Chapter 17

"Sipping some home-brewed beer, which stood on the table, he said to the old man, 'Zachary, this beer is excellent; won't you taste it?' The knife and fork dropped from the Indian's hand; he leaned forward with a stern intensity of expression, his dark eyes, sparkling with indignation, were fixed on the young tempter: 'John,' said he, 'you don't know what you are doing. You are serving the devil, boy. Don't you know that I am an Indian? I tell you that I am; and if I should taste your beer, I could never stop until I got to rum, and become again the drunken, contemptible wretch your father once knew me. _John, while you live, never again tempt any man to break a good resolution._'"

This was said in an earnest, solemn tone, and deeply affected Governor Trumbull and lady, who were at the table. John was justly awed, and deep was the impression made upon him. His parents often recurred to the incident, and charged their son never to forget it.

The advice of the sachem was indeed most valuable. "Never again tempt any man to break a good resolution." It were well if this precept were followed by all. How many who are reformed from evil habits, yet not firm and established, but who would persevere in their better resolutions were they encouraged, are suddenly, and to themselves surprisingly, set back by some tempter! What sorrow is engendered! and how difficult to regain what is thus lost! All this is essentially true of the young. Their good resolutions are assaulted; the counsels of a pious mother--the precepts of a kind father, and the determinations which a son may have formed in view of those counsels and those precepts, may be easily undermined and destroyed by the flattery or the ridicule, the reproach or the banter of some subtle or even of some thoughtless companion. To those who may read these pages, and who may at any time be tempted to seduce others from paths of virtue, or to break over solemn resolutions which they may have formed as to an upright and commendable course of life, let the injunction of old Zachary, the Mohegan sachem, not come in vain. "Never tempt any one to break a good resolution."

G.

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Original.

DESPONDENCY AND HOPE.

AN ALLEGORY.

BY MRS. J. NORTON.

In a lone forest, dark and drear, Stood wrapt in grief a maiden fair; Her flowing locks were wet with dew, Her life was sad, her friends were few.

A sparkling light gleam'd distant far, Like twinkling faint of evening star; Quickly it spread its brilliant ray, Till forest drear looked bright and gay.

And on the wings of love and light, A radiant figure, pure and white, Approached and spake with accents mild: "Why so despondent, sorrow's child?

"When thy lone feet the violet press, Its perfume rises still to bless; While groves and lawns, with landscape fair, Are bathed in healthful mountain air."

"Ah, friend! thy path shines bright and clear; Daily thou breath'st the mountain air; But mine is in the barren wild, Where naught looks bright to sorrow's child."

"Then take my arm, pale sister, dear, With you I'll tread this forest drear; When guided by this light from Heav'n, Strength and peace will both be given."

They journeyed on through glade and fen, 'Till passing near a rocky glen, Mild Patience came and sweetly smiled Upon the path of sorrow's child.

The measured way still brighter grew, 'Till cares and griefs were faint and few. Thus, Hope and Patience oft beguiled The toil-worn path of sorrow's child.

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Original.

THE MOTHERS OF THE BIBLE.

THE MOTHERS OF ISRAEL AT HOREB.

There is no path of duty appointed for man to tread, concerning which the Almighty has not expressed his will in terms so plain that the sincere inquirer may always hear a voice behind him saying, "This is the way, walk ye in it;" nor are there any relations of life, nor any human affections which he has not constituted, and bestowed, nor any disappointment of those affections for which he has not manifested a sympathy so sincere, that the desolate and heart-stricken may always say, "Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal."

Yet, it is something difficult for us to realize in our hours of darkness and despondency, that toward us personally and individually, the great heart of Infinite Love yearns with tenderness and pity. Even if we can say, "Though clouds and darkness are round about him, justice and judgment are the habitation of his throne," and can acquiesce meekly in all his dispensations, and believe sincerely that they will work for our good, yet we often fail of the blessedness which might be ours, if we could be equally assured that, "_As a father pitieth his children, so doth the Lord pity them that fear him._" This assurance only the faithful student of the Bible can feel, as the great truth gleams forth upon him from time to time, illuming "dark afflictions midnight gloom" with rays celestial, and furnishing balm for every wound, the balm of sympathy and love.

We often hear it said, by those who even profess themselves Christians, and devout lovers of the sacred oracles, "How can you read the book of Leviticus? What can you find in the dry details of the ceremonial law to detain you months in its study and call forth such expressions of interest?" Such will probably pass by this article when they find themselves invited again to Horeb. Turn back, friends. You are not the only ones who have excused themselves from a _feast_. And we--we will extend our invitation to others. On the by-ways and lanes they can be found; in every corner of this wide-spread earth are some for whom our table is prepared. We leave the prosperous, the gay, the happy, and speak to the desolate--the widowed.

