigned to her, necessarily 
 make her more the companion of the young, 
 than the father can be. She mingles in their 
 pursuits — her hand is everywhere visible in 
 fitting up the little comforts of the household — 
 her absence, when it providentially occurs, is 
 noticed, as if the tutelary genius of the place 
 was withdrawn, and nothing can be successful- 
 ly carried on, and nothing can be fully enjoyed, 
 till her return. Thus keeping up an endear- 
 ing correspondence, with all the internal me- 
 chanism of the family, she acquires an intim.ate 
 acquaintance with their hearts. Hence her in- 
 fluence is nearly unbounded. She holds in her 
 hands, in an important sense, the present and 
 eternal welfare of the interesting beings com- 
 mitted to her charge. 
 
 2. The influence of women, especially of 
 mothers, may be traced, also, to iheir^ keen sensi- 
 bility — //leir 2^cculiar 'power of sympathy. Who, 
 so devotedly as a mother, is the friend that in- 
 terests herself in the group of beings, which 
 surround her — that feels for them in every 
 condition — whose countenance lightens up 
 
INTRODUCTIOxV. 
 
 ■with joy when they are pleased, or, with an ex- 
 pression of benignant sorrow, soothes the dis- 
 tresses which they suffer! Who, on earth, is 
 such a comforter as a mother, and whose bosom 
 is pervaded and thrilled, by the call of danger 
 or suffering, like hers? To the relief of her 
 offspring she flies, heedless equally of expo- 
 sure, or of toil; and v/ith a fortitude, and some- 
 times with a strength, which seems to be more 
 than she could possibly summon, she rescues 
 her darling from the jaws of death. Over the 
 sick bed she bends with an unwearied and un- 
 exhausted sympathy. She keeps her nightly 
 vigils where her dear ones slumber, or suffer — 
 marks the first symptoms of returning health, 
 with unmingled grateful delight — or notices 
 the accession of disease, only with the deter- 
 mination to meet the exigency, with redoubled 
 labors. Viewing the mother in this light, it is 
 by no means surprising, that she controls the 
 hearts of those that are about her — that she 
 becomes the life and soul of the domestic cir- 
 cle — and forms the great bond of union in the 
 family, and throughout the community. From 
 her, as a living fountain, flow forth the thou- 
 sand tendernesses that refresh and gladden the 
 heart. Around her, cluster the innumerable 
 courtesies and amenities that adorn and sweet- 
 en life. 
 
 3 
 
26 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 3. A woman's and a mother's influence arises' 
 from her nice discrimination of character, and her 
 perfect knoivledge of the causes bij which char- 
 acter is affected. Her situation and her pur- 
 suits, surrounded as she is by beings depen- 
 dent on her care, and looking to her for direc- 
 lion, habituate her to judge of the disposition 
 and motives of the heart. They qualify her to 
 calculate the effect of influences, that operate 
 upon the feelings and conduct of children. 
 She is led by the ever-varying exigencies, 
 which arise in the management of young minds, 
 to distinguish with accuracy the differences 
 of character — to mark minutely its several 
 shades. The regard with which a virtuous fe- 
 male has for her own character, induces her to 
 weigh carefully the causes by which character 
 is affected. She has usually a quick and keen 
 apprehension of the dangers incident to the 
 precious boon of reputation. She, therefore, 
 not only guards it with care in her own case, 
 but becomes peculiarly qualified to guide others 
 io the acquisition or preservation of a good 
 name. She becomes eminently fitted to guide 
 her children, and, in efl^ect, she forms their char- 
 acter to virtue and religion, under the blessing 
 of God. We speak of the virtuous — the re- 
 ligious mother — one whose spirit and conduct 
 are regulated by the precepts of the Gospel. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 27 
 
 Her power of discrimination and judgment, in 
 the management and education of the young, 
 is an essential element of her salutary influ- 
 ence. It greatly contributes to the extent of 
 that influence. Indeed, all mothers — they who 
 pervert, as well as they who improve, the above 
 mentioned attribute, hold the character and of 
 course, the destiny of their children, very much 
 in their own hands. Under God, they are pe- 
 •culiarly responsible for its exercise, and for the 
 moral power which it confers upon them. 
 
 4. The influence we speak of is to be further 
 traced, io the ivinning sweetness and ddicacy of 
 manner, which characterize ivoman's intercourse 
 in domestic life. The sacred regard thence in- 
 spired for her feelings and wishes, is one of the 
 first principles imbibed, in a well regulated 
 nursery. None but the most hardened mind, 
 can be found to trifle with the affections of such 
 a being. It is treason against nature wantonly 
 to inflict pain on a mother. It requires a har- 
 dihood — a baseness — a recklessness of soul, 
 seldom known to the young, to meet her smiles 
 and caresses with contempt and cruelty. Na- 
 ture, not to say conscience, in almost every hu- 
 man bosom, pleads too powerfully in her be- 
 half, on this account, not to do reverence to 
 such goodness. The stern authority of the 
 father, is sometimes mot with the hiijh bearinjr 
 
28 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of an unsubdued temper. The child feels, if 
 he has the courage, that he may treat loss scru- 
 pulously the power which peremptorily forbids 
 his wishes, than he does the mother's winning, 
 though it may be, firm address. Pride and 
 passion are often excited and measured, against 
 the rough and uncompromising control of the 
 father; but the pleading, the bland, yet truly 
 dignified manner of a judicious mother, urging 
 her children to a virtuous course, how much 
 more likely to take effect! r>Iany a young man, 
 for a time abandoned and given to sin, like 
 John Newton, has recalled the image and the 
 precepts of maternal tenderness, and thus bro- 
 ken away from the influences that had separated 
 him from God and his duty. Such an instru- 
 mentality, then, God has ordained for the best 
 of purposes, and it becomes us ever to acknowl- 
 edge the mighty efficacy, which he has attach- 
 ed to it, through his providence and Spirit. 
 
 5. The more extensive prevalence of piety 
 among females and mothers, accounts for the in- 
 fluence which attends them, as it also throws a 
 peculiar lustre over their character. Of all the 
 sources of a mother's influence, this must be 
 by far the greatest. It begins the earliest, for 
 it breathes its prayer before the infant can be 
 conscious of its meaning, but not before God 
 can answer it. It strikes its root the deepest; 
 
INTRODUCTION. 29 
 
 for where piety exists in tlie maternal bosom, it 
 is the most active and efficient of all the prin- 
 ciples tliat govern it. It will manifest itself in 
 unceasing eiibrts, to bring the infant mind un- 
 der the power of the Gospel. The habitual ex- 
 hibition of the Christian spirit, in its most at- 
 tractive forms, produces a silent but most im- 
 portant effect, on the little beings that watch 
 every movement of her, whom they are apt to re- 
 gard as their dearest and most intimate friend. 
 Facts show the striking results of maternal 
 piety, in its influence over the minds of chil- 
 dren, bringing them at length into the M'ays of 
 holiness and salvation, through the grace of a 
 prayer-hearing God. The history of the church 
 points to the names of Augustine, Matthew 
 Henry, Col. Gardiner, John Newton, Timo- 
 thy Dwight, Richard Cecil, and many others, 
 as principally indebted to the influence of god- 
 ly mothers, for their experimental acquaintance 
 with the religion of the Bible, and for their dis- 
 tinguished usefulness to mankind. When such 
 are the fruits of maternal piety, we can scarce- 
 ly rate its importance too high: it is the crown- 
 ing effect of woman's influence. That instan- 
 ces of consecration, and signal consecration to 
 the service of God, especially in its action on 
 the domestic constitution, are far more frequent 
 in the sex, than among the men, we suppose 
 3* 
 
30 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 will be readily granted by all, who have taken 
 the pains to inspect the features of the reli- 
 gious world, or who are familiar with the statis- 
 tics of evangelical churches. In the affection- 
 ate and efficient piety of woman, God has ap- 
 pointed one of the most important means, of the 
 moral renovation of the young, and the per- 
 petuation of religion in the human race. 
 
 Having traced, in several particulars, the 
 source of that influence, which, through wo- 
 man, and especially the mother, is employed in 
 forming the character, and determining the des- 
 tinies of mankind, we will dwell, for a few mo- 
 ments, on the probable effect of such influence, 
 wherever it is duly exerted. We will show 
 what may be expected, on a general scale, from 
 the faithful application of a mother's power, in 
 regard to the welfare of its objects. 
 
 What would not the world soon become un- 
 der auspices of this kind? We may better ar- 
 rive, perhaps, at a just conception of the result, 
 by viewing the case first of an individual. Of 
 what importance is it that he should have an 
 enlightened, godly, praying mother! His in- 
 tellectual and moral character, his usefulness 
 and happiness, his eternal life may be literally 
 suspended, on the exertions of such a mother. 
 Are not the feelings and associations of his in- 
 fancy and childhood, what she makes them.^ 
 
INTRODUCTION. 31 
 
 Does he soon forget how he was fanglit from 
 her lips, to fold his hands, and bend his knees, 
 and repeat, '* Our Father, who art in heaven?" 
 Is not the scene, at times, present to his mind, 
 when he was accustomed to retire with her to 
 the chamber of prayer, and required to bow 
 down with her, and join in her supplications 
 unto the Hearer of prayer? And will he not, 
 as he arrives at maturity, recal many of the 
 impressive lessons and warnings which paren- 
 tal, maternal love administered to him, in the 
 careless and wayward period of his youth? 
 Surely these things are not easily forgotten, 
 while at the same time, the character has been 
 silently forming under their influence. The 
 great and good men of all times have been 
 reared by such a process. We must ask moth- 
 ers especially, whether our sons and daughters 
 shall be distinguished for their virtues, their 
 talents, and their usefulness. We must ask a 
 Hannah, and a Eunice, for that fear of the Lord 
 which brings up a Samuel and a Timothy, to 
 perform the high duties of ministers of religion. 
 W^e must ask a Mary Washington, for that dig- 
 nified virtue, and energy of character, which 
 reared a patriot hero. On the other hand, sup- 
 pose the mother is not pious, is a woman of the 
 world, or a devotee of a spurious Christianity: 
 what unhappy impressions will she make on 
 
32 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the mind of her tender charge! How given, 
 probably, will he be to vanity, and sin, and 
 pleasure — checked by no remonstrances — 
 awed by no example, of maternal wisdom and 
 holiness! How will his headlong passions be 
 ministered to — his corrupt appetites be pam- 
 pered, by the foolish fondness or the inconsid- 
 erate impatience of a selfish, worldly, prayer- 
 less mother! And do the children of that mis- 
 guided and misguiding Catholic woman, who, 
 on entering a church, bows to the images of 
 the saints, and teaches them to bow, also, ever 
 lose the impression made on their minds — do 
 they ever forget the lessons of a baneful su- 
 perstition? How necessary, then, if the seeds 
 of virtue, self-government, truth, intelligence, 
 and piety are to be implanted, and to grow with 
 a person's growth, that he should be blessed 
 with the prayers and assiduities of an enlight- 
 ened, and efficiently pious mother! How im- 
 portant that he should not be cursed with a 
 vain, giddy, uninformed, unconscientious, un- 
 devout mother! 
 
 The importance of maternal influence, of the 
 kind here described, is greatly enhanced, when 
 we consider it in reference to an entire family. 
 Commonly not one individual alone is affected, 
 but a number feel the salutary control. And if 
 we contemplate a whole family of children, as 
 
INTRODUCTION. 33 
 
 brought under the blessed influence of exem- 
 plary, maternal piety, its effects must be of cor- 
 responding importance. In this point of view, 
 how essential is it that Christian principle, an 
 informed understanding, and, if it may be, na- 
 tive good sense, should be the high character- 
 istics of the female head of a family! She may 
 favorably affect her whole household. She will 
 probably have a degree of influence on the 
 whole number, for their good. Her children 
 will be trained in the way they should go, and 
 when they are old, they will probably not de- 
 part from it. Iler authority and care will pro- 
 duce submission, docility, sweetness of temper, 
 and harmony of intercourse, throughout the 
 subjects of her little dominion. Order, method, 
 neatness, despatch, frugality, and thrift will 
 wait upon her steps. Her domestic plans, and 
 the spirit with which she carries them into op- 
 eration, will ensure, if any instrumentality will 
 do it, obedience, virtue, and intelligence among 
 her endearing charge; and as they grow in 
 years, "the fair forms of truth and sentiment," 
 with the love of which she has inspired them, 
 will be more clearly inscribed on their minds. 
 Or, if there happens to be a wanderer among 
 the precious flock, and obstinacy, love of mis- 
 chief, and addiction to vice mark him for their 
 victim, then, how faithfully will he be followed 
 
34 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 up by the advice, entreaties, warnings, and 
 prayers of the pious inmates of the household, 
 especially the mother, until, if it may be, 
 through the great mercy of God, he shall be re- 
 stored to the fold. And suppose all of a family 
 actually to become converts to righteousness, 
 under the means that have been employed with 
 children, from the earliest dawn of reason, with 
 a view to produce such an effect, how indescri- 
 bably important must be the event! How de- 
 lightful the sight of a whole family devoted to 
 God! What elements of happiness does not 
 such a little community include! What an 
 amount of usefulness will it not be the honor- 
 ed instrument of achieving! What a beautiful 
 representative would it not be of heaven, as 
 heaven would certainly be its eternal home! 
 
 Finally, if we look at a countrij where pious 
 mothers abound — if we select a nation of such 
 families as these mothers might be supposed to 
 make, the importance of the influence exerted, 
 will appear in a still more conspicuous light. 
 It would strike the mind with an overpowering 
 force. Let the mothers of a country be en- 
 dowed with intelligence and moral worth, and 
 how confidently might we not expect, that they 
 would mould the mass to virtue, to order, and 
 to happiness! The sources of most of the evils 
 in society would be dried up — intemperance, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 35 
 
 impurity, profaneness, sabbath-breaking, and 
 other vice? would be checked, at that critical 
 period of life when it could be most effectually 
 done — the means of pure and rational enjoy- 
 ment would be immensely multiplied — hones- 
 ty, truth, integrity, benevolence, and every vir- 
 tue that goes to constitute worth of character, 
 would extensively prevail — children would be 
 sanctified, for the most part, in very early life — 
 streams of salvation would flow through the 
 length and breadth of the land — and hosts of 
 champions of the cross would go forth to other 
 nations, to subdue them unto truth and holiness. 
 The example of one such nation would awe 
 the world. Its influence would go far towards 
 the world's conversion. 
 
ANECDOTES, &c. 
 
 THE TRACT AND THE POCKET BIBLE. 
 
 Mr. L. was a young man of uncommon 
 abilities. With much of that enthusiastic tem- 
 perament, peculiar to the southern constitution, 
 he possessed a disposition frank, generous, and 
 social. Few young men ever entered the 
 world with greater advantages. To a mind 
 highly cultivated, was added a conversational 
 talent of a commanding order, which, together 
 with family connexions of extensive influence, 
 gave him a decided superiority over many of 
 those with whom he associated. His amiable 
 disposition, particularly, secured him an inter- 
 est in the friendship of the youth of the neigh- 
 borhood. 
 
 It may be easily imagined, that the influence 
 of such a youih is almost as extensive as his 
 acquaintance. Young men will have compan- 
 ions for their sports, and their social hours; 
 and the individual, in whom genius, acquire- 
 ments and manners unite, generally gives tone 
 4 
 
38 THE TRACT AND POCKET BIBLE. 
 
 to the feeling, and direction to the conversation 
 in the circle in which he moves; his opinions 
 are received and repeated, and his spirit im- 
 bibed. 
 
 In the early part of youth, Mr. L. had drunk 
 deep from the stream of infidelity. Pursuing 
 his studies at a distance from home, beyond the 
 immediate control of parental authority, and 
 surrounded with circumstances rather hostile 
 to the influence of parental advice, he gradu- 
 ally forgot the pious lessons received from a 
 godly mother, and finally succeeded in persuad- 
 ing himself, that the Bible is 'priestcraft, and the 
 holy tendency of its doctrines, delusion. He 
 returned to the parental roof, a fine looking, 
 well educated young gentleman, but a confirm- 
 ed infidel. 
 
 He ill concealed from the solicitude of a 
 mother, the change of his opinions, on the sub- 
 ject of religion. She trembled, and even wept, 
 at the discovery; but her tears served only to 
 excite his pity for her weakness and supersti- 
 tion. 
 
 Months passed on. How he figured among 
 the gay and the vain, how his sentiments were 
 received and respected, by both male and fe- 
 male, need not here be mentioned — the extent of 
 the injury, which his infidelity has occasioned, 
 can never in this life be unfolded. Yet, in all 
 this, he was an affectionate son, and an amiable 
 man — beloved and caressed by all, who enjoy- 
 ed his acquaintance. The mother could not but 
 rejoice in having a son, so high minded and 
 honorable; yet she could not help but weep, 
 that his heart was wedded to infidel principles.. 
 
THE TRACT AND POCKET BTBLE. 39 
 
 This one thought embittered all her joy — her 
 son scornfully rejected her blessed Saviour. 
 The midnigiit hour witnessed her tears and 
 prayers, for the conversion of her ungodly child. 
 Never did she forget, before the throne of grace, 
 her infidel son. But it seemed, for a time, that 
 God designed not to answer her prayers. Fre- 
 quently, her heart almost yielded to despair, for 
 tear that her son was given up to " a reprobate 
 mind." 
 
 JMr. L., after having been at home a few 
 montiis, married and settled on his own planta- 
 tion, near the residence of his mother. He 
 now became more domestic in his habits, more 
 grave and serious in his deportment, but con- 
 tinued an avowed advocate of infidelity. 
 
 One day, in a musing frame of mind, walk- 
 ing round his mill pond, his glance fell on a leaf 
 of paper, near the edge of the water. He care- 
 lessly picked it up, and a few steps further, he 
 picked up two or three more. He now had in 
 his hand a comjjlete tract, which, perhaps, the 
 winds of heaven had blown to that spot. HaV' 
 ing arranged the separate leaves, as he walk- 
 ed, he read. Becoming interested, he read the 
 tract through. The little thing spoke of God — 
 it spoke of the Bible — it spoke of eternity. 
 Again he read it — and feelings awoke in his bo- 
 som, which he thought had been annihilated. 
 Having arrived at his house, he again read the 
 tract. He paused and thought — deeply thought, 
 — '' i^ this be all true, what — ?" The idea 
 was too awful, he would not pursue it; he rose 
 and paced the floor. Now, for the first time 
 perhaps in his life, he felt an anxious desire to 
 
40 THE TRACT AND POCKET BIBLE. 
 
 look into a Bible. But in his well-furnished li- 
 brary, that precious book was not to be found. 
 The pocket Bible, which he called his own, 
 when a boy, was now in the book-case at his 
 mother's residence. His mother had often ur- 
 ged him to take it home, but no! he had no use 
 for such books, " I will send," said he, quite 
 aloud, "and borrow one." But no ! that will 
 expose my weakness. " Yes," catching at the 
 thought suggested by the word last uttered, 
 "yes, it is weakness — I will not submit to it. 
 Have I not lived satisfied with my principles.'' 
 What reason have I now to distrust them? 
 Strange that reading this tract should so disturb 
 my composure! I see how it is, I am indispos- 
 ed, — have been unwell all the morning — I will 
 throw the tract aside, and think no more of 
 these matters." 
 
 But the tract was not to be put off in this 
 manner; — it had seized on the spirit of a stub- 
 born sinner; it grappled with his infidel princi- 
 ples. It gave no ground; *he contest was long 
 and serious. The tract was read over once 
 more, and it triumphed. " Yes," said he, " I 
 will have a Bible.'' 
 
 He recollected the pocket Bible at his moth- 
 er's. He thought, too, that it was possible to 
 obtain this Bible, without exciting suspicion in 
 his mother's family. For this purpose, he step- 
 ped over to her residence. 
 
 The perturbation of mind discovered itself in 
 his countenance, which alarmed the fears of his 
 mother for the healtli of a son, who had caused 
 her so much solicitude. Eager were her inquiries 
 as to his health; and his reply, that he was well, 
 
THE TRACT AND POCKET BIBLE. 41 
 
 had no tendency to remove her fears. The 
 sole object of IMr. T^. in paying this visit, was 
 secretly to secure the pocket Bible; several 
 anxious glances therefore, were directed to- 
 wards the book-case. These glances, observ- 
 ed by the mother, gave a different turn to her 
 thoughts. She looked, for a moment, intently 
 at his countenance — could it be possible.^ The 
 idea did force itself upon her mind, and she al- 
 most sunk under it. Could it be possible that 
 the Spirit of God had found her lost child, and 
 that he was now operating upon his heart? 
 Hope and fear were too strong in her bosom. 
 Like Joseph, she left the room, in order to give 
 way to a burst of feeling. Pious mothers of in- 
 fidel sons alone are capable of judging of her 
 emotions at this time. She knew that her son 
 had refused to have a Bible in his house. 
 Those anxious glances did give rise to the idea, 
 that he had come for the Bible, which she had 
 many times urged him to take. There it now 
 stood, — the pocket Bible, from which, in his 
 boyhood; he had so often read to her. 
 
 After giving vent to her tears, the tears of 
 hope and fear, and after having poured out her 
 soul before God, she recovered in some degree 
 her composure. Again, like Joseph, she en- 
 tered tiie room — her son had departed — she 
 sprang towards the book case — the pocket Bible 
 2vas 2;one. 
 
 I have the happiness of adding that Mr. L. 
 is now a member of a gospel church. He re- 
 pented in sackcloth and ashes of his former hos- 
 tility to Jesus of Nazareth; and in the course 
 of some weeks, he found peace in believing in 
 4* 
 
42 THE RIGHTEOUS NEVER FORSAKEN. 
 
 the Saviour, whom he had scornfuHy rejected. 
 If he was once zealous in scattering tlie poison 
 of infidelity^ he is now doubly so, by his walk 
 and conversation, in advocating the doctrines 
 of the Gospel. 
 
 From examples like this, let mothers take 
 courage, God may, indesd, long try their faith 
 and patience; but the promise is sure, "Call 
 upon me in the day of trouble, and I will an- 
 swer thee, and thou shalt glorify me." Prayer 
 is never lost — faith never goes unrewarded: — 
 
 * Though seed lie buried long in dust, 
 
 It slian't deceive our hope ; 
 The precioup grain can ne'er be lost, 
 
 For grace insures the crop.' 
 
 THE RIGHTEOUS NEVER FORSAKEN. 
 
 It was Saturday night, and the widow of the 
 Pine Cottage sat by her blazing faggots, with 
 her five tattered children at her side, endeavor- 
 ing by listening to the artlessness of their ju- 
 venile prattle, to dissipate the heavy gloom, that 
 pressed upon her mind. For a year her own 
 feeble hands had provided for her helpless 
 family, for she had no supporter: she thought 
 of no friend in all the wide, unfriendly world 
 around. But that mysterious Providence, the 
 wisdom of whose ways are above human com- 
 prehension, had visited her with wasting sick- 
 ness, and her little means had become exhaust- 
 
THE RIGHTEOUS NEVER FORSAKEN. 43 
 
 ed. It was now, too, mid-winter, and tlie snow 
 lay heavy and deep tiirough all the surround- 
 ing forests, while storms still seemed gathering 
 in the heavens, and the driving wind roared 
 amidst the hending pines, and rocked her puny 
 mansion. 
 
 The last herring smoked upon the coals be- 
 fore her: it was the only article of food she pos- 
 sessed, and no wonder her forlorn, desolate 
 state brought up in her bosom all the anxieties 
 of a motlier, when she looked upon her chil- 
 dren; and no wonder, forlorn as she was, if she 
 suffered the heart-swellings of despair to rise, 
 even though she knew that He whose promise 
 is to the widow and to the orphan, cannot for- 
 get his word. Providence had, many years be- 
 fore, taken from her, her eldest son, who went 
 from his forest-home, to try his fortune on the 
 high seas, since which she heard no note or ti- 
 dings of him; and in latter time, had by the 
 hand of denth, deprived her of the companion 
 and staff of her worldly pilgrimage, in the per- 
 son of her husband. Yet, to this hour she had 
 been upborne, she had not only been able to 
 provide for her little flock, but had never lost 
 an opportunity of ministering to the wants of 
 the miserable and destitute. 
 
 The indolent may well bear with poverty, 
 while the ability to gain sustenance remains. 
 The individual, who has but his own wants to 
 supply, may suffer with fortitude the winter of 
 want; his affections are not wounded, his heart 
 not wrung. The most desolate in populous 
 cities may hope, for charity has not quite closed 
 lier hand and heart, and shut her eyes on mis- 
 
44 THE RIGHTEOUS NEVER FORSAKEN. 
 
 ery. Bat the industrious mother of helpless 
 and depending children — far from the reach of 
 human charity, has none of these to console 
 her. And such an one was the widow of the 
 Pine Cottage ; but, as she bent over the fire and 
 took up the last scanty remnant of food to 
 spread before her children, her spirits seemed 
 to brighten up, as by some sudden and myste-^ 
 rious impulse, and Cowper's beautiful lines 
 came uncalled across her mind — 
 
 ' Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, 
 
 But trust him for his grace ; 
 Behind a frowning Providence 
 
 He hides a smiling face.' 
 
 The smoked herring was hardly laid upon 
 the table, when a gentle rap at the door, and 
 the loud barking of a doo;, attracted the atten- 
 tion of the family. The children flew to open 
 it, and a weary traveller, in tattered garments, 
 and apparently indifferent health, entered and 
 begged a lodging, and a mouthful of food; said 
 he, "it is now twenty-four hours since 1 tasted 
 bread." The widow's heart bled anew, as un- 
 der a fresh complication of distresses; for her 
 sympathies lingered not round her fireside. 
 She hesitated not even now ; a place to rest and 
 a share of all she had, she proffered to the 
 stranger. '* We shall not be forsaken," said 
 she, '* or suffer deeper for an act of charity." 
 
 The traveller drew near the board — but when 
 he saw the scanty fare, he raised his eyes to- 
 ward heaven with astonishment — *' And is this 
 all your store.? " said he — " and a share of this 
 (do you offer to one you know not? Then 
 
THE RIGHTEOUS NEVER FORSAKEN. 45 
 
 never saw I charity before ! but madam," said he, 
 continuiniT, *'do you not wrong your children, 
 by giving a part of your last mouthful to a 
 stranger?" "Ah" said the poor widow, and 
 the tear drops gushed into her eyes, as she said 
 it, *' I have a boy, a darling son, somewhere on 
 the face of the wide world, unless Heaven has 
 taken him away, and I only act towards you, as 
 I would that others should act towards him. 
 God, who sent manna from heaven, can pro- 
 vide for us, as he did for Israel — and how 
 should 1 this night offend him, if my son should 
 be a wanderer, destitute as you, and he should 
 have provided for him a home even poor as this 
 ' — were I to turn you unrelieved away?" 
 
 The widow ended, and the stranger spring- 
 ing from his seat, clasped her in his arms — 
 " God, indeed, has provided just such a home 
 for your wandering sun, and has given him 
 wealth to reward the goodness of his benefac- 
 tress — my mother! oh my mother." 
 
 It was her long lost son, returned to her bo- 
 som from the Indies. He had chosen that dis- 
 guise, that he might the more completely sur- 
 prise his family; and never was surprise more 
 perfect, or followed by a sweeter cup of joy, — 
 That humble residence in the forest was ex- 
 changed for one comfortable, and indeed beau- 
 tiful in the valley, and the widow lived long 
 with her dutiful son, in the enjoyment of world- 
 ly plenty, and in the delightful employments of 
 virtue; and at this day the passer-by is point- 
 ed to the luxuriant willow that spreads its 
 branches broad and green above her grave, 
 while he listens to the recital of this simple and 
 homely, but not altogether worthless tale. 
 
( 46 ) 
 
 RESIGNATION. 
 
 The following lines were repeated to a min- 
 ister, by a poor and pious female, when her hus- 
 band appeared to be dying, leaving her with 
 nine children. 
 
 Long have I view'd, long have I thought, 
 And trembling held this bitter draught, 
 But now resolv'd and firm I'll be, 
 Since 'lis prepar'd and mix'd by thee ! 
 
 I'll trust my great Physician's skill ; 
 What he prescribes can ne'er be ill ; 
 No longer will I grieve or pine ; 
 Thy pleasure 'tis — it shall be mine. 
 
 Thy med'cine oft produces smart ; 
 Thou woun'dst me in the tend'rest part; 
 All that I priz'd below is jjone ; 
 Yet, Father, still, thy will be done. 
 
 Since 'tis thy sentence I should part 
 With what is nearest to my heart, 
 My little all 1 here resign. 
 And, lo, my heart itself is thine. 
 
 Take all, great God ; I will not grieve, 
 But wish I still had more to give ; 
 I hear thy voice ; thou bid'st me quit 
 This favor'd gourd — and I submit. 
 
(47 ) 
 
 POOR JACK. 
 
 A drunkard was one day staggering in drink 
 on the brink of the sea. His little son by him, 
 three years of age, being very hungry, solicit- 
 ed him for something to eat. Tiie miserable 
 father, conscious of his poverty, and of the 
 criminal cause of it, in a kind of rage, occa- 
 sioned by his intemperance and despair, hurled 
 the little innocent into the sea, and made off 
 with himself. The poor little sufferer, finding 
 a floating plank by his side on the water clung 
 to it. The wind soon wafted him with the plank 
 out to sea. A British man of war, passing by, 
 discovered the plank and child; and a sailor at 
 the risk of his life, plunged into the sea, and 
 brought him on board. He could inform them 
 little more than that his name was Jack. They 
 gave him the name of poor Jack. He grew up 
 on board that man of war, behaved well, and 
 pained the love of all the officers and men. 
 He became an officer of the sick and wounded 
 department. During an action of the late war, 
 an aged man came under his care, nearly in a 
 dying state. He was all kindness and atten- 
 tion to the suffering stranger, but could not 
 save his life. The aged parent was dying, and 
 thus addressed this kind young officer: " For 
 the great attention you have shown me, 1 give 
 you this only treasure I am possessed of, (pre- 
 senting him with a Bible, bearing the stamp of 
 the British and Foreign Bible Society.) It was 
 given me by a lady ; has been the means of my 
 
48 INFLUENCE OF EARLY IMPRESSIONS. 
 
 conversion ; and has been a great comfort to me. 
 Read it; it will lead you in the way you should 
 go." He went on to confess the wickedness 
 and profligacy of his life before the reception 
 of his Bible; and, among other enormities, 
 how he once cast a little son, three years old, in- 
 to the sea, because he cried to him for needed 
 food! the young officer inquired of him the 
 time and place, and found here was his own his- 
 tory. Reader, judge if you can, of his feel- 
 ings, to recognize in this dying old man, his 
 own father, dying a penitent under his care! 
 And, judge of the feelings of the dying peni- 
 tent, to find that the same kind young stranger 
 was his son, the very son whom he plunged in- 
 to the sea, and had no idea but he immediate- 
 ly perished ! A description of their mutual feel- 
 ings will not be attempted. The old man soon 
 expired in the arms of his son. The latter left 
 the service, and became a pious preacher of 
 the Gospel. On closing this story, the minister 
 in the meeting of the Bible Society, bowed to 
 the chairman, and said, " Sir, I am poorJack.'^ 
 
 INFLUENCE OF EARLY IMPRESSIONS. 
 
