Chapter 23

I was a most firm believer in the truth of the Bible, and I have often thought more inclined to take the greater part as literal than most others. I had often read with fear and trembling the passage, "I will pour out my fury upon the heathen, and upon the families that call not upon my name." To dwell in a Christian land and be considered no better than heathen--what a dreadful threatening; a condemnation, however, not above the comprehension of a child. Here I was in such a family, and here I was expected to remain for a full year. I do not recollect to have entertained any fears for my personal safety, yet every time a thunder-storm seemed to rack the earth, and as peal after peal with reverberated shocks were re-echoed from one part of the firmament to the other, I was in dread lest some bolt might be sent in fury upon our dwelling on account of such neglect. Little did these friends know what thoughts were often passing through my mind as I ruminated upon their privileges and their disregard of so plain and positive a duty. I did often long to confide to my aunt, whom I so much venerated, my thoughts and feelings on religious subjects, with the same freedom I had been encouraged to do to my own dear mother. I can never forget the struggle I had on one occasion. A lady came to pass a day in the family. The conversation happened to turn upon the importance and efficacy of prayer. Here now, I thought, is an opportunity I may never have again to express an opinion on a subject I had thought so much about; and summoning to my aid all the resolution I could, I ventured to remark, "the Bible says, 'the effectual and fervent prayer of the righteous _prevaileth_ much.'" I saw a smile pass over the radiant and beautiful countenance of my aunt, and I instantly conjectured that I had misquoted the passage. For a long time, as I had opportunity, I turned over the pages of my Bible, before I could detect my mistake. I cannot say how long a period elapsed, after I left this pleasant family, before the family-altar was erected, but I believe not a very long period. One thing I am grateful to record, that when my aunt died at middle age, all with her was "peace," "peace," "sweet peace." And my venerated uncle recently fell asleep in Jesus, at the advanced age of more than fourscore years, like a shock of corn fully ripe.

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INTELLECTUAL POWER OF WOMAN.

BY REV. S. W. FISHER.

There has been a long-standing dispute respecting the intellectual powers of the two sexes, and the consequent style of education suitable to each. Happily, the truth on this subject may be fully spoken, without obliging me to exalt the father at the expense of the mother, or ennoble man by denying the essential equality of woman. It is among the things settled by experience, that, equal or not equal in talents, woman, the moment she escapes from the despotism of brute force, and is suffered to unfold and exercise her powers in her own legitimate sphere, shares with man the sceptre of influence; and without presuming to wrest from him a visible authority, by the mere force of her gentle nature silently directs that authority, and so rules the world. She may not debate in the senate or preside at the bar--she may not read philosophy in the university or preach in the sanctuary--she may not direct the national councils or lead armies to battle; but there is a style of influence resulting from her peculiar nature which constitutes her power and gives it greatness. As the sexes were designed to fill different positions in the economy of life, it would not be in harmony with the manifestations of divine wisdom in all things else to suppose that the powers of each were not peculiarly fitted for their own appropriate sphere. Woman gains nothing--she always loses when she leaves her own sphere for that of man. When she forsakes the household and the gentler duties of domestic life for the labors of the field, the pulpit, the rostrum, the court-room, she always descends from her own bright station, and invariably fails to ascend that of man. She falls between the two; and the world gazes at her as not exactly a woman, not quite a man, perplexed in what category of natural history to classify her. This remark holds specially true as you ascend from savage to refined society, where the rights and duties of women have been most fully recognized and most accurately defined. Mind is not to be weighed in scales. It must be judged by its _uses_ and its _influence_. And who that compasses the peculiar purpose of woman's life; who that understands the meaning of those good old Saxon words, mother, sister, wife, daughter; who that estimates aright the duties they involve, the influences they embody in giving character to all of human kind, will hesitate to place her intellect, with its quickness, delicacy and persuasiveness, as high in the scale of power as that of the father, husband and son? If we estimate her mind by its actual power of influence when she is permitted to fill to the best advantage her circle of action, we shall find a capacity for education equal to that of him who, merely in reference to the temporary relations of society, has been constituted her lord. If you look up into yonder firmament with your naked eye, the astronomer will point you to a star which shines down upon you single in rays of pure liquid light. But if you will ascend yon eminence and direct towards it that magnificent instrument which modern science has brought to such perfection of power, the same star will suddenly resolve itself into two beautiful luminaries, equal in brilliancy, equal in all stellar excellence, emitting rays of different and intensely vivid hues, yet so exactly correspondent to each other, and so embracing each other, and so mingling their various colors as to pour upon the unaided vision the pure, sparkling light of a single orb. So is it with man and woman. Created twofold, equal in all human attributes, excellence and influence, different but correspondent, to the eye of Jehovah the harmony of their union in life is perfect, and as one complete being that life streams forth in rays of light and influence upon society.