Dearly beloved, you can look back to a day in your history over which no cloud lowered, when you wore the bridal wreath, and stood at the sacred altar, and laid your hand in a hand faithful and true, and pledged vows of love, and when hope smiled on all your future path; but who have lived to see all you then deemed most precious, laid beneath the clods of the valley, and have exchanged buds of orange for the most intensely sable of earthly weeds; you who once walked on your earthly journey in sweet companionship which brightened your days; who were wont to lay your weary head every night on the faithful "pillowing breast," and there forget your woes and cares, but who are now _alone_; you who trusted in manly counsel and guidance for your little ones, but who now shed bitter, unavailing tears in every emergency which reminds you that they are fatherless; and, worse than all, you who had all your wants supplied by the loving, toiling husband and father, but have now to contend single-handed with poverty,--come, sorrowing, widowed hearts, visit with us Horeb's holy mound. It is, indeed, a barren spot; nevertheless, it has blossoms of loveliness for you. Come in faith, and perchance the prophet's vision shall be yours--peradventure, the "still, small voice" which bade to rest the turmoil of his soul, shall soothe your griefs also; the words which are heard from its summit as Jehovah gives to Moses his directions, have indeed to do with "meats and drinks and divers washings," yet, if you listen intently, you will now and then hear those which, as the expression of your Heavenly Father's heart, will amply repay the toil of the ascent. Draw near and hearken:

"Ye shall not afflict any widow nor fatherless child. If thou afflict them in any wise, and they cry at all unto me, I will surely hear their cry, and my wrath shall wax hot, and I will kill you with the sword; and your wives shall be widows, your children fatherless."

Will you not now be comforted? "The Eternal makes your sorrows his own," and Himself stands forth as your protector against every ill.

"When thou cuttest down thy harvest in thy field, and hast forgotten the sheaf in the field, thou shalt not go again to fetch it, but it shall be for the stranger, and the fatherless, and the widow, that the Lord thy God may bless thee in all the works of thy hands."

If God's will is done, you see you will not suffer. He will raise you up friends, and those who obey Him, who wish to please Him, will always be ready to aid you for His sake. As shown to himself, he regards and will reward the kindness shown to you, and He has all hearts in his hands. But this is not all. A certain portion of every Israelite's possessions is to be given to furnish the table of the Lord, and, as if to assure you that He considers you His own, and will perform the part of husband and father for you at that table, and in his own house he provides for you ever a place. "In the tithes of wine, corn and oil, the firstlings of the herds and flocks, in all that is to be devoted to the service of the Lord, you have your share.

"At the end of three years thou shalt bring forth all the tithe of thine increase the same year and lay it up within the gates. And the Levite, because he hath no part nor inheritance with thee, and the stranger, and the fatherless, and the widow, which are within thy gates, shall come and eat and be satisfied, that the Lord thy God may bless thee in all the work of thine hand which thou doest."

Do you sorrowfully say that no such table is now spread? But He who thus provided still lives, and is the same as then. The silver and the gold are His, and the cattle upon a thousand hills, and he ruleth all things by the Word of His power. They that trust in him shall never be confounded.

"Thou shalt not pervert the judgment of the stranger, nor of the fatherless, nor take the widow's raiment to pledge. Why? Because they have no earthly friend to redeem the latter or plead for the former. Weak and unguarded, they are exposed to all these evils, but that He, the Eternal, takes them under his own especial care; and instead of compelling them to depend on the insecure tenure of man's compassion, or even justice, institutes laws for their benefit, the disobedience of which is sin against Himself."

Scattered through all the sacred volume are words which, equally with those we have quoted, speak forth Jehovah's interest in the helpless. "Leave thy fatherless children to me," he said, by his prophet Jeremiah, at a time when misery, desolation, and destruction were falling on Judea and her sons for their awful impiety. "Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive; and let thy widows trust in me." "A father of the fatherless, and a judge of the widows, is God in his holy habitation."

Oh, do we receive the full import of these soul-cheering words? Lone, solitary one! who hidest in thy heart a grief which, untasted, cannot be understood, there is a Being sitting on the circle of the heavens, who knows every pang thou endurest. He formed thee susceptible of the love which thou hast felt and enjoyed; Himself ordained the tie which bound thee. He, better than any other, comprehends thy loss. Dost thou doubt--study faithfully His word; obey his voice. Yield thy heart to Him and trust Him implicitly. He will prove himself able to bless thee in thine inmost soul. The avenues to that soul are all open to Him, and He can cause such gentle, soothing influences to flow in upon thee as shall make thee "Sing even as in the days of thy youth."