 It is reported of a man, eminent for his tal- 
 ents, his elevated situation in life, and his dis- 
 sipation, that one evening, while sitting at the 
 gaming-table, he was observed to be unusually 
 sad. His associates rallied him upon his seri- 
 
INFLUENCE OF EARLY mrRESSIONS. 49 
 
 ous aspect. He endeavored, by rousing him- 
 self, and by sallies of wit, which he had always 
 at command, to turn away their attention, and 
 throw off the transient gloom. ]Not many mo- 
 ments transpired, before he again seemed lost 
 in thought, and dejected, by some mournful 
 contemplation. This exposed him so entirely 
 to the ridicule of his companions, that he could 
 not defend himself. As they poured in upon 
 him their taunts and jeers, he at last remark- 
 ed, " Well, to tell the truth, I cannot help 
 thinking, every now and then, of the prayers 
 my mother used to offer for me at my bed-side, 
 when I was a child. Old as I am, I cannot 
 forget the impressions of those early years." 
 Here was a man of highly cultivated mind, 
 and of talents of so high an order as to give 
 him influence and eminence, notwithstanding 
 his dissolute life; and yet neither lapse of years, 
 nor acquisitions of knowledge, nor crowdino- 
 cares, nor scenes of dissipation could obliterate 
 the effect which a mothers devotions had left upon 
 his mind. The still small voice of a mother's 
 prayers rose above the noise of guilty revelry. 
 The pious mother, though dead, still continued 
 to speak, in impressive rebuke to her dissolute 
 son. IMany facts might be introduced, illus- 
 trating the importance of this duty. The fol- 
 lowing is so much to the point, and aflTords such 
 cheering encouragement, that 1 cannot refrain 
 from relating it. 
 
 A few years since, a gentleman from En<T- 
 land brought a letter of introduction to a gen- 
 tleman in this country. The stranger was of 
 accomplished mind and manners, but in senti- 
 5 
 
60 INFLUENCE OF EARLY IMPRESSIONS. 
 
 merit an infidel. The gentleman to whom he 
 brought letters of introduction, and his lady, 
 were active Christian philanthropists. They 
 invited the stranger to make their house his 
 home, and treated him with every possible at- 
 tention. Upon the evening of his arrival, just 
 before the usual hour for retiring, the gentle- 
 man, knowing the peculiarity of his guest's 
 sentiments, observed to him, that the hour had 
 arrived in which they usually attended family 
 prayers; that he should be happy to have him 
 remain and unite with them; or, if he prefer- 
 red, he could retire. The gentleman intimat- 
 ed that it would give him pleasure to remain. 
 A chapter of the Bible was read, and the fami- 
 ly all knelt in prayer, the stranger with the rest. 
 In a few days, the stranger left this hospitable 
 dwelling, and embarked on board a ship for a 
 foreign land. In the course of three or four 
 years, however, the providence of God again 
 led that stranger to the same dwelling. But, 
 O, how changed ! He came the happy Chris- 
 tian, the humble man of piety and prayer. In 
 the course of the evening's conversation, he 
 remarked that when he, on the first evening of 
 his previous visit, knelt with them in family 
 prayer, it was the first time, for many years, 
 that he had bowed to his Maker. This act 
 brought to his mind such a crowd of recollec- 
 tions, it so vividly reminded him of a parent's 
 prayers, which he had heard at home, that it 
 completely absorbed his attention. His emo- 
 tion was so great, that he did not hear one syl- 
 lable of the prayer which was uttered, from its 
 commencement to its close. And God made 
 
HAPPY EFFECT OF MILDNESS. 51 
 
 this the instrument of leading him from the 
 dreamy wihi of infidelity to the peace and joy 
 of piety. His parents had long before gone 
 to tlieir rest; but the prayers they had offered 
 for and v»ith their son, had left an influence 
 which could not die. They might have prayed 
 ever so fervently for him, but if they had not 
 prayed ivilh him, if they had not knelt by his 
 side, and caused his listening ear to hear their 
 earnest supplications, their child might have 
 continued through life unreconciled to his Ma- 
 ker. 
 
 HAPPY EFFECT OF MILDNESS. 
 
 During a revival, in a certain town, there 
 
 lived a Mr. H , who was a moral man, and 
 
 who evidently depended upon his morality for 
 justification before God. Not finding employ- 
 ment in his own town, he labored, at times, in 
 a town adjoining, whence he returned, every 
 Saturday evening, to his family. 
 
 One week, during his absence, the attention 
 of his wife was excited to the subject of reli- 
 gion. Her convictions, in a short time, became 
 deep and pungent. A pious neighbor living 
 near, she sought instruction and counsel of him, 
 and requested the privilege of attending pray- 
 er with his family. The means with which 
 she was thus favored, were blessed by the Spir- 
 it of God ; and on Saturday, previously to the 
 return of her husband, she hopefully obtained 
 mercy of the Lord. 
 
52 HArPY EFFi:CT OF MILDNESS. 
 
 In the evening she attended prayer-meeting. 
 During her absence her husband came home, 
 and being informed whither his wife had gone, 
 he expressed great displeasure, and, in no mild 
 terms, said, "that he would have his family 
 know that they were subject to his control." 
 
 On the return of his wife, his displeasure 
 again manifested itself in upbraidings for her 
 conduct, and, with an intention, perhaps, of 
 wounding her feelings, he said, that he had a 
 poor opinion of the work. This deeply affect- 
 ed his wife, who, with great mildness and affec- 
 tion, entreated him to attend to religion, as a 
 divine reality, and the " one thing needful." 
 In this state of excitement on the one hand, 
 and of deep solicitude on the other, they retir- 
 ed to rest. Mrs. H soon sunk into a re- 
 freshing sleep; but not so her husband. Her 
 mild conduct, added to her kind entreaties, had 
 penetrated his soul. A rapid review of his life 
 convinced him that all was not right. After 
 some time, his wife awaking, and finding him 
 awake, asked him if he were unwell. He as- 
 sured her that he was not. Again she fell 
 asleep, and again awoke, and finding him as 
 before, said, " You are not well, my dear 
 husband, I am sure;" and offered to rise 
 and administer something to him. But he de- 
 clined, saying, " I am well, but feel no inclina- 
 tion to sleep." After a time, he arose, dressed 
 himself, and walked the room. She then said, 
 *' Husband, you are either unwell, or your mind 
 is troubled." His reply was, " I am a sinner!" 
 
 This was an acknowledgment full of joy 
 to Mrs, H , and in her heart she blessed 
 
ILAPPy EFFECT OF MILDNESS. 53 
 
 God for the dawnings of a better day, A sense 
 of guilt rapidly increased upon her husband, 
 and he began in good earnest to tremble. Thus 
 the remainder of the night was passed. 
 
 The next morning he was persuaded to at- 
 tend church ; but afterwards observed, that it 
 seemed to him that he should sink, the preach- 
 ing was so pointed at him. In the evening his 
 wife invited him to accompany her to a confer- 
 ence : but he requested to be left to his own 
 contemplations. On her retirement, he fell 
 upon his knees, and besought a God of mercy 
 to have compassion upon his soul. In this man- 
 ner, he spent the whole time his wife was ab- 
 sent. About the time of her return, light and 
 joy seemed to enter his soul. From that lime 
 he appeared the humble, affectionate, and con- 
 sistent disciple of Christ. 
 
 What a rich reward did this pious woman 
 reap for letting " patience have its powerful 
 work," and persevering in the mild and affec- 
 tionate spirit of the Gospel. An opposite con- 
 duct would doubtless have driven her husband 
 irrevocably to a state of obduracy; but "by 
 cords of love," she won him to repentance, and 
 prepared the way for their mutual eternal joy. 
 
 5* 
 
( 54) 
 
 EARLY Discipline. 
 
 A YOUNG mother once pursued the following 
 course, with a child of less than three years old, 
 who had not been good during her absence of a 
 few hours. 
 
 " Mamma, where have you been? " said she, 
 when her mother entered. 
 
 "I have been to walk, and have had a very 
 pleasant time. Shall I tell you what I saw? " 
 
 "O yes; tell me." 
 
 " Well, first tell me if you have been a good 
 girl?" 
 
 " Sometimes I have; but I cried, and I tore 
 that little book you gave me." 
 
 " I am sorry you tore it. When I gave it to 
 you, you promised me you would be careful, and 
 not tear it." 
 
 *' If you will give it to me now, I shan't tear 
 it." 
 
 "I cannot, for I can't trust you. I can't be- 
 lieve you." 
 
 " Believe me? " 
 
 " Yes, I am afraid you will not keep your 
 promise." 
 
 " But I shall keep my promise ; (looking up 
 sorrowfully.) "Will you give me the book 
 again ? " 
 
 *' If I was to give you the book, and you were 
 to say, ' Mamma, I won't tear it,' and then I was 
 to go out, and you were to tear it while 1 was 
 gone, that would be breaking your promise. I 
 should be very sorry to have you do that ; for it 
 
The piiiLosopiiy of woman's religion. 55 
 
 Would displease God, and make us unhappy. 
 You cannot have the book now ; so do not ask 
 me again for it." 
 
 The child had been, a few days before, told 
 distinctly the nature and guilt of breaking her 
 word ; and this was the first time it had been re- 
 ferred to. 
 
 The conversation ended here. At night, when 
 she knelt down to say her prayer, she, as usual, 
 inquired, " What have I done that is naughty to- 
 day? " 
 
 " You must think," replied her mother. 
 
 The child then repeated her usual prayer, clos- 
 ing with, *' I pray God would forgive me always, 
 — and when I tore the book, — and that I may 
 not do so any moie;" — and looking up, she ad- 
 ded, " I am very sorry ; I won't do so again." 
 
 More than a year after this, the child saw the 
 torn book, and recollected her fault. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF WOMAN'S RELIGION. 
 
 The front door was open, and I entered. — The 
 parlour was vacant; as I was. crossing it, I saw 
 the door of a side room opened ; I turned to- 
 wards it — and the cause of the unwonted silence 
 of the habitation was before me. On a table, 
 against the wall of the room, rested a coffin. — ■ 
 With a single step, I was at its side; I looked 
 in; it contained the inanimate form of my little 
 favorite. For a moment, I turned away in the 
 
56 THE PHILOSOPHY OF WOMAN's RELIGION. 
 
 agony of disappointment ; I looked again — it was 
 too true; and my hopes, childish almost as those I 
 had excited in him, lay blighted. As I gazed upon 
 the cold remains before me, my feelings subsid- 
 ed, and I recovered that tone, which the well- 
 regulated mind never loses. It was but to divest 
 myself of those acquired feelings concerning 
 death, and the child that lay before me, was as 
 lovely and as deserving admiration, as when 
 alive. The beautiful glossiness of his prominent 
 forehead, was set off by the fine silky hair that 
 stretched in a semicircle towards the temples ,• 
 there was a transparency in the skin, through 
 which the blue veins showed with wonderful dis- 
 tinctness ; and the budding whiteness of the teeth 
 was discernible between the slightly opened lips : 
 his little hands were crossed below its breast — 
 their beauty had not departed : but the eyes, as 
 I gazed upwards, gleamed glassy between the 
 lids, through their long dark lashes ; and as the 
 light flickered through the veins, near the win- 
 dow, I sometimes thought that life was returning 
 to animate the lovely features on which I gazed. 
 I stooped to press a kiss upon its face- — it was 
 cold, and the tears that I had dropped upon it, 
 trickled off as if they had fallen upon polished 
 marble. As I raised my head from the coffin, 
 my eyes met those of the mother. 
 
 We gaze upon the dead with regret for their 
 loss: we look upon the inanimate corpse of an 
 infant, and mourn, that it is so soon snatched 
 away ; we dwell with fondness upon its features, 
 treasure the memory of its beauties, and sigh 
 that we cannot longer enjoy them. But when we 
 see those that the bereavement has left childless, 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF WOMAxX's RELIGION. 57 
 
 Standing by us in the dignity of grief, the silent 
 cause of sorrow yet stretched before them, we 
 shrink almost with awe from their presence. 
 Such, for a moment, were my feelings. I wish- 
 ed myself absent from the scene that was about 
 to ensue ; but the extended hand of the afflicted 
 parent satisfied me that retreat would have been 
 cruelty or cowardice, I pressed the hand of the 
 mother in the ardor of sympathy, and our tears 
 fell fast upon the snowy shroud of the outstretch- 
 ed infant. She leaned forward and buried her 
 face with his in the narrow coffin. Fearing the 
 effects of this paroxysm of grief upon the mother, 
 I would have withdrawn her. " Let me alone," 
 said she; **I know by whom I have been afflict- 
 ed, and in my sorrow I will not sin ; neither will 
 I charge God foolishly. But in my darling's 
 sickness, he lay day and night upon my knees, 
 until he died ; and the kind officiousness of neigh- 
 bors has kept me from a solitary indulgence of 
 grief until now. Let me, then, ere they shut 
 him out of my sight forever — let me once more 
 feel his face, imprinting its features on my neck, 
 though it be cold as death. I came to yield up, 
 in silence and solitude, my child to Him who 
 gave it — but not without the feelings and grief of 
 a mother. I have bowed to the chastisement — 
 I have even kissed the rod that, smote me ; but I 
 have not mistaken stoicism for resignation, nor 
 offered the Lord an unfeeling for a submissive 
 mind. Four times has the hand of Heaven visit- 
 ed me in affliction, and I have not murmured; 
 and now, when the last lamb of the flock is 
 taken, I have, in the hour of prayer and solitude, 
 exclaimed — * The Lord giveth, and the Lord 
 
58 THE PHILOSOPHY, OF WOMAN's RELIGION. 
 
 taketh away — ' and when the passion of grief 
 shall have subsided ; when the cords of affection, 
 now torn asunder, shall have ceased to bleed, and 
 mourning shall have become woven into the tis- 
 sue of life, instead of being, as now, its whole 
 web, then, perhaps, I may add — * Blessed be 
 the name of the Lord;' But, oh! so lovely — so 
 bright in promise of all that a parent's heart can 
 ask, and to lie now so cold." 
 
 Again the mother threw herself upon the cof- 
 fin, and nestled her face with that of her infant. 
 
 I saw it was no time to offer consolation. She 
 had restrained her grief during the presence of 
 her neighbors ; and now that she thought her- 
 self alone, she had come forth from her chamber 
 to indulge a mother's grief. 
 
 In a short time, the people of the vicinity were 
 seen gathering towards the house, with a view of 
 attending the funeral. The mother impressed a 
 new kiss upon the lips of her dead child ; she 
 uttered one more burst of grief, and shrunk to 
 her chamber. 
 
 In a little while, they screwed down the coffin 
 lid, and a slight bustle denoted preparations for 
 a procession to the grave. — I follov/ed among the 
 very few, whom the occasion had called togeth- 
 er ; and as we entered the city of the dead, I 
 saw, by the little heap of fresh turned earth, 
 where the tenement of my little favorite was pre- 
 pared. 
 
 The line of followers assembled round the lit- 
 tle grave, and the coffin lay at its mouth. At 
 length, the hoarse rumbling of the cords, and the 
 suppressed sounds of clods falling far down upon 
 the coffin, told that dust had been committed to 
 
THE widow's son. 59 
 
 dust. I looked for the officiating clergyman, and 
 others appeared to await his service — there was 
 none. It was now that I feared for the firmness 
 of the mother; she had been almost distracted 
 by grief, when her child lay before her, in her 
 own house — what could sustain her when she 
 looked down into the deep pit, and see it there 
 girt in with the dampness of the grave, lying cold 
 and stretched out, forever to be separated from 
 her gaze ; and to become the companion and the 
 prey of worms ? 
 
 The father stepped forward, and looked down 
 upon his child ; he withdrew with clamorous grief . 
 The mother advanced, and standing upon a little 
 eminence of fresh earth, she gazed silently down. 
 I could not see her face ; but when she raised 
 her head to retire, an expression of agony was 
 passing from her features ; her lips remained firm- 
 ly closed, and her eyes were inflamed. As she 
 stepped from the grave, she uttered, in scarcely 
 an audible voice, "J shall go unto hi?n, but he 
 shall return no more to me.'* 
 
 THE WIDOW'S SON. 
 
 In a village which stands on the sea shore, 
 there lived a widow, who had formerly seen bet- 
 ter days. Her husband was a respectable sea- 
 captain, and supported his family in ease and af- 
 fluence : but amidst his own and the hopes of his 
 family, he was lost at sea, leaving his widow with 
 
60 THE widow's son. 
 
 two little sons, one of six years old, and the 
 other an infant. She retired from the circle in 
 which she had so long moved with esteem, and 
 purchased a neat little cottage, by the water's 
 side. Here she brought up her little boys, and 
 early endeavored to lead them " in the way they 
 should go." She felt herself to be a pilgrim be- 
 low, and taught her sons that this world was 
 never designed for our home. 
 
 In this manner, this little family retired; be- 
 loved and respected. The mother would often 
 lead her children on the hard, sandy beach, just 
 as the setting sun was tipping the smooth blue 
 waters with his last yellow tints. She would then 
 tell them of their father, who was gone, and with 
 her finger w^ould write his name upon the sand, 
 and as the next wave obliterated every trace of 
 the writing, would tell them that the hopes and 
 joys of this world are as transient. When the 
 eldest son had arrived at the age of twelve, he 
 was seized with an incurable desire of going to 
 sea. He had heard sailors talk of their voyages, 
 of visiting other climes and countries, and his 
 imagination drew before him a thousand pleas- 
 ures, could he also visit them. The remonstran- 
 ces and entreaties of a tender parent, and an af- 
 fectionate little brother, were, however, all in 
 vain. At length, he wrung a reluctant consent 
 from hi?, mother, and receiving from her a Bible, 
 and a mother's blessing, and prayers, he embark- 
 ed on board a large brig. He promised his 
 mother, as he gave a last parting hand, that he 
 would daily read his Bible, and as often commit 
 himself to God in prayer. A few tears and a 
 few sighs escaped him, as he saw the last blue 
 
THE widow's son. 61 
 
 tints of his native land fade from his sight ; for 
 there were the cottage of his mother, and all the 
 joysof his childhood: but all was novelty around 
 him, and he soon forgot these pangs, amidst other 
 cares and other scenes. For sometime, he re- 
 membered his promise to his mother, and daily 
 read his Bible ; but the sneers of the wicked 
 crew recalled his mind from reviewing the in- 
 structions of his pious mother, and he placed his 
 Bible at the bottom of his chest, to slumber with 
 his conscience. During a severe storm, indeed, 
 when it seemed as if destruction was yawning to 
 receive every soul on board, he thought of his 
 mother, his home, his promises, and in the an- 
 guish of his heart, resolved to amend, should his 
 life be spared. But when the storm had subsid- 
 ed, the seas were smooth, and the clear sun 
 brought joy and gladness over the great waters, 
 he forgot all his promises. No one of the crew 
 could be more profane — no one more ready to 
 scoff at that religion, which, in his childhood and 
 innocence, he had been taught to love and revere. 
 After an absence of several years, this youth 
 found himself once more drawing near his native 
 land. He had traversed the globe ; but during all 
 this time he had neither written to his mother, 
 nor heard from her. Though he had thrown off 
 restraint, and blunted the finer feelings of his na- 
 ture ; yet his bosom thrilled with pleasure at the 
 thought of once more meeting his parent and 
 his brother. It was in the fall of the year he re- 
 turned, and on a lovely eve in September, he 
 walked towards his long-deserted home. Those 
 only are acquainted with the pleasures of the 
 country, who have spent their early days in rural 
 6 
 
62 THE widow's son. 
 
 retirement. As the young sailor drew near the 
 cottage of his mother — as he ascended the last 
 sloping hill, which hid it from his sight, his mem- 
 ory recalled all the scenes of his " happier 
 days," while fancy whispered deceitfully that 
 hours equally agreeable, would again be realized. 
 The hills over which he had so often roamed — 
 the grove through which he had so often wan- 
 dered, while it echoed with the music of the 
 feathered tribe ; the gentle stream on whose 
 banks he had so often sported ; and the rising 
 spire of the temple of Jehovah — all tended to ex- 
 cite the most interesting sensations. He drew 
 near the cottage door, and found all was stillness. 
 A solemnity seemed to breathe around him, and 
 as he rapped at the door, his heart misgave him, 
 though he knew not why. He knocked, but no 
 one bade him enter. He called, but no answer 
 was returned, save the echo of his own voice. 
 It seemed like knocking at the door of a tomb. 
 The nearest neighbor, hearing the noise, came 
 and found the youth sitting and sobbing on the 
 steps of the door. " Where," cried he with ea- 
 gerness, " where are my mother and my brother? 
 — O, I hope they are not " — " If," said the 
 
 stranger," you inquire for widow , I can only 
 
 pity you ; I have known her but a short time, but 
 she was the best woman I ever knew. Her little 
 boy died of a fever about a year ago, and in con- 
 sequence of fatigue, in taking care of him, and 
 anxiety for a long absent son at sea, the good 
 widow herself was buried yesterday." " O Heav- 
 ens ! " cried the youth, " have I staid only long 
 enough to kill my mother! Wretch that I am — 
 show me the grave — I have a dagger in my bun- 
 
THE widow's son. G3 
 
 die — let me die with my mother — my poor, brok- 
 en-hearted parent!" "Hold, friend," said the 
 astonisiied neighbor ; " if you are tiiis woman's 
 eldest son, I have a letter for you, which she 
 wrote a (e\v days before she died, and desired you 
 miijht receive it, should you ever return." 
 
 They both turned from the cottage, and went 
 to the house of the neighbor. A light being pro- 
 duced, the young man threw down his bundle, 
 and hat, and read the following short letter, while 
 his manly cheeks were covered with tears : — 
 
 " Ml/ dearest, only son, — When this reaches 
 you, I shall be no more. Your little brother has 
 gone before me, and [ cannot but hope and be- 
 lieve he was prepared. I had fondly hoped, I 
 should have once more seen you on the shores of 
 mortality, but the hope is now relinquished. I 
 have followed you by prayers, through all your 
 wanderings. Often, while you little suspected it, 
 even in the dark cold niorhts of winter, have I 
 knelt, for my lost son. There is but one thing 
 that gives me pain at dying, and that is, my dear 
 William, that I must leave you in this wicked 
 world, as I fear, unreconciled to your Maker ! I 
 am too low to say more. My glass is run ; as you 
 visit the sods which cover my dust, O remem- 
 ber that you, too, must soon follow. Farewell — 
 the last breath of your mother will be spent in 
 praying for you — that we may meet above." 
 
 The young man's heart was melted, in reading 
 these few words from the parent whom he so ten- 
 derly loved; and I will only add, that this letter 
 was the means, in the hands of God, of bringing 
 this youth to a saving knowledge of the truth, as it 
 is in Jesus ; that he is now a very respectable 
 
64 A mother's gift. 
 
 and pious man ; and that we may learn from 
 Scripture, and from daily experience, that pray- 
 ing breath shall never be spent in vain. 
 
 A MOTHER'S GIFT. 
 
 Remember, love, who ^ave thee this, 
 When other days shall come ; 
 
 When she, who had thy earliest kiss, 
 Sleeps in her narrow home. 
 
 Remember 'twas a mother gave 
 
 The gifts to one she'd died to save. 
 
 That mother sought a pledge of love. 
 
 The holiest for her son ; 
 And from the gifts of God above, 
 
 She chose a goodly one. 
 She chose, for her beloved boy. 
 The source of light, and life, and joy, — 
 
 And bade him keep the gift, — that, when 
 The parting hour would come, 
 
 They might have hope to meet again, 
 In an eternal home. 
 
 She said his faith in that would be 
 
 Sweet incense to her memory. 
 
 And should the scoffer in his pride 
 Laugh that fond faith to scorn. 
 
 And bid him cast the pledge aside, 
 That he from youth had borne ; 
 
 She bade him pause, and ask his breast, 
 
 If he, or she, had loved him best. 
 
 A'parent's blessing on her son 
 
 Goes with this holy thing; 
 The love that would retain the one, 
 
 Must to the other cling. 
 Remember ! 'tis no idle toy — 
 A mother's gift— Remember, boy ! 
 
( 65 ) 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 In no situation, and under no circumstances 
 does the female character appear to such advan- 
 tage, as when watching beside the bed of sick- 
 ness. The chamber of disease may, indeed, be 
 said to be woman's home. We there behold her 
 in her loveliest, most attractive point of view, 
 firm, without being harsh ; tender, yet not weak ; 
 active, yet quiet, gentle, patient, uncomplain- 
 ing, vigilant. Every sympathetic feeling, that so 
 peculiarly graces the feminine character, is there 
 called forth ; while the native strength of mind 
 that had hitherto slumbered in inactivity, is rous- 
 ed to its fullest energy. With noiseless step, she 
 moves about the chamber of the invalid ; her 
 listening ear ready to catch the slightest mur- 
 mur ; her quick, kind glance, to interpret the un- 
 uttered wish, and supply the half-formed want. 
 She smooths with careful hand the uneasy pil- 
 low, which supports the aching head, or with 
 cool hand soothes the fevered brow, or proffers to 
 the glared and parched lips the grateful draught; 
 happy if she meet one kind glance in payment 
 for her labor of love. Here is the low whispered 
 voice, that breathes of life and hope — of health 
 in store for happy days to come ; or tells us of 
 better and of heavenly rest, where neither sor- 
 row nor disease can come — where the dark pow- 
 er of death no more shall have dominion over 
 the frail, suffering, perishable clay. Through the 
 dim, silent watches of the night, when all around 
 are hushed in sleep, it is hers to keep lone vigils, 
 6* 
 
66 AN EXAMPLE FOR MOTHERS. 
 
 and to hold communion with her God, and silent- 
 ly lift up her heart in fervent prayer for the pro- 
 longment of a life, for which she cheerfully 
 would sacrifice her own. And even when ex- 
 hausted nature sinks in brief repose, forgetful- 
 ness is denied. Even in sleep she seems awake 
 to this one great object of her care. She starts 
 and rises from her slumbers, raising her droop- 
 ing head, watches with dreamy eyes the face she 
 loves, then sinks again to rest, to start with 
 every chime of clock, or distant sound, that for- 
 merly had passed unheard, or only served as lul- 
 laby to her sweet sleep. 
 
 How lovely does the wife, the mother, the sis- 
 ter, or the friend become to the eye of grateful 
 affection, administering ease, comfort — nay, al- 
 most life itself, to the husband, the son, the 
 brother, or the friend. 
 
 AN EXAMPLE FOR MOTHERS. 
 
 Within a short time I spent an evening with a 
 gentleman of ardent piety, with whose conversa- 
 tion I was very much interested. Though not 
 a literary man, his manners, property, vigorous 
 and active mind, give him access to the first 
 circles in society, and to several gentlemen who 
 hold some of the most responsible offices in our 
 land. It seems to me that there is something in 
 his history, which must be exceedingly interest- 
 ing to pious mothers, and may be instrumental in 
 the salvation of precious souls. 
 
AN EXAMPLE FOR MOTHERS. 67 
 
 He was born in Sweden. His father was an 
 officer in the Swedish navy. But this son, when 
 quite a young man, was impatient under the re- 
 straints at home, and, to use his own language, 
 " was soon disposed to be off, and to act for him- 
 self" His conduct, however, was such as to 
 give him promotion. — He soon obtained the com- 
 mand of a ship. In this situation, he felt his re- 
 sponsibility. When a storm threatened their 
 safety, he thought of the property and lives of the 
 men connected with his ship. After looking 
 over his ship to see that everything was made as 
 secure as it could be, he would retire to his 
 cabin, take his Bible and read, and pray for the 
 safety of his ship and men. He was not, how- 
 ever, experimentally acquainted with religion, but 
 admitted the being of a God, and his providen- 
 tial government. The idea of God's providence 
 impressed him much in times of danger; but 
 when the storm was over, and the appearance of 
 danger passed away, he used often to think there 
 was no need of so much anxiety. But after a 
 time his mind would be impressed again, and 
 thoughts of God and eternity followed him, until 
 he was convinced of the dreadful sinfulness of 
 his heart and life, and was led to Christ, as the 
 only refuge from the storm of Divine displeasure. 
 But all his thoughts of religion, and those vari- 
 ous reflections on the providence of God and 
 eternal things, which led to his conversion and 
 his present joyful hope of future, he traces to his 
 instructions given him by his mother, when he 
 was very young. 
 
 " When a little boy," said this now devoted 
 Christian and gentleman, " I used to lay my head 
 
68 THE HUSBAND AND WIFE. 
 
 on my mother's lap, to be combed and dressed, 
 she would always be talking to me about religion, 
 and those things, which respected my spiritual 
 happiness. When I would look up, I often saw 
 the tears running down her cheeks, and I was 
 affected. And to those instructions and tears, un- 
 der God, I trace all the serious impressions, which 
 were made on my mind, and which became 
 stronger and stronger, and led me as I hope to 
 faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, the only Saviour 
 of the world." O what a lesson of instruction and 
 encouragement is this to pious mothers! Where 
 is the mother who will not be induced in season, 
 and out of season, and at all times, to talk to 
 her children of things, which respect their salva- 
 tion! Mothers, be faithful to your children. 
 In the exercise of faith, impress on their minds 
 the importance of eternal things ; and you may 
 hope, though your children should travel and die 
 in distant lands, that your instructions will fol- 
 low them, and be a savor of life unto life. 
 
 THE HUSBAND AND WIFE. 
 
 The following interesting facts are related of a 
 
 woman, residing in , who was awakened to 
 
 a deep sense of her danger, while unreconciled 
 to God, and powerfully convicted of sin, by the 
 energies of the Holy Spirit. She had always 
 been a constant attendant on public worship! re- 
 spectful in her treatment of religion, and of re- 
 
THE HUSBAND AND WIFE. 69 
 
 iigious persons, and strictly moral in her daily 
 conduct. But her mind, as well as that of her 
 husband, was wholly engrossed with the cares of 
 this world ; and they prospered in their endeav- 
 ors to gain properly, while they continued un- 
 mindful of the Author of all her mercies. 
 