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A LESSON FOR HUSBANDS AND WIVES.

The following letter, addressed to a mutual friend, we rescue from oblivion, containing as it does a lesson for husbands and wives, and most gracefully conveyed.

_We_ shall certainly be pardoned if we take a more than ordinary interest to preserve a memento of that "_hanging garden_," as for months it was as fully seen from our own window as from that of the writer, though a little more remote, yet near enough to feast our eyes, and by its morning fragrance to cause our hearts to render more grateful incense to Him who clothes the lily with such beauty, and gives to the rose its sweet perfume. It is a sad pity that there are not more young wives, who, like the writer of the following letter, are ready to strive by their overflowing love, their gentleness and forbearance, to win their husbands to love and good works.

Perhaps some good divine who may perchance read this article will tell us whether the Apostle Peter, when he said, "For what knowest thou, O wife, whether thou shalt save thy husband?" did not by this language mean to convey the idea of a promise that if the wife did conduct herself towards her husband on strictly Gospel principles, she would be the honored instrument of saving his soul?

"I would like to tell you how my husband and I amuse ourselves, and contrive to have all we want. You will see that we illustrate the old saying, that 'where there is a _will_, there is a _way_,' and that some people can do things as well as others. We both love flowers extremely, but we neither own nor control a foot of ground; still, we have this summer cultivated and enjoyed the perpetual bloom of more than a hundred varieties. You will wonder how this is done when you know that we are at board, and our entire apartments consist of a parlor and dormitory--both upon the second floor. Very fortunately our windows open upon a roof which shelters a lower piazza, and this roof we make our balcony. Last May we placed here eight very large pots of rich earth, which we filled with such seeds and plants as suited our fancy. Now, while I sit writing, my windows are shaded with the scarlet runner, morning glory, Madeira and cypress vines, so that I need no other curtains. Then, on a level with my eye, is one mass of pink and green--brilliant verbenas, petimas, roses and oleanders seem really to _glow_ in the morning light. Flowers in the city are more than beautiful, for the language they speak is so different from everything about them. Their lives are so lovely, returning to the culturer such wealth of beauty--and then their _odors_ seem to me instead of voices. Often, when I am reading, and forget for a time my sweet companions, the fragrance of a heliotrope or a jessamine greets me, causing a sense of delight, as if a beautiful voice had whispered to me, or some sweet spirit kissed me. With this _presence_ of beauty and purity around me, I cannot feel loneliness or discontent.

"Our flowers are so near to us we have become really _intimate_ with them. We know all their habits, and every insect that harms them. I love to see the tender tendril of a vine stretch for the string that is fastened at a little distance for its support, and then wind about it so gladly. Every morning it is a new excitement to see long festoons of our green curtains, variegated with trumpet-shaped morning-glories, looking towards the sun, and mingled with them the scarlet star of the cypress vine. When my husband comes home wearied and disgusted with Wall-street, it refreshes his body and soul to look into our "_hanging garden_," and note new beauties the day has developed. I trust the time and affection we thus spend are not wasted, for I believe the sentiment of Coleridge's lines--

'He prayeth best who loveth best All things, both great and small For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all.'

But there is one circumstance that makes this garden precious, which I have yet to tell you, and you will agree with me that it is the best part of it. When we were married, my husband was in the habit of drinking a glass of beer daily. I did not approve of it, and used to fancy he was apathetic and less agreeable afterwards; but as he was so fond of it, I made up my mind not to disagree upon the subject. Last spring, when we wished some flowers, we hesitated on account of the expense, for we endeavor to be economical, as all young married people should. Then my husband very nobly said that though one glass of beer cost but little, a week's beer amounted to considerable, and he would discontinue the habit, and appropriate the old beer expenditure upon flowers. He has faithfully kept his proposal, and often as we sit by our window, he points to the blooming balcony, saying, 'There is my summer's beer.' The consequence of this sacrifice is that I am a grateful and contented wife; and I do assure you (I being judge) that since beer is turned into flowers, my husband is the most agreeable of mankind.

Yours very truly."

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Original.

NEVER FAINT IN PRAYER.

"Men ought always to pray and not to faint."

So important is a spirit of prayer to mothers who are bearing the heat and burden of the day, that we give for their encouragement a few devout meditations by Rev. W. Mason, on the above passage. And though penned towards the close of the last century, they have lost none of their freshness or fragrance.

Christ opposes praying to fainting, for fainting prevents praying. Have you not found it so? When weary and faint in your mind, when your spirits are oppressed, your frame low and languid, you have thought this is not a time for prayer; yea, but it is: pray _always_. Now is the time to sigh out the burden of your heart and the sorrows of your spirit. Now, though in broken accents, breathe your complaints into your Father's ear, whose love and care over you is that of a tender and affectionate father.