Fatherless child! whose heart fails thee when thou dost miss from every familiar place the guide of thy youth, faint not nor be discouraged, though the way is rough, and the voice that ever spoke tenderly to thee is silent. Thou hast a father in heaven; and He who calls himself such understands better than thou what is implied in that sacred name. Tell Him thy woes and wants.

"Thou art as much His care, as if beside Nor man nor angel lived in heaven or earth."

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Original.

INFANTS TAUGHT TO PRAY.

Persons who have never investigated the subject cannot believe that young children are capable of being taught to pray, intelligently. As infants cannot be supposed to understand the essential nature and design of prayer, we may profitably inquire, "Of what use can prayer be to a young child?"

Miss H. More defines prayer to be "The application of want to Him who alone can relieve it; the confession of sin to Him who alone can pardon it; the urgency of poverty, the prostration of humility, the fervency of penitence--the confidence of trust. It is the 'Lord save us, we perish,' of drowning Peter--the cry of faith to the ear of mercy." Now, are not children, for several of their first years, absolutely dependent upon others for the supply of all their wants? And yet, though no beings are so weak, so helpless, yet none are so eloquent in pleading or praying for what they want as young children in distress, though they have not yet acquired the language of speech, and simply because this language is nature's voice.

How irresistible are the entreaties of an infant in sickness, pain, and trouble. It will not be pacified or comforted by any one but its mother--her bosom is its sanctuary--her voice its sweetest melody--her arms its only refuge. What a preparation is this in the ordering of Providence, and in direct reference to what is to succeed, evidently with the design that when a child is of a suitable age, it may transfer its highest love and confidence from its earthly parents to a heavenly Father. At first the mother stands in the place of God to her child, and is all the world to him. But if she be a praying mother, the child will very early discover that, like himself, she too is a helpless, dependent, needy creature, and he will learn to trust in that great Being whom his mother adores.

Perhaps she has been in the habit, when her child was drawing its nutriment from her breast, to feel more than at any other time her responsibility to the little helpless being who is a part of herself, and especially to "train it up in the way it should go." And she will usually improve this opportunity to commune with her God, saying with more solemn importunity, day by day, "How shall I order thee, child?" She feels the need of more wisdom, for she now begins to realize that her arms will not always encircle her child, and if they could, she could not ward off the arrows of disease and death. She thinks too of the period as near when it will be more out from under her scrutinizing watch, and will be more exposed to temptations from without and from within. Perhaps, too, she may die early, and then who will feel for her child, who will train it, who will consecrate it to God as sedulously as she hopes to do? O, if she could be certain of its eternal well-being. She eagerly inquires, "Is there any way by which my child can be so instructed, so consecrated, that I may be absolutely certain that I shall meet him, a ransomed soul, and dwell with him forever among the blessed in heaven?" "Yes, there is." I find in the unerring Scriptures many precious examples of children who were thus early dedicated to God, and were accepted and blessed of Him. She loves to remember those mothers on the plains of Judea who brought their infants to the Savior for his blessing. They were not discouraged, though the disciples, like many of the present day, forbade them to come, saying, "Of what possible use can it be to bring young children to the Savior?" But behold, the Savior welcomes and blesses them. Children who have been thus blessed of the Savior will not, cannot be lost. His promise is, "None shall pluck them out of my father's hand;" and again, "I will keep that what is committed to me till the final day."

With such Scripture promises and examples, this praying mother, hour by hour, lifts her heart to God, and implores that the Savior would crown with success her endeavors to obey his precepts, and, in doing so, to accept her consecrated child. How sweet and gentle are her accents! With a loud voice she puts up her petitions which, till now, under similar circumstances, have not even been whispered aloud.

But her emotions have risen so high, that not only does her voice become inarticulate, but her tears fall like April showers upon the face of her, till now, unconscious child.

The child looks inquiringly. It now perceives that that countenance, which has hitherto been lighted up only by smiles, and been radiant with hope, at times is beclouded by fears. No wonder if this scene should attract the attention of this infant listener. Perhaps it is overawed. It rises up, it looks round to see if any one is present, with whom its mother is holding converse. Seeing no one, it hides its little head in the folds of its mother's dress, and is still.

What does all this do but to awaken, on the part of the mother, a still deeper interest in the welfare of her sympathizing little one. She now realizes as she never did before, what an influence she has in swaying the mind and affections of her darling child, and her responsibility seems to increase at every step. She presses her child more and more fondly to her bosom. With daily and increasing faith, love and zeal, she resorts to the throne of grace, and pleads for that wisdom she so pre-eminently needs.