 From the time that her attention was first ex- 
 cited, her convictions and distress of mind con- 
 tinued to increase, till they issued in a hope, that 
 she had passed from death unto life. She then 
 at a suitable time, offered herself to the church, 
 and was received into their communion. 
 
 Her husband was a man, who was beloved by 
 his companions, and being of a lively, social turn 
 of mind, his company was much sought by those, 
 who delighted in the merry jest, or the amusing 
 tale. He was not an open opposer to religion ; on 
 the contrary, he was usually found in his place in 
 the sanctuary, and treated serious things with 
 much outward attention. Like thousands of 
 others in a gospel land, he was thoughtless and 
 careless respecting his best interests, yet, per- 
 haps, thought and meant to die the death of the 
 righteous. During the time his wife was under 
 conviction, he manifested no concern, and no op- 
 position. But the day, on which she united 
 herself with the church, he was observed to 
 have absented himself from the sanctuary. A 
 neighbor, who called and invited him to attend, 
 was answered in such a manner, as showed that 
 the evil of his heart had began to work. And in 
 truth it had. As a family, they had lived har- 
 moniously till now. But a division had taken 
 place. Their feelings, their motives, their pur- 
 suits, and their interests were different. He felt 
 that his companion had left him, and that he must 
 
70 ^ THE HUSBAND AND WIFE. 
 
 now tread the paths of sin alone. His selfish 
 heart was grieved, and its bitterness was manifest- 
 ed by unkindness and reproaches. To human ap- 
 pearance, their domestic happiness had fled forever. 
 
 Mrs. , took herself to the throne of grace, 
 
 and spread her trials before her covenant God. 
 Her prayer was heard, and the heart of her com- 
 panion was deeply smitten, yet in a way, and by 
 means totally unexpected. 
 
 Coming in from his labor, on the afternoon of 
 Monday, he began to reproach his wife, for the 
 transactions of the preceding day, and expressed 
 his deep regret, that she should forsake his so- 
 ciety for that of Christians; reminded her of 
 the happy days they had seen ; and lamented 
 their present difference of feeling and interest. 
 
 Looking him full in the face, the tear of afTec- 
 tion and pious concern stealing from her eyes, 
 
 Mrs. thus addressed him : " Husband, do 
 
 you wish me to return to the same situation, I 
 was before I found peace in Christ? Do you de- 
 sire me to be a guilty unpardoned sinner, expos- 
 ed to the wrath of a holy God ? Are you willing 
 that I should be destitute of holiness, filled with 
 sin, and devoid of that peace, which I now pos- 
 sess? Do you imagine I shall be less affection- 
 ate, or less useful to you, because I am a Chris- 
 tian? Permit me to enjoy my religion in peace, 
 and I promise never to disturb you by remon- 
 strances, in any course you may see proper to 
 pursue." Conviction seized upon his heart. Fill- 
 ed with distress, he hastily left the room, and 
 sought a place where to weep. Concience was 
 now awake, reproaching him for his sin, and 
 threatening the wrath of God. With tears of 
 
THE EFFECTS OF PRAYER. 
 
 71 
 
 penitence, he sought his injured companion, con- 
 fessed the wrong he had done her, and intreated 
 her prayers. With her this was a time of in- 
 tense anxiety, and agonizing supplication. She 
 felt that in all probability this was the crisis of 
 his soul, and the decision of his eternal charac- 
 ter. Her prayers were heard. God said to the 
 
 troubled mind of Mr. , "Peace, be still!" 
 
 A new world opened to his view. Christ be- 
 came the support and joy of his soul, and the 
 gospel plan of salvation his only hope. In eight 
 days from the time of his first impression, he 
 found that the peace of God passeth all under- 
 standing. He united with the visible church, 
 and is now an active, zealous and devoted Chris- 
 tian. The domestic altar is reared in his fami- 
 ly, and that affection that formerly subsisted be- 
 tween him and his companion has received a tie, 
 which shall never be dissolved ; while they both 
 look, with humble hope, to an eternal union be- 
 yond the grave. 
 
 EFFECTS OF PRAYER. 
 
 On the banks of the Saco, about a mile above 
 a flourishing village, is a cluster of small houses, 
 in none of which, a few years since, was there 
 a single praying man. The occupants were 
 reported to obtain their living almost wholly 
 by stealing logs from the river, manufacturing 
 them into shingles, and selling them for New 
 
72 EFFECTS OF PRAYER. 
 
 England rum! A man might be seen, some- 
 times, with a hand-sled, loaded with a bunch of 
 shingles and a jug, — at other times with the 
 shingles on his shoulders, and the jug in his hand, 
 on his way to the village, to replenish his jug. 
 The general character of the population corres- 
 ponded with this specific trait. 
 
 There was, however, one praying woman, the 
 wife of a drunken husband, who continued to 
 pray, till death set her free from earthly trials, 
 and introduced her to that world, where the wick- 
 ed cease from troubling, and the weary are at 
 rest. This woman left behind her a daughter, 
 who, soon after her mother was laid in the grave, 
 began to seek after the Lord, and at length, ob- 
 tained a hope of pardon. After her conversion, 
 she removed to Boston, and while there, in com- 
 parative comfort and on good wages, she heard 
 that her father was in the poor-house. She was 
 distressed, not so much at his poverty, as the 
 thought that no man cared for his soul. Fdial duty 
 and affection, sanctified and directed by Christian 
 principle, prevailed. She came home — took him 
 from the poor-house to the little old house by the 
 river, and there watched, nursed, and instructed 
 him, till he died. As a means of support, she 
 then opened a school in the same house; on the 
 very moderate terms of six cents and a quarter a 
 week, for a scholar ; she had sixteen scholars, 
 which afforded her an income of one dollar. 
 These same children with others she formed into 
 a Sabbath school class, and instructed them from 
 the scriptures on Lord's days. After her father 
 died, and she had left the neighborhood, the 
 house was taken possession of by another man. 
 
EFFECTS OF PRAYER. 73 
 
 The neighbors all said of him, He loill become 
 pious, fur there has always been one religious per- 
 son in that house. The children flocked to him, 
 and besought him to keep Sabbath school, as 
 Miranda did. He was perplexed — hesitated for a 
 time ; but, at length, complied, telling them to 
 come on the Sabbath. They came — the lesson 
 was soon said ; for he could do nothing more 
 than to hear them rehearse. He found himself 
 in a new and trying situation. Miranda, he said 
 to himself, could pray with you, and counsel, and 
 exhort you, but I cannot. He felt that he was a 
 sinner, and soon gave external indications of his 
 inward feelings. His wicked neighbors pitied 
 liim. He sent for a professor of religion, who 
 lived about a mile distant, from whose counsel 
 and prayers he derived benefit, and at length ob- 
 tained a hope. His wife soon followed him — the 
 attention of neighbors was arrested — convictions 
 were fastened upon their minds, a revival of re- 
 ligion prevailed, and as many as twenty obtained 
 a hope — one of whom had been a drunkard, or 
 rum-drinker for seventy years. Prayer meetings 
 are now held on that spot, where once was 
 heard the voice of profaneness, and those other 
 abuses of speech to which addictedness to the 
 bottle gives birth. What may not the supplica- 
 tions of one praying woman accomplish! 
 
( 74) 
 
 A WIFE'S PRAYERS BLESSED TO THE CON- 
 VERSION OF HER HUSBAND. 
 
 In the winter of 1822, says a correspondent of 
 the Christian Index, I had occasion to pass what 
 is called the fifty mile woods, leading from Lake 
 Champlain to the county of St. Lawrence, N. Y. 
 The houses on the road were from ten to twenty 
 miles apart, and the weather being cold, it be- 
 came necessary for me to stop for the purpose of 
 warming. The house which I entered was of 
 logs, and small — but tidy, and neat; and on 
 entering I perceived that every thing bespoke 
 the abode of industry, frugality and domestic 
 quiet; so much so, that I said to a young wo- 
 man, who, with her husband, was sitting by the 
 fire — " You appear to be happy in your little log 
 house." The woman replied, with much anima- 
 tion of countenance, " I do not think we depend 
 for happiness on a large house." " What then? " 
 " Religion," said she, " will make us happy, if 
 anything." "Religion! have you any religion in 
 this dense forest? " — " I think we have some. 
 Are you a minister? " *' Yes, I profess to be." 
 She looked earnestly at me for a moment, and 
 with a tear starting down her cheek said, "I 
 have not been at a meeting, or heard a sermon 
 preached for three years; but I have no reason 
 to complain. O sir, you do not know how good 
 the Lord has been to me — he has just given me 
 my husband in Christ." She would have pro- 
 ceeded, but she was so overwhelmed by a con- 
 sciousness of the Divine goodness, that for a time 
 
A wife's prayers blessed, etc. 75 
 
 her heart was too full to give utterance to her 
 feelings. Seeing her emotion, I turned my in- 
 quiries to her husband, whose tears betokened the 
 feelings of his heart. He remarked, "My wife 
 was a Christian, when we moved here, three 
 years since ; she complained of nothing but her 
 loss of religious privileges, till within a few 
 months past, she became very anxious about me, 
 so much so, that she wept and prayed with and 
 for me, and talked to me about being a sinner, 
 and of the danger I was in. I wondered at her 
 anxiety, and at times suspected a want of kind- 
 ness in her for thinking me such a sinner. But, 
 
 sir, when God gave me a sight of my own 
 heart, I did not wonder that she wept;" and 
 ROW he wept much. He proceeded — " But I 
 trust I have found an interest in the pardoning 
 mercy of God, and I thank God that he has 
 given me a wife that could pray for me — " again 
 he wept. His wife said, " O sir, you cannot 
 think how happy I am. I have now a husband 
 to go with me to the throne of grace. We are 
 truly happy, though we can go to no meeting." 
 
 Though this interview took place a number of 
 years ago — yet it is fresh in my mind. The hour 
 
 1 spent witli that dear couple, whom I have not 
 seen since, but whom, I trust I shall meet in 
 heaven, was one of the happiest of my life; and 
 as often as it recurs to my mind, it brings along 
 with it the full conviction that believing hus- 
 bands and believing wives have the greatest en- 
 couragement to seek the conversion of each 
 other; and that the religion of Jesus Christ is a 
 source of infinite and exalted happiness, given of 
 
76 THE SHIPWREKCED MARINER. 
 
 the Lord to man ; it sets privation at defiance, 
 sweetens even affliction, adds to every blessing, 
 and gives tlie soul an antepast of joys to come. 
 
 THE SHIPWRECKED MARINER. 
 
 There was living, in the west of England, a 
 widow lady, who was left with a family of seven 
 daughters and one son. The daughters paid 
 that respect to her, which was due to the parent 
 that gave them birth ; but the son proved diso- 
 bedient and refractory. After using every means 
 that duty and affection could devise, and all in 
 vain — the thoughtless youth left the house of a 
 fond parent, in hopes of finding pleasure on board 
 a vessel. The poor widow's mind was perpetu- 
 ally agitated by the thoughts of her lost boy : 
 every breeze that blew increased her anxiety, 
 and seemed to bear on its bosom the sad tidings, 
 that her boy was no more! Being often called 
 to the metropolis, she would inquire of every 
 master or mate she met with, whether he could 
 give her any intelligence of her son. 
 
 On one occasion, she met with a captain, and 
 inquiring as usual if he knew such a person, de- 
 scribing her son, he very imprudently said, "He 
 knew a person of the name, and description, but 
 that he was at the bottom of the sea ; and if all 
 like him were there it would be a good thing." 
 The poor mother's heart was ready to break with 
 grief from the violence of such a shock, and it 
 
THE SHIPWRECKED MARINER. 77 
 
 was some time before she could recover. Agony 
 preyed oil her mind, and drank up her spirits : 
 at longtli she resolved to return to the country, 
 and spend her days in a seaport town, where she 
 could feed her melancholy by looking on that 
 ocean, that had devoured her child. 
 
 Sometime after she took up her residence in 
 her new abode, there came to her door a poor 
 distressed sailor, who asked relief and urged his 
 plea by telling her he belonged to a vessel that 
 was wrecked, and only himself and one more es- 
 caped on some broken fragments of the ship to 
 a desolate island. His tale interested her mind, 
 and induced her to make further inquiry, when 
 he told her he should never forget the time he 
 spent on that island, nor the words of his com- 
 panion. She then asked the name of his fellow- 
 sufferer, when a name like that of her son was 
 mentioned. Begging of him to describe his per- 
 son, it appeared the very same. " But do you not 
 mistake?" said the mother. "No," replied the 
 man ; " and to convince you, I have his book in 
 my bosom, and will show it you." Judge of her 
 surprise, when, on opening the cover of a Bible, 
 she discovered her son's name written by herself! 
 " Will you part with that book? " said she. " Not 
 for the world ! " answered the sailor ; " as I clos- 
 ed his dying eyes he gave it me, requesting me 
 to read its contents, telling me that he had found 
 it his support in death, and enjoined me with his 
 last breath never to part with it. I was then a 
 stranger to its worth ; but, by reading its solemn 
 truths, I have learned to know the Lord, and 
 worlds would not tempt me to part with it! " 
 
( 78 ) 
 
 ANECDOTE OF A SEAMAN. 
 
 The following anecdote was related at a late 
 meeting of the London Seamen's Friend Society, 
 by Captain Angus. 
 
 Fifteen years ago, I commanded a vessel in 
 the merchant service ; it fell to my lot to lodge 
 under the roof of a pious widow, who had a son, 
 the support of her old age. This lad, who was 
 about sixteen years of age, conducted himself 
 with great propriety in his situation ; but all in a 
 moment, like a clap of thunder, the report came 
 to his mother's ears that he had committed an of- 
 fence, which though morally speaking, was not 
 of the most heinous nature, was nevertheless suf- 
 ficient to touch his life. The poor mother, by 
 the advice of some friends was induced to send 
 her son to sea on board a man-of-war ; and who 
 would have thought that, in sending him there, 
 he was to meet the God of salvation, and be 
 brought to the knowledge of the truth ! But God 
 has his way in the deep. He had not been long 
 
 on board H. M. S. the S , before he became 
 
 acquainted with a coporal of marines, the only 
 man on board that ship, who knew the truth, and 
 lived in the love of it. He began to speak to 
 him, as every good seaman we hope will do, 
 about the love of Christ, as exhibited on the cross, 
 for poor sinners. This was the very conversa- 
 tion suited to his heart, whose crime was yet on 
 his conscience ; and the pious man was glad to 
 make known to him the only way of comfort in 
 the word of life, which says, " Come unto me, all 
 
ANECDOTE OF A SEAMAN. 79 
 
 ye that labor, and are heavy laden, and I will 
 give you rest." This conversation was blessed to 
 him, till he became a decided Christian. Thus 
 these two small sparks in the midst of the ocean 
 came in contact, and here they met under the 
 scoffs and sneers of a licentious and wicked crew. 
 These became three, and then four, and five, and 
 so on, till in the course of time, fifty of their ship- 
 mates, among whom were some of the officers, 
 became with them worshippers of the Lord Jesus 
 Christ. You will readily believe how glad the 
 heart of the poor widow was, when she had the 
 first letter from her son, to find that the storm, 
 which had seemed to threaten nothing but de- 
 struction to her peace, should break in blessings 
 on her head. This vessel was four years on the 
 Mediterranean, and was engaged in some of the 
 most bloody battles, in particular, one with the 
 Turkish squadron : and in that and in other bat- 
 tles, these humble followers of the Prince of 
 Peace, despised as they were, gave the strongest 
 proofs of their value, and their attachment to their 
 king and country. When this vessel arrived in 
 port, and was paid off, and every one rolled in 
 money, and every thing tended to induce them to 
 break allegiance with the Prince of Peace, they 
 gave the noblest testimony that the work of God 
 on their hearts was divine. 
 
( 80 ) 
 
 MATERNAL INFLUENCE. 
 
 The mental fountain is unsealed to the eye of 
 a mother, ere it has chosen a channel, or breath- 
 ed. She may tinge with sweetness or bitterness 
 the whole stream of future life. Others have to 
 contend with unhappy combinations of ideas. 
 She rules the simple and plastic elements. Of 
 her, we may say, she hath entered into the mag- 
 azine of snow, and seen the treasures of the hail. 
 In the moral field, she is a privileged laborer. 
 Ere the dews of morning begin to exhale, she is 
 there. She breaks up a soil, which the root of 
 error, and the thorns of prejudice, have not pre- 
 occupied. She plants germs whose fruit is for 
 eternity. While she feels that she is required, to 
 educate not merely a virtuous member of society, 
 but a Christian, an angel, a servant of the Most 
 High, how does so holy a change quicken piety, 
 by teaching the heart its own insufficiency ! 
 
 The soul of her infant is uncovered before her. 
 She knows that the images, which she enshrines 
 in that unoccupied sanctuary, must rise before 
 her at the bar of doom. Trembling at such tre- 
 mendous responsibility, she teaches the little be- 
 ing, whose life is her dearest care, of the God 
 who made him ; and who can measure the extent 
 of a mother's lessons of piety, unless his hand 
 might remove the veil which divides terrestrial 
 things 1 
 
 " When I was a little child," said a good man, 
 *' my mother used to bid me kneel beside her, and 
 place her hand on my head^ while she prayed. 
 
TEIE PERSECUTING HUSBAND, &.C. 81 
 
 Ere I was old enough (o know her worth, she 
 died, and I was left much to my own guidance. 
 Like others, I was inclined to evil passions, but 
 often felt myself checked, and, as it were, drawn 
 back by the soft hand upon my head. When I 
 was a young man, I travelled in foreign lands, 
 and was exposed to many temptations. But 
 when I would have yielded, that sa?ne hand was 
 iipon my head, and I was saved. I seemed to 
 feel its pressure, as in days of my happy infancy; 
 and sometimes there came with it a voice, in my 
 heart, a voice that must be obeyed, — * Oh, do not 
 this wickedness, my son, nor sin against thy God.' " 
 
 THE PERSECUTING HUSBAND, AND HIS 
 PIOUS WIFE. 
 
 An English Missionary in the employment of 
 the Baptist Home Missionary Society of London, 
 was the means of convertino; a poor woman, the 
 wife of a day laborer. Previously to this change, 
 they had lived quite happily together ; but now 
 the husband became a bitter persecutor, and be- 
 cause his wife would not relinquish the service 
 of God, he frequently turned her out of doors in 
 the night, and durinor the winter season. The 
 wife being a prudent woman, did not expose this 
 cruelty to her neighbors; but, on the contrary, 
 to avoid their observation, she went into the ad- 
 jacent fields, and betook herself to prayer. Great- 
 ly distressed, but not in despair, her only encour« 
 
8^ THE PERSECUTING HUSBAND, 
 
 agement was, that with God all things are possi- 
 ble ; she therefore resolved to set apart one hour 
 every day to prayer for the conversion of her per- 
 secuting husband. This she was enabled to do, 
 without missing one day, for a whole year. See- 
 ing no change in her husband, she formed a sec- 
 ond resolution to persevere for six months longer, 
 which she did up to the last day, when she re- 
 tired, at about twelve o'clock as usual, and, as 
 she thought, for the last time. Fearing that her 
 wishes, in this instance, might be contrary to the 
 will of God, she was about resolving no longer to 
 urge her suit in that importunate manner, in 
 which she had done, and was almost tempted to 
 intermit wholly any special application to God, in 
 behalf of her husband. 
 
 That same day, however, her husband return- 
 ed from his labor in a state of deep dejection, and 
 instead of sitting down as usual to his dinner, he 
 proceeded directly to his chamber. His wife 
 followed and listened, and to her grateful aston- 
 ishment, he who used to mock, had returned to 
 pray. He came down stairs, but declined eating, 
 and returned again until evening. When he 
 came home, his wife affectionately asked him, 
 " what was the matter ? " " Matter enough," 
 said he; "I am a lost sinner; about twelve 
 o'clock this morning," continued he, " I was at 
 my work, and a passage of scripture was impress- 
 ed upon my mind, which I cannot get rid of, and 
 I am sure I am lost.'' His wife encouraged him 
 to pray ; but he replied, "It is of no more use, there 
 is no forgiveness for me." Smitten with remorse 
 at the recollection of his former conduct, he said 
 to his wife, '' Will you forgive me 1 " " Will 
 
AND HIS PIOUS WIFE. 83 
 
 you pray for me?" "Oh yes, that I will." 
 "Will you pray forme nowV "That I will, 
 with all my heart." They instantly fell on their 
 knees, and wept, and made supplication. His 
 tears of penitence mingled with her tears of grat- 
 itude and joy. Soon afterwards, this pious cou- 
 ple agreed to have their house registered as a 
 place of worship, and the scene of solitary inter- 
 cession became a house of prayer. In vain did 
 the parish clergyman visit them, to reprove and 
 menace them, and order them, to hold no more 
 meetings for prayer. Their house was under the 
 protection of the law, and their hearts under the 
 influence of the Gospel. Like the two blind men 
 that followed the Saviour, saying, Have mercy on 
 Hs, when the multitude said they should hold 
 their peace, they cried the more, a great deal. 
 The consequence was, that their little habitation 
 soon became too strait for the attendance ; — 
 and having by great economy, saved out of their 
 scanty earnings, the sum of five pounds, they re- 
 solved to expend this, their little all, in the en- 
 largement of their little dwelling for the accom- 
 modation of those, who wished to hear the Gos- 
 pel. Accordingly, the wall of their house was 
 carried back into the garden, and rebuilt with 
 the wood and stone, which their neighbors car- 
 ried to them for that purpose ; and in a little time 
 the enlargement was completed and paid for. 
 There was not a horse or cart used upon the oc- 
 casion ; no loss of time, nor discord among the 
 laborers ; the wall was built, and the roof 
 thereof joined together, for " the people had a 
 mind to work." 
 
 Of this happy couple it may be recorded, that 
 
84 MY mother's grave. 
 
 having a church in their own house, consisting of 
 from twenty to thirty members, of which he who 
 was once a persecutor is now a deacon, and in 
 the midst of which he reads the hymns every Sab- 
 bath day, they continue with one accord, eating 
 their meat with gladness and singleness of heart, 
 praising God, and having favor with the people. 
 So strong is the conviction that a larger place of 
 worship is needed, that a benevolent lady, who 
 belongs to the established church, has kindly en- 
 gaged to erect a meeting-house at her own ex- 
 pense, provided a suitable piece of ground can be 
 obtained for that purpose. 
 
 MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. 
 
 I HAD a mother once, like you, 
 
 Who o'er my pillow hung, 
 Kissed from my cheek the briny dew. 
 
 And taught my faltering tongue. 
 
 But then there came a fearful day, 
 
 I sought my mother's bed, 
 'Till harsh hands tore me thence away. 
 
 And told me she was dead. 
 
 It was thirteen years since my mother's death, 
 when, after a long absence from my native vil- 
 lage, I stood beside the sacred mound, beneath 
 which I had seen her buried. Since that mourn- 
 ful period, great changes had come over me. — 
 My childish years had passed away ; and with 
 them had passed my youthful character. The 
 
MY mother's grave. 85 
 
 world was altered too ; and as I stood at my 
 mother's grave, 1 could hardly realize that I was 
 the same thoughtless, happy creature, whose 
 cheek she so often kissed in her excess of tender- 
 ness. But the varied events of thirteen years had 
 not effaced the remembrance of that mother's 
 smile. It seemed as if I had seen her yesterday, . 
 as if the blessed sound of her voice was then in 
 my ear. The gay dreams of my infancy and 
 childhood were brought back so distinctly to my 
 mind, that had it not been for one bitter recollec- 
 tion, the tears I shed would have been gentle 
 and refreshing. The circumstance may seem a 
 trifling one ; but the thought of it, even now ag- 
 onizes my heart, — and I relate it, that those chil- 
 dren, who have parents to love them may learn 
 to value them as they ought. 
 
 My mother had been ill a long time ; and I had 
 become so much accustomed to her pale face, 
 and weak voice, that I was not frightened at them, 
 as children usually are. At first, it is true, I had 
 sobbed violently, for they told me she would die ; 
 but when, day after day, I returned from school, 
 and found her the same, I began to believe she 
 would always be spared to me. 
 
 One day, when I had lost my place in the 
 class, and done my work wrong-side outward, I 
 came home discouraged and fretful. I went into 
 my mother's chamber. She was paler than usu- 
 al, — but she met me with the same affectionate 
 smile, that alwavs welcomed my return. Alas, 
 when I look back through the lapse of thirteen 
 years, I think my heart must have been stone, 
 not to have been melted by it. 
 
 She requested me to go down stairs, and bring 
 8 
 
86 MY mother's grave. 
 
 her a glass of water. 1 pettishly asked why she 
 did not call the domestic to do it. With a look 
 of mild reproach, which 1 shall never forget, if I 
 live to be a hundred years old, she said, "And 
 will not my daughter bring a glass of water for 
 her poor sick mother ? " 
 
 I went and brought her the water, but I did 
 not do it kindly. Instead of smiling and kissing 
 her, as I was wont to do, I set the glass down 
 very quick, and left the room. 
 
 After playing a short time, I went to bed with- 
 out bidding my moth(5r " good night; " but when 
 alone in my room, in darkness and silence, I re- 
 membered how pale she looked, and how her 
 voice trembled when she said, " Will not my 
 daughter bring a glass of water for her poor sick 
 mother ? " I could not sleep; and I stole into 
 her chamber, to ask forgiveness. She had just 
 sunk into an uneasy slumber, and they told me 
 I must not waken her. I did not tell any one 
 what troubled me; but stole back to my bed, re- 
 solved to rise early in the morning, and tell her 
 how sorry I was for my conduct. 
 
 The sun was shining brightly when I awoke, 
 and hurrying on my clothes, I hastened to my 
 mother's room. 
 
 She was dead ! — She never spoke to me more 
 — never smiled upon me again — and when I 
 touched the hand, that used to rest upon my 
 head in blessing, it was so cold, it made me start. 
 1 bowed down by her side, and sobbed in the bit- 
 terness of my heart. I thought then I wished I 
 could die, and be buried with her ; and old as I 
 now am, I would give worlds, were they mine to 
 give, could my mother but have lived to tell me, 
 
THE brothers' quarrel. 87 
 
 she forgave my childish ingratitude. But I can- 
 not call her back; and when I stand by her 
 grave, and whenever I think of her manifold 
 kindness, the memory of that reproachful look 
 she gave me, will " bite like a serpent, and sting 
 like an adder ! " 
 
 THE BROTHERS' aUARREL. 
 
 Of the divided affections too often observable 
 among brothers, a most remarkable instance hap- 
 pened a few years ago in the family of a gentle- 
 man in the north of Scotland. George and Wil- 
 liam Sterling were the only sons of the gentleman 
 alluded to, and they had grown to manhood in the 
 exercise of that mutual kindness, which it is so 
 delightful to observe, in relations in that degree 
 of consanguinity. I am not aware that there was 
 anything remarkable in their characters ; they 
 were simply two respectable young men of good 
 education ; and while the elder wasieared to the 
 enjoyment of a competent fortune, the younger 
 soon attained such a degree of distinction at the 
 bar, as rendered his condition little less enviable. 
 
 On the death of their mother, which took place 
 when they were between twenty and thirly years 
 of age, some dispute arose respecting a legacy, 
 the destination of which had not been expressed 
 in terms sutHciently clear, and which, after a 
 brief suit at law, was determined in favor of the 
 elder brother. At first, it was resolved by the 
 
88 THE brothers' quarrel. 
 
 two brothers that this plea should be amicably 
 conducted, merely for the purpose of deciding an 
 uncertain matter; but some circumstances unex- 
 pectedly occurred which, acting upon the inflam- 
 mable nature of the elder, and not being met 
 with a proper spirit by the younger brother, 
 speedily produced a decided alienation between 
 them. Each retired sullenly into the fortress of 
 his own pride ; nor were their father's entreaties 
 and good ofSces, or their common recollections 
 of twenty affectionate and happy years, of the 
 least avail in bringing them once more together. 
 They did not again meet for ten years, and then 
 at their father's funeral. The old gentleman had 
 died in the presence of his eldest son only, reiter- 
 ating with his latest breath, those injunctions so 
 often before employed in vain, that his two sons 
 might be restored to brotherly friendship, an ob- 
 ject, he said, which engrossed his thoughts so 
 much in life, that he felt as if he could not rest 
 at peace in his grave, unless it were accomplish- 
 ed. The two brothers met, but without taking 
 the least notice of each other, when respectively 
 mounting their carriages, in order to follow the 
 corpse of their father to the family burying- 
 ground, in Aberdeen. Their hearts were still 
 filled with fierce and indignant feelings towards 
 each other, though it is not improbable that the 
 elder had been somewhat touched, almost imper- 
 ceptibly to himself, by the dying entreaties oi^his 
 father. The procession, consisting of a hearse 
 and the carriages of the two brothers, set out on 
 its long and dreary journey, which was rendered 
 additionally melancholy by the gloom of a De- 
 cember day. 
 
THE brothers' QUARREL. 89 
 
 It was originally designed that there should be 
 no stoppage, except to exchange horses, till they 
 reached their destination ; but this arrangement 
 was destined to be strangely disconcerted. A 
 fall of snow, which had begun only that morning 
 in the low country, was found, when they reach- 
 ed the hilly region, to have been of two days' 
 continuance; and it was with the greatest diffi- 
 culty, that they reached a lonely inn, about half 
 way towards the capital, beyond which, it was 
 declared by the posiilions, there was no possibil- 
 ity of proceeding that day. This humble place 
 of entertainment was accustomed to lodge only 
 such guests as carriers, and as it was partly oc- 
 cupied on the present occasion by various way- 
 farers; the host with all his anxiety to accommo- 
 date such distinguished guests, as those who had 
 just arrived, found he could not by any means 
 offer them more than two rooms. It was his ex- 
 pectation, that, while one of these was devoted, 
 as decency required to the reception of the corpse, 
 the other would serve for the two mourners ; and 
 he accordingly proposed to make up an additional 
 bed in the room, which he had marked, as that 
 which should receive his living guests. What 
 was his astonishment, and what was the aston- 
 ishment of all the inmates of the house, when he 
 was intbrmed by a servant, that one of the gen- 
 tlemen would sleep in one of the rooms, while 
 the other had no objection to that, in which he 
 had placed the corpse ! It was not for him, how- 
 ever, to make any resistance to such an arrange- 
 ment, and he accordingly caused the rooms to be 
 prepared, as befitted the tastes of his guests. 
 