What makes you faint? Do troubles and afflictions? Here is a reviving cordial. "Call upon me in the day of trouble, _I will deliver thee_, and thou shalt glorify me." Ps. 50:15. Does a body of sin and death? Here is a supporting promise. "Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord Jesus shall be saved." Rom. 10:13. Do we faint because we have called and prayed again and again to the Lord against any besetting sin, prevailing temptation, rebellious lust, or evil temper, and yet the Lord has not given us victory over it? Still, says the Lord, pray _always_--persevere, be importunate, faint not; remember that blessed word, "my time is not yet come, but your time is always ready." John 7:6. "Watch and pray, lest ye enter into temptation." Matt. 26:41. Note the difference between being tempted and entering into temptation.

Perhaps you think your prayers are irksome to God, and therefore you are ready to faint and to give over praying? Look at David; he begins to pray in a very heartless, hopeless way, "How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord, forever?" but see how he concludes; he breaks out in full vigor of soul, "I will sing unto the Lord, because he hath dealt bountifully with me." Ps. 13:6. Above all, look to Jesus, who ever lives to pray for you; look for his spirit to help your infirmities. Rom. 8:26.

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Original.

THE MOTHERS OF THE BIBLE.

HANNAH.

Imagination can picture no more animating scenes than those which were presented to the beholder at the seasons of the year when Judea poured forth her inhabitants in crowds to attend the solemn festivals appointed by Jehovah, and observed with punctilious exactness by the people. Our present study leads us to contemplate one of these scenes.

From some remote town on the borders of Gentile territory the onward movement commences. A few families having finished all their preparations, close the door of their simple home, and with glowing faces and hopeful steps begin their march. They are soon joined by others, and again by new reinforcements. Every town, as they pass, replenishes their ranks, until, as they approach Shiloh, they are increased to a mighty multitude. It is a time of joy. Songs and shouts rend the air, and unwonted gladness reigns. All ages and conditions are here, and every variety of human form and face. Let us draw near to one family group. There is something more than ordinarily interesting in their appearance. The father has a noble mien as he walks on, conversing gaily with his children, answering their eager questions, and pointing out the objects of deepest import to a Jew as they draw near the Tabernacle. The children are light-hearted and gay, but the mother's countenance does not please us. We feel instinctively that she is not worthy of her husband; and especially is there an expression wholly incongruous with this hour of harmony and rejoicing. While we look, she lingers behind her family, and speaks to one, who, with slow step and downcast looks, walks meekly on, and seems as if she pondered some deep grief. Will she whisper a word of comfort in the ear of the sorrowful? Ah, no. A mocking smile is on her lips, which utter taunting words, and she glances maliciously round, winking to her neighbors to notice how she can humble the spirit of one who is less favored than herself. "What would you give now to see a son of yours holding the father's hand, or a daughter tripping gladly along by his side? Where are your children, Hannah? You surely could not have left them behind to miss all this pleasure? Perhaps they have strayed among the company? Would it not be well to summon them, that they may hear the father's instructions, and join in the song which we shall all sing as we draw near to Shiloh?" Cruel words! and they do their work. Like barbed arrows, they stick fast in the sore heart of this injured one. Her head sinks, but she utters no reply. She only draws nearer to her husband, and walks more closely in his footsteps.

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The night has passed, and a cloudless sun looks down on the assembled thousands of Israel. Elkanah has presented his offering at the Tabernacle, and has now gathered his family to the feast in the tent. As is his wont, he gives to each a portion, and hilarity presides at the board. The animated scene around them--the white tents stretching as far as the eye can reach--the sound of innumerable voices--the meeting with friends--all conspire to make every heart overflow, and the well-spread table invites to new expressions of satisfaction and delight. But here, also, as on the journey, one heart is sad. At Elkanah's right hand sits Hannah, her plate filled by the hand of love with "a worthy portion;" but it stands untasted before her. Her husband is troubled. He has watched her struggles for self-control, and seen her vain endeavors to eat and be happy like those around her; and, divining in part the cause of her sorrow, he tenderly strives to comfort her. "Hannah, why weepest thou? and why eatest thou not? and why is thy heart grieved? Am I not better to thee than ten sons?" That voice of sympathy and compassion is too much. She rises and leaves the tent to calm in solitude, as best she may, her bosom's strife. Why must she be thus afflicted? Severe, indeed, and bitter are the elements which are mingled in her cup. Jehovah has judged her. She has been taught to believe that those who are childless are so because of His just displeasure. Her fellow-creatures also despise her; her neighbors look suspiciously upon her. Wherefore should it be thus? She wanders slowly, and with breaking heart, towards the Tabernacle. The aged Eli sits by one of the posts of the door as she enters the sacred inclosure, but she heeds him not. She withdraws to a quiet spot, and finds at last a refuge. She kneels, and the long pent-up sorrow has now its way; she "pours out her soul before the Lord." Happy, though sorrowful, Hannah! She has learned one lesson of which the prosperous know nothing; she has learned to confide in her Maker, as she could in no other friend. It were useless to go to her husband with the oft-told trouble. He is ever fond and kind; but though she is childless, he is not, and he cannot appreciate the extent of her grief. All that human sympathy can do, he will do, but human sympathy cannot be perfect. It were worse than useless to tell him of Peninnah's taunts and reproaches. It would be wicked, and bring upon her Heaven's just wrath, if she did aught to mar the peace of a happy family. No; there is no earthly ear into which she can "pour out her soul." But here her tears may flow unrestrained, and she need leave nothing unsaid.