It cannot be but that her love to her child should be daily strengthened by such communings with her own heart and her Savior, in sweet fellowship with her little one, though so young as not fully to comprehend all it sees and hears, yet it will remember and be influenced, eternally, by what has been done and said in its presence. This mother fully realizes that she is under the watchful eye of God, her Maker and Redeemer--that the Holy Trinity--the mysterious "three in one" have been present, more than spectators of what has transpired. For she is sure that these aspirations after holiness for herself and for her child are not earth-born--but emanations from the triune God.

It is natural to suppose that lasting impressions would be made upon the heart of a child thus early taught to pray.

No wonder if this little child, ever after, should find a sacred pleasure in visiting the place where prayer is wont to be made, which at first was hallowed and sweetened by tender and endearing associations.

And we would here remark, that it is chiefly by the power of association that young children can be supposed to be benefited by such teachings and examples.

A striking incident occurred in my mother's nursery, not only illustrative of the power of association, but showing how very tenacious is the memory of young children.

My mother had a fit of sickness when my little brother was but seven months old, and she was obliged to wean him at that early age.

He was always a feeble child and clung to our mother with almost a death-grasp. The weaning of that child will never fade from my recollection. In fact our mother used to say that that boy was never weaned.

When he was about a year old, he was found fast asleep one day behind the bed-room door, leaning his little head upon a chest. Over the chest was a line, and across the line had been thrown a chintz shawl, memorable as having always been worn by our mother when nursing her children. In one hand he had hold of the end of the shawl, which he could just reach, and he was sucking the thumb of the other.

This shawl, which this little child had not previously seen for some time, was associated in his mind with its sweetest, but short-lived comfort. This fact will serve to explain the propriety of taking all the ordinary week day play-things from children on the Sabbath, and substituting in their place others more quiet--for instance, relating Scripture stories, explaining Scripture pictures, and the like.

Such scenes and experience as have been above alluded to, must be more or less familiar to every faithful and praying mother. Children who have been dedicated to God, as was Samuel, and David, and Timothy, in all ages of the world, will be found in after life to be, to the praise, and glory, and riches of God's grace, vouchsafed to parents, in answer to their faith and prayers, and pious teachings.

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THE YOUNGLING OF THE FLOCK.

Welcome! thrice welcome to my heart, sweet harbinger of bliss! How have I looked, till hope grew sick, for a moment bright as this; Thou hast flashed upon my aching sight when fortune's clouds are dark, The sunny spirit of my dreams--the dove unto mine ark.

Oh! no, not even when life was new, and life and hope were young, And o'er the firstling of my flock with raptured gaze I hung, Did I feel the glow that thrills me now, the yearnings fond and deep, That stir my bosom's inmost strings as I watch thy placid sleep!

Though loved and cherished be the flower that springs 'neath summer skies, The bud that blooms 'mid wintry storms more tenderly we prize. One does but make our bliss more bright; the other meets our eye, Like a radiant star, when all besides have vanished from on high.

Sweet blossom of my stormy hour, star of my troubled heaven, To thee that passing sweet perfume, that soothing light is given; And precious art thou to my soul, but dearer far than thou, A messenger of peace and love art sent to cheer me now.

What, tho' my heart be crowded close with inmates dear though few, Creep in, my little smiling _babe_, there's still a niche for you; And should another claimant rise, and clamor for a place, Who knows but room may yet be found, if it wears as fair a face.

I cannot save thee from the griefs to which our flesh is heir, But I can arm thee with a spell, life's keenest ills to bear. I may not fortune's frowns avert, but I can with thee pray For wealth this world can never give nor ever take away.

But wherefore doubt that He who makes the smallest bird his care, And tempers to the _new shorn lamb_ the blast it ill could bear, Will still his guiding arm extend, his glorious plan pursue, And if he gives thee ills to bear, will give thee courage too.

Dear youngling of my little flock, the loveliest and the last, 'Tis sweet to dream what thou may'st be, when long, long years have past; To think when time hath blanched my hair, and others leave my side, Thou may'st be still my prop and stay, my blessing and my pride.

And when this world has done its worst, when life's fevered fit is o'er, And the griefs that wring my weary heart can never touch it more, How sweet to think thou may'st be near to catch my latest sigh, To bend beside my dying bed and close my glazing eye.

Oh! 'tis for offices like these the last sweet child is given; The mother's joy, the father's pride, the fairest boon of heaven: Their fireside plaything first, then of their failing strength the rock, The rainbow to their wavering years, the youngling of their flock.

ALARIC A. WATTS.

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Original.

THE MOTHERS OF THE BIBLE.

THE MOTHER OF SAMSON.