 It must communicate a strange feeling to know 
 
90 THE brothers' QUARREL. 
 
 that two brothers, men of cultivated understand- 
 ings, and each respected in his sphere, for public 
 and private worth — -actually carried this dreadful- 
 arrangement into effect, in order to avoid, what 
 they must have contemplated as a more painful 
 thing — the spending of a single night in each 
 other's company. It was the younger, who pro- 
 posed, as a solution of the dilemma in which he 
 found they were placed, to take up his quarters 
 in the same chamber with the corpse ; unpardona- 
 ble as the elder was for his share of the dissension, 
 it was but justice to him to s^ate, that he could 
 not, after the dying request of his father, have 
 encountered the sensations which might be ex- 
 pected to arise in so dreadful a situation. Dur- 
 ing the evening, as the storm prevented them 
 from going out of doors, each kept his own room, 
 and was severally served with the refreshments, 
 which he required. Night came, and each went 
 to rest. Morning returned, and still the storm 
 was unabated. It was therefore necessary to 
 spend another day in the same extraordinary cir- 
 cumstances. Slowly waned the hours of the 
 twilight ; and still the snow continued to fall in 
 its broad and lazy flakes, seeming to the two 
 brothers, as each surveyed it listlessly from his 
 window, the very personification of monotony. 
 As the rooms were close to each other, and only 
 divided by a thin partition, through which there 
 was a door of communication, each of the unhap- 
 py gentlemen could overhear every thing that his 
 neighbor did, almost to his very breathing. It, 
 at length, became the amusement of each, un- 
 known to his fellow, to vv'atch the proceedings of 
 the other, to note every foot-fall, to register every 
 
THE brothers' QUARREL. 91 
 
 sigh. George, in particular, became interested, 
 in spite of himself, in the situation of his brother, 
 whicli, in consideration of what he had heard 
 from the lips of iiis dying father, bore to him an 
 aspect more repulsive and painful than perhaps to 
 the actual sufferer. 
 
 At length, when after a weary day, the time of 
 rest again drew nigh, and the house became more 
 than usually still, he heard a groan — a groan 
 partly suppressed, but still bearing distinctly the 
 impress of unutterable anguish, proceed from his 
 brother's room. He listened more intently, and 
 in a few minutes he could make out that the liv- 
 ing tenant of the death chamber was prostrated 
 beside the coffin, weeping, — bitterly weeping — 
 but still making every effort to bury the expression 
 of his grief in his own bosom. It may easily be 
 imagined that such sounds, coming upon a heart, 
 which had insensibly been undergoing a softening 
 process during the whole day, must have had the 
 best effect. Still the rancor of ten years was not 
 to be got over by tears shed under such circum- 
 stances. He softly stole, however, to the door, 
 and watched with the most intense anxiety every 
 respiration and movement of his afflicted brother. 
 After waiting a few minutes, he distinctly heard 
 William breathe forth the words, * Oh mother! ' 
 and that in a tone, which referred so pointedly to 
 the source of their unhappy quarrel, that he could 
 no longer entertain a doubt as to the nature of 
 his brother's reflections. A thousand tender as- 
 sociations were awakened by that endeared 
 word ; he reverted to the early days, when they 
 had no contention, but for her affections; no ri- 
 valry, but for the kind bounty, which she was 
 
92 RECOLLECTIONS OF A MINISTER. 
 
 always ready to bestow upon each alike. Hu- 
 man nature could hold no longer, and he gently 
 tapped at the door, which had hitherto kept them 
 apart," William," he said, "may I come in?" 
 The voice of affection could not be mistaken — 
 Wdliam opened the door in an instant, and, as if 
 he had guessed intuitively the disposition of his 
 brother, rushed into his arms. 
 
 The next day saw the two brothers amicably 
 proceeding in one vehicle to the family burying 
 place, where, in the grave of their father, they 
 inhumed every bitter feeling they had entertain- 
 ed against each other; ?.nd at present taught by 
 the sufferings, which they endured in their peri- 
 od of alienation, there is no pair of friends, who 
 take such pains to cherish each other's affec- 
 tions, or to avoid all means of converting them 
 into gall. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OP A MINISTER. 
 
 THE SAILOR BOY. 
 
 There is something in the name of a widow, 
 that connects with it an idea of desolation and 
 loneliness. Especially, when we see the bereav- 
 ed one, in the feebleness of her nature, no longer 
 supported by the strong arm of man, strugglmg 
 against the pressure of poverty, and the various 
 ills of a new and untried state of being. Such 
 were my thoughts, one morning, as I was making 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF A MINISTER. 93 
 
 my usual visits among the sick, that belonged to 
 my flock, in a small, but beautiful villaofe, in one 
 of the Eastern States. Tlie rays of an autumnal 
 suti were shining bright and clear, reflecting glo- 
 riously the varied hues that were painted on the 
 gay plumes of the dying summer, as I turned my 
 horse's head down an unfrequented lane, that led 
 to the widow Thompson's habitation. 
 
 As I approached the scene of suffering, I re- 
 flected that a few more visits, and my ministry 
 would end — and thus it is with all earth's joys 
 and sorrows — " they are but for a moment ! " 
 Mrs. T. had been left a widow, at an early peri- 
 od, with two small children. Edward, her oldest 
 child, was a boy of uncommon promise ; — she had 
 given him the best education, which her circum- 
 stances would permit, and looked forward to the 
 time when he would be able to comfort and cheer 
 her in her old age. But she was disappointed. 
 Before Edward had attained his fifteenth year, 
 he made up his mind to go to sea. Every feel- 
 ing of the mother's bosom revolted from the step 
 he was about to take, and she earnestly entreat- 
 ed him to select some other way of life; but he 
 had set his heart on it — his young imagination 
 was filled with the idea of making a rapid for- 
 tune ; aud after many efforts to change his pur- 
 pose, his mother, at length, consented. 
 
 He embarked in a merchant^'s vessel for India, 
 hoping to return in a year. Four years had now 
 elapsed, and no tidings of the vessel, or crew had 
 ever arrived. For some time, she had supposed 
 him lost, and many were the bitter tears and 
 sleepless nights, she gave to the memory of her 
 boy. But the period was fast approaching, when 
 
94 RECOLLECTIONS OF A MINISTER. 
 
 her faith was to be again severely tried. Eliza, 
 her sole remaining child, the only consolation and 
 joy of the widow's heart, was about to be taken 
 from her. She had grown up like a lily, fair and 
 beautiful — but the roseate hue had faded from 
 her cheek, and the lustre of her eye was dim. 
 Death had laid his blighting hand upon the young 
 flower. The nearer she approached the confines 
 of eternity, the more clear and fervent became 
 her faith in Christ. She felt deeply at leaving 
 her lone and widowed mother, but she would fre- 
 quently say, " For me to live is Christ, and to 
 die is gain." As I alighted at the door of their 
 humble dwelling, I heard the sound of voices 
 and weeping within. I thought that death had 
 anticipated my visit, and that the spirit of the 
 suffering one had winged its way to Abraham's 
 bosom. But no — far different was the scene I 
 witnessed. Eliza was still an inhabitant of 
 earth ; she was supported in the bed by pillows ; 
 her mother sat at her head, and a young man 
 dressed in the garb of a sailor, stood close beside 
 her. 
 
 As I entered the room, he turned around, and 
 
 I met the clear blue eye of Edward T ; the 
 
 lost one had indeed returned. The ship in which 
 he had sailed had been wrecked, and he, with 
 two others, were the only survivors. For twelve 
 days, they were exposed to the fury of the raging 
 elements. On the morning of the thirteenth, 
 when they were on the point of yielding up to 
 despair, emaciated and worn out with suffering, 
 they were providentially rescued from their peril- 
 ous situation, by the crew of a French brig, and 
 carried into Bourdeaux, in France; from thence 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF A MINISTER 95 
 
 Edward sailed to South America. He had writ- 
 ten several letters to his mother, but they had 
 never reached her. " I have been a great suffer- 
 er," said he, " but thank God, I am spared to re- 
 turn to the home of my childhood. The Lord 
 has been very, gracious to me ; 1 have seen his 
 wonders in the great deep; I have felt his power 
 amidst the war of elements, and heard his voice 
 above the thunder of the storm. When lashed 
 to the mast of the vessel, and tossed about upon 
 the mountain billows, surrounded by a world of 
 waters, the Lord appeared to me from above the 
 clouds, placed my feet upon the eternal rock, and 
 put a new song into my mouth. If you recollect, 
 sir, you preached a sermon to the children in 
 
 P , about five years ago. I was present ; 
 
 my mother and sister were with me — we sat 
 among the children, just before you. Your text 
 was, ' Suffer little children to come unto me, and 
 forbid them not, for of such are the kingdom of 
 heaven.' Your address made a deep and lasting 
 impression on my mind : I never forgot it. Our 
 captain was a pious man, and, during our voyage, 
 I had frequent opportunities for reading, prayer, 
 and meditation ; but it was not until we were ex- 
 posed to all the horrors of a watery grave, that I 
 felt the influence of the Holy Spirit. It was then 
 your words came fresh and powerful to ray mem- 
 ory, and though you sowed the seed on a far-off 
 shore, the Lord caused it to take deep root, and 
 spring up on the hulk of a dismantled vessel on 
 the dreary waters, and behold the fruit of your 
 labor and toil this day. I have passed through 
 many scenes of suffering since, but blessed be 
 God, the cross of Christ has been the sheet an- 
 chor of my soul, and the pole-star of my hopes.'* 
 
96 PREVALENCE OF A MOTHEu's PRAYERS. 
 
 I was deeply affected at the young sailor's nar- 
 rative. We knelt at the throne of grace to return 
 thanks to the God of all our mercies ; — his prayer 
 was deep and fervent. Eliza lingered a few 
 days after her brother's return, then her pure and 
 happy spirit winged its flight to the realms of un- 
 created beauty. Edward is now the master of 
 a fine ship, and the Bethel-flag constantly waves 
 from its mast-head when in port. There is or- 
 der among his sailors ; they have prayers night 
 and morning on board, and ardent spirits are en- 
 tirely banished from his vessel. His pious moth- 
 er continually gives thanks to God, that she ever 
 carried her dear boy to hear the children's ser- 
 mon. 
 
 PREVALENCE OF A MOTHER'S PRAYERS. 
 
 While in the service of the Home Missionary 
 
 Society, in the town of , in the state of New 
 
 York, observes a clergyman, I became acquaint- 
 ed with a family, which consisted of the father, 
 and mother, and five sons. The first four of the 
 sons were between fourteen and twenty-two years 
 of age. Of this family, the only individual who 
 professed religion was the female head, who had 
 for several years been an ornament to the visible 
 church. Soon after making a public profession 
 of her faith, she fejt it to be her duty and a most 
 precious privilege, to dedicate her children to 
 God in baptism. She led them to the altar, and 
 
PREVALENCE OF A MOTHER'S PRAYER. 97 
 
 the emotions of her soul were unutterable. Her 
 melting heart went up to God in supplication for 
 hiiJ blessing on herself and her offspring. Fer- 
 vent ejaculations, like the following ascended 
 from her anxious spirit. '* O Lord, give me grace 
 to perform the conditions of this covenant into 
 which I am now entering. Enable me to train 
 up for thee, my dear children, which I now bring 
 into thy temple to dedicate to thy service. Help 
 me to instruct them ; to pray for them, and to set 
 a pious example before them. Ever impress my 
 mind with the obligations which thy covenant 
 lays upon me. O may I always feel that with- 
 out thy grace to renew and sanctify my offspring, 
 all my labors for their good will be unavailing. 
 Now, Lord, give me faith to take hold upon th" 
 covenant for the sake of Jesus Christ, my Re- 
 deemer." 
 
 After these silent breathings of her soul to 
 God, she reached out the hand of faith, and laid 
 fast hold of that promise, where God engages to 
 be a God to faithful believers, and their seed. 
 When tlie seal of the covenant had been placed 
 upon her children, she returned from the sanctu- 
 ary thankful for the inestimable privilege which 
 she had enjoyed. Never after did she forget the 
 feelings, and the vows of that day. Iler children 
 were instructed in religion, and always were fa- 
 vored with a living example of its excellency. 
 
 When I first became acquainted with the fam- 
 ily, the father was intemperate, and of course 
 neglectful of business ; and the children were 
 mostly from home laboring to procure a comfort- 
 able support for themselves and their parents. 
 Within a few weeks from the commencement 
 9 
 
98 PREVALENCE OF A MOTHER's PRAYERb. 
 
 of my ministerial labors in that place, several of 
 the sisters in the church (among whom was the 
 mother of this family,) agreed to set apart a sea- 
 son at 11 o'clock each day, to implore the bles- 
 sing of Almighty God on their respective fami- 
 lies. Not long had this concert been observed, 
 before it was ascertained that several individuals 
 belonging to these families were convinced of 
 sin, and anxious to know the way of salvation. 
 The two eldest sons of this godly mother were 
 among the inquirers. Encouraged by this dis- 
 covery, she became uncommonly solicitous for 
 the salvation of her children, especially those 
 who were serious. 
 
 One day, after coming from the 11 o'clock 
 concert, she said to a Christian friend, " I have 
 had peculiar exercises to day, while praying for 
 my family. I believe the Lord is about to do a 
 great work for m(^, and that one of my children 
 is now, or will very soon be a Christian.'' Her 
 sons were at this time, as I mentioned above, 
 living from home in another neighborhood. The 
 evening of the same day, I had a lecture in that 
 section of the town, and the second son was pres- 
 ent. While the people were assembling, as I 
 stood at the door of the school-house, this youth 
 came to me with tears of joy, and in a low tone 
 of voice said, ** I hope 1 have found the Saviour ! 
 He appears precious to me ! I don't know but I 
 am deceived, but I hope not." After giving him 
 some advice, the people being collected^ 1 went 
 into the meeting. This young man, who before 
 was gay and thoughtless, has from that time giv- 
 en evidence of a saving change. Now, whether 
 God, at this day, does sometimes give intimations 
 
PREVALENCE OF A MOTHEr's PRAYERS. 99 
 
 to his children, that their prayers are heard and 
 answered, I will not aliempl to decide. 
 
 The same mother had similar feelings at anoth- 
 er time, respecting another of her sons, who was 
 hopefully converted. And this lady is not inclin- 
 ed to enthusiasm. She is a person of talents and 
 considerable information, but it is not my design 
 in this paper to discuss curious questions. My 
 object is simply to relate some striking facts 
 which stand connected with the prayers of this 
 mother in Israel. In about two weeks from the 
 lecture just mentioned, her oldest son carne out 
 boldly on the Lord's side. In two months more 
 the fourth son, after having been deeply impress- 
 ed for some time, began to express a trembling 
 hope, that his sins were pardoned Three months 
 later the father was brought to feel himself to be 
 a guilty, perishing sinner. His soul was full of 
 anguish, in view of his past sinfulness of heart 
 and life. After a week of restless nights and 
 anxious days, he submitted to Christ. Three 
 months from this the third son, (the only adult 
 member of the family, who remained unaffected.) 
 was pricked in the heart, and cried out, " What 
 shall 1 do to be saved?" In a few days his soul 
 found peace in the Saviour. 
 
 The father and four sons have all united with 
 the church of which the mother was a member. 
 I have seen this praying woman communing at 
 the Lord's Table with her husband, and all her 
 adult children. And I have heard this father 
 and each of these sons at different times lead in 
 family worship. Two of the sons are now study- 
 ing for the gospel ministry. 
 
( 100 ) 
 
 THE MOTHER'S REWARD. 
 
 I SAW a little cloud rising in the western hori- 
 zon. In a few moments it spread over the expanse 
 of heaven, and watered the earth with a genial 
 shower. I saw a little rivulet start from a moun- 
 tain, winding its way through the valley and 
 meadow, receiving each tributary rill, which it 
 met in its course, till it became a mighty stream, 
 bearing on its bosom the merchandise of many 
 nations, and the various productions of the adja- 
 cent country. 
 
 I saw a little seed dropped into the earth. The 
 dews descended ; the sun rose upon it ; it started 
 into life. In a little time it spread its branches 
 and became a shelter from the heat, " and the 
 fowls of heaven lodged in its branches." 
 
 I saw a little smiling boy stand by the side of 
 his mother, and heard him repeat from her lips, 
 one of the sweet songs of Zion. I saw him kneel 
 at her feet, and pray that Jesus would bless his 
 dear parents, the world of mankind, and keep 
 him from temptation. In a little time I saw him 
 with the books of the classics under his arm, 
 walking alone, buiied in deep thought. I went 
 into a Sabbath School, and heard him saying to 
 a little group that surrounded him, " Suffer little 
 children to come unto me." In a few months, I 
 went into the sanctuary, and heard him reasoning 
 of" righteousness, temperance, and judgment to 
 come." I looked and saw that same mother, at 
 whose feet he had knelt, and from whose lips he- 
 had learned to lisp the name of Immanuel. Her 
 
MATERNAL PIETY. 101 
 
 hair Tvas whitened with the frosts of winter, and 
 on hei cheek was many a furrow ; but meekness 
 sat on her brow, and lieaven beamed in her dim 
 eye, glistening with a tear ; and 1 thought 1 saw 
 in tha: tear, the moving of a mother's heart, 
 while ^he reverted to days gone by, when this 
 Boanerjes was first putting into life, hanging on 
 her lips, listening to the voice of instruction, and 
 inquirirg in child-like simplicity, the way to be 
 good ; and I said this is the rich h.arvest of a 
 mother's toil ; these are the rich sheaves of that 
 precious seed, which probably was sown in weep- 
 ing, and shall bring down your gray hairs, not 
 " with sjrrow to the grave," but in the bower 
 of rest, jou shall look down on him, who " will 
 arise and call you blessed," and finally greet you 
 where hope is swallowed up in fruition, and 
 prayer in praise. 
 
 MATERNAL PIETY. 
 2 Timothy i. 5. 
 
 Whem I say that there is a connexion between 
 the piet/ of mothers, and the salvation of their 
 children, I do not mean the connexion which 
 God has instituted in the covenant of grace, for 
 this coi'enant applies equally to both parents. 
 There is somellnng peculiar in the case of a 
 mother; so that independently of the covenant of 
 God, maternal piety is more likely to be followed 
 by the conversion of children, than the piety of a 
 father. 
 
 9* 
 
102 MATERNAL PIETY. 
 
 1. This connexion is very simple. A mother^sr 
 piety is peculiarly affectionate. There is nothing 
 severe or ceremonious in its exercise; but it 
 mingles itself with the numberless little natural 
 kindnesses, by which the heart of a child is won, 
 and acquires a hold on the first rising affections o£ 
 his mind. A pious mother, while she vatches 
 over her sleeping, or sick child, while she guides 
 his tottering steps, or furnishes him for his school, 
 or his pastime, or leads him up to the bouse of 
 God, has a yearning of the soul over his soul, and 
 cherishes and often expresses a feeling of solici- 
 tude for his eternal welfare, which diffuses a re- 
 straining and chastening influence over his mind, 
 while it is precious also in the sight of God. Her 
 prayers, which she pours out over him, are in 
 those wonted accents of tenderness and love, 
 which have always soothed his mind, and kindled 
 his affection. Her counsels, and admonitions, and 
 chastisements, are the manifest dictate of a heart 
 laboring with desires for his conversion and sal- 
 vation, and carry with them, on that account, an 
 authority, which truth and reason alone would be 
 unable to exert. 
 
 2. A ?}iother's piety is familiar. It labors 
 with her child, and before God in his behalf, in a 
 style, which he understands and feels. The lan- 
 guage of her counsels and her devotions is a sim- 
 ple and artless expression of her desires adapted 
 to his youth, his inexperience, his infirmities and 
 temptations. It comes home to his heairt. He 
 recognizes the voice that speaks to him to- be the 
 same which has always lulled him into his even- 
 ing slumbers, and greeted him with morni-jig sal- 
 utations: and he feels that it means as much 
 
MATERNAL PIETY. 103 
 
 kindness for him, when speaking in counsel, or 
 in prayer, as when it has soothed his pains, or 
 tempted his smiles, or encouraged his festivities. 
 If a father's efforts for the spiritual good of his 
 child produce more of reverence, solemnity and 
 fear ; yet a mother applies herself more directly 
 to the heart, and fcistens there a cord, which 
 holds the affections and the sensibilities, when 
 the other more powerful emotions have subsided. 
 A mother will teach her child, will soften, or re- 
 strain, or encourage him, with incomparably 
 more facility and effect than any other individual. 
 She will fix in his mind an outline of the whole 
 history of the Bible, of its system of doctrines and 
 precepts, sooner and better than any other per- 
 son, can initiate him into the first principles of 
 Divine knowledge. He understands her tones, 
 her looks, her gestures. They all speak to him, 
 and they fix an impression, which is always sure 
 and abiding. And there is no time, when a pious 
 mother cannot have access to her child. How 
 soon will she penetrate his heart, and ascertain 
 the causes of all his troubles, how soon will she 
 allay the storm of passion, how soon apply to him 
 the admonitions of Providence, how soon excite 
 an inquisitive spirit, and how successfully follow 
 up a father's sterner reproof and correction, with 
 heart-breaking expostulations, reducing him to 
 penitence and fortifying him against future temp- 
 tation. A pious mother is a sort of better con- 
 science to a child, a messenger of God ever the 
 most ready and the most able, next to the Holy 
 Spirit, to rescue him from the power of his de- 
 pravity, and turn his feet into the paths of peace. 
 3. A pious mother has peculiar opportunities 
 
104 MATERNAL PIETY. 
 
 of saving her children. She is ever at their side 
 to restrain their corrupt propensities, to regulate 
 their inordinate desires, and encourage them to 
 obedience. She can turn ahnost every event of 
 Providence into an occasion of salutary instruc- 
 tion, can mingle counsel as it were with their 
 medicine and their food, can be ever distilling 
 upon them the wholesome words of eternal life, 
 as the dew upon the tender herb, and the soft 
 rain that waters the earth. Her mind is not 
 burdened with cares for their sustenance, but 
 with anxieties for their salvation ; and while pre- 
 paring for them their raiment, while superintend- 
 ing their tasks or their sports, she can be lifting 
 up to God her desires for their everlasting happi- 
 ness. Her watchful eye can pierce through their 
 duplicity, and search out their secret sins, while 
 the leisure that God gives her for this very pur- 
 pose can be employed in explaining to them the 
 obligations and sanctions of the Divine Law, the 
 nature of their corruptions, the consequences of 
 their sins, and the way of salvation, through the 
 atoning sacrifice of Christ. It is hers to com- 
 mend them to God, when she commits them to 
 their pillows, and when she leads them out to the 
 employment of the day. They may enjoy her 
 guidance as their constant monitor, till they are 
 qualified to go out to another residence; and her 
 daily prayers, and frequent correspondence may 
 afterwards keep alive the precious instructions of 
 their childhood, and procure for them the better 
 teaching and direction of the Holy Spirit. To 
 the mother belongs most appropriately the duty 
 and privilege of administering line upon line, and 
 precept upon precept. To bring up her children 
 
NEVER DECEIVE CHILDREN. 105 
 
 for God is her great business, her honorable dis- 
 tinction, and it is connected in the Divine Provi- 
 dence with lesuhs the most encouraging and glo- 
 rious. Not indeed that there is any intrinsic 
 ethcacy in the means, which she employs, not 
 that any means will necessarili/ procure the sal- 
 vation of the soul: but so it is that God accom- 
 plishes the purposes of his mercy. He saves 
 according to his pleasure ; but he saves by instru- 
 ments naturally fitted for his purpose. He 
 sanctifies the mother's heart, that heirs of glory 
 may be educated for his kingdom. He blesses 
 her counsels and her prayers, because to this end 
 he so qualified her to promote the interests of his 
 kincfdom. 
 
 NEVER DECEIVE CHILDREN. 
 
 A mother was once trying to persuade her lit- 
 tle son to take some medicine. The medicine 
 was very unpalatable, and she, to induce him to 
 take it, declared it did not taste bad. He did 
 not believe her. He knew by sad experience, 
 that her word was not to be trusted. A gentle- 
 man and friend who was present, took the spoon 
 and said, 
 
 " James, this is medicine, and it tastes very bad- 
 ly, r should not like to take it, but I would, if 
 necessary. You have courage enough to swal- 
 low something, which does not taste good?" 
 
 *' Yes," said James, looking a little less sulky, 
 " but this is very bad indeed." 
 
106 NEVER DECEIVE CHILDREN. 
 
 " I know it/' said the gentleman, " I presume 
 you never tasted anything much worse." The 
 gentleman then tasted of the medicine himself, 
 and said, " it is really very unpleasant. But now 
 let us see if you have not resolution enough to 
 lake it, bad as it is." 
 
 The boy hesitatingly took the spoon. 
 
 ** It is, really, rather bad," said the gentleman, 
 "but the best way is to summon all your resolu- 
 tion and down with it at once, like a man." 
 
 James made, in reality, a great effort for a 
 child, and swallowed the dose. And whom will 
 this child most respect, his deceitful mother, or 
 the honest dealing stranger? And whom will he 
 hereafter most readily believe? It ought, how- 
 ever, to be remarked, that had the child been 
 properly governed, he should at once, and with- 
 out a murmur, have taken what his mother pre- 
 sented. It is certainly, however, a supposable 
 case, that the child might, after all the argu- 
 ments, refuse to do his duty. What course 
 would then be pursued? Resort to compulsion, 
 but never to deceit. We cannot deceive our 
 children without seriously injuring them, and de- 
 stroying our own influence. Frank and open 
 dealing is the only safe policy in family govern- 
 ment, as well as on the wider theatre of life. 
 The underhand arts and cunning manoeuvres of 
 the intriguer, are sure, in the end, to promote his 
 own overthrow. 
 
 Be sincere and honest, and you are safe. The 
 only sure way of securing beneficial results is by 
 virtuous and honorable means. 
 
( 107 ) 
 
 THE COLLIER BOY. 
 
 By a sudden burst of water some time ago into 
 one of the New Castle coal-pits, thirty-five men 
 and forty-one boys were driven into a distant 
 part of the pit, from which they could not re- 
 turn, until the water was drawn off: while this 
 was doing, though every means were used, the 
 whole number died, one after another, either 
 from being starved, or suffocated ; when the 
 bodies were drawn up from the pit, seven of the 
 boys were found in a cavern by themselves. 
 Among these was one of very moral and religious 
 habits ; who used to comfort his poor widowed 
 mother, by daily reading the scriptures to her, 
 when he came up from his labor. After his fu- 
 neral, a friend went to visit her. While the moth- 
 er showed him, as a relic of her son, his Bible, 
 worn and soiled by constant reading, he happen- 
 ed to cast his eyes on a candle-box, with which, 
 as a miner, he had been furnished; and which 
 had been brought up from the pit with him. 
 There he discovered one of the sweetest records 
 of his fiilial affection and steadfast piety, that 
 one ever heard of. In the darkness of the suf- 
 focating pit, with a bit of pointed iron, he en- 
 graved on the box, his last message to his moth- 
 er, in these words: " Fret not, my dear mother; 
 for we were singing and praising God, while we 
 had time. Mother, follow God more than ever I 
 did. Joseph, be a good lad to God and mother." 
 
( 108 ) 
 
 THE PRAYING MOTHER. 
 
 In a seaport town in New England, lived a 
 pious mother of six daughters. At the age of 
 sixty, she had been, for many years, subject to 
 disease and infirmity, which confined her to her 
 house, and almost to her room. In an interview 
 with a friend, one day, she said, " I have not, for 
 many years, enjoyed the pleasure of going to the 
 house of God with his people, and taking sweet 
 counsel with them. But I have another source 
 of grief greater than this — one that weighs 
 down my spirits day and night, while disease and 
 pain bear my body towards the grave." 
 
 Her friend tenderly inquired the cause of this 
 peculiar grief. She replied, " I have six daugh- 
 ters ; two are married and live near me, and 
 four are with me ; but not one of them gives any 
 evidence of piety. / am alone. I have no one 
 for a Christian companion. O that even one of 
 them was pious, that I might walk alone no 
 longer." 
 
 Such was her language. Yet she seemed sub- 
 missive to the will of God, whatever it might be, 
 having strong confidence that in his own good 
 time, he would answer her daily prayers, and in 
 a way, which would best advance his glory. 
 
 Not long after the above interview, a revival 
 of religion commenced in the town, in which 
 she lived. Among the first subjects of this work 
 were four of her daughters. A fifth was soon 
 added to their number ; but the other, the eld- 
 est, remained unmoved. One day, one of the 
 
THE PRAYING MOTHER. 109 
 
 young converts proposed to her mother and her 
 converted sisters, to observe a day of fasting and 
 prayer for the sister, who continued so insensi- 
 ble. The agreement was made, and a day ob- 
 served. Of this, the subject of their prayers 
 had no know^ledge. But on the same day, while 
 encraged in her domestic concerns at home, her 
 mind was solemnly arrested ; and she was soon 
 added to the Christian sisterhood. The praying 
 mother lived a few years to enjoy their Christian 
 society. They surrounded her dying bed, re- 
 ceived her last blessing, and unitedly commend- 
 ed her spirit to God. 
 
 Parents are apt to rest contented, if one or 
 two of their children become converted, on the 
 ground, that it is too much to expect all to be- 
 come the subjects of sanctifying grace. This 
 opinion is obviously founded upon unbelief — upon 
 circumscribed views of the free and rich grace 
 of the Gospel. The conversion of one child may 
 well be employed as an argument with God, to 
 extend his pardoning mercy to others. The 
 power which subdues is never weakened, how 
 often soever it is exercised ; nor is the fountain 
 of Jesus' blood diminished in virtue, how deep 
 and numerous the stains are, which it washes 
 away. Let Christian parents not be indifferent 
 to the privilege, which they enjoy, of asking in- 
 definite spiritual blessings for their households — 
 nor neglectful of the duty inculcated in the 
 parable, by which Jesus Christ taught that '* men 
 should always pray, and never faint." 
 
 10 
 
( HO ) 
 
 THE DEATH BED. 
 
 ** O for an overcoming faith, 
 
 To clieer my dying hour, 
 To triumph o'or the monster, death, 
 
 And all his frightful power ! " 
 
 With the subject of the following sketch, I 
 had been intimately acquainted for several years. 
 She was an exemplary member of the church, 
 and a most indulgent mother of the little flock, 
 the care of which the Lord had devolved upon 
 her. As a wife and friend, she was loving and 
 beloved. Early in life, her disease commenced 
 the ravages, which ultimately proved fatal : — 
 even while her children were very young, she 
 was destined to an early grave. 
 
 The hour of parting with her children v/as one 
 of deep interest. She anticipated it, and leaning 
 on the arm of her Almighty Friend, she stood 
 prepared, and serene and calm met the shock of 
 nature, and triumphed over it. 
 