"O Thou who hidest the sorrowing soul under the shadow of thy wings--who art witness to the tears which must be hidden from all other eyes--who dost listen patiently to the sighs and groans which can be breathed in no other presence--to whom are freely told the griefs which the dearest earthly friend cannot comprehend,--Thou who upbraidest not--who understandest and dost appreciate perfectly the woes under which the stricken soul sways like a reed in the tempest, and whose infinite love and sympathy reaches to the deepest recesses of the heart--unto whom none ever appealed in vain--God of all grace and consolation, blessed are they who put their trust in thee."

Long and earnest is Hannah's communion with her God; and as she pleads her cause with humility, and penitence, and love, she feels her burdened heart grow lighter. Hope springs up where was only despair, and a new life spreads itself before her; even the hard thoughts which she had harbored towards Peninnah had melted as she knelt in that holy presence. The love of the Eternal has bathed her spirit in its blessed flood, and grief, and selfishness, and envy have alike been washed away. Strengthened with might by the spirit of the Lord, she puts forth a vigorous faith; and taking hold on the covenant faithfulness of Jehovah, she makes a solemn vow. The turmoil within is hushed. She rises and goes forth like one who is prepared for any trial--who is endued with strength by a mighty though unseen power, and sustained by a love which has none of the imperfect and unsatisfying elements that must always mingle with the purest earthly affection. Meek, confiding, and gentle as ever, she is yet not the same. She meets reproach even from the High Priest himself with calmness. She returns to her husband and his family no longer shrinking and bowed down: "she eats, and her countenance is no more sad."

Another morning dawns. Hannah, has obtained her husband's sanction to the vow which she made in her anguish. Elkanah and his household rise early and worship before the Lord, and return to their house in Ramah.

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A year passes, another and another, but Hannah is not found among the multitude going up to Shiloh. Has she, the pious and devoted one, become indifferent to the service of Jehovah, or have the reproaches and taunts of Peninnah become too intolerable in the presence of her neighbors, so that she remains at home for peace? No. Reproach will harm her no longer. As the company departs, she stands with smiling countenance looking upon their preparations, and in her arms a fair son; and her parting words to her husband are--"I will not go up until the child be weaned, and then I will bring him, that he may appear before the Lord, and there abide forever."

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Will she really leave him? Will she consent to part from her treasure and joy--her only one? What a blessing he has been to her! Seven years of peace and overflowing happiness has that little one purchased for her burdened and distracted spirit. Can she return to Ramah without him, to solitude and loneliness, uncheered by his winning ways and childish prattle? Surely this is a sorrow which will wring her heart, as never before. Not so. There she stands again on the spot where she once knelt and wept and vowed, but no tears fall now from her eyes--no grief is in her tones. She has come to fulfill her vow, "to lend her son to the Lord as long as he liveth." Again she prays as she is about parting from him. What a prayer!--a song of exultation rather. Listen to its sublime import. "My heart rejoiceth in the Lord; mine horn is exalted in the Lord." How did we wrong thee, Hannah! We said thy son had purchased peace and joy for thee. Our low, selfish, doting hearts had not soared to the heights of thy lofty devotion. We deemed thee such an one as ourselves. In the gift, truly thou hast found comfort; but the Giver is He in whom thou hast delighted, and therefore thou canst so readily restore what he lent thee, on the conditions of thy vow. The Lord thy God has been, and is still to be, thy portion, and thou fearest not to leave thy precious one in His house. We thought to hear a wail from thee, but we were among the foolish. Thy soul is filled with the beauty and glory of the Lord, and thou hast not a word of sadness now. Thou leavest thy lamb among wolves--thy consecrated one with the "sons of Belial"--yet thou tremblest not. Who shall guide his childish feet in wisdom's ways when thou art far away? What hinders that he shall look on vice till it become familiar, and he be even like those around him? The old man is no fit protector for him. Does not thy heart fear? "Oh, woman, great is thy faith!"