 A few days previous to her decease, one of her 
 brothers, to whom she was particularly attached, 
 came in to see her, and addressed her, saying, 
 " Well, sister, you are still with us a little long- 
 er in this troublesome world." She replied, 
 "Yes, but it will not be long; I have nearly 
 reached the end of my journey, and will soon 
 leave you all." " But do you not feel some re- 
 luctance at the thought of leaving all your little 
 motherless children here?" " O brother, I 
 have no children." '' Why, sister, you forget, 
 surely your mind must be somewhat affected ; 
 
THE DEATH BED. Ill 
 
 don't you forget ? O, brother, they are the 
 Lord's children. They were his before he put 
 tliem into my hands. He gave them to me to 
 take care of them for him, and I have tried to 
 do so, and 1 liave long ago given them all back 
 to him as his own, — they are not mine. While 
 I was with them, he himself had to take care of 
 and keep mc ; and now he no longer needs my 
 care of them, but knows how to take care of 
 them in the very best way, and he will do it." 
 
 Such were the death-beil feelings ofoneof the 
 kindest of mothers, when looking round on her 
 little flock, who stood by her bed-side, weeping 
 indeed, but unconscious of the greatness of the 
 loss they were soon to sustain. On the day she 
 departed, I was with her, sitting by her bed-side, 
 when she still retained the most perfect exercise 
 of her mind. I spoke to her of her departure, 
 as being not far distant. She answered me, — 
 " O, I would rejoice that the hour were come! 
 When will my Lord come, and take me to him- 
 self? " I suggested to her, that the Lord would 
 have her to be patient and resigned, to wait his 
 time." She answered, '* O yes, the Lord's time 
 is best; I would not go a njoment before it is his 
 will I should go. Let him do with me as he 
 sees best. Still, I long to depart, and be with 
 Christ, which is far better." 1 asked her, if she 
 could trust herself in the hands of Jesus Christ. 
 She replied, "O yes, I can trust all in his 
 hands. I know that my Redeemer lives, and 
 that I shall see him for myself, and not another." 
 A few minutes (not exceeding five) before she 
 breathed her last, she elevated both her hands, 
 and with a voice to be heard all over the room, 
 
112 ' MOTHER, I WILL GO. 
 
 she exclaimed, " Come — come — Lord Jesus — 
 come quickly! " Her arms sunk down on her 
 bosom, her breathing became soft, and, without 
 a struggle or groan, she sweetly slept on the bo- 
 som of her God. 
 
 Well might a Balaam have cried out at such a 
 sight: ''Let me die the death of the righteous, 
 and let my last end be like his." 
 
 Blessed, blessed religion, that can not only be- 
 guile the toils, and soothe the ills of life, but un- 
 sting death itself, by faith in the promise of the 
 Lord. What has the world to compare with 
 this triumph, of an affectionate dying mother! 
 Let earthly minds divide among themselves all 
 they can find beneath the sun ; but give me my 
 God. Let me walk with him while I live, and 
 when I die, let his rod and staff comfort me, and 
 his smile cheer me ; and I can joyfully yield to 
 others the richest boon of earth, while I tri- 
 umphantly exclaim — 
 
 Welcome, sweet hour of full discharge. 
 That sets my longing soul at large ; 
 Unbinds my chain, breaks up my cell, 
 And gives me with my God to dwell ! 
 
 "MOTHER, I WILL GO." 
 
 Some years since, a fine young man, the only 
 son of his mother, and she was a widow, on be- 
 coming of age, and receiving his patrimony, en- 
 tered into company, and indulged in the dissipa- 
 
A WARNING TO WICKED PARENTS. 113 
 
 tion of genteel society. Her watchful eye saw 
 his danger, pointed out its tendency to ruin of 
 body and soul, and used every argument, persua- 
 sion, and entreaty in vain. One day, she learn- 
 ed he was to dine with a large and jovial party, 
 and she spent the forenoon in persuading him to 
 relinquish it, but all in vain. " Mother, I will 
 go ! " " Then, John, I will retire to my closet, 
 and pray for you, till I see your face again." 
 He went to the party, but could find no enjoy- 
 ment ; the thought of his mother being on her 
 knees, wrestling with God in prayer for him, 
 formed such a contrast to the scene before him, 
 that he slipped away — found his mother in the 
 act of prayer — knelt down by her — fell on her 
 neck — and from that day became the delight of 
 his pious mother's heart : a brand rescued from 
 the burning. A religious parent's prayers are 
 never offered in vain. 
 
 A WARNING TO WICKED PARENTS. 
 
 A few days since, in one of my pastoral visits, 
 I called on a family, the female head of which 
 was the daughter of a Baptist minister, and had 
 once been a member of a Methodist church. But 
 she had grievously fallen away from her profes- 
 sion. She was now living without a Bible in her 
 house, and had not attended public worship for 
 more than two years. She had an interesting 
 little daughter, an only child, about seven years 
 10* 
 
114 A WARNING TO WICKED PARENTS. 
 
 old. I urged her to send this child to the Sab- 
 bath School. But having often said before that 
 she would rather see her child dead, than at the 
 Sunday School, she still refused to send her. I 
 urged upon her conscience the sinfulness of her 
 conduct, and left her in tears. After I was gone, 
 the little girl, who had heard our conversation, 
 began to tease her mother to let her go to the 
 Sunday School, and asked her, among other 
 things, why she did not learn her to pray, and 
 teach her about God, and how to be good, as 
 some of the neighbors did their children. The 
 whole scene, and remarks from myself and the 
 child, overcame the stubbornness of the mother, 
 and she promised the little girl that she should 
 go, as she had requested on the next Sabbath, 
 and made the necessary preparations for sending 
 her. This took place on Wednesday : — on Fri- 
 day, the child was taken violently sick, and on 
 the Sabbath she died. Thus this wretched moth- 
 er had her choice, and saw her daughter dead, 
 instead of being at the Sabbath School, on the 
 very day she had intended to send her. She 
 sent for me, and related all the circumstances, 
 with such ansfuish as cannot be described. 
 
( 115 ) 
 
 BE YE WISE AS SERPENTS. 
 
 Mrs. a. made a profession of relia^ion in 1826. 
 Mr. A. is not a professor, though he is kind to 
 his wife, affords her every opportunity of attend- 
 ing religious meetings, &,c. In return, Mrs. A. 
 is frequently tallying of her husband's being 
 " quite hardened and thouglitless." In the pres- 
 ence of both strangers and neighbors, she will 
 say, "O, Mr. A. I wish you would get religion — 
 I wish you would." Now, all this is doubtless 
 true, and he ought to be reminded of it by the 
 wife of his bosom, and in such a manner as to 
 convince him that she prays for him, and feels 
 more than she expresses. But she has talked to 
 him so much, and in so improper a manner, as 
 that I wonder he bears it, when I remember that 
 his '* mind is at enmity against God." Yet he 
 does bear it, and apparently without irritation ; 
 but it is evident that his respect and affection for 
 his wife are gradually diminishing. He has be- 
 come so accustomed to this *' clinking" of the 
 house bell, that it makes no good impression on 
 him. Once, pious conversation affected him ; 
 now, it does not, and he is gradually losing his 
 respect for religion. His wife, hopefully very 
 pious, but injudicious, is making sad work with 
 him. Wives! take care how you talk to your 
 non-professing husbands. " Be ye wise as ser- 
 pents." Live religion. Pray much, and choose 
 out acceptable words and seasons. 
 
( 116 ) 
 
 THE CHURCH CONERENCE. 
 
 A LITTLE number of the members of the church 
 had assembled in the house of God, to review 
 their religious experience. A man in the midst 
 of life arose and said: — " Whenever I examine 
 the evidence, on which my hope, that I am a 
 Christian, rests, my thoughts recur to a passage 
 of my early history. It was the habit of my 
 mother, when I retired to bed, to teach me to 
 pray, and occasionally to give me religious in- 
 struction. One evening my attention was awak- 
 ened by my mother's words, and 1 dwelt upon 
 them in the night with great interest. I seemed 
 to be able to address my thoughts to the Saviour, 
 and to cast myself upon his mercy. And, as far 
 as I can judge, my sentiments and feelings were 
 then of the sam.e cast as those, which now enter 
 into my religious character, and which I hope, 
 are truly Christian^' His father, an old and 
 respectable member of the church, addressed 
 him, and said, — "David do you not remember 
 the conversation I held with you in the garden, 
 when you was a boy, one morning respecting the 
 interests of your soul? J asked you if you ever 
 thought of divine and eternal things ; and you re- 
 plied with tears :" — "They are in my thoughts, fa- 
 ther, all the time." The child could not forget the 
 evening when the sweet voice of his mother, (who 
 long since had fallen asleep,) persuaded him to 
 trust in the Saviour ; nor the father, the morn- 
 ing, when he saw the tears of penitence, as he 
 hoped, bedew the cheeks of his little son. Some 
 
AFFECTION TO PARENTS REWARDED. 117 
 
 thirty years had passed away ; and this was the 
 first time, that the father and the son had corn- 
 pared their interesting recollections with each 
 other. 
 
 I said to myself, it is not certain my instruc- 
 tions and admonitions do not impress my chil- 
 dren's hearts, because they do not immediately 
 exhibit the ripe fruits of piety. Divine truth may 
 begin "to take effect," long before any marked 
 and clear indication of its influence shall meet 
 even a father's eye. 
 
 When pious parents and pious children meet 
 together in "the sweet fields" above, and, be- 
 neath the shadow of Messiah's throne, repeat to 
 each other the story of their salvation, with what 
 touching recollections will they not mutually de- 
 light each other ! 
 
 AFFECTION TO PARENTS REWARDED. 
 
 Frederic, the late king of Prussia, having 
 rung his bell one day, and nobody answering, 
 opened the door, where his servant was usually 
 in waiting, and found him asleep on a sofa: he 
 was going to awake him, when he perceived the 
 end of a billet or letter hanging out of his pocket. 
 
 Having the curiosity to know its contents, he 
 took and read it, and found it was a letter from 
 his mother, thanking him for liaving sent her a 
 part of his wages to assist her in distress, and 
 concluding with beseeching God to bless him for 
 his filial attention to her wants. 
 
118 AFFECTION TO PARENTS REWARDED. 
 
 The king returned softly to his room, took a 
 rouleau of ducats and slid them with the letter 
 into the page's pocket. Returning to his apart- 
 ment, he rung so violently, that the page awoke, 
 opened the door and entered. '* You have slept 
 well," said the king. The page made an apolo- 
 gy, and in his embarrassment happened to put his 
 hand in his pocket, and felt with astonishment 
 the rouleau. He drew it out, turned pale, and 
 looking at the king, burst into tears, without be- 
 ing able to speak a word. " What is the mat- 
 ter 1 " said the king, " What ails you 'I " " Ah, 
 sire," said the young man, throwing himself at 
 his feet, " somebody has wished to ruin me. I 
 know not how I came by this money in my pock- 
 et." " My friend," said Frederic, "God often 
 setids us good in our sleep : send the money to 
 your mother, salute her in my name; and assure 
 her that I shall take care of her and you." 
 
 Parents have a natural claim on their children 
 for support; and relieving aged parents, when 
 bodily strength decays, infirmities and wants in- 
 crease, is not only an act of mercy and true be- 
 nevolence, but also an act of justice, — an impe- 
 rious duty, — a repaying in kind what they did 
 for their children, in their tender helpless years. 
 
( 119 ) 
 
 THE SAILOR'S FAITH. 
 
 A WILD young man, who had, contrary to his 
 father's advice, left his paternal roof, to follow the 
 sea, desires to record the following facts to the 
 honor of his God. His father was a man of pie- 
 ty, and was in the habit of daily family prayer. 
 As the vessel was on her homeward voyage from 
 Europe, she was overtaken by a dreadful storm, 
 by which she was driven to and fro by the fierce 
 winds, and finally sprung a-leak. In this perilous 
 situation the hearts of the crew began to fail 
 them; for, notwithstanding the pumps were 
 worked with all diligence, the leak gained fast 
 upon them, until finally all hopes of saving the 
 ship forsook them, and they gave themselves up 
 for lost. This thoughtless youth now began to 
 remember the prayers of his father, and took to 
 prayer for himself and shipmates. Being the 
 m.ate of the vessel, the captain came to him, and 
 in great perturbation said, " We are lost ! the 
 vessel will float but a short time longer ! " To 
 this the mate answered not, but continued walk- 
 ing fore and aft, in a thoughtful and praying 
 mood. " At last," says the mate, " I gave a 
 shout ofjoy, crying out, We are safe ! We are 
 safe ! We cannot be lost, neither can the vessel 
 sink." The captain asked with great earnest- 
 ness for reasons, as the appearance of things was 
 so unfavorable. The mate, however, instead of 
 stopping to explain his reasons, instantly laid 
 hold of the pump, saying with a loud voice, " My 
 father's hour of prayer is come, and he is now 
 
V20 PRAYER ANSWERED. 
 
 interceding in my behalf! " The others seeing 
 my joyful countenance, my faith, and exertions, 
 seized hold of the pump also. We accordingly 
 succeeded in keeping the vessel afloat, until the 
 wind abated, the sails set, and we finally arrived 
 safe in port. This remarkable providence was a 
 means of leading the prodigal youth to his hea- 
 venly Father's house, and to the Saviour's love, 
 in which he is now rejoicing. 
 
 PRAYER ANSWERED. 
 
 Captain , of , was, about seven years 
 
 since, awakened to the concerns of his soul. 
 He continued anxious for some time, and though 
 he did not give up his heart to God, still he con- 
 tinued serious, and so far as his business would 
 permit, attended to religious instruction. About 
 five months since he returned from a voyage, at 
 a time when a protracted meeting was in pro- 
 gress in his native town, the effects of which 
 were witnessed in a multitude of those who were 
 anxious. When this state of things was known 
 
 to Captain , he felt and said, that this was 
 
 the last call that God would ever give him, and 
 that, if he did not obtain the forgiveness of his 
 sins during the few days he had to remain in 
 port, in all probability he must die without hope. 
 So far as practicable, he attended the exercises of 
 the protracted meeting, and other meetings. 
 Many prayers were offered for him. A pious 
 
PRAYER ANSWERED. 
 
 121 
 
 mother and many other friends, the church and 
 their minister, plead with him, and with God. 
 But his heart did not break. In case tiie weath- 
 er was favorable, he was to sail on Thursday, 
 and it was now Wednesday ; the heavens were 
 clear and the winds were gently blowing. With 
 what feelings would a pious mother, and other 
 friends oflfer their evening sacrifice, and ask the 
 blessing of God on a dear friend, whose eternal 
 destiny seemed about to be sealed ? They pray- 
 ed — not as formerly, that God would give him a 
 new heart — but that he w(;uid graciously send a 
 siorm to disturb the bosom of the mighty deep, 
 till their friend should find peace in believing. 
 And soon the heavens gathered blackness, and 
 the waves ran mountains liigh. Now hope was 
 encouraged, and prayer was ardent. But the day 
 passed away — the night came, and the sailor was 
 an anxious sinner still. Friday morning came; 
 a lovelier morning never dawned ; for the sun 
 rose without a cloud ; the winds were hushed ; 
 the ocean was calm as the summer evening; and 
 everlasting thanks to him who heareth prayer, 
 the clouds aL thick darkness of unpardoned sins 
 had passed away from the sailor's mind, and af- 
 ter a few mojnents of social thanksgiving, he 
 went to sea, in the judgment of charity, a pious, 
 praying captain. 
 
 11 
 
( 122 ) 
 
 EVIL EFFECTS OF INDULGING A CHILD IN 
 VAIN PLEASURES. 
 
 Mrs. B. received a religious education, and 
 in early life, thought she was made a subject of 
 renewing grace. She and her husband, soon af- 
 ter they were married united with the church in 
 
 G , under the pastoral charge of the Rev. 
 
 Mr. . For several years, both were regard- 
 ed somewhat eminent for their piety, and love of 
 every good work. Mrs. B. possessed naturally an 
 unusual degree of versatility of mind, yet she 
 was much beloved as a neighbor and a Chris- 
 tian. Ihe sisters in the church would frequent- 
 ly refer to her as one, whose example they con- 
 sidered worthy of imitation. Thus years passed 
 away. 
 
 Mrs. B. became the mother of several inter- 
 esting children. The eldest was a daughter. 
 As her intellectual powers began to expand, she 
 was regarded by her parents, and I think I may 
 say, by others, as a child of uncommon promise. 
 Eliza, for this was her name, soon began to en- 
 gross the attention of her parents, and to be- 
 come the all-absorbing theme of their conversa- 
 tion, both at home and abroad. At the early 
 age of twelve years, she was thrust into the so- 
 ciety of those much older than herself, to en- 
 gage in the vanities of youth, and was received 
 by the young people of the village, for her pa- 
 rents' sake, with tokens of respect. From this 
 time, Mrs. B. made frequent parties of pleasure 
 for the purpose of " bringing Eliza forward, so 
 
EVIL EFFECTS OF INDULGING A CHILD, ETC. 123 
 
 that she mii^lit appear respectable." The girl's 
 vanit)' was greatly increased, and her mother 
 was disposed to gratify it to liie utmost extent. 
 Mrs. B. spent no small portion of her time in 
 maUinor dresses, and preparing her daugliler for 
 the-ball room, or the pleasure-party. Some of 
 the pious members of the church intimated to 
 her, that she was too fond of having her daugh- 
 ter engage in such vanities, but to no purpose. 
 She was her idol, and her wishes must be grati- 
 fied. 
 
 At length, God, who will not give his glory to 
 another, visited this family with distressing sick- 
 ness — Mrs. B. was brought low by a raging fe- 
 ver. Her physician and friends considered her 
 case desperate, and Mrs. B. had no expectation 
 herself of recovering. In this trying hour, she 
 thought of the God she had robbed — the Saviour 
 she had abused. But a heavy, an impenetrable 
 cloud hung over her soul. Jesus hid his face, 
 and none could comfort her. When pointed to 
 the Saviour and reminded of the fullness of the 
 atonement, and Christ's willingness to receive 
 all who would come to him, she replied, *' Oth- 
 ers may hope, but there is no hope for me." It 
 was evident, she could not survive many days, 
 and she appeared to have no doubt her portion 
 must he with the damned. Her reason was con- 
 tinued to the last, and she would frequently re- 
 quest her minister and Christian friends to pray 
 with her; but with almost the same breath would 
 say, " It is of no use : God will not hear prayers 
 offered for me : pray for my family — pray for 
 those who have not thus abused the Son of God." 
 As her daughter passed through the room, a little 
 
124 EVIL EFFECTS OF INDULGING A CHILD, ETC. 
 
 before her death, Mrs. B., with indescribable an- 
 guish depicted upon her countenance, fixed her 
 eyes upon her, and exclaimed, with a tone wiiich 
 seemed to proceed almost from the prison of des- 
 pair, " O Eliza, you have hecn the cause of all 
 this. I have made you my idol, and thus destroy- 
 ed my soul. O, if you had died in your infan- 
 cy, my soul might have been saved; but now there 
 is no hope for me; 1 must be damned.''^ 
 
 Her situation excited the sympathies of her 
 friends and neighbors, and many repaired to her 
 bedside, during the last days of her sickness. 
 In a most solemn manner, she warned several 
 members of the church to avoid the course she 
 had pursued, — not to place their affections too 
 much upon their children, or encourage them in 
 vain pursuits. " Here," said she, "you see the 
 consequences of such a course." 
 
 " The dear delights we here enjoy, 
 Are but a foe to grace." 
 
 She died after a ^ew days of unutterable an- 
 guish of soul, leaving her companion and friends 
 to reflect upon the sad consequences of loving 
 son or daughter more than Christ. 
 
( 125 ) 
 
 THE CONVERTED HUSBAND. 
 
 In a viliage in one of the New England stales, 
 some years since, at the commencement of a 
 powcrlul revival of religion, among other indi- 
 viduals who came to converse with their minister 
 upon religious 10 j)ics, was a ^Irs. B., the mot her of a 
 large and interesting family. Two of her children 
 had already grown to maturity. She informed 
 her pastor that she had entertained a hope of an 
 interest in Christ for sixteen years; but that she 
 had been induced to defei uniting herself to the 
 people of God by the remonstrances of her hus- 
 band. By his great kindness, he had acquired 
 such an ascendency over her aflections, that to 
 please him, had been, she feared, the chief ob- 
 ject of her wisiies and pursuits. Within a few 
 weeks, her eyes had been opened to perceive the 
 superior claims of the Gospel. She now realized 
 for the first time that her husband and children 
 were travelling the broad road together. They 
 never had reared a family altar. 
 
 Although from custom they frequented the house 
 of God on the Sabbath, yet the truths of the Bi- 
 ble had never found a lodgement in any of their 
 hearts. She now felt satisfied that it was her 
 duty to take up her cross and follow Christ. ** I 
 have been deluded," said Mrs. B., *'by the be- 
 lief that my way was hedged up by an insur- 
 mountable obstacle. I have substituted the good 
 opinion of my husband, for the approbation and 
 smiles of my Saviour." " I advise you to con- 
 verse with your husband on the subject," said 
 11* 
 
126 THE CONVERTED HUSBAND. 
 
 her minister. Mrs. B. replied, " I have of late re- 
 peatedly urged my liusband to yield his content; 
 but he says, if I profess religioji, he will never 
 live with me another day. Tliough I fear the 
 consequences of going forward in the way that 
 my conscience dictates, may be painful, yet I 
 fear still more the evils that threaten my family, 
 if 1 continue to neglect a known and positive 
 duty." Her minister promised to propound her 
 for admission. 
 
 On returning home from worship, on the day 
 that she was received into the chuich, Mr. B. 
 told his wife, as she knew his mind on the sub- 
 ject of her professing religion, he should be con- 
 sistent with his former declarations, and ordered 
 separate lodgings to be prepared for him that 
 night. His wife silently and implicitly acceded 
 to his wishes. 
 
 The next morning, he told his family that im- 
 perious business called him from home, to be ab- 
 sent a few days. His horses and carriage were 
 soon in readiness, and he hastily and abruptly 
 left his dwelling. 
 
 Mrs. B. now felt the necessity of exercising 
 that faith, which is as an anchor to the soul. 
 But she said within herself, *' Shall a man com- 
 plain for the punishment of his sins? " 
 
 Immediately on Mr. B.'s leaving home, Mrs. 
 B. requested her eldest daughter to manage the 
 household concerns in the best manner she was 
 able, that she might herself enjoy the privilege 
 of retiring with her Bible, to her closet. The 
 day was spent in fasting and prayer, and in read- 
 ing lessons of heavenly wisdom from the word 
 of God. 
 
 To her great joy, every page seemed illumin- 
 
THE CONVERTED HUSBAND. 127 
 
 ed as with a sunbeam. She now felt that she 
 could bear the loss of all things for the sake of 
 Him, who bore her sins in his own body on the 
 tree. Iler soul, though, elevated above the per- 
 ishable things of time and sense, was in heavi- 
 ness at the thought of an eternal separation from 
 him, whom she so dearly loved — from the com- 
 panion of her youth, and perhaps, too, from her 
 beloved children. She upl)raided heiself as an 
 accessary, if not the guilty occasion of their life 
 of worldliness; for had she fulfilled the sacred 
 obligations imposed by an early hope of recon- 
 ciliation to God, her husband and her children 
 might, long since, have been devout worshippers 
 in the courts of the Lord. 
 
 It was nearly sunset, when the noise of rat- 
 tling wheels arrested her attention. Till now, 
 no external object had disturbed her thoughts. 
 The door suddenly opened, and her husband 
 stood pale and trembling by her side. 
 
 " My dear wife," he exclaimed, *' can you for- 
 give your misguided husband? I have learned 
 by sad experience this day, by the way side, that 
 my opposition against you originated in hostility 
 to the claims of God. Can you forgive me, and 
 will you supplicate the forgiveness of God for 
 me ? for I have no cloak, or excuse for the least 
 of my sins." 
 
 Under an overwhelming &«nse of the good- 
 ness of God, in thus subduing and enlightening 
 the mind of her dearest earthly friend, they pros- 
 trated themselves in the attitude of prayer, and 
 wept, and confessed before the Lord their sins of 
 heart and life. Mr. B. informed his wife, that on 
 leaving her in the morning, he went in direct 
 
128 THE CONVERTED HUSBAND, 
 
 opposition to the dictates of an enlightened con- 
 science; that her silent and acquiescent conduct 
 proved to him indubitably the efficacy of reli- 
 gion ; and when contrasted with his own feel- 
 ings, then 'Mashed into a storm," his soul was 
 filled with shame and remorse. At times, he ex- 
 pected to be dashed to the ground; twice he 
 alighted from iiis carriage, and falling upon his 
 knees, he would have confessed his sin and guilt, 
 but his mind was dark and his heart was hard. 
 He faintly ejaculated, *' God be merciful to me a 
 sinner." But on resuming his seat in his car- 
 riage, with an involuntary grasp, he held the 
 reins, as if his horses were hurrying him for- 
 ward with uncommon velocity. His business 
 was at M., sixteen miles distant from his home. 
 At eleven o'clock he had progressed but eight 
 miles on his way. Under a horse-shed he tried 
 to compose his mind, but in vain ; he found him- 
 self wholly incapable of attending to any world- 
 ly business. He endeavored to rid himself of 
 such uncomfortable reflections as crowded upon 
 liis mind, with a force which he was unable to re- 
 sist. For several hours, he felt like the guilty 
 murderer flying from justice. At length, he per- 
 ceived that his opposition to God had manifested 
 itself by the indulgence of ill will towards his 
 affectionate wife. He resolved at once to return 
 home, and ingenuously confess to her, and ask 
 her forgiveness. On doing so, the scales of un- 
 belief fell from his eyes, and tears of gratitude 
 and penitence flowed in abundance. 
 
 Mr. B. immediately resolved on a religious 
 life, which he determined to commence by rear- 
 ing a family altar. But he had a stammering 
 
THE CONVERTED HUSBAND. 129 
 
 tongue ; and so slow was his speech, that he 
 trembled, lest, in his attempt to honor God, he 
 niiglit expose himself to the ridicule of his 
 |Tiown up sons, and other adult mefubers of his 
 family. He hesitated and dehiyed. His busi- 
 ness at M. yet unaccomplished, was really press- 
 in(Tj and demanded immediate attention. He 
 retired to iiis closet to ask the Lord to assist him 
 in the duty of fannly prayer, on the following 
 Friday. But his mouth was shut. How could 
 he ask the Lord to assist him to a duty on Fri- 
 day, which he might not live to perform then, 
 and which was manifestly an immediate duty? 
 He saw the inconsistency of such a petition. 
 He rose from his knees, went in pursuit of Mrs. 
 B., and related to lier the exercises of his mind. 
 He then told her, that if she would bring out the 
 little stand, and the great Bible, and would as- 
 semble the family, he would try to perform the 
 duty of family worship, let the sacrifice of feel- 
 ing be what it might. Mrs. B.'s emotions of 
 gratitude and joy were indescribable. She has- 
 tened to execute this glad commission. 
 
 As this father bowed himself with solemn awe, 
 before tlie Majesty of heaven and earth, a breath- 
 less silence pervaded the youthful spectators of 
 this affecting scene, and for the first time in 
 their life, they realized a present God. The Spir- 
 it of the Lord came down and. rested upon their 
 hearts, the effect of whose operations was like 
 that of the refiner's fire, and of fuller's soap. 
 Who can measure the extent of that change, 
 which, within a few days, had been wrought in 
 a family whose hearts had so long been wedded 
 to their idols? The tongue of the stammerer, 
 
130 REMARKABLE PROVIDENCE. 
 
 now unfettered, was employed in anthems of 
 praise for redeeminu love and mercy ; and the ex- 
 clamation rose involuntary to the lips of every 
 beholder, "What hath God wrought!" 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. B. were now, with one henrt, as 
 sedulously and as perseveringly engaged in their 
 efforts for the salvation of their whole family, as 
 tliey had formerly been to secure for them a por- 
 tion in the perishable things of time; and their 
 efforts were not in vain in the Lord. 
 
 On learning the subs quent history of this 
 family, who will not rejoice in view of the time- 
 ly decision of Mrs. B. ? Both parents and all the 
 children except two, have in rapid succession, 
 paid the debt of nature, leaving behind them sat- 
 isfactory evidence that they had experienced the 
 grace of God, which bringeth salvation, in an- 
 swer to the prayers of a decided Christian 
 mother. 
 
 REMARKABLE PROVIDENCE. 
 
 The following narrative is given on the au- 
 thority of a corres|)ondent of the Brunswick Bap- 
 tist Herald, who vouches for the truth of it 
 " having received it from the parties concerned." 
 
 The family of a pious woman was reduced by 
 poverty almost to a state of starvation. Her hus- 
 band had been for some time confined to his bed 
 by sickness, and she, having her time taken up 
 by attention to him, had been unable to provide 
 for herself and children. One evening, when 
 
REMARKABLE PROVIDENCE. 1.31 
 
 they had ate their last morsel, not even so much 
 as a potatoe being left for the next meal, the 
 good woman, borne down with fatigue and sor- 
 row, knelt in tlie presence of her little chil- 
 dren, and laid her case before the Lord. While 
 praying, she felt an unusual degree of confi- 
 dence in Hirn, who alone knew her distress. 
 This produced a calm and peaceful frame of 
 mind, and in this state, s\u% and the rest of her 
 family, retired to rest. At a late hour in the 
 night, a person knocked at the door, and asked 
 if they were in bed ? The woman answered in 
 the affirmative, and desired to know who was at 
 the door? On b;'ing tohi "a friend," she arose 
 and went to the door, where, to her surprise, she 
 was presented with nearly a week's provisions, 
 for herself and family. The person left her 
 without giving her a reason for his appearance 
 at so late an hour, and only requested that she 
 would say nothing about the matter. She was 
 the more astonished, as it came from a source 
 the least expected. Her gratitude can be more 
 easily conceived than expressed. God grant that 
 this remarkable providence may be a blessing to all 
 such as are in want, and that they may receive 
 grace to trust in him, who is not unmindful even 
 of the lily of the field, and without whose notice 
 not a sparrow falleth to the ground. 
 
( 132 ) 
 
 THE BEREAVED MOTHER. 
 
 ** A mother's sorrow cannot be conceived but by a 
 mother." — Hannah More. 
 
 I MARKED a mother at the tomb of her son. 
 Her sable garment coincided with the deep 
 gloom that hung heavily around her heart. Her 
 declining head, her closed clasped hands, her 
 fixed position, her tear-bedewed cheek, bespoke 
 the intensity of her thoughts, and the sorrow of 
 her soul. The scene struck the strings of sym- 
 pathy, and a correspondent tear, flowing from the 
 impulse of a similar feeling, trickled down my 
 cheek. — Fancy lent her creative power to my 
 mind, and methought I heard and felt the grief- 
 inspired soliloquy of the heart-broken mother, 
 as she revolved in her depressed mind the follow- 
 ing thoughts: "Ah! yes, n)y child, thou art 
 numbered with the dead! — The curtain of my 
 hopes has suddenly dropped, and the thick cloud 
 of soul-rending despondency shuts the lis^ht of 
 joy and tranquillity from my mind. When feeble 
 infancy, was thine, with what rapture I watched 
 the pleasurable smile playing on thy health-flush- 
 ed cheek : it was then my heart bounded with 
 ecstacy, and antedated the joys of youth and the 
 happiness of manhood. I thought thou wouldst 
 have been the pillar of my old age : I thought thou 
 wouldst have supported my tottering declining life, 
 when theextinguished hand of time had quenched 
 the fervor of vitality. But ah ! these love-built hopes 
 are gone forever; they are buried in the humid 
 earth with thee. No more I hear thy voice — no 
 
PARENTAL FALSEHOODS. 133 
 
 more I mark thy sprightly eye ; thy voice is as 
 silent as the grave, and thine eye fixed by the 
 rigid power of death. Scarce more than eigh- 
 teen years had rolled around thy head before the 
 " grim monster " came and snatched ihee from the 
 world. Thou wert stricken as the tender sap- 
 ling scathed by ihe lightning's fiery bolt. O 
 Death! thou art the destroyer of a mother's 
 bliss. But still, amid all my sorrow, I will say, 
 
 '' Worms may banquet on that frame, 
 And ruin fefd on what was fair : 
 Back to the skies from whence it came 
 The soul recalled shall flourish there." 
 
 With these words she ended, and taking her 
 little daughter by the hand, she slowly retired. 
 
 PARENTAL FALSEHOODS. 
 
 There is one class of lies — tJiose told bi/ parents 
 to their children, which it is believed often lays 
 the foundation of a habit of falsehood in after 
 life. In childhood, permanent impressions are 
 wont to be made; and a love for truth may as 
 well be cherished and fixed at this forming peri- 
 od, as a love of falsehood. It is then, probably, 
 that what is called the natural propensity of a 
 child is unfolded. Many persons who have a 
 great abhorrence of lying, and whip their chil- 
 dren, if they detect them in it, yet make no scruple 
 of telling and acting to them the most atrocious 
 12 
 
134 PARENTAL FALSEHOODS, 
 
 falsehoods. There are few parents who do not 
 do this in a greater or less degree, though doubt- 
 less without dreaming they are guilty of criminal 
 deception. With many the whole business of 
 managing their children is a piece of mere artifice 
 and trick. They are cheated in their amuse- 
 njents, cheated in their food, cheated in their 
 dress. Lies are told them to get them to do 
 anything which is disagreeable. If a child is to 
 take physic, the mother tells him she has some- 
 thing good for him to drink ; if obstinate, she 
 says she wdl send for the doctor to cut off his 
 ears, or pull his teeth, or that she will go away 
 and leave him, and a thousand things of the 
 same kind, each of which may deceive once and 
 answer the present purpose, but will invariably 
 fail afterwards. 
 
 Parents are too apt to endeavor to pacify their 
 children by making promises, which they never 
 intend to perform. If they wish, for instance, to 
 take away some eatable which they fear will be 
 injurious, they reconcile them by the promise of 
 a ride, or walk, or something else, which will 
 please them, but without any intention of grati- 
 fying them. This is lying, downright lyin^. 
 People tliink nothing of breaking their promises 
 to children, if the performance be not perfectly 
 convenient. But they are the last persons to 
 whom promises should be broken, because they 
 cannot comprehend the renson, if there be one, 
 why they are not kept. Such promises should 
 be scrupulously reedemed, though at a great in- 
 convenience, and even when inadvertently made^ 
 For the child's moral habit is of infinitely more 
 consequence than any such inconvenience can 
 be to a parent. 
 
A TEMPTATION. 135 
 
 We have only noticed a few cases of lying to 
 children, hut enough to illuetrate the frequency 
 of it. And yet after having pursued such a 
 course of deception for the two or three first 
 years of life, if the parent then finds his child is 
 trying to deceive him, and will tell a downright 
 lie, he wonders how he should have learned to 
 do so, for he has always taught him to speak the 
 truth ; without reflecting that he has been lying 
 to him from his very birth. So he attributes that 
 habit to an innate disposition and tendency for 
 falsehood, which he has himself been fostering 
 and nourishing from the first. Children soon 
 learn to know when they are deceived, and learn 
 to deceive others. They are not deceived many 
 times in the same way ; and the most comforta- 
 ble method in the end, as well as the most con- 
 formable method to the principles of morality 
 and religion is, never to deviate in the slightest 
 degree from the strict truth, in our intercourse 
 with them. 
 
 A TEMPTATION. 
 
 I HAD the pleasure, a short time since, of pass- 
 ing a few days with a friend of my earlier years, 
 whom, for a long time, I had not seen. In the 
 interval, he had become settled, and had now a 
 family of six fine children growing up around 
 him. The eldest was a daughter, who might be 
 fourteen or fifteen years of age ; the youngest, a 
 son, about four. 
 
136 A TEMPTATION. 
 
 My friend and liis wife were both professors of 
 religion, and appeared desirous, so far as I could 
 judge, of exemplifying in their lives tlie spirit of 
 the Gospel, and especially of bringing up their 
 children, " in the fear, nurture and admonition 
 of fhe Lord." 
 
 The day following my arrival was the Sabbath. 
 Tts morning was appropriately spent in reading 
 the scriptures, in family prayer, and religious 
 conversation. Not long afier breakfast, the 
 youngest child, the liitle boy above mentioned, 
 was suddenly found to l)e missing. Inquiry was 
 made for him, but, as it proved, unsuccessful; a 
 degree of solicitude, at length, began to be felt, 
 and the search became more vigorous. He had 
 on seveial occasions .strolled away to the neigh- 
 bor's, where a child of his own age lived, and 
 more frequently had gone unattended, to pay his 
 aged grandmother a visit, who lived at no great 
 distance down the hill. To one of these places, 
 it soon occurred, that he might liave wandered, 
 though it was unusual for him thus to play tru- 
 ant on the Sabbath. The father, taking his hat, 
 said he would step abroad, and fetch him home. 
 
 Before th(; father's return, howe'.er, the little 
 absentee was found. He had purlt)ined an or- 
 ange, belonging to his eldest sister; and, con- 
 scious of the trespass he was committing, had 
 secreted himself quite securely in an adjoining 
 room behind a bed. He had heard the call of 
 his mother, and the inquiries of the other mem- 
 bers of the family; but, either from a sense of 
 guilt, or too much engrossed with the pleasure 
 of his luscious feast, he paid no attention to the 
 oft-repeated summons. At length, a little sister, 
 
A TEMPTATION. 137 
 
 a couple of years older than himself, raising the 
 vase tnade the important discovery. It was im- 
 mediately announced by her shrill tones, and de- 
 lighted exclamation ; and almost in the next mo- 
 ment the wiiole group of children were peeping 
 under the vase, which the discoverer still held 
 raised. There, cross-legged, sat the thief at his 
 meal. For a moment, he paused, as was natur- 
 al, and joined in the good-natured titter of the 
 well-pleased throng. But it was only for a mo- 
 ment that he consented to any interruption ; but 
 now ate the faster, evidently wishing to prolong 
 the pleasurable feast he was now enjoying, and 
 yet conscious that its approaching termination 
 was at hand. 
 
 *' Ah ! you rogue — you rogue," exclaimed one 
 of his sisters. 
 
 ** Whose orange have you got?" inquired a 
 second. 
 
 ** He looks cunning enough," said the little 
 sister, who had discovered him. — ** Why John! " 
 
 At this moment, the mother, who had been in 
 search of her boy in a different direction enter- 
 ed the room. Being quite at home in my friend's 
 house, and attracted by the interesting scene 
 going on, I ventured to look in upon the actors 
 myself 
 
 *•' See here, mother, see here " — exclaimed the 
 above little girl, " we've found him — here he is 
 under the bed " — again drawing aside the vase. 
 
 The mother stooped as was necessary to see 
 him; and, hastily stepping forward, I imitated 
 her example. I shall not soon forget the sight. 
 He was a fat little figure, with a fine plump face, 
 and had quirled himself up in the corner, and 
 12* 
 
138 A TEMPTATION. 
 
 with his orange in his grasp, looked much, I 
 could fancy, like a young squirrel in the woods. 
 He had nearly eaten up the " golden apple " — 
 but the liquid juice of the remnant, under the 
 pressure of his hands and his lips, was running 
 in currents on each side of his mouth. 
 
 "Don't he look cunning, mother ?" said the 
 delighted little sister—" I'm sure he does." 
 
 It was impossible to repress a smile, as he 
 crept forth from his hiding-place, at the bidding 
 of his mother; who now took his hand and led 
 him into the-sitting room. 
 
 Thinks I to myself here is a difficult case to 
 manage. Some of " sterner stuff" may think 
 otherwise; but in my own mind it required no 
 little decision and parental faithfulness to treat 
 it as it deserved. There was a cunning about 
 the whole transaction, especially in his looks and 
 actions when discovered, which was calculated 
 to disarm a fond parent. Many a parent, I 
 doubt not, would have accorded with the expres- 
 sion of John's little sister, and felt that it was 
 *' too cunning a trick" to admit of being cen- 
 sured. A gentle reproof — " You are a naughty 
 child" — or "You must not do so again" — 
 would, perhaps, by most parents, have been 
 deemed sufficient. And this kind of reproof 
 would have been accompanied by a half-suppiess- 
 ed smile — a kind of mingled expression of ad- 
 miration and reproach ; but the admiration so 
 predominating as to have entirely neutralized 
 the censure, and virtually to have operated as a. 
 stimulus to future transgression. 
 
 But it was not so managed in the present in- 
 
A TEMPTATION. 139 
 
 Stance. On reaching the sitting-room, she bid 
 the cliildren be seated, and began to inquire — 
 
 "John, my son, was that your orange which 
 j'ou was ealiiig ? " 
 
 "No ma'am," said John. 
 
 "Whose was it?" 
 
 '' Caroline's." 
 
 *' And did Caroline give it to you ? " 
 
 He hesitated, and tlie question was repeated — 
 
 *' Did Caroline give you the orange, my son ?" 
 
 " No ma'am." 
 
 " And how came you to take it 1 " 
 
 " I wanted it, ma'am." 
 
 " But you had no right to it. It was not yours. 
 Had Caroline taken your orange would you have 
 thought it ris[ht ? You are quite a small boy, 
 but you have done wrong ; and now tell me, my 
 son, do you not feel that you have done wrong ? " 
 
 " Yes ma'am, " said he — now hanging his 
 head, and beginning to twist his little fingers ia 
 his mouth. 
 
 " Yes, my child, you did very wrong. The 
 Bible says, " Thou shalt not steal ; " and it bids 
 us to " Remember the Sabbath day, and keep it 
 holy," but you have not done so ; you have of- 
 fended God, and you have displeased me, and 
 you have set a bad example. And, besides, you 
 knew that you was doing wrong ; you felt guilty ; 
 you hid yourself behind the bed, and when I call- 
 ed you, you did not come; and here again you 
 broke another command, which says, " Children, 
 obey your parents." Your little sister thought 
 you looked cunning; but I hope that little sister 
 will never think so again. You tried by your 
 ilooks and actions to smooth over the bad deed ; 
 
140 A TEMPTATION. 
 
 — Ah! you have done very wrong. Your father 
 will be home soon, and 1 must tell him. I am 
 sure he will be displeased ; but what he will 
 think best to be done, I cannot say." 
 
 I had remained in the room thus long, and 
 had attended with great satisfaction to the ap- 
 propriate manner in which this faithful mother 
 Iiad treated a delicate case. But thinking it no 
 longer courteous to stay, especially as the father 
 was now at hand, and might wish to be alone 
 with his family, I retired to my chamber. As to 
 the subsequent discipline I was not informed j 
 but, from the specimen of maternal faithfulness, 
 which I had witnessed, and the reference of the 
 matter to the father, 1 could not doubt but that 
 the occasion was seized to administer appropri- 
 ate discipline and advice. 
 
 On reaching my chamber, I could not but re- 
 flect upon the numerous similar occurrences in 
 almost every family, and upon the importance of 
 parental faithfulness in relation to them. They 
 indeed often appear quite trivial ; and connect- 
 ed as they not unfrequently are with a kind of 
 cunning, bespeaking more than common capaci- 
 ty in the child, are wont to be passed by, not 
 only without censure, but even with applause. 
 Yet, when more minutely examined, instead of 
 appearing to be trifles, they will wear the aspect 
 of serious evils. We are apt to be amused with 
 show. We forget that the noxious weed may 
 send forth a beautiful flower ; that behind the 
 most attracting exterior may lurk the darkest de- 
 signs. So behind the curtain of these pretty in- 
 fantile tricks, may lie the germ of all future dis- 
 obedience. 
 
A TEMPTATION. 141 
 
 They may be the prelude to a wide departure 
 from the path of trutli and duty — the first over- 
 flowincrs of a fountain, wiiich will ultimately 
 send forth bitterness and death. Let it not be 
 thought, then, tliat these early transaressions are 
 small ntatters. They are an indication of the 
 *• man of sin " within : true, that man may be 
 yet uncrown, but {live him exercise — admitjister 
 aliment, and he will attain, in process of lime, 
 to the strength and daring of Goliah of Gath. 
 The small theft of an orange, imrebuUed in a 
 child, may lead that child, in maturer years, to 
 crimes to be expiated otdy in the solitude of a 
 prison, or the infamy and agony of the gallows. 
 It was an humbler fruit 
 
 -whose mortal taste 
 
 Brought death into the world, and all our woe. 
 
 P.irents cannot, therefore, be too sagacious in 
 marking the early actions of their children, which 
 involve violations of the principles of honesty 
 and uprightness ; nor too faithful in counteract- 
 ing the strong tendency to such violations, which 
 they will ever perceive in their children. No 
 more sacred duty exists; no greater parental ob- 
 ligation can be imposed. The faithful discharge 
 of this duty may be connected with the eternal 
 weal of our children. Kindly and conscien- 
 tiously performed, the attendant blessing of God 
 may be anticipated, with nearly the same cer- 
 tainty, that, if wheat be sowed, wheat will be 
 harvested ; but if neglected, tares only will grow 
 — vicious fruit only succeed, unless a Providence 
 more kind than parental apathy, shall itself sow 
 
142 RECOLLECTIONS OF A MOTHER. 
 
 a better seed, and cultivate a neglected soil. He 
 thai sows to the flesh — to the carnal mind of his 
 child — shnll as surely reap corruption, in respect 
 to that child, as he will in respect to iiimself. If 
 we wouhl reap everlastintr life for ()ur>elves and 
 our chihJren, we must sow unto the Sjjirit. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF A MOTHER. 
 
 I WELL remember when about nine years of age, 
 returning from school one day, with a request to 
 my mother that I might attend a children's ball, 
 which was to take place the next evening. One 
 or two had been held before, at which most of 
 my companions were present, but myself and my 
 sister, who was still younger, had received no 
 invitation, as it was well understood that our 
 mother was *' very strict," and probably would 
 not permit us to attend. But on this occasion, 
 a note was handed us, as we were returning from 
 school, requesting our company for the next eve- 
 ning ; and, as we entered the parlor where our 
 mother was sitting, our little hearts swelled with 
 desires, to which they had, until then, been 
 strangers. We asked her permission to attend, 
 which she gently, but firmly, denied, giving us, at 
 the same time, some of her most important rea- 
 sons for so doing. We felt the propriety of her 
 objections, and in fact had little inclination to 
 enter into an amusement, with which we were 
 wholly unacquainted ; but the dread of the sneer, 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF A MOTHER. 143 
 
 and ridicule of our companions, and their remarks 
 upon the unnecessary strictness of our dear pa- 
 rents, overcame other feelings, and ue begged 
 tliat we might go, at least once, in order to show 
 them she was moie indulgent than they supposed. 
 1 shall never forget the tone of seriousness my 
 mother assumed, as she represented to us the re- 
 sponsibility incurred by Christian parents, in 
 giving up tlieir children to God. " You, my 
 dear children," said she, " are consecrated chil- 
 dren. Your parents have covenanted with God 
 to train you up for his service. How can I, with- 
 out a fearful violation of that covenant, permit 
 you to enter a place where every thing you see 
 and hear will be calculated to divert your minds 
 from serious things. Would not God be justly 
 angry with me, and could I expect his blessing 
 in my endeavors to train you up for Ilim? Now 
 which do you prefer, that I should displease God, 
 or your companions." This was enough, — we 
 were entirely satisfied, and were able to meet 
 our companions the next day without shame or 
 fear ; indeed, shall 1 say it, we felt a secret pride 
 in the integrity of our dear mother's principles. 
 Though afterwards invited on one or two other 
 occasions, we felt not the slightest inclination to 
 accept, — the question was settled, and settled 
 forever; and how often, since having reached a 
 mature age, have we looked back to that period 
 with indescribable interest, and with fervent grat- 
 itude to our parent for the firmness and wisdom 
 she then manifested. How much inconvenience 
 and expostulation did she thus avoid, and from 
 how many temptations and conflicts secure our 
 youthful years. Much of the indifference with 
 
144 CONVERSION OF A CAPTAIN. 
 
 which we have regarded amusements of this kind, 
 even since tlie formation of our own principles, 
 may doubtless be traced to the impression thus 
 early made upon our minds. And might not 
 every parent, by a similar course, throw ihe same 
 safeguard around the future welfaie of her child ? 
 Surely such children will ever have cause to bless 
 the name of mother ! 
 
 CONVERSION OF A CAPTAIN. 
 
 The captain whose conversion is narrated be- 
 low was born in the town of M , and very 
 
 early in life lost his father. He was left to the 
 watchful care of his pious mother. At an early 
 age he went to sea, and when his affectionate 
 mother packed up his clothes for the first voyage, 
 she placed a bible in his chest, and urged him 
 not only to read it, but to be governed by its 
 precepts, and to give himself away to the Saviour 
 it revealed. " Being rather of a sober cast of 
 character," said he, " and steady in my habits^ 
 I was earlier than usual made master of a brig, 
 and sent to Cadiz. I was there when that tre- 
 mendous tempest destroyed so many vessels in 
 that bay ; when out of two hundred and sixty, 
 only sixteen escaped, and mine was one of them. 
 We had lost our best anchor and cables, and 
 were held by a small kedge anchor and rope. 
 We considered our case almost hopeless. About 
 midnight, the vessel began to drift towards the 
 
CONVERSION or A CAPTAIN. 145 
 
 shore, when the sailors came running, and cry- 
 ing, "We are lost; Captain, do pray for us.'* 
 My habits of sobriety had led the seamen to sup- 
 pose that I was a Christian. The cry, " We are 
 lost," sur)k deep into my heart, and the inquiry 
 immediately arose in my mind, if we are lost 
 what will become of me? And feeling that I 
 was not a Chri^tian, how could I pray 1 But the 
 sailors had desired it, and I could not refuse to 
 make the attempt. I prayed as well as I could, 
 and while I was yet speaking, the cry from on 
 deck was, " She is fast." Our joy cannot be de- 
 scribed. When morning light returned, we 
 found that our small anchor had drifted until it 
 caught a large anchor, and there it held us. But 
 our astonishment was that so small a rope should 
 not have parted. Is it presumption to bdieve 
 that this wonderful preservation was in answer to 
 the prayers of a pious mother, who no doubt 
 often when the storm arose, prayed that God of 
 '* all that are afar off upon the sea," to protect 
 and save her beloved son 1 
 
 The deep impressions of that awful night, and 
 the goodness of God to us, never forsook me, 
 until I hope I found pardon through the Re- 
 deemer. 
 
 '* But," said he, " this is not all I have to say 
 of the goodness of God. 1 have this day experi- 
 enced such new evidences that God is a prayer- 
 hearing and covenant-keeping God, as almost 
 overwhelms me. A few days since, I received 
 orders to discharge my cargo, and go to New- 
 Orleans for a load of cotton. At this season of 
 the year (July,) I thought it would be at the risk 
 of my life, and I felt unhappy about it. I carried 
 13 
 
146 FAMILY LOVE. 
 
 my case to God, prayincr him, if it was for the 
 best, to change my destination, yet with a heart, 
 that I hope could say, ' Not my will, but thine be 
 done.' 1 went on ' Change to see some gentlemen; 
 and what was my surprise and joy, when a mer- 
 chant soon after I arrived came to me and said, 
 * I want you to take a cargo for me to Amster- 
 dam.' The very place I wished to go to." 
 
 I then remarked, " I suppose you sometimes 
 write to your pious mother and tell her of the 
 goodness of Gpd to you." " Yes," said he, ** and 
 to a pious wife too ; for about the time I hope I 
 became pious on the sea, there was a revival in 
 
 M , and my wife, naturally the gayest of the 
 
 gay, became, I believe, a Christian." 
 
 Truly the Lord is good and gracious, and his 
 tender mercies are over all his works. 
 
 Pious mothers cease not to pray for yonr sons, 
 though far away on the sea, for your covenant 
 God is there. Be encouraged, ye pious seamen 
 too, to call on that God who has said, " I will 
 never leave you, nor forsake you." 
 
 FAMILY LOVE. 
 
 RosENEATH Farm, near the village of Gras- 
 mere, was the neat and simple residence of Rich- 
 ard Brown, a pious and industrious farmer. 
 Early in life he had married Janette Dale : their 
 children, were John and Ellen. Richard Brown, 
 though not a scholar, was a sincere christian : 
 
FAMILY LOVE. 147 
 
 he could read, and did not fail to search the 
 Scriptures daily; moreover, it was his constant 
 endeavor to practise those duties wliicli tliey in- 
 culcate. Atid here we may observe, that much 
 learning is not essential lo true piety : wiih a 
 teachable and humble spirit, the diligent and sin- 
 cere inquirer after truth may, by the blessing of 
 God, though in the humblest walks of life, derive 
 from the volume of inspiration a wisdom which 
 passeth the understanding of those, who are wise 
 only in the wisdom of this world. Its sublime 
 truths are obvious and valuable to the mind that 
 can perceive their suitableness to its wants, while 
 to the unhumbled and self-satisfied, they are ob- 
 scure and unwelcome. 
 
 We have said Richard was a Christian, and 
 therefore happy : he had not passed through life 
 without his trials, but he considered them, as 
 they really were, mercies in disguise. Now his 
 dear Janette, the beloved wife of his youth, was 
 lying at the point of death. " Farewell, my own 
 Richard ! " she said : " your love has been a 
 great blessing to me from the hand of God ; we 
 have lived happily, and I die happy, in the as- 
 surance that you will guide our poor motherless 
 children in the paths of peace." 
 
 Richard wept, and some [qw tears glistened in 
 Janette's eye ; yet smiling through those tears, 
 as she looked at the neat, though homely fireside, 
 around which Richard and herself, with their 
 two children, had so often sat, she continued, 
 " When 1 am gone, dear Richard, Ellen will not 
 fail to trim the fire, to place your elbow-chair be- 
 side it, to milk the cow, prepare the morning 
 meal, to welcome you at noon ; and when you 
 
148 FAMILY LOVE. 
 
 return at even from the labors of the day, as you 
 sit by our fire-side, your head must be pillowed 
 on her shoulder." Here Janelte's voice faltered 
 for a moment, and then she proceeded : ** Nor is 
 it, my beloved husband, among the least of my 
 consolations at this trying moment, to think, that, 
 althoucrh wearied in body after your daily em- 
 ployment, you will not fail to refresh your spirit 
 each night with the sweet truths of that Word 
 which we have so often found the 'joy and re- 
 joicing of our heart;' and if i* be the will of 
 Heaveu that you should long survive the partner 
 of your youth, who now weeps to leave you, 
 though she knows ' to die is gain,' if, like Jacob, 
 your eyes should grow dim with age, our dear 
 Ellen will be constant in reading to you that 
 same precious Word, wherein God hath caused 
 us to hope." — Jannette fell back exhausted, yet 
 Richard felt the convulsive pressure of her cold 
 hand, which was clasped in his : she gazed al- 
 ternately at her weeping husband and sobbing 
 children ; then raised her eyes to Heaven, and 
 remained for some time absorbed in prayer; a 
 smile played around her pallid lips, as they faint- 
 ly uttered, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!" 
 That spirit quilted the lifeless form of Janette, 
 and with it bid an eternal adieu to sorrow ! 
 
 Ellen possessed an affectionate heart, and had 
 loved her excellent mother with all the tenderness 
 of which that heart was capahle; she had now 
 lost her, and felt as such a child could only feel 
 for such a mother! In principle and conduct, 
 Ellen was much beyond her years; her father 
 still lived, and therefore every selfish regret must 
 yield to the desire of rendering his bereft state 
 less afflictive. 
 
FAMILY LOVE. 149 
 
 At length the evening of this sad day arrived, 
 and Richard took the large Bible from the corner 
 shelf. He was deeply affected as he recalled 
 poor Janette's dying words ; nevertheless, he 
 attempted to read the sacred page. " Dear fath- 
 er, shall I read for you 1 " said Ellen. *' Oh, 
 no ! " he replied ; " your mother, with her dying 
 breath, bade me read the Bible to her children, 
 whilst my sight remained ; and, Ellen, my eyes 
 are not dim with age." Here he wiped away 
 the tears, which overflowed them, and then, 
 turning to the eleventh chapter of John's Gospel, 
 read aloud. When the chapter was finished, 
 Richard observed, " Now, my children, our 
 blessed Saviour says here, in the twenty-fifth and 
 twenty-sixth verses, * I am the resurrection and 
 the life : he that believeth in me, though he were 
 dead, yet shall he live ; and whosoever liveth and 
 believeth in me, shall never die.' Your dear 
 mother, whom we laid in the grave this day, was 
 a believer ; and although it shall not be our priv- 
 ilege to see her raised from the dead like Laza- 
 rus, yet she is far happier than if we could recal 
 her spirit to earth ; for she is gone to dwell for- 
 ever with that Saviour, who said to Martha, ' I 
 am the resurrection and the life ! Blessed, in- 
 deed, are those who die in the Lord ; and let us, 
 my children, pray that we may so live, following 
 the steps of our Redeemer, that, when we die, 
 He may receive us to glory." The prayer was 
 simple and affecting ; it flowed from a heart 
 deeply sorrowing under its bereavement, yet sus- 
 tained by a firm reliance upon Him ** who cau- 
 seth all things to work together for good to them 
 that love Him." 
 13* 
 
( 150 ; 
 
 THE MOTHER. 
 
 Her babe was ever sickly, and its cheek 
 
 Wore not the hue of health. Its little bosom 
 
 Just heav'd with its faint breaih, and ever often 
 
 A sob escap'd its heart, and a big tear 
 
 Came rushing to its eye. Its bloodless lip 
 
 Seem'd not the prey of fell disease, but death 
 
 Came calmly o'er its frame, like a thin mist 
 
 Over a lake at even, or a melting 
 
 Of distant music on the silent sea. — 
 
 The mother vvatch'd her infant, as it pined 
 
 And sicken'd on her bosom ; and she hush"d 
 
 Its low and plaintive murm'rings, — and at night 
 
 When all around was sleeping, and the air 
 
 In its unechoing silence gave no sound, 
 
 She sat with heavy eyelids by her child, 
 
 And hush'd her very breath, lest it should wake 
 
 And find its grief again. Night after night 
 
 She thus did keep her vigils ; and when day 
 
 Rose on her weaned senses, and she fain 
 
 Would lay her down to rest, the weak complaining 
 
 Of her awaken'd babe o'ercame her weariness; 
 
 And she refus'd to listen to the voice 
 
 Of those who read consumption in the flush 
 
 Tiiat deepen'd on her cheek; — and only once 
 
 While her sick babe was sleeping, did she walk 
 
 Abroad in the cool air ; and then I met her 
 
 By the lone grave of him who in his life 
 
 Had lov'd full tenderly that babe and her. 
 
 She knew her child would die : but she had tho't 
 
 That she would watch its sufferings, and stand by 
 
 To do that office which affection loves, 
 
 And yet doth weep to do, — of closing up 
 
 The cold and stiffen'd lid, — and she had hop'd 
 
 That when its pulse was still, and its young heart 
 
 Was silent in its bosom, that her hands 
 
 Would shroud its limbs for burial, and her lips 
 
 Press the last kiss upon its clay -cold cheek 
 
 Before the foul worm's riot. — But she sunk 
 
 Beneath her ceaseless watching, and consumption 
 
THE MOTHER. 151 
 
 Quicken'd his fearful work. Her pulse pfrew quick, 
 And her limbs faint, and restless fever fillowed, 
 With his consuming thirst, and wild delirium 
 Seiz d on her heated brain — and she would clasp 
 Her pillow in her frenzy, and cry " Hush, 
 Sleep on iny babe — would that thy mother's heart 
 Could bear thy pain for thee — sl^epon, sleep on," — 
 And when at times she wept, and the cool tears 
 Came down in IVeshness on her bosom, reason 
 Would for a moment gleam — and then she knew 
 That she had not her babe, and slie remember'd 
 That it was sick and wasting — and a sorrow, 
 Such as a mother's heart alone can feel, 
 Sat heavily upon her. 
 
 'Twas the hour 
 Ofmidnigiit — and the heavy air lay slumb'ring 
 As if in a deep trance ; and the green leaves 
 Forgot t^'.eir undulations — and pressed down 
 By the night falling dew, seem'd overpowered 
 Bv a resitlless sleep. The walch-dog's bark 
 Was heard not in the distance, all except 
 At hourly intervals, when the chiding clock 
 Rung out the passing hour, one sullen howl 
 Broke in upon its echoes, and again 
 Unbroken silence reigned. The weary nurse 
 Had kept her drowsy watch, and the sick mother 
 Lay still upon her pillow, singing fitfully 
 A low and soothing lullaby ; and when 
 Her voice grew famt, and her parch'd tongue refus'd 
 To do Its oiSce more, she smil'd and said, 
 " 'Tis well, my wailing babe, thy mother's voice 
 Grows weak in lulling thee, and her fond heart 
 Which liv'd not, but to quell thy infant tears 
 And soothe thy grief awhile, is fading with thee — 
 And so 'tis well : and I will only wait 
 To see thee plume thy wing, and then my life 
 Which flow'd from thee its fountain, will dry up, 
 And 1 shall follow soon." She would have spoken 
 Ot him who gave that infant child its being ; 
 But e'er the accent fell, she turned her head 
 Aside upon her pillow, and a gush. 
 As if her " head were waters," and her heart 
 Had loosen'd every I'eeling in the flow, — 
 Came out to tell that thought's full bitternesB. 
 
152 THE MOTHER. 
 
 Freely, and long she wept ; and all who sorro«r 
 Can tell the soothing influence of such tears. 
 They had not dried before her moistened lashes 
 Had fallen like a veil and she was sleeping, 
 As if she had not wept. She woke serene 
 And calm as in the hour of health : her cheek 
 Had lost its fever'd flush, and in its stead 
 A snowy paleness overspread her features, 
 And she looked soon to die. — It was the calm 
 Which oft precedes departure, and which quells 
 The native speaking lustre of the eye, 
 And gives it an intense and still expression, 
 As if the soul was wrapt with the far glance 
 Of the half-veiled eternity. Slie spoke, 
 And ask'd to see her babe. It had been sleeping 
 Quietly upon its nurse's bosom, thoi gh so still. 
 She knew not but its spirit was in heaven. 
 They brought it to her, and she gently kissed 
 Its thin and wasted lip, and ask'd them then 
 To lay it on her bosom, and to wind 
 Her nerveless arm around it, that her eye 
 Might rest upon it in her agony. 
 
 She died — and they who stood around, approach'd 
 
 To take her infant from her cold embrace, 
 
 Fearful that it might wake it from its sleep. 
 
 But it could wake no more. — They moved it not — 
 
 Only to place it closer to her bosom. 
 
 And wrap them in the vestments of the grave. 
 
( 153 ) 
 
 THE NEW DRESS. 
 
 As I was lately sitting in the nursery of an 
 old acquaintance, she exhibited to me a dress 
 just completed for her little daughter. Alter 1 
 had duly admired it. the mother turned and dis- 
 played it to her child, exclaiming " Ann's new 
 dress ! Little Ann's jirefty new dress!" while 
 the little creature clapping her hands, testified 
 her admiration of gay colors, if not the joy of 
 her sex, in the prospect of becoming the pos- 
 sessor of such a prize, as a gay dress. I, too, 
 participated in the pleasure afforded by the ani- 
 mation of the little one ; but as I turned my 
 steps toward my own quiet, and perhaps, at 
 times, lonely home, (for I have no daughters to 
 enliven my fireside) I fell into the following 
 train of thought : 
 
 The incident, which I have this day witness- 
 ed, may exert an influence upon the character 
 of this child, through time, — perhaps through 
 eternity. She will soon understand the lan- 
 guage of ihe lips, although she now only compre- 
 hended that of the features; and from both will 
 she learn, that to her mother her dress is impor- 
 tant. She will be arrayed in the new dress to 
 visit grandmother, and the pride of displaying 
 it, will super^e(le the gratification which arises 
 from the indulgence of the affections of the heart. 
 Wlien her mother has visitors, slie will he told 
 to be very good, as she is to wear her new dress 
 to see the ladies, thus making propriety of de- 
 portment, simply an appendage to dress ; and 
 connecting for life the idea of displaying herself, 
 
154 THE NEW DRESS. 
 
 with the gratification of seeing her friends. The 
 new dress will be prepared for the Sabbath, and 
 the child will feel, that to display it, is the pri- 
 mary object for which she is taken to the liouse 
 of God : and even upon her first entrance within 
 the sanctuary, she may be taught a lesson of 
 pride and vanity, rather than of humility and 
 reverence. Children are apt scholars in the 
 school of vanity, and this child may soon become 
 as vain, as heartless, as fond of display, as the 
 most sanguine mother could wish, were it her 
 only object to infuse pride, vanity, and the love 
 of show into the heart of her child. 
 
 But although such may be the eflfect of my 
 friend's mode of education, such has not been her 
 design; and when the long-cherished vanity of 
 the daughter becomes too glaring, and visibly 
 oversteps the rules of propriety and good-breed- 
 ing, I do not doubt the mother will be both sur- 
 prised and grieved. She will wonder that one 
 so young should attach so much importance to 
 personal appearance, should think so much of 
 dress ; that a child so religiously educated should 
 be so trifling on the Sabbath, so heartless in the 
 sanctuary, so occupied in noticing the dress of 
 others, so eager to display her own. She will 
 feel it necessary solemnly to reprove her. She 
 will say, — " Your personal appearance is of no 
 consequence, your Creator looks at the heart, 
 and it is impossible for you to render the homage 
 of the heart, while all your feelings are absorbed 
 by your personal decoration ; such vanity de- 
 grades you, both as a rational and immortal be- 
 ing, and let me see no more of it." 
 
PRAY WITHOUT CEASING. 155 
 
 Mothers, which will most influence the heart, 
 ■ — the early habits, or the casual precept? which 
 lesson has this child most thoroughly learned, 
 and which will she longest remember 1 
 
 PRAY WITHOUT CEASING. 
 
 A s.-Mi.OR. who had been long absent from his 
 native country, returned home, flushed with 
 money. Coming to Loudon, where he had never 
 been before, he resolved to gratify himself with 
 the sight of whatever was remarkable. Among 
 other places lie visited St. Paul's. It happened 
 to be at the lime of divine service. When care- 
 lessly passing, he heard the words '* pray without 
 ceasing," uttered by the minister, without having 
 any impression made on his mind by them. 
 Having satisfied his curiosity in London, he 
 returned to his marine pursuits, and continued 
 at sea for seven years, without any remarkable 
 occurrence in his history. 
 
 One fine evening, when the air was soft, the 
 breeze gentle, the heavens serene, and the ocean 
 calm, he was walking the deck, with his feelings 
 soothed by the pleasing aspect of nature, when 
 on a sudden darted on his mind, the words, 
 " Pray without ceasing!" " Pray without ceas- 
 ing!" " What words can these be?" he exclaim- 
 ed, " I think [ have heard them before; where 
 could it be ?" After a pause — " Oh it was at St. 
 Paul's in London, the minister read them from 
 
156 CONTERSION OF A SAILOR. 
 
 the Bible. What! and do the Scriptures say, 
 "Pray without ceasing?" Oh what a wretch 
 must I be, to have lived so long without praying 
 at all !" God, who at first caused him to hear 
 this passage in his ear, now causeil it to spring 
 up, in a way, at a time, and with a power pecu- 
 liarly his own. The poor fellow now found the 
 lightning of conviction flash on his conscience — 
 the thunders of the law shake his heart — and the 
 great deep of destruction threaten to swallow him 
 up. Now he began for the first time to pray ; 
 but praying was not all! "Oh," said he "if I 
 had a Bible, or some good book !" He rum- 
 maged his chest, when in a corner, he espied a 
 Bible, which his anxious mother had, twenty 
 years before, placed in his chest, but which, till 
 now, had never been opened. He snatched it 
 up, put it to his breast, then read ; wept ; prayed ; 
 believed, and became a new man. 
 
 CONVERSION OF A SAILOR. 
 
 " I "WAS born," says a sailor, when giving an 
 account of his conversion, " of a very pious moth- 
 er, and was taught in my youthful days to attend 
 the church of which she was a member, (a 
 Baptist church.) However, as I grew older, and 
 was determined to have my own way, I very sel- 
 dom visited any church; but when 1 did, it was 
 the Universalist, because there 1 found nothing 
 to condemn me, in ray sinful career. 
 
CONVERSION OF A SAILOR. 157 
 
 For the last ten years, I have followed the 
 seas, and have been a follower of Satan — living 
 in as debauched and sinful a manner, as any of 
 the sons of Neptune. Tilteen months ago, the 
 twelfth of this tnonth, I received from my mother 
 a chest of clothing, and books, and tracts. 
 
 Previous to this, I had two attacks of the brain 
 fever; and when I was given over by the physi- 
 cians that attended me, even then I iiad not the 
 fear of God before my eyes. But Christ, the 
 Mediator interposed in my behalf, and said. Spare 
 him yet a little longer; if he bringeth not forth 
 good fruit, cut him down. This was the case, 
 as I now view it. 
 
 After I received the things above mentioned, 
 I one day, while in health, (having recovered 
 from my sickness,) and going on in the road to 
 ruin as strong as ever, took up the tract entitled 
 " Reasons for not embracing the doctrines of 
 Universal Salvation, in a series of letters to a 
 friend." — (No. 224.) The first perusal shook 
 what little faith I then had, which was in the 
 universal salvation of all mankind. It made me 
 feel uneasy in my mind, and 1 determined to give 
 it a second perusal. That struck the bloiv. I 
 found I must be born again, or I could not enter 
 the kingdom of heaven. I then, in secret prayer 
 to God, began to call for mercy. My sins, which 
 were great and many, rose to my view so plain, 
 that it seemed as if I must sink under the load of 
 guilt, which hung heavy upon me. My fear was 
 that I had grieved the Holy Spirit ; and that the 
 die was cast. I was in a miserable condition till 
 the night of the twenty-third of October, 1831. 
 Previous to this time, I was continually reading 
 14 
 
158 CONVERSION OF A SAILOR. 
 
 my Bible, and other good books, and praying con- 
 tinually, whether at my ship duty, or when I had 
 retired for rest. I could eat but little, grew 
 poor, and was fairly emaciated with pain and dis- 
 tress of mind, for my long sinning against so 
 glorious a God. However, the night above men- 
 tioned, I remained in prayer to God, for forgive- 
 ness of my long rebellion against heaven, till 
 nearly twelve o'clock, when I went to bed feel- 
 ing sick of life, and fearful of hell. 
 
 I had been asleop one hour, when I awoke, 
 and the glory of God shone bright around me. 
 I immediately arose, and knelt down by the side 
 of my chest, and poured forth my soul in grati- 
 tude to God, for his long-suffering, and for the 
 testimony he gave me, that my sins were all for- 
 given. I felt so happy, that I could sleep no 
 more that night. I have since then had my ups 
 and downs on the ocean, and the more so for not 
 having any Christian friends, with whom I could 
 converse. However, since I have arrived in the 
 city, I have enjoyed myself much better in mind. 
 1 frequently attend meetings, which strengthen 
 me. My faith increases, and the dark clouds of 
 doubt and fear are removing, and I feel happy in 
 the Lord. 
 
 This religion has caused me to relinquish a 
 seafaring life — has procured me good business — 
 and introduced me into the best of society. It 
 is my desire that I may have your prayers, that I 
 may be faithful in the cause of Christ, that I may- 
 be as valiant a soldier of Jesus, as I have been 
 a faithful servant of Satan, or hardened son of 
 Neptune. 
 
( 159) 
 
 SECRET OF A MOTHER'S CONTROL OVER 
 THE CONSCIENCE OF HER SON. 
 
 This control consists chiefly in a mother's do- 
 ing her duty. There is nothing a child needs 
 more than an example of duty performed. Duty 
 may be talked about, and enforced by precept^ 
 and even be prayed over, but if the child per- 
 ceives that all duty is neglected to be done on 
 the part of the parent, that parent can never en- 
 force duty upon the child. For instance, the du- 
 ty of moral honesty ; it goes into all the ramifi- 
 cations of life. 
 
 A lad one morning picked up several dollars 
 in the road, which had been lost the night pre- 
 vious from the trunk of a traveller, a breach hav- 
 ing been made in the trunk by the pressure and 
 jostling of a large sum of silver money. The 
 lad immediately handed the money to his father, 
 who carefully concealed it in his pocket. But 
 how was that son surprised and injured, on dis- 
 covering subsequently, that his father had him- 
 self, the same morning, picked up a large sum 
 of money, and though the stranger, as he re- 
 passed, had made known to them his misfortunes, 
 his father took no pains to restore any part of the 
 money. The mother soon came to a knowledge 
 of the facts, and, as far as she was able, coun- 
 teracted the mischief. She taught her son, that 
 he had no right to the money, not even to a cent 
 for finding it. I heard her counsel to a number 
 of lads who had likewise picked up some pieces 
 by the way side. " My lads," said she " that 
 stranger has a right to every cent of his money. 
 
You have no right to any part." Her inquiries 
 and instructions elicited from the Jads the fol- 
 lowing facts and opinions, respecting their find- 
 ing and retaining the lost money. One of the 
 lads said, the stranger could not prove property, 
 and so could not claim it by law ; another, said, 
 if he had not picked it up, somebody else would, 
 and it would be as eflfectually lost to the owner, 
 as if he had retained it himself. Another, that 
 he was not to blame for picking up what was in 
 the highway ; a fourth said that he was willing 
 the stranger should have his money, if he would 
 come to him and demand it ; a fifth, that he was 
 glad that he did not find any, for he was sure 
 that his mother would not let him restore it ; for 
 the other day when he found a dollar bill, his 
 mother told him, to say nothing about it, for very 
 likely some one would claim it, that was not the 
 real owner, and he might have it, as well as any 
 one else. Another said, he wished his mother 
 had not laid his cut to pay the pedlar that morn- 
 ing, for he would like to restore it to the owner. 
 Another, that he would restore his, if his parents 
 vi'ould let him. Another that he had picked up 
 ten pieces, but that when he handed them to his 
 mother, she said, it was just the sum, his father 
 wanted to pay his taxes. 
 
 This good mother in Israel, after endeavoring 
 to obviate all their objections to restore the lost 
 property, showing to them the fallacy of their 
 reasoning, and the injustice of their various 
 pleas for not restoring the money, immediately to 
 the rightful owner, faithfully admonished them, 
 that, at the last day, conscience would lift up its 
 voice and demand the stranger's rights. One 
 
OVER THli CONSCIENCE OF HER SON. 161 
 
 thing they did know, that the money was not 
 theirs, and that it could be easily restored to the 
 right owner. *' My children," said she, " hear 
 me ; the person who lost that money may, at this 
 very moment, be in great distress. He may be 
 a very poor man, and may have been commission- 
 ed to pay a debt with it , and may be greatly per- 
 plexed, when he finds it is lost. He may be 
 greatly pressed for the payment of that debt. Or 
 it may be, that some poor widow lost it, and her 
 family of children may be in great distress this 
 winter, for the want of that money to buy them 
 clothes and food." 'Oh,' said she, ' how sorry 
 I am that he lost his money. My dear boys, if 
 you are willing to restore the money, I will try 
 to find the stranger, and make his heart glad." 
 The lads consented ; but I was afterwards 
 grieved to knov/ that although the stranger re- 
 turned ail the way from Philadelphia, to look up 
 his lost money, and at length discovered that his 
 trunk sprung aleak in my father's neighborhood, 
 and that the money had been strewed for several 
 miles along the road; that after spending a whole 
 day in the research, he found so many difficult 
 ties in the way of recovering it, that he gave it 
 up in despair, and had gone on his journey. 
 This grieved the mother in Israel who had coun- 
 selled the lads. But it was worth all the mon- 
 ey that was lost, to have such a salutary im- 
 pression, as was made, by this incident upon 
 my mind, and upon the minds of the lads, by 
 means of that Christian mother's faithful lecture. 
 I can never lose the impression, which that lec- 
 ture made upon my mind, and I hope upon my 
 morals, and upon my heart. 
 14* 
 
1G2 EFFECTS OF KINDNESS. 
 
 Whenever a case of this kind has subsequent- 
 ly occurred, I have been led not only to search 
 myself, but I have invariably asked myself, 
 " Am I sorry that my neighbor lost that article 
 that I am about to pick up in the street, or in 
 the field 1 Am I willing, not only to put him in 
 possession ol"his property, but so promptly, as 
 to save him a moment's anxiety, and every pos- 
 sible expense in recovering what is his own. 
 Do I allow myself to expect any reward for re- 
 storing the lost article to my unfortunate neigh- 
 bor 1 Have I any right to demand or expect 
 any thing from him in return ? If I had lost 
 the same amount of property, should I be wil- 
 ling that my neighbor should charge me any 
 thing for finding it? 
 
 EFFECTS OF KINDNESS. 
 
 A FEW ladies in the city of New York form- 
 ed themselves into a society for the purpose of 
 relieving the wants of the wives of the intem- 
 perate, where it could be done without encour- 
 aging the drunkard — and to place their children 
 in Sabbath schools. 
 
 Their first object of compassion was the fami- 
 ly of one, who had for eleven years given himself 
 entirely to his cups, until his amiable wife and 
 helpless children where reduced to the greatest 
 wretchedness. The ladies called upon her, made 
 known their message, presented her with suita- 
 
EFFECTS OF KINDNESS, 163 
 
 blc raiment for lier children to appear in Sab- 
 bath scliools, and added, You can do as you 
 think proper respecting your husband — acquaint 
 liini with the object, or not. Sabbath morning 
 came. A lady with faltering steps, decended 
 the cellar, to take the inmates to school — for she 
 feared the incensed husband might pour out his 
 wrath, and forbid her taking the children along 
 with her. As she slowly advanced, all was si- 
 lent. She ventured, and, to her astonishment, 
 the father was sitting quietly on one side of the 
 room ; a son about ten was sitting in a corner, 
 neatly clad, with a Testament in his hand ; a 
 little girl of four, fair as the new-blown rose, was 
 attired in a new suit; and the room itself per- 
 fect neatness. She said, Are the children ready 1 
 when the mother, taking the girl by the hand, 
 led her to the lady, without saying a word — for 
 her heart was full, at such new and unexpected 
 kindness; and they joyfully hastened to the Sab- 
 bath school together. The father was a man of 
 sense ; and low as he had sunk, had not lost all 
 sensibility. That Sabbath was a new day to 
 him. He saw he had deserted his helpless off- 
 spring, and the kind hand of charity had taken 
 them up. — He saw them clad in decent appar- 
 el — not by Jiis industry; and he then resolved 
 jjhe would be a fool no longer. His wife took the 
 Bible, which he had often, forbid her reading, 
 and he said, " Sarah, will you read aloud?" 
 She complied. In a few moments, he exclaim- 
 ed, if I again drink another drop, may 1 die in 
 the attempt. A rash resolve — but it has never 
 been broken. The next morning he went in 
 quest of employ — found it, and Saturday night 
 
164 EXERTIONS OP A PIOUS FEMALE. 
 
 brought to his happy wife a handsome sum — 
 placed his children in school — removed from his 
 cellar to a comfortable apartment, and as far as 
 the most assiduous attention and kindness would 
 do it, atoned for all past abuse — and soon saw his 
 happy family comfortable around him. 
 
 A few weeks from this change, the lady, who 
 had taken his children to the Sabbath school, 
 had called to conduct the little girl to a day 
 school, and was met by the father, who stopped 
 and most politely accosted her, saying — " You 
 are taking my little girl to school. I have earn- 
 ed twenty shillings this morning, and I hope I 
 shall soon be in a condition to make my family 
 comfortable." It is so. He has continued an 
 industrious, sober man — -and his wife the happi- 
 est that can possibly be ; and his gratitude to the 
 lady who first clothed and led his children to 
 Sabbath school is almost unparalleled. 
 
 Such was the effect of this noiseless rebuke — 
 and such was the reward of those who stretched 
 out their hands to the needy. A family raised 
 from the lowest degradation, to a state of com- 
 fort — and the heart of the bowed down made to 
 sing for joy. 
 
 f 
 
 EXERTIONS OF A PIOUS FEMALE. 
 
 At a late anniversary of a charitable society, 
 one of the speakers on the occasion related the 
 following interesting anecdote. It referred, he 
 said, to a female in one of our large trading 
 
EXERTIONS OP A PIOUS FEMALE. 165 
 
 towns. She was formerly a most abandoned 
 character, one of the most wicked women that 
 perhaps ever trod on the face of the globe. 
 However, by the grace of God, she was brought 
 to a knowledge of the truth, and was sent to a 
 penitentiary, where she gave the most decided 
 evidence of a saving change of heart ; but, 
 shortly after being put into that situation, she 
 was deprived of the use of both her hands and 
 feel. Her heart, however, was full of love to the 
 Saviour, and she was at a loss to show forth the 
 praises of that God, who had called her out of 
 darkness into his marvellous light. She could 
 not walk about to tell what God had done for her 
 soul; she could not employ her hands, but she 
 learned to write with her mouth, and ihe letters 
 thus written being sold at small sums, produced 
 something considerable to the funds of the peni- 
 tentiary. She began to learn the art of painting, 
 and the produce of those paintings, which she 
 accomplished with her mouth, produced last year 
 seventy-five dollars to the funds of the institu- 
 tion. Now he would not say to this assembly. Go 
 and do thou likewise ; but he would say. You have 
 hands and you have feet, and you have a tongue 
 to tell the wonders of redeeming love: go and 
 do what you can. 
 
( 166 ) 
 
 AFFECTING EXAMPLE OF USEFULNESS IN 
 POVERTY. 
 
 There was a poor woman in the limits of my 
 former congregation, observes a clergyman, the 
 mother of five or six small children, whose hus- 
 band was a notorious drunkard, so that the sup- 
 port of the family devolved almost entirely upon 
 herself, which she accomplished, in part, by go- 
 ing out to washing several days of the week. 
 She obtained, some years since, a few religious 
 tracts, and, in reading them, became warmly at- 
 tached to the tract cause. Before there was any 
 tract society in the county, she provided herself 
 with a subscription paper, and, taking a some- 
 what extensive circuit, procured upwards of 
 twenty subscribers, averaging about twenty cents 
 each. Her own subscription was fifty cents. A 
 part of the money was collected and paid to me 
 for tracts before I left the county, and I had op- 
 portunity to learn particularly how the subscrip- 
 tions were obtained and the tracts disposed of. 
 It appears that the distance she must have trav- 
 elled on foot, in first procuring the subscriptions,^ 
 then collecting the money, and afterwards dis-^ 
 tributing her tracts, must have been more than 
 twenty miles. She lived in an obscure part of 
 the town, where the religious advantages of tBie 
 people were very small ; and the influence ^e 
 has exerted, through the instrumentality of her 
 tracts, is truly wonderful! Numbers are influen- 
 ced in this way to think and act for eternity, 
 whose minds were previously wholly absorbed in 
 
EXAMPLE OP USEFULNESS IN POVERTY. 167 
 
 the world. The people are so remote from any 
 place of worship, that many spend their Sab- 
 baths at home, or in visiting ; and, in order to 
 take advantage of this state of things, the indi- 
 vidual in question has, on the Sabbath, taken 
 her tracts, and, calling upon her neighbors, beg- 
 ged the privilege of reading to them ; and, though 
 she has sometimes found them at first disposed 
 to trifle, yet she has, in some instances, melted 
 them into tears, by the interesting narratives 
 contained m these publications. In this way, 
 she is doing most important good ; and whoever 
 shall tread in her steps cannot fail of being emi- 
 nently useful, however obscure their rank, or 
 low their circumstances in the world. 
 
 It is worthy of remark, that this woman ha 
 learned to read since she became the mother o 
 a family, and has never enjoyed any opportuni 
 ties beyond what almost every individual of our 
 highly favored country might easily obtain. She 
 is truly poor in regard to all worldly attainments 
 and temporal good things, but " rich in faith," 
 and, I trust, " an heir of the kingdom." I gave 
 her a volume of bound tracts, and she now uses 
 it as her sennon-book, when she goes into the 
 houses of her neighbors, to read to them these 
 words of eternal life. 
 
( 168 ) 
 
 A MOTHER'S DIFFICULTIES. 
 
 It not unfrequently happens that a judicious 
 and faithful mother is connected with a husband 
 whose principles and example are anything but 
 what she could desire. In such cases, not only 
 does the whole government of the family devolve 
 upon the mother, but the influence of the father 
 is such as, in a great degree, to counteract all 
 her exertions. This is indeed a trying situation. 
 It is, however, far from being a hopeless one. 
 You must not give up in despair, but let the em- 
 ergencies of the case rouse you to more constant 
 watchfulness, and more persevering and vigor- 
 ous effort. If a wife be judicious and consis- 
 tent in her exertion, a father, in almost all cases, 
 will soon feel confidence in her management of 
 the family, and will very gladly allow her to bear 
 all the burden of taking care of the children. 
 Such a father is almost necessarily much of the 
 time absent from home ; and when at home, is 
 not often in a mood to enjoy the society of his 
 family. Let such a mother teach her children 
 to be quiet and still, when their father is pres- 
 ent. Let her make every effort to accustom them 
 to habits of industry. And let her do every-JL 
 thing in her power to induce them to be respect- 
 ful, and obedient, and affectionate to their fa- 
 ther. This course is indeed the best which can 
 be adopted to reclaim the unhappy parent. The 
 more cheerful you can make home to him, the 
 stronger are the inducements, which are present- 
 
169 
 
 ed to draw him away from scenes, into which 
 he ought not to enter. 
 
 It is true, there is no situation more difficult 
 than the one we are now describing. But, that 
 even these difficuhies are not insurmountable, 
 facts have not unfrequently proved. Many ca- 
 ses occur, in which the mother triumphantly sur- 
 mounts them all, and rears up a virtuous and 
 happy family. Her husband is most brutally in- 
 temperate ; and I need not here depict the 
 scenes, through which such a mother is called to 
 pass. She sees, however, that the welfare of the 
 family is dependent upon her, and accordingly 
 nerves her hea»"t, resolutely, to meet her respon- 
 sibilities. She commences, in the earliest in- 
 fancy of her children, teaching them implicit 
 obedience. She binds them to her with those 
 ties from which they would never be able, or de- 
 sirous to break. The most abundant success re- 
 wards her efforts. The older her children grow, 
 the more respectful and attentive they become, 
 for the more clearly they see that they are in- 
 debted to their mother for salvation from their 
 father's disgrace and woe. Every sorrow of 
 such a mother is alleviated by the sympathy and 
 affection of her sons. She looks around upon 
 them with feelings of maternal gratification, 
 which no language can describe. They feel the 
 worth and dignity of her character. Though 
 her situation in life may be humble, and though 
 her mind may not be stored with knowledge, her 
 moral worth, and her judicious government, 
 command their reverence. 
 
 In a family of this sort, in a neighboring state, 
 one cold December night, the mother was sit- 
 15 
 
170 A mother's difficulties. 
 
 ting alone by the fire, between the hours of 
 nine and ten, waiting for the return of her ab- 
 sent husband. Her sons, fatigued with the la- 
 bors of the day, had all retired to rest. A little 
 before ten, her husband came in from the neigh- 
 boring store, where he had passed the evening 
 with his degraded associates. He insisted in 
 calling up the boys at that unseasonable hour, 
 to send them into the wood-lot for a load of 
 wood. Though there was an ample supply of 
 fuel at the house, he would not listen to reason, 
 but stamped and swore that the boys should go. 
 The mother, finding it utterly in vain to op- 
 pose his wishes, called her sons, and told them 
 that their father insisted upon their going with 
 the team to the wood-lot. She spoke to them 
 kindly ; told them she was sorry they must go ; 
 but, said she, " remember that he is your fath- 
 er." Her sons were full-grown young men. But 
 at their mother's voice, they immediately rose, 
 and, without a murmur, brought out the oxen, 
 and went to the woods. They had perfect con- 
 fidence in her judgment, and her management. 
 While they were absent, their mother was busy 
 in preparing an inviting supper for them on their 
 return. The drunken father soon retired. About 
 midnight the sons finished their task, and enter- 
 ing the house, found their mother ready to re- 
 ceive them with cheerfulness and smiles. A 
 bright fire was blazing upon the hearth. The 
 room was warm and pleasant. With keen ap- 
 petites and that cheerfulness of spirits, which gen- 
 erally accompanies the performance of duty, 
 those children sat down with their much-loved 
 parent to the repast she had provided, and soon 
 after all were reposing in the quietude of sleep. 
 
SORROW TURNED TO JOY. 171 
 
 Many a mother has thus been the guardian 
 and saviour of her family. She has brought up 
 her sons to industry, and her daughters to virtue. 
 And in her old age, she has reaped a rich re- 
 ward for all her toil, in the affections and atten- 
 tions of her grateful children. She has struggled 
 in tears and discouragement, for many weary 
 years, till at last God has dispelled all the gloom, 
 and filled her heart with joy, in witnessing the 
 blessed results of her fidelity. Be not, therefore, 
 desponding. That which has once been done, 
 may be done again. 
 
 SORROW TURNED TO JOY. 
 
 Fifteen years ago, said Captain Angus, at a 
 late meeting of the London Seamen's Friend 
 Society, I commanded a vessel in the merchant 
 service ; it fell to my lot to lodge under the roof 
 of a pious widow, who had a son, the stay and 
 support of her old age. This lad, who was about 
 sixteen years of age, conducted himself with 
 great propriety in his situation ; but, all in a 
 moment, like a clap of thunder, the report came 
 to his mother's ears that he had committed an 
 offence, which, though morally speaking was 
 not of the most heinous nature, was, neverthe- 
 less, sufficient to touch his life. The poor 
 mother by the advice of some friends, was in- 
 duced to send her son to sea, on board a man of 
 war ; and who would have thought that, in 
 
172 SORROW TURNED TO JOY. 
 
 sending him there, it was to meet the God of 
 salvation, and be brought to the knowledge of 
 the truth ? But God has his way in the deep. 
 He had not been long on board H. M. S. the 
 
 S , before he got acquainted with a corporal 
 
 of Marines, the only man on board that ship who 
 knew the truth, and lived in the love of it. He 
 began to speak to him, as every good seaman we 
 hope will do, about the love of Christ, as exhibit- 
 ed on the cross for poor sinners. This was the 
 very conversation suited to his heart, whose 
 crime was yet on his conscience ; and the pious 
 man was glad to make known to him the only 
 way of comfort in the word of life, which says, 
 " Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy 
 laden, and I will give you rest." This conver- 
 sation was blessed to him, till he became a de- 
 cided Christian. Thus these two small sparks 
 in the midst of the ocean came in contact ; and 
 here they met under the scoffs and sneers of a 
 licentious and wicked crew. These two became 
 three, and then four, and five, and so on, till, in 
 the course of time, fifty of their shipmates, 
 among whom were some of the officers, became 
 with them worshippers of the Lord Jesus Christ. 
 You will readily believe how glad the heart of 
 the poor widow was, when she had the first letter, 
 from her son to find that the storm which had 
 seemed to threaten nothing but destruction to her 
 peace, should break in blessings on her head. This 
 vessel was four years on the Mediterranean station, 
 and was engaged in some of the most bloody bat- 
 tles, in particular one with the Turkish squadron ; 
 and in that and in other battles, these humble 
 followers of the Prince of Peace, despised as 
 
FAMILY DISCirHNE. 173 
 
 they were, gave the strongest proofs of their valor 
 and their attachment to their king and country. 
 When this vessel arrived in port, and w^as paid 
 off, and every one rolled in money, and every 
 thing tended to induce them to break their al- 
 legiance with the Prince of Peace, they gave the 
 noblest testimony that the work of God on their 
 hearts was divine. 
 
 FAMILY DISCIPLINE. 
 
 We often speak of the docility of a child, as the 
 standardof our Christian docility; but the image 
 is to be qualified. We assume an abstraction, 
 not a fact; and argue from ideal childhood — » 
 from what a child ought to be, and often ap- 
 pears to be, not from what a child is! Some 
 children have sweet tempers, and sweeter coun- 
 tenances, and still sweeter manners, and most 
 fascinating glee and gambols ; and should we 
 argue from those infantile charms of appearance, 
 that the jiioral tone of the soul was equally be- 
 nign and amiable, we should be brought to 
 a conclusion contradictory to the word of God, 
 and to all moral observation, and moral experi- 
 ment, and moral evidence. 
 
 I have an anecdote in point. It was in the 
 family of a pious minister, who had then a re- 
 vival in his congregation, that the matter oc- 
 curred. — '* Electra," said her mother to a little 
 daughter of two and a half years old, playing on 
 15* 
 
174 FAMILY DISCIPLINE. 
 
 the floor ; " bring me that apple, my dear." 
 She looked at her mother, said " No" with in- 
 difference, and resumed her play. Her mother 
 rejoined, " Bring me that apple instantly," and 
 was answered, *' I wo'nt." 
 
 Things now became in earnest ; and after 
 several more orders and refusals, the case was 
 resigned to the father, who was present and had 
 observed the scene. With a tone of authority, 
 and yet of benevolence, he reiteiated the man- 
 date, " Take that apple to your mother, my 
 child ! " Electra arose, went to the place where 
 the apple was, picked up a chip that was near it, 
 returned, threw it into her mother's lap, and was 
 going to her play. Her father, here, took hold 
 of her, brought her near him, expostulated, 
 warned, and then re-ordered her. Her sullen- 
 ness deepened into silence and malignity — my 
 will he done, was her deliberate position. Her 
 father was one of those thorough-going Christian 
 moralists, who believe no better ethics can be 
 made by man than God has made for him in his 
 word, and who carried practice with theory, as 
 well as theory with scripture. He took down 
 the provided hirch from the top of the old clock, 
 and very dispassionately applied it to the obsti- 
 nate offender. Electra screamed, and begged, 
 and squirmed, and called for her mother — who 
 first interfered with very cruel advocacy, and 
 then, in a flood of tears left the room. Her 
 father forbore, and tried her again. She walked, 
 pouting and sobbing, to the apple, stood still near 
 it, and said, she could not pick it up. Her father 
 understood the nature of her inability, and its 
 true relations to accountability. It was just 
 
FAMILY DISCIPLINE. 175 
 
 such an one as keeps a sinner from obeying God 1 
 Her father paused for some minutes : Electra 
 looked alternately at the apple and at him, 
 pouted, rubbed her eyes, and said again that she 
 could not pick up the apple. Another whipping 
 was the consequence. — ^Electra screamed louder 
 than ever, begged and jjromised. On this, her 
 father tried her again. She went to the apple, 
 stood still, held her eyes to the floor, said and 
 did nothing. Here some sympathetic spectators, 
 — friends of the family, visiting, — began to plead 
 and apologize for the sufferer, and to insinuate 
 that it was useless and tyrannical to persist. Her 
 father with a look, gave them their answer and 
 his sentiments. He again applied the birch, 
 and let not his soul spare for her crying. Her 
 promises were now frequent as the rain-drops of 
 a shower, and yet, fewer than the steady strokes 
 of enlightened love, \hB.t honored the command- 
 ment of God, and subordinated the sympathies 
 of a father to the duties of a Christian. As soon 
 as he had ceased, while his steady carriage had 
 awed the circle into silence, Electra showed 
 herself to have become another creature : she 
 ran to the apple, took it up, and brought it to 
 her father. Her actions spoke her obstinacy 
 gone, her pride subdued, her temper humbled, 
 tender, penitent. Her mother was called. As 
 soon as she entered the apartment — " Electra," 
 said her father, "put this a!pple where it was on 
 the carpet." Again said he, *' Take it up and 
 carry it to your mother." She obeyed with 
 alacrity and tears. ''Come here, my daughter," 
 She came. *' What a naughty girl was Electra ?" 
 *' Yes." To the questions, " Are you sorry ? " 
 
176 THE FENNEL LEAVES. 
 
 *' Do you love father ? " " Will you be good ? '' 
 " Do father and mother love you?" and others 
 like them, she assented ; constantly opening her 
 arms, and raising her lips, for the kiss and ca- 
 resses of her father. 
 
 Her mother then began her confession; asked 
 pardon for the improper strength of her feelings, 
 and acknowledged that her love for the child 
 was spurious, in comparison with that of her 
 husband. The others united in the acknow- 
 ledgment, while Electra's tears were drying, and 
 her sobs diminishing on her father's knee. But 
 the little penitent was really too weak to stand, 
 and too sore to play. She was put upon the 
 couch, where a sweet sleep and gentle appli- 
 cations, soon wrought her complete recovery. 
 
 THE FENNEL LEAVES. 
 
 The question is often asked, *' At what age 
 can a child obtain correct ideas of a God ? '* 
 As this question cannot invariably, if ever, be 
 satisfactorily answered by a finite mind, is it too 
 much to believe that while a mother is endeavor- 
 ing to instruct the little children, and conversing 
 with them about the great God, who made heav. 
 en and earth," that the Holy Spirit will commu- 
 nicate to their infant minds what she so ardent- 
 ly desires they should know^ and understand? 
 In confirmation of this belief, I will relate an 
 anecdote which occurred in the experience of 
 
THE FENNEL LEAVES 177 
 
 Mrs. M., a member of our Maternal Associa- 
 tion. 
 
 Her little daughter, a child of three years and 
 seven months, on one occasion, when her moth- 
 er was ill, had permission of an older sister to 
 go into the garden and pick some fennel. The 
 child soon returned with a handful of fennel 
 heads and leaves. The leaves she said she pick- 
 ed from a stalk of dill. Her sister reproved her 
 for telling a falsehood. The child persisted in 
 saying they were dill leaves. Her sister imme- 
 diately led E. to her mother's chamber, and in- 
 formed her of the child's prevarication. Mrs. 
 M. called her little daughter to her bed-side and 
 questioned her. She still affirmed that they 
 were dill leaves. " My child," said Mrs. M, 
 " we all know that it is not so, and God knows 
 it is not so." She then explained to her the sin 
 of lying. E. burst into tears, and confessed the 
 truth. Mrs. M. inquired, why she told that lie. 
 The child replied, '' Because I wanted to." 
 Mrs. M. exclaimed, surely, my child now needs 
 the " Great Helper." Mrs. M. rose from her 
 sick bed, and retiring with her child, to a room, 
 where she had been accustomed to go with her 
 children for prayer, told E. she must there ask 
 God to forgive her great sin. But when Mrs. 
 M. kneeled, the child would not, saying " She 
 did not loant to go to God" and cried very much. 
 Mrs. M. deeply afflicted, arose from her knees, 
 taking the Bible, which lay near her, she felt the 
 need of stronger faith in that promise, *' how 
 much more sliall your heavenly Father give the 
 Holy Spirit to them that ask him." She felt 
 that truly nothing but the Spirit and grace of 
 
178 THE FENNEL LEAVES. 
 
 God could subdue and cleanse the heart of her 
 little one. She read from the Bible several pas- 
 sages about lying, which she thought the child 
 could understand. To her unspeakable joy, E. 
 came to her, throwing her little arms around her 
 mother's neck. Mrs. M. said, " Does my little 
 daughter wish to ask God to forgive her 1 " She 
 replied, "' Yes." — Both now kneeled. While 
 this mother prayed, her little girl repeated every 
 word after her mother, of her own accord, a 
 thing she had never before attempted. After 
 this, E. appeared calm, but very serious. Three 
 days elapsed without any allusion being made tc 
 the circumstance, when E. said, " Mother / neV' 
 er knew there was a God, before that day I tolc". 
 a lie." Her mother replied, " My dear, I have 
 often told you there was a God." " I know you 
 have, mother," said E. " but I never knew there 
 was a God, before 1 told that lie." 
 
 About a week from this time, her sister desir- 
 ed her to do some work. She immediately com- 
 plied. Her sister said to her, " Now E. is a good 
 girl." " No," said the child, " I am not a good 
 girl, I am not a good girl, for I have a wicked 
 heart yet." 
 
 Who can doubt but that important truths, 
 such as, '* thou God seest me," may, under fa- 
 vorable circumstances, not only be made palpable 
 to the understanding of a very little child, but 
 deeply engraven upon the heart 1 
 
{ n9 ) 
 
 MATERNAL IRRESOLUTION. 
 
 A FEW years since, a lady was left a widow, 
 with several little sons. She loved them most 
 affectionately, as mothers are wont to do. The 
 affliction which she had experienced in the loss 
 of her husband, served to rivet her affections 
 with more intensity upon her children. They 
 were her only hope. Sad and joyless as she 
 was, she could not endure to punish them, or to 
 deprive them of a single indulgence. Unhappy 
 and misguided woman ! Could she expect to 
 escape the consequences of such a course ? She 
 was living upon the delusive hope, that her in- 
 dulgences would ensure their love. And now 
 one of these sons is seventeen years of age, a 
 stout, and turbulent, and self-willed boy. He is 
 altogether beyond the influence of maternal re- 
 straint. He is the tyrant of the family, and his 
 afflicted mother is almost entirely broken-heart- 
 ed by this accumulation of sorrow. The rest of 
 the children are coming on in the same path. 
 She sees and trembles in view of the calamity, 
 which it is now too late to avert. It would be 
 far happier for her to be childless, as well as a 
 widow. Her children are her oppressors. She 
 is their slave. It is impossible now to retrace 
 her steps, or to retrieve the. injury she has done 
 her children and herself. Hardly any situation 
 can be conceived more truly pitiable. And what 
 has caused this magnitude of sorrow ? Simply, 
 the mother's reluctance to do her duty. She 
 iooked upon her poor fatherless children with 
 
180 MY OWN HISTORY. 
 
 all the tender emotions of a widowed mother, 
 and could not bear to throw around them neces- 
 sary restraint, and insist upon obedience to her 
 commands. She well knew that when they 
 were disobedient, they ought to be punished, 
 that it was her duty to enforce her authority. It 
 was not her ignorance, which caused this dread- 
 ful wreck of happiness ; it was the want of res- 
 olution — that fond, and foolish, and cruel ten- 
 derness, which induced her to consult her own 
 feelings, rather than the permanent welfare of 
 her children. 
 
 The reader will, perhaps, inquire whether this 
 statement is a true account of a thousand cases 
 over our land. Mothers, we appeal to your ob- 
 servation, if you do not see, every where around 
 fou, these wrecks of earthly hopes. Have we 
 not warnings enough to avoid this fatal rock ? 
 and yet it is the testimony of all who have mov- 
 ed about the world, with an observing eye, that 
 this parental irresolution is one of the most pro- 
 minent causes of domestic affliction. 
 
 MY OWN HISTORY. 
 
 Having within a few months past seen many 
 accounts of pious parents, especially of mothers^ 
 instructing their children, and the blessing of 
 God aiiending such instruction ; whenever I read 
 theae accounts, uiy rumd la forcibly struck with 
 the remembrance of my childhood. Although I 
 
MY OWN HISTORY. 181 
 
 sm a man of gray hairs, yet I well remember the 
 instruction I received from my mother. She 
 dedicated me, as she believed, to God in bap- 
 tism ; but she did not stop here, as thinking she 
 had no more to do: she was faithful in striving 
 to instil into my mind the first principles of reli- 
 gion. 
 
 Here I would mention my apprehensions, that 
 many who seem to set out well, are soon dis- 
 couraged ; not considering, that He that searches 
 the hearts and the reins will prove those who 
 profess to be his. What mother will repent in 
 the end, (I speak in particular of mothers, be- 
 cause they have such favorable opportunities to 
 warn and instruct their children,) if she follows 
 her child, week after week, and year after year, 
 even scores of years, if she at length beholds 
 her child numbered with the followers of the 
 Lamb, andean reflect that even herself was the in- 
 strument of leading him to Jesus 1 God may see 
 fit to prove you, for a long time, and it may be, 
 you may behold the power and mercy of the 
 Lord displayed in the conversion of your child, 
 much sooner than you ever dared to hope. 
 
 Among the severely tried, I think my mother 
 was one. As I grew in years, instead of leav- 
 ing me to think of what she had said, she follow- 
 ed me, as determined not to give me up; till her 
 reproof and instruction became so burdensome 
 lo me, that I even dreaded to be found where 
 she could have an opportunity to say anything to 
 me. It was more than eight years after she took 
 me by the hand, in hopes of leading me to her Sa- 
 viour, before she could see anything in me to en- 
 courage her. At length, a sentence from her 
 16 
 
182 MY OWN HISTORY- 
 
 lips was an arrow to my heart. I trust I was 
 deeply wounded ; I had no peace. The worm- 
 wood and the gall were very bitter. The sweet 
 waters of life, I had never tasted : they that have 
 no eyes, cannot behold the light. Thus I wan- 
 dered in darkness, till, as I humbly hope, Jesus 
 opened my eyes ; and then, oh then, the light I 
 discovered, the joy I felt, no mortal knows, but 
 those who have felt the same ! If ever a real 
 change has taken place in me, my mother, in the 
 hands of God, was the instrument. I feel that I 
 have cause to bless God, and if I am one of the 
 redeemed, I shall, through all eternity, bless him 
 that 1 had a pious mother. 
 
 I do not write this for the sake of telling the 
 world my experience, but with an earnest de- 
 sire, that those who have the care of children^ 
 may teach them the fear of the Lord. It has 
 caused me much sorrow of heart, to see some 
 that profess to be friends of Christ, carelessly 
 neglect their children, and leave them to follow 
 in the course of this world, and to drink in the 
 poison, which their natural appetites crave. And 
 1 fear that many of these children are harden- 
 ing themselves in the ways that lead to death; 
 are going from bad to worse, till the mournful in- 
 terrogation of the prophet will apply to them : 
 *' Can the Ethiopean change his skin,, or the 
 leopard his spots 1 " 
 
 Some of you that have the care of children, 
 will say, They are in the hands of God, and if he 
 sees tit to convert ihem, he will. This does not 
 lesson your obligation to govern and instruct 
 them^ to pray for and with thera, in the least. 
 
A BON LEAVING HIS FATHER's HOUSE. 183 
 
 The slothful are ever ready to excuse them- 
 selves ; but they that truly fear God, strive to do 
 his will. 
 
 A SON LEAVING HIS FATHER'S HOUSE. 
 
 There are but few ordinary incidents in the 
 history of a family more affecting than that in 
 which a son leaves the paternal roof, to seek his 
 fortune in the wide world. When your daugh- 
 ter is married, you feel that she is provided for. 
 She leaves your protection for another protector. 
 She leaves the home of her parents to enter a 
 home of her own. She does not enter into 
 scenes of temptation, but is rather withdrawn 
 from them, as she feels the pressure of domestic 
 care. 
 
 With your son it is different ; ardent in feel- 
 ing, perhaps impetuous in passion, you have felt 
 constant solicitude for his future welfare. The 
 period of his childhood has passed, and the time 
 has arrived in which he must leave his quiet 
 home. He goes to a distant town to engage in 
 study, or in the active employments of life. 
 Withdrawn from the restraints and the holy in- 
 fluences of home, he must meet temptation, and 
 bear hardship. You look around you upon the 
 wrecks of other families. You see the children 
 of other parents ruined. You sit down and en- 
 deavor to sum up the number, who have fallen 
 the victim to intemperance, and are degraded 
 
184 A SON LEATING HIS FATHER^S HOUSE. 
 
 with crime. And your heart sinks within yon 
 to see how appalling is the record. It is, howev- 
 er, in vain to think of keeping your son longer 
 at home. He must go out into the world, and 
 seek his fortune. The morning for his depart- 
 ure has arrived. The well-packed trunk is ready^ 
 and the family is waiting for the arrival of the 
 stage coach, which is to bear him from your door. 
 No heart can be so unfeeling as not to be crowd- 
 ed with conflicting emotions, in such an hour as 
 this. As your son enters the stage coach, and the 
 rumbling wheels convey him from your sight, oh 
 is it not a relief to be able to return to your 
 closet, and unbosom your burdened feelings be- 
 fore the Lord ? If you can thus feel that, by 
 prayer and instruction, you have endeavored to 
 fortify the mind of your child against temptation^ 
 you can have a peace, which no other reflection 
 can afford. Oh how manifestly is it the power 
 of religion, which is demanded in such an hour 
 as this ? It is the influence of religion, which 
 alone can strengthen that soli for the temptations 
 he must meet. And it is religion alone, which 
 can speak peace to parental solicitude. 
 
 A son leaves home virtuous, and resolved so to 
 remain. He is, however, in his new situation 
 thrown into the society of unprincipled young^ 
 men. He must hear their conversations. He 
 must become acquainted with their habits ; and 
 he must adopt their customs, or brave their op- 
 position, and bear their ridicule. It requires no 
 ordinary degree of decision of character for a 
 young man to stand firm, and hold his ground, 
 against a current so strong. He yields, step by 
 step. He indulges first in trifling sins. Con- 
 
A SON LEAVING HIS FATHER'S HOUSE. 185 
 
 science becomes gradually seared. Soon he 
 grasps the wine cup, as greedily as any one, and 
 his voice joins in the chorus of the boisterous 
 song. The sad tidings soon finds its way to his 
 parents' ears, and they learn, when it is too late> 
 that their son is lost. 
 
 How many widowed mothers are there now 
 weeping disconsolate. How many sorrowful fa- 
 thers, mourning over a dissolute child. The pa- 
 rents hoped that native virtue would afford suffici- 
 €nt strength to pass safely through these exposures. 
 They neglected to inculcate principles of piety, 
 and to fortify their child's mind with faith and 
 prayer. And behold the result ! a result which 
 might have been anticipated, if these parents 
 would learn a lesson from the experience of thou- 
 sands, who, in a similar way, have had their 
 hopes disappointed. Oh when will the world 
 learn that to love God is the way to be happy; 
 that there is no means of promoting real enjoy- 
 ment but by obeying the word of God ? Why will 
 men continue so madly to expose themselves 
 to the ruin of every hope, when the loud voice of 
 God, and the voice of all experience warn them 
 of their danger. Do but look at the world, and 
 iearn wisdom. There is absolutely no safety, 
 but in coming to God, and making a surrender 
 of heart and family to him. 
 
 Let your son leave your roof a Christian ; let 
 him go forth a disciple of Jesiis, with faith in the 
 promises of God, and with prayerful dependence 
 upon his strength, and he has deep-rooted prin- 
 ciple to meet every emergency. You need have 
 but little to fear, but that he will retain his integri- 
 ty. He will rise in usefulness and respect. In 
 16* 
 
186 
 
 his conduct, he will reflect honor upon yon ; 
 and in your old age, joy will beam upon your 
 heart, as in him you live your life over again. 
 But should he die, and leave you childless, to go 
 down the vale of years, you are by no means 
 comfortless. Faith traces the path of your child 
 to brighter worlds. You see him an inhabitant 
 of eternity, with the robe of a Saviour's right- 
 eousness, with the crown of redemption, with the 
 harp, vibrating in harmony with the angels'^ 
 song. 
 
 A MOTHER'S PRIVILEGE. 
 
 Oh ! if there be linked with tho'gloom of existence 
 One feeling tlmt deepens the darkness it wears, 
 'Tis a fond mother's fear, that foresees, in the distance, 
 Her infant sent forth to the world and its snares. 
 
 Shall that face, a sweet well-spring of smiles, soon be saddened 
 Those weak trembling hands be nplified to sin ? 
 Shall the heart which scarce heaves on her bosom be maddened 
 By pain from without, or by passion withrn ? 
 
 In that hour, when her form is forgotten who bore him, 
 And the arm that first clasped him lies cold in the grave, 
 Her spirit may hover in tenderness o'er him, 
 And see him alas! but not warn him, nor save ! 
 
 Is there none, then, to care for the desolate stranger. 
 Who goes, all unheeding, unarmed, on his way ; 
 No Spirit of might, to walk near him in danger. 
 And scatter the fiends that would make him their prey ? 
 
 Oh, yes ! there is One, and beside Him no other ! 
 The Redeemer, the ruler, whose throne is on high! 
 From the glories of heaven He beholds the sad mother J 
 Mid the songs of the angels He catches thy sigh. 
 
 Go, take thy sweet babe, and to Jesus confide him ; 
 He has dwelt in our flesh, he can feel for our fears ! 
 Take this lamb to the Shepherd, who safely shall guide him 
 Through the desert of perils, the valley of tears. 
 
( 187 ) 
 
 A COMMON CHANGE. 
 
 A RESPECTABLE widow lady , with a very small 
 income, which she was obliged to eke out by the 
 produce of her own industry and ingenuity, was 
 remarkable for her liberality, especially in con- 
 tributing to the cause of religion. When any 
 work of pious benevolence was going forward, 
 her minister hesitated to call on her, lest her lib- 
 eral spirit should prompt her to contribute be- 
 yond her ability ; but she was always sure to find 
 out what was in hand, and voluntarily to offer a 
 donation equal to those of persons in comparative 
 affluence, accompanied by a gentle rebuke to 
 her minister, for having passed her by. In pro- 
 cess of time, this lady came into the possession 
 of an ample fortune, greatly to the joy of all who 
 knew her willing liberality. But it was with no 
 small degree of regret that her minister observ- 
 ed, she no longer came forward unsolicited to 
 contribute towards the good cause, and that, 
 when applied to, she yielded her aid but coldly 
 and grudgingly, and sometim.es excused herself 
 from giving at all. On one occasion, she pre- 
 sented a shilling to the same cause, to which she 
 had formerly given a guinea, when in a state of 
 comparative poverty. The minister felt it his 
 duty to expostulate with her, and remind her of 
 her former generosity, when her means were so 
 circumscribed. '* Ah ! sir, " she affectingly re- 
 plied, " then, I had the shilling means, but the 
 guinea heart ; now, I have the guinea means, 
 but only the shilling heart. Then, I received 
 
188 FUTURE DEFENDERS OF THE FAITH» 
 
 from my heavenly Father's hand, day by day, 
 my daily bread, and I had enough and to spare ; 
 now, I have to look to my ample income ; but I 
 live in constant apprehension that I may come 
 to want ! " Can any reader be at a loss to de- 
 cide which was the time of her poverty , and 
 which of her riches'^ 
 
 FUTURE DEFENDERS OF THE FAITH. 
 
 Who knows not that the men who are at this 
 time set for the defence of the gospel — who are 
 from Sabbath to Sabbath declaring the glad 
 tidings of salvation from the pulpits of the land, 
 were, some forty or fifty years ago, under the 
 special guardianship of then mothers 1 About 
 that time, they were in training ; what of moral 
 or religious influence was brought to bear upon 
 them in the nursery, was there in exercise. The 
 mothers who commenced that influence, and 
 carried it forward — who taught their little knees 
 to bend in adoration before God, and their lips 
 to offer prayers to him, are, perhaps, no more. 
 But their sons of many vows, consecrated to 
 Ood, may be, from their very birth, dedicated in 
 a thousand prayers, and by a thousand tears ; 
 those sons still live, and are, at this present 
 time, stationed here and there, on the walls and 
 ramparts of the spiritual Jerusalem, and are con- 
 tending " earnestly for the faith once delivered to 
 
FUTURE DEFF.NPEI^S OF THE FAITH. 189 
 
 the saints." We see these every day ; we know 
 them ; we hear them ; and by means of their holy 
 warfare, how in check is the enemy kept ! Nay, 
 through the blessing of God upon their labors, 
 how strong are the walls of Zion becoming ! 
 What enlistments to the gospel standard ! What 
 accessions of spiritual territory to *' virtue's 
 cause!" Beit remembered, that a portion of 
 these heart-thrilling results, are, under God, to 
 be traced back directly to the prayers and tears, 
 to the counsels, the watchings, the pleadings of 
 a generation of mothers, who lived some forty or 
 fifty years ago. 
 
 And requires it the gift of prophecy to foresee 
 that precisely the same will be true, some forty 
 or fifty years hence, in respect to the cliildren of 
 the present day, if mothers are similarly faithful? 
 Years will roll along, and will add to the stature 
 of infants now in their nurse's laps. Youth will 
 pass by, and manhood will arrive. The day of 
 action will come. Those who now occupy the 
 watchtowers of the land, and their immediate 
 successors, will be laid aside, and these infants 
 will take their place ; and upon them it will de- 
 pend, under God, whether the present 'vantage 
 ground be maintained or lost ; whether the ban- 
 ner of the Gospel shall wave broader and longer ; 
 whether the present anticipations of the children 
 of God, in respect to the latter day glory of the 
 church, shall be realized ; and finally, whether 
 upon the mountains of Zion, the tabernacles of 
 joy, shall be reared, and the pious pilgrim shalJ 
 then sing, as he sings now, — 
 
 How pleased and blest was I, 
 To hear the people cry. 
 
1'90 FUTURE DEFENDERS OP THE FAITH. 
 
 Come, let us seek our God to day ! 
 
 Yes, with a cheerful zeal 
 
 We'll haste to Zion's hill, 
 And there our vows and honors pay ; — 
 
 or, whether a spiritual night shall encompass 
 the world, and the progress of the gospel be 
 stayed, and the impenitent and the heathen grope 
 OR unenlightened and bewildered. 
 
 With such thoughts crowding in upon me, I 
 wander in imagination round the land. I knock 
 at one habitation and another. I enter ; I look 
 around upon the family circle. I seem to ap- 
 proach a mother. *' Madam," I say, " you are a 
 Kiother. I see, clustering about you, several 
 bright and promising children ; allow me to in- 
 quire whether you know whom you have in 
 charge ? That little girl, properly trained, may 
 become another Harriet Newell, and that a Mrs. 
 Graham, or a Mrs. Judson. Has this ever oc- 
 curred to you 1 And, impressed with the con- 
 viction that your children may be moulded much 
 as you like, what, permit me to ask, are you 
 doing for them 1 Are they training for some 
 such noble destiny 1 Are you daily at the throne 
 of grace for them? Are you teaching them by 
 precept and example to accomplish that amount 
 of good, which God may put in their power 1 
 And, more than this— are you imparting to them 
 lessons about immortality; drawing for them, 
 and with the holy intent that they shall exercise 
 all their proper influence upon them, pictures of 
 the graces of the Gospel, in all their loveliness ? 
 Do you tell of a brighter, holier, lovelier world 
 than this, and, pointing to it, do yourself lead the 
 
FUTURE DEFENDERS OF THE FAITH- 19 ( 
 
 I enter another dwelling, I see a mother and 
 her darling boy. What a delightful sight I 
 What maternal tenderness ! How at ** nature's 
 bidding " she bends over him, while he revels at 
 the pure fountain provided for him ! How he 
 turns his glistening eye, and exults in a mother's 
 smiles and caresses ! How fondling she ! How 
 proudly shows her hoy, 
 
 '' Madam," I again say, " are you aware 
 whom you may be holding in your arms ' That 
 boy may become a bold, decided champion of 
 the cross ; he may prove an Edwards, a Chal- 
 mers, a Swartz, an Eliot, or a Martyn ; he may 
 stand in some future breach made in the walls of 
 Zion ; he may occupy some theological chair ; 
 may become some mighty spiritual messenger in 
 some foreign land ; may urge forward, by a 
 power and a success greater than I can name, 
 the promised glories of the church of Christ." 
 
 Methinks 1 hear her say, " Sir, you surprise 
 me. What am I, or what is my father's house, 
 that a child of mine should be destined to accom- 
 plish such wonders as these ? No, no ; the true 
 prophetical spirit rests not upon you ; it is the 
 flattery of a deceiver ; or the wild anticipations 
 of an enthusiast." 
 
 " Madam, will you listea to me ? I claim not 
 the gift of prophecy. The future destiny of 
 your child is indeed in the hands of God, and 
 the manner in which he will employ him he has 
 disclosed neither to myself, nor to any one. 
 But tell me, why are you a mother? Who gave 
 you the felicity of being the parent of that boy T 
 Whose property is that child ? Who confided 
 him to your care 1 And for what purpoee have 
 
192 FUTURE DEFENDERS OF THE FAITH. 
 
 you the keeping of him? Go, madam, and pe- 
 ruse your Bible; there read your duty — there 
 read your encouragement ; ' Train up a child in 
 the way he should go, and when he is old he 
 will not depart from it.' Following that one 
 5m^/e direction of God, tell me^ who can dis- 
 close the consequences? Suppose you do as 
 you may, in respect to that boy ; suppose you 
 are faithful to him ; suppose you early instruct 
 him ; tell him of God and of divine things, as 
 his mind expands: suppose you accompany your 
 instructions with daily, fervent ^ importunate 
 prayer to God in his behalf — you are sincere^ 
 faithful, PERSEVERING ; tell me, what may you 
 not expect ? You may indeed fail of seeing your 
 child gathering in the honors of an unholy am- 
 bition, and probably you will ; and possibly God 
 may not require his assistance in the great work 
 of urging forward the kingdom of the Redeemer ; 
 but one point is nearly sure ; that child, under 
 such faithful training, will ultimately become a 
 follower of Christ; a decided child of God. 
 Not, perhaps, while you live ; may be, not for 
 years after you shall have gone to the grave. 
 But come the period will. Do I speak too 
 strongly ? Well then, that day will probably 
 come, when, under the promptings of the early 
 counsels of a mother, pressed home by the Spirit 
 of God, he will come to repentance and salva- 
 tion. For, 
 
 Though seed lie buried long in dust, 
 It shan't deceive our hope. 
 
 ** Thus the repentance and eternal joy of your 
 child will be secured. And this in prospect will 
 
FUTURE DEFENDERS OF THE FAITH. 193 
 
 gladden your heart, amidst all the reverses which 
 may come upon you in life; this will com- 
 fort you, when you lie down and think of the 
 storm and the tempest which may be beating 
 i;:)on some ship, which wafts your child, in future 
 years, on some distant ocean. This will help to 
 relieve even the shadows of death, should you be 
 called to walk through them before he has turned 
 unto God. 
 
 *' But more than this. Train this child in the 
 manner suggested, and who can say that he may 
 not be employed in the mighty movements of 
 the approaching golden age of the Christian 
 Church? The foundation will be laid for this; 
 and God will use him if he pleases." 
 
 In view of consequences so solemn, so delight- 
 ful, and even so probable, will not mothers enter 
 upon the noble labors assigned them ? Can they 
 longer neglect the blessings which they may in- 
 sure to their offspring ? Can they resist the 
 tremendous responsibility which is pressing upon 
 them ? Have they no fear of God ? Have 
 they no love for Jesus ? Have they no regard 
 for souls ? Would they impede the movements 
 of modern times? Would they cause even a 
 moment's check to the triumphs of the cross, 
 or put' to hazard a crown of glory, in respect to 
 a single son or daughter of Adam t 
 
 17' 
 